firelight dancing.

You know, I should stop writing diary entries so late at night. I look back, and it seems like all my nice, thoughtful posts are written during the day, or the evening. And then you have these late-night posts and they're

(That was, by the way, the obligatory superego intro.)

When I'm drunk, I forgo the superego intro. But then I'm not drunk, except possibility on fatigue. and shit. i'm gonna be buttass tired tomorrow. today. less than 4 hours from now.

Late at night, tiredness is nice, though. You know what I mean. That kinda fatigue that resides low in your long bones, and loosens your muscles. The kinda tired that makes you wanna stretch out and drift off to sleep.

If I could, I'd write this from bed. I'd write it lounging in bed. Sprawling. Hell, I'd write by voice if I could. Talk and watch the letters come out. Except those are usually stupid, those programs. "My name is Damon. I live in San Jose."

Blip... My fame is Dame end. Eye live in Sand Ho Say.

You get the point.

My ear hurts, fuckit. Might be because I've been wearing headphones for way too long. Maybe I should take 'em off, but I'm too lazy to reconnect my subwoofers. Though right now, I could use a good bassline. Something to rumble through my tired bones.


Yesterday I had a thing for brilliant chica mathematicians whispering pi. While they...

I should censor myself, shouldn't I?

Anyway. I'm glad to say that particular fantasy has gone by. Now it's stretching. Stretching's damn sexy. I wonder why I didn't notice this before. I bet if this gets out, 50% of the female population would be afraid to stretch. The other 50% would be stretching every other minute.

Winamp. Has the crappiest equalizer. Things sound a lot better if you just turn the equalizer off.

Speaking of drifting to sleep...and I know I mentioned that long ago, but when it's 3:30am you just have to learn to ride the randomly rolling waves of my thoughts.

Okay, I've just forgotten what I was going to say.

Something about drifting to sleep. About--oh, probably afterglow. About drifting to sleep aching and tired with sweat drying off your skin.

I really. Really. Need to think about untabooed things.

That was a futile attempt from the superego's corner. I'm glad to report the id has crushed the SE entirely. HA! Pathetic SE. Super, indeed.

It's amazing what music can do. Get a compelling beat going, and next thing you know you're moving to it. Dancing in your chair. My thoughts are so disjointed. I keep writing a sentence or two, thinking it's a topic I want to pursue, but then the topic flies out of my grasp or disintegrates, or...I don't know...I can't seem to hold a straight line of thought.

I am tired; I am weary

I could sleep for a thousand years

A thousand dreams that would awake me

Different colors made of tears

Sounds like lyrics composed under the influence of a hallucinogen to me. Smirk. Nonetheless, they're my favorite lyrics from this song.

This is was what I was talking about...when I talked about rhythms that pull you into it. Did I say that? Maybe I didn't. I said it now. That's how it is. It pulls you in. You move to it without realizing it. This song has the most compelling beat I've ever heard.

Maybe not ever. Maybe not most compelling, at least.

But it's the most hypnotic.

I mean, shit, I've ranted about it twice already. I haven't even ranted about Garbage once. Or have I? Garbage is my favorite band. Most of you reading this probably know this, because I don't anticipate anyone I don't know reading this.

Now that would be weird.

This is gonna be another of those posts I'm gonna wanna delete, but won't...

Anyone wanna dance? I wanna dance. To this song. I wanna lounge somewhere. Arms up along the couch. Legs crossed at the ankles. Crucified by laziness. And watch someone dance for me.

That idea just came into my head, btw.

It's a good one.

Dance that one dance. The veils dance. Seven veils? The one where she drops the veils, one by one, and ends up naked. Does she end up naked? She should. Sandstorms and incense and perfumed oils and bare skin shining in firelight and undulating flesh.

My imagination is overactive...

I should've been born a storybook Gypsy. Baggy pants and open-throated shirts. Unshaven jaws and gold earrings. Bandannas around my head and a glint in my eye. Have a dark-eyed Gypsy girlfriend with beads in her hair and dark, dramatic makeup. And she'll dance for me in the dead of night when all the other Gypsies have gone to sleep. When the fire's guttering low enough that the light it gives is subversive and red, and everything's shadowy and mysterious. She'll dance, and the shadows will pool and flow in the changing hollows of her body. And I'll beat the drum for her, because all the other musicians are asleep. Just the drum. Bare hands on drumskin. Slow hypnotic rhythm. Watch her while she dances. Slow hypnotic dance.

And she'll watch me back. With a razoredged dagger held between her teeth. With a razoredged gleam in her eye.


drunken philosophy.

I titled this drunken philosophy, but only half the title is accurate.

The drunken half.

I can hardly type without making typos. The caps make things harder, too. So I think I'm not gonna use caps anymore as...of...


it's done.

i'm free of caps.

i'm free to rant.

lessee, then. where do i start? let's talk about what i'm listening to. shivaree. goodnight moon. it's a great song. it's sexy. she has a sexy voice. in a disturbingly precocious way. it's very goth. porcelain vampire doll. except the song and the band is countryish. so it's gothic country.

porcelain vampire cowgirl doll.

the allure of the song lies in her voice. she has an awfully provocative voice, at least in my state. it's breathy, but has substance behind it.

ooo, she just started that spoken-whispered bit. i could shiver.

but it's not just the way her voice sounds, which is lilting and sweet and pouty. it's a big part the way her voice rides the rhythm of the song so easily. it's not a very smooth rhythm, either, kinda syncopated. makes you wonder what else she can ride so nicely--

okay. let's talk about something else.


next song. painted on my heart, by the cult. from the gone in 60 seconds soundtrack.

it's a good song. has a very tormented-howl feel to it. all dramatic and stuff. it's like a thunderstorm of a breakup song. the best breakup song in the world is you look so fine. but then again, considering the breakup in question involves Angelina Jolie, i suppose i'd be in a thunderstorm of grief, too.

that woman. is sexy.

i mean, really sexy. because she settles back in her own body and wears sensuality like a second skin. and. stuff like that.


more smirking.

more ranting.

oh wow. it's moved on to girl you'll be a woman soon already. in fact, that song's ending. hmm. i didn't even hear it. i'll replay it.

i really like this song, too. it has neat beat. samba or something. vaguely spanish. latin. i couldn't dance to this song, though...wouldn't know what to do with my feet. heh. but it's a great song to listen to. drive to.

you know who makes great roadtrip songs? Tom Petty. his songs are ALL about roadtrips with the sun beating into your eyes. dust and heathaze and the highway. the freeway. his songs are about california. about the central valley. and about LA. not Santa Monica, surf and sand--LA. the grittier, less wholesome side. all-american, but not redblooded.

we digress.

this is a sad song. damn. all my songs are kinda sad tonight. well. some, at least. i'm in an odd mood. heh. the slightest provocation makes me laugh, and yet when i write, it comes down being kinda dulled and humorless. i wonder why?

i've been obsessed with that Velvet Underground song all day. it's a great song. it's a very strange song. i mention this because it's come on again. it sounds vaguely middle-eastern.

ooo, deja vu. i think i've said this before.

actually, i'm pretty sure i have. heh.

but it does! it's that single note held under all the rest. and the percussion. i keep thinking of some shah's bedchamber with his harem lounging all over silk cushions, veiled and dressed in almost see-through gossamer and wreathed in incense smoke with smoky hooded kohl-stroked eyes and...hmm...

...i've really got a one-track mind.

well, the other alternative is what this song probably was made from and for...getting shitfaced...

i love that. "getting shitfaced". so much for euphemisms.

ramble on, damon, ramble on.

i wish i could say something intelligent. or reach for some elusive fiber of life that just happens to float through your field of vision so for a moment you have a glimpse of one thread in the tapestry of the universe and you wanna catch it but can't. i wish i could write down what it feels like to grasp for it and miss and know you've missed and know you'll never ever capture it (you probably have no clue what i'm talking about right now) but i'm having trouble steering my mind into metaphysical philosophy and the meaning of life. i just wanna lounge. i just wanna


...okay. we won't go there.

who's reading my diary again? this is an entry i should delete in the morning. this is not an entry that should get out. this is not a respectable, responsible M.D. entry. then again, i never do delete the entries i should delete. i forget. i think there was another one i swore i'd delete. probably more than one. since i haven't deleted any at all, i suppose they're still there.

venus in furs.

what a compelling name.

who thinks venus is a blonde? show of hands? i thought she was a blonde. it seems proper, somehow. maybe it's because the world has this vision of her as the goddess of love and beauty and all, but it's inherently a lighthearted, lightheaded, airheaded vision. like, you know, that aphrodite on xena.

i have it on good authority that xena's a man, by the way.

i digress again.

isn't that weird, though? aphrodite is blonde. even though she's the goddess of lust, and i don't really associate lust with blondeness. (yeah yeah. crucify me tomorrow.) but she CAN'T be a brunette. she's just...blonde.

oh, and no goddess can be a redhead. sorry.

(crucify me TOMORROW, i said.)

now, while aphrodite can't possibly be anything but blonde, venus can. venus somehow sounds...lower. not lower as in baser, but lower as in the tone is lower. you'd speak aphrodite in a higher tone. you'd breathe venus, low and husky. as in she holds herself closer to the earth. and in that, i mean, she's serpentine. wow, what a leap of logic. but that's what i mean. serpents, isis, slithering lowslung prowl.

venus in furs, now...


i think i'm certifiable now. someone go find me a straitjacket, yeah?

still talking about venus in furs (seeing as how it's now on permanent repeat): i bet this song's good to dance to. slow, but not slow-dancing. you know? not, like, slow 'n tender swaying. slow, like lascivious-slow. like dim lights and eye contact and liplicking and arms round neck and hands on moving hips. this song's allll about moving hips, if you were dancing. even if you weren't dancing, it's about closing your eyes and moving loose-jointed to it.

i think i can rant forever about this song. you know why i'm ranting like this? because SOMEone went to bed, and i can't rant at her anymore.

i was lying. the song's all about having sex. while high. or just having sex. in the sauna. or somewhere smoky. or hot and humid. or...whatever.

i think almost all my favorite songs remind me of sex. there's a reason. it's because you feel good songs deep in your blood and bones. and you definitely feel good sex deep in your blood and bones. the ones that don't remind me of sex are always really, really sad. not soap opera weepy sad, but stirring, deep-in-your-blood-and-bones sad.

there's a connection.

i's time for me to shut up.

end rant.


More than a month without a single entry, and then two in a day.

I'm unpredictable.

Of course, I also ruined the precise mathematical arrangement of my posts: 7 in the first month, 4 in the second, 2 in the third, and 1 in this month. 7 - 4 = 3; 4 -2 = 2; 2 - 1 = 1. Which means next month, I shouldn't post at all. Ever again. Dun dun dun...

But then again, I screwed that pattern up. So fear not, I'll continue posting.

I'm not as drunk anymore. Small wonder; I spent the last 2 hours playing with the HTML on my page. BTW, if you want it to look right, you need to have these fonts:

1. Viner Hand ITC

2. Eras Light ITC

I suck at HTML. I spent forever figuring out how to make the damn thing do what I wanted it to. And, of course, I never stopped to ask/look for directions.

I'm a self-sufficient beast, I am.

...okay, maybe I'm not SOBER just yet...

I just stretched. Hard. The big muscle on my back almost cramped up. Thank God it didn't. If THAT muscle cramps--you know, the huge dorsal muscle that spans the entire lower 2/3 of your back--I would be in trouble right now. I'd have to force my abs to crunch together and pull the dorsal muscle loose. I wonder if my abs are capable of overpowering my back. Hmm. I don't want to find out.

It'd be one hell of a workout, though. Agonizing pain's a good motivator. Smirk.

I need to stop drinking Mountain Dew. The stuff's so loaded with caffeine it takes funny. But it's damn addictive. Ick. But I don't HAVE to drink Mtn Dew. I can stop anytime I like!

Oh, wow. I got booted offline and I never even noticed. I'll climb back on so I can post this entry.

It's kinda cold tonight. My windows are steamed up. It rained, too. There's one of those big round globe lights on a post outside. The globe is beaded with water, and it casts a shimmering whitish glow on the wet pavement. Oddly lovely.

I like the way the city smells after the rain.

I like the way it looks, too.

Have I said this before? I'll say it again. There's something very lonely about 3am. It's not necessarily a bad lonely. Maybe lonely isn't the word. There's something very solitary about 3am.

No. Lonely is the word.

There's something very lonely about 3am. It's a time when it's so quiet and still you feel like the last person on earth and all you wanna do is stand at the window and watch the rain come down. And look for signs of life outside. And reflect.

I find that word interesting: "reflect". It's interesting because when you reflect, physically, you never really see yourself as others see you because you see a reverse, a mirror-image. When I reflect mentally, is it the same? Do I see a mirror-image of myself and my deeds? Do I judge myself in reverse?

Disturbing concept.