flexy / popoplexy

"She was not daily-bread. She was star-dust. Her solitude made her and was part of her. Taken from her distant sky she must have become a creature as different as fallen meteor from pulsing star. One may ask of the Sphinx, if life would not have been dearer to her, lived as other women lived it? To have been, in essence, more as other women were? Or if, in so doing and so being, she would have missed that inordinate compulsion, that inquisitive comprehension that made her Emily Dickinson? It is to ask again the old riddle of genius against every-day happiness. Had life or love been able to dissuade her from that 'eternal preoccupation with death' which thralled her---if she could have chosen---you urge, still unconvinced? But I feel that she could and did, and that nothing could have compensated her for the forfeit of that 'single hound', her 'own Identity'."

-Martha Dickinson Bianchi, niece.

I lost the Bomp job. Too hectic a schedule for them, too much going to New Zealand, could never get in there early enough for them. Suzy gets up at 5 and goes in, but she's 53 and has her life set and figured out. She was nice about it, no hard feelings. I will miss seeing Duane Peters come in randomly and say funny recovered-junkie skater icon things. I won't miss the negativity, from Patrick, and the total judgemental-ness of the supposed underground punk whatev, blah. Seeing what 30 years in the music business can do to you, how bitter and French it can make you, makes me happy I dont give a shit as much. And that I didn't spend my life releasing albums by people I hated on principle. I will miss: Steve time, ice cream, pork, cds, lots of vinyl, and whatever cred it provided. But I'm not interested in "the '77 Sound" cred, or "Brian Jonestown's Psychedelic Redundancy" cred. Luckily, I dont give a shit, and now i won't have to hide my snickering when someone makes a big deal out of the Black Lips.

Onwards and down-under-wards. . .

;W

Okay, so Julia Stiles turned out to be my friend Becca. Eh. Still learned a lesson.

Props to Becca for plucking Julia's DOB from the IMDB website and for the effectiveness of the subsequent subterfuge, sub-tor-fugue, sab. . . superfudge.

I miss talking to my ex. So I called her tonight. Which was fine, apparently. So there.

But, y;know. . . it is over.

Just letting the shell-shock run its course.

Tonight on the phone, my mother urged me to pray for an end to the conflict in Iraq, because the kids at Fatima "prayed to the Virgin Mother (tm) and then Communism ended". Sleep on that, folks.

;w

So I actually open my mouth on my other, more public blog thing about typical, everyday, everybody-blogs-about stuff, like a movie i just saw (in this case the Bourne Identity). So I bitch a little about Julia Stiles and sure enough, Julia Stiles sees it and lets me know. You can read all the fun here: http://www.livejournal.com/users/popomohaha/7873.html

Enjoy my backpeddling.

I checked her journal and shehad just joined today, so the first thing she gets to see is me calling her Sha-face or whatever I said. Hooray for me. Hooray for everything. Sorry, Julia. Stupid fuckin universe. . .


;w.

Last night I relished the behavior and reactions of Franka Potenta as solace.


;W