Wednesday, January 26, 2011

only for the sake of separating times and places

I'm currently reading a book partially set in Hollywood and it's reminded me of the way I find comfort in names. There's a sense of control, isn't there, in the act of labeling something, in assigning it a title that you can refer back to later? I've only been to Los Angeles once, and it was only for a few days, but I spent a lot of my time while I was there driving around, because everyone drives everywhere in LA, and the names of the streets freeways and towns in the greater Los Angeles area still feel familiar to me. La Brea Sunset Santa Monica Studio City West Hollywood Beverly Hills Wilshire Melrose Burbank downtown, the 405 101 10 110. It all just sort of drips off my tongue and across my mind, which associates images of the places themselves or pins on maps with each word and there's something reassuring about this.

It's the same with anywhere I've spent any significant amount of time. New York, London, Venice. Ocean City, Myrtle Beach, Sarasota. Here. Sometimes I wonder why this is. Familiar names evoke familiar places evoke comfort. I don't know why this seems to matter so much to me right now. I suppose it has something to do with this frustration with nostalgia I'm struggling with lately. Everything seems to touch the memory of something else and it feels like a trap and I don't like it.

Maybe none of these places really exist. Maybe they're just there in my mind to hold the spot of something else.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

bottom's up

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

whatever I can get
whatever I can get
whatever I can get
...

Friday, January 7, 2011

I want so badly to want this so badly.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

feelin' [the] ugly today

ouch.
what's the point?

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Most of the letters I've been writing lately have ended up in the shredder, and those that haven't probably should have. Is there such a thing as too much honesty? Letters preserve the truth of a moment with a certain permanence, but sometimes I wish they didn't. The truth changes as people change as time sways, and usually I love the capturing of moments and preservation of them, but sometimes I'd prefer that no record existed of certain ephemera and am tempted to destroy what attempts I make. Sometimes it's out of my hands. Regret is a useless emotion unless you act on it...which I guess applies to all emotions...and I really don't see a point in wasting my time being preoccupied by it when there's no ctrl-z to fix things. Sometimes I hate trying to be honest or truthful when I know that the truth is just going to change and that mostly the rest of the world is pretty dishonest and untruthful. I suppose that's why the best art is the capturing of some kind of truth, no matter how impermanent a truth it is, and I suppose that unless I can learn to shake this discomfort with certain truths I'll never be able to be an artist of any worth.

This is not the direction in which I intended to move this, but whatever. Perhaps it is better that way.