Time for a quickie, darlings? I went to see the limited special engagement of Gigantic: A tale of Two Johns tonight with HS and CG and CC, and it brought me back to a certain beautiful, if spotty, period of my life.
You may have noticed me not typing much. Mea maxima frickin' culpa, ut dicitur. You may also have noticed my profile not working properly. One assumes it shall, in the fullness of its season, work again beautifully, but (since I'm certain that there are others out there at least as insecure as I am) may I soothe your creeping self-doubts -- I have not removed you from my favorite diaries list, the cruel force of Database Nature has. I love you all still: "only slightly (only slightly!) less than I used to, my dears."
Music: Bruckner's f-minor mass. It is phenomenal on LP, since there's a natural break in the middle of the Credo, between et sepultus est and et resurrexit. Nothing short of flipping the record over can prepare you for the mystery of ol' JC's resurrection. Pretty cool, if you like that sort of thing. I have the record player set up in LT's old room down the hall, whither I have begun my short migration in parts. I drown in miscellaneous crap. Between books, clothes CDs, and papers, everything I own exists in multiples which, if I don't watch out, end up piled and interleaved all over my floor like a John Cage painting. And yet, in my deepest soul-type regions, I year for an Existenz-minimum of empty floors and few, spare objects: when I picture my ideal room it's absolutely tiny, flooded with light, and has as much storage as an entire IKEA. Eventually it may satisfy me to live in one bedroom and keep another absolutely spartan, but this is not likely. I accrete like nobody's business, always letters and fliers and pens and sheet music and newspapers and pocket change and coffee mugs and shrunken heads and bonsai and statuettes and lightbulbs and handcuffs and plastic persimmons and geodes and capybara teeth and harmonicas and trembleuses and plastic combs and coasters and sooner or later it's stacked too high to see over from my bed. This room, of course, will be different. This is the room I'll keep clean and tidy. Right?