SNAPSHOT

Here's a poem I wrote last night, while waiting for a bus at 11:30pm, on the corner of Van Nuys and Victory.


I cradled my heartache
w/ arms swaddled in blankets
embracing the gleeful pain

If at that moment it began to rain
that would suit my mood just fine

At a bus bench late a night
I'm just trying
to cash in these chips
transform this unease into
something that I can view
from a distance
framed between my fingers
like an instant masterpiece

I've come to accept it
learned to love it
or at least learn something from it
(one day I might even overcome it)

But for now the familiarity has bred
no contempt
I sit here halfway content
w/ how our time was spent

Whteher it was meant to be for us
is a best-left unread treatise on trust
(and maybe even primal lust)


I'm really happy to be back on the day shift. No more Zombie Nights. There were moments when my hallucinations were having flashbacks of acid trips from my past and I could've sworn that I'd died a pentad ago.

My head is together. I haven't been smoking much pot lately. My mind is a little clearer. I realize what I have to do, regarding all of my side projects.

First off: I'm going to have to be the one to shop the cartoon. Paulie has a good mind for business but I don't know if he can inspire faith in people. I'm not saying that I'm any better. But, when people have faith in me, it isn't because I'm a good salesman or a sweet talker or a hard-bargain driver-- it's because they feel the sincerity. They know it comes from the heart, and not from the potential profits.

Secondly: Tonight the band auditions drummers. I'm going to have to stand my ground and not make the mistakes I made when I was in Holly's band. That is to say, if I don't like the drummer, I'm not going to hesitate to say "NO FUCKING WAY!" I tried to be nice about Evan while politely voicing my preference for Buddha, who wanted to play with Holly at the time, but she was too stubborn to budge.

Only after the band was over did she acknowledge her mistake. Too late.

Third of all: I'm not calling Eve all this week. I'm just going to assume that it's over. Such a dramatic stance, James... Yes, I concur. But I can't afford to let this petty bullshit (and it really is petty, no matter how anyone, myself included, tries to inflate it) derail my progress.

I've lost weight again. That's what happens when you smoke less pot-- you aren't as hungry because you're not fiending for some munchies. I've been walking everywhere, getting exercise... I mean, I miss transportation, but walking in L.A. gives me swirls and eddies of ideas, stuff that I wish I'd written down. Hence, the poem that opens this post: it's been so long since I actually felt inspired to sit down and write something out with my hand that wasn't some sort of note concerning the animation.

Maybe that's why I pick such drama hoes to run with-- the pain they inflict gives me inspiration, and soon I'm immersing myself in the arts in order to negate my self-loathing.

Too bad I can't find a pain-free way to do that. If I could discover a means by which I could produce good work without having to endure such bad feelings, I think I'd be halfway sane.

But until that time comes, this will have to do.