Trompé Setsuled (setsuled) wrote,
Trompé Setsuled

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A day with things to say to me

I love beans.

Say what you will about me, I love beans.

Now . . . where to begin . . . Well, on Friday morning I dreamt that Kevin Smith shot himself, shoving a gun barrel in his mouth after finding his wife and child dead. This dream is perhaps explained by my having read Smith's online diary just before I went to bed.

So as the day passed, I picked up my prescription for the new Elvis Costello glasses I'm planning on getting, I read a bit of Shakespeare, and I listened to some Philip Glass compositions Marty let me borrow. The symphony is built around various stories from various human religions--such as Christianity, Buddhism, Islam, and more . . . Neat stuff.

Later, I introduced cryptess to PJ Harvey, and Aimee Mann. And I was pleased to find she liked both.

She behaved in sweet and adorable ways until she left to make way for arucard who immediately gave me the heads up on all sorts of interesting-sounding Japanese cinema.

I left the computer finally in order to watch Ran with my aunt. Only I didn't because things happened, the world spun, and I was suddenly hungry and therefore on my way to Border's.

It was there that I, walking briskly through the pods of books, ran

into trisa!!!!

I can't describe how--and I certainly can't completely explain why--this made me so very tremendously happy. I scampered about the girl like a happy puppy.

I mean--completely at random, we ran into each other!! I--ah--wow, wow!!

. . . so we found The Dead, and read bits of it to each other over dinner--a veggie wrap for her and a pizza bagel for me.

(it's important to note I became transfixed by a photo biography of Jack Kerouac).

Then we got into an argument about the motivations behind the re-releases of Elvis Costello's entire catalogue. So she left me forthwith--I was unable to stop her and the attempt made me feel rotten.

I bought a vanilla coke then.

I took it to Magious's, where he and I rearranged his room until he could rearrange the internal organs of his computers. Meanwhile, his younger sister came home drunk enough to be vomiting all over the place and I somehow felt okay amidst the sounds of her parents berating her and her constantly pleading with them to leave her alone. Magious and I seemed to find a lot of humour in the show.

As he worked I put in cds . . . first Bowie at the Beeb, then The Sugarcubes' Life's Too Good, Bowie's Hunky Dory, Ani DiFranco's Little Plastic Castle, and lastly Dead City Radio by William S. Burroughs.

The perfect capper for the evening, really . . . that aged, rambling voice talking of Mugwumps drinking from alabaster straws . . . having the pleasure of watching Linux destroy Windows XP on the computer Magious finally got running whilst hovering dazedly in Burroughs-land . . .

I also had a delicious pumpkin scone to-day.

Which David Bowie are you?

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