2000-09-23

im hear and lydia's here, and jungle and drum and bass is playing, and a guava margarita and a couple a glasses of red chianti are here, mixed in my stomach, saturated into my blood stream, and knocking off my brain cells, one by one. Ginger ale is here. also known as ginger stone in old ireland. joyce taught me that. He teaches me a lot of things, at all hours of the day and night, i read him in spickets, blurbs and then sleep on it. so nice not to have an assignment i'm following. keeping time. much more relevant and unassuming to keep me own time, to do things when they drive me to do them. and im a hard worker, regardless, so its really all the time anyway. but a certain seriousness isn't there anymore which was the devil and which i am glad to have gotten rid of.

im wearing an old school shirt. reminds me of the college days when i wore it most, of the day i bought you soft yellow shirt. and all those times that i made you even softer by wearing you. and especially those days working at the daily grind part time but acting like it killed me, like it was full time (That's like everything else in my life, every other job i ever had)- and having this shirt, you, funky tight designs and small buttons, golden - flaxen flowing outfit that bosha laughed at and identified me by.

a police siren is moving into my ears from the outside street down below, pulsing in time with the trance music that's playing. like it was made to fit right there.

just been out with jason and emily for a good italian dinner. i had linguini with eggplant and riccoti. emily had pesto gnocci. jason had creamy sage rigatoni, i believe. we all shared bread and wine, on a small table. as we entered, the host led us to the booth and then bent over to fix the balance of the table and make sure it wasn't going to wobble on inappropriatly bent feet. i made a comment like, oh you don't see that very often. specially in new york. he replies -- you godda come down to the east village. as if we were up towners. as if we weren't hip. as if we were obviously out of place. oh, he's right. and we all knew it. ya well. we're still trying, aren't we. to be cool and hip. then a good dinner on a small (but sturdy)table and after a little bar which i would like to build up a history with (well on my way), and just when i went to get a second round of drinks, jason's all - - hey , its 11:30, you have to get to work (don't you). oh, he's right. so we go out and here i am.

i was re-reading this, and just as i got to the part about the police siren, another one floated in through the window. did i create the siren just by writing about it?