10:18 p.m. - 2003-01-24
same-space ghost
I'm not sure I buy into the belief that living things are imbued with a "soul" per se- that our life-force can be distilled into an burst of psychik vapor independent of one's corporeal shell; but lately I have been more aware of this ghostly, transparent, line-drawing of myself that's living inside of me. Wait, not "living inside of me" exactly; more like, "occupying a fluid tract of immaterial real-estate concurrent with my own material address". A white-inked outline-Ernst (think Space Ghost w/activated inviso-ring, think Wonder Woman's F-14), locked in synchronous contact. Or almost synchronous; some days we fall out of rhythm. It's my fault, really. I'll walk into the same room five times and still won't remember why I came in or what I was looking for, I'll leave the house for the library and end up at the bar, a handwritten letter of apology will evolve into a drawing of werewolves...and neither will see completion. My actions have become alarmingly difficult to predict. So we miscue, we slip out of focus and I feel it; that deep dizziness that accompanies vertigo of the will. That's why sometimes you'll catch me leanin' over at the bus stop, hands on knees; my own invisible arm protruding at some grotesque angle from my back.
And then some days we're "on", y'know?
There was a terrible auto accident last weekend. My drummer (how much abuse can Q's body stand?) is laid up w/staples in his head...and a good friend of ours was killed. A fucking deer jumped out or something. Shit like that, if you sit and think about it- you'll become a shut-in, man. You just can't dwell.
You just can't.
