a perfect song

Granted, Richard Ashcroft basically ripped off the instrumental version of The Rolling Stones' "The Last Time," but The Verve's "Bittersweet Symphony" is one of the great rock/pop songs of all time. And this performance from Glastonbury Festival 2008 is pure magic.

see the leaves

I just caught wind of "See the Leaves" from the upcoming double album Embryonic by The Flaming Lips. The song is very good, which is definitely a good thing because I was disappointed with 2006's At War with the Mystics. "See the Leaves" is vintage Lips -- eerily affecting, bombastic psychedelia.

admonished by a box of dayquil

I found this strangely-worded sentence on the box of DayQuil Cold and Flu medication that I purchased earlier today.

persuasion

I have a mercurial personality. As soon as I meet someone new or hang with friends I immediately make unconscious comprises with my personality. Like the chameleon I adapt to my surroundings. My mannerisms change; my vocabulary – even my speaking style – changes; the topics I mention for conversation differ; I'll even fabricate lies about myself. The shifts in personality are not subtle; they are vast and contrasting. For example, upon noticing my school textbooks, some coworkers have asked what it is I'm studying. Fearing that word will spread and I will be mocked by some of my male-chauvinist associates, I lie and tell them radiology. (I'm most naked and true to myself when I'm around my girlfriend, which is why I love her so much, but I do find myself occasionally hiding thoughts and desires from her.)

Have I developed this personality because of my private nature? Or is it a fear of rejection? Perhaps I never developed a strong sense of self, which is why I've struggled to belong to, or identify with, a group or scene. I was mocked and ridiculed early in my elementary school years because I wore generic jeans with elastic waists (OK, they weren't real jeans), I had big feet and wore Etonic shoes over those feet. I also constantly made the honor roll. During those years I had no desire to belong to a group. I was perfectly content with wearing dorky clothes and getting good grades. But not caring about those things came with a price, and I eventually focused more on integrating myself and less on school work.

Of course, I never fit in. Still don't. But the mechanisms of my mercurial personality won't be persuaded from trying.

xx

little

… I've little confidence in practically anything I say or do. I'm confident in my thoughts, however, because I am the sole inhabitant of my head space, and being the lone occupant I don't have to obscure my shortcomings from the presence of others. People have expressed to me that they enjoy some of my writings, and they enjoy hearing\reading my thoughts and opinions. When exposed to the light of company, however, it becomes painfully clear that my thoughts, ideas, opinions are shit and completely unoriginal. A true thinker or intellectual can substantiate his or her ideologies with a backdrop of history and its recorders. I wish I could casually inject into my writings and conversations splices of storied thought, or openly discuss the writings and philosophies of Sartre, Nietzsche, Camus, Kierkegaard and Dostoyevsky, but I can't. At best I possess a passing knowledge of these men and their works. I've read Nausea and The Stranger. I own Notes from Underground but yet to crack its spine. My knowledge is akin to the man who reads headlines and claims to know every crevice, every detail of current events. He's full of shit. The dunce is king when he reigns over the ignorant.

I've never been good enough. And when I tried I always fell short.

xx

three things

Yesterday was a bad day, and today, while not as bad, was coated with a self-imposed melancholy. Sitting behind a steering wheel for twelve hours a day gives the mind plenty of time to ponder life's mysteries – and examine the self. I perform the latter with an unflinching eye; I dissect the thinnest strands of my personality until I have reduced myself to a low, loathsome, disgusting human being. Once I have obliterated the psychological, I turn to the physical – and I am a horrifying freak. When a stranger and I make eye contact I look for her to flinch in horror, the type of recoil that occurs when the eyes have identified something so repulsive an intrinsic reflex is touched, grabbed and shaken.

When I fall into these downward spirals I wonder if the experience affords me the opportunity to see life as it actually is. For example, yesterday I reached the conclusion/delusion that I'm simply waiting for a catalyst for suicide – all I need is that window of tragedy to open, jump, and goodbye. Perhaps a family member unexpectedly dies, or maybe I'm involved in some tragic accident. A catalyst is all I need.

Earlier tonight I had to pick up a few things at the grocery store. As I scanned the aisles I happened upon an older man, in his late 40s, balding and slightly overweight. In his grocery cart were two items: a large canister of Foldgers instant coffee and a box of Little Debbie Zebra Cakes. The man looked exasperated and I felt an immense sadness for him. And for us. Seeing no wedding band on his hand I assumed he was single, and I pictured him at home alone watching the Wheel of Fortune, slowly and softly removing a Zebra Cake from its transparent plastic wrapper and savoring each bite. On the television Pat Sajak tells a contestant that no vowels remain, and this man, Zebra Cake man, is cradled by a worn recliner and wonders how things got to be like this. Yes, I felt great heartache for him, for us, all of us. Because Zebra Cake man personified the sad, lonely existence so many of us will not only encounter, but crawl inside of and never escape.

xx

hi

The blog has grown stagnant as of late, which can mean only one thing: I've little free time. I'm about to begin my third week of classes for the semester. Fortunately, my work schedule allows me four free days for course work. My weekly hours are crammed into three days – Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Thus far my work schedule has allowed me ample time for completing my class work. English 211 (Technical Writing), Psychology 201 (Lifespan Development) and Anatomy & Physiology 102 comprise my nine credit hours this semester. English 211 shouldn't pose much of a challenge aside from the tedious work, and Psych 201 won't present any foreign concepts; finishing with a C minimum in these two classes won't be difficult (of course, I'll be aiming far above the minimum). A&P 102, as with A&P 101, pretty much requires me to land an A. I'll be biting my nails over this class during the following 13 weeks.

As for music, I'm still in the midst of a Phish frenzy, which means among indie-music snobs I've lost any shred of credibility. I've been feeding off their live shows from their '96-'97 funk period. In between tasty jams I find myself enamored with the Cameo EP from Zaza, Elegi's dark ambient Sistereis and the delectable debut from The xx, xx. xx stopped me cold when I heard it the first time – very impressive indeed.

xx