Over-weighted.
The six stages of music over-play
1. First few listens: My heart starts to race. This sounds nice. This sounds really nice…. Passes through quickly to…
2. Deep dive: Can last one month or four. This sound is all my brain wants to receive. Can I play it again? Again? Again? Again. Again. Joy.
3. Sudden burn out: Recoiling. I will not listen to this today. I will, um, listen to something else.
4. Return to obsession: Tentative. It’s been a little while. I can put it back in rotation now. I think. Still sounds great but… something’s not quite right.
5. Time apart: Could be a year. I need my space. We both need our space. I’m talking to you, 1940s Frank Sinatra.
6. The rest of my life: Sounds good again, sure. I mean, it’s great music. But there’s a sadness now too when I play that batch of tunes. The sparkle has evaporated. Or did the cartilage disappear? If only I’d had a little more self-control back in Step 2….
Today’s million-dollar idea:
A band that plays operatic versions of 80s power ballads. And of course, we’re calling ourselves: “Aria Speedwagon.”
“He jackassed my head!”
…is the phase I shouted at Ben Kingsley in my last dream last night. Is the phrase I was shouting in my brain when the alarm woke me up this morning.
You don’t understand, Ben Kingsley. I didn’t even know that jerk. I was lying on the grass, OK?. He ran by, playing soccer, and the son of a bitch jackassed my head with his cleats. Alright, so he gave me this pack of exotic tobacco as court-ordered reparations for the assault. I understand how that looks. It looks like I know him. But I don’t know him, OK? I don’t know him, I don’t like him. And I’m certainly not a spy. So stop making complicated plots designed to put me away.
He jackassed my damn head!
sugar cube heartbreak
I had two foods from my childhood tonight and
the sugar cube was a complete let down.
All promise, stacked high
in that
crystalline stack and then
collapsed like a wet meringue.
Blech. A mouth full of undifferentiated
former-cube fragments, trying to
escape each other and
nowhere good
to go.
Music
The music flows through her head. She does not know how to dance but her thoughts do.
Dog parts
Trying to find a place that’s not shaded.
Damn trees everywhere.
I just need one spot where
my skin can make contact with the sun.
Light is part of the sun, did you know that?
It’s not an offshoot or something sparkly
the sun shakes loose like
water from a dog.
It’s more like actual dog parts.
Our share of cosmic dog parts, sprinkled down.
This planet is covered in dog.
That’s the truth.
Some of that dog gets tangled in the trees.
Some gets tripped up by clouds.
And what I need right now is
a clear spot to lie down.
Soak in
the living dog.
x-post: Creativity blogging…at work?
I’ve recently started blogging about things-creativity-and-tech at work. Using my own name even. My other own name.
Before too long, there should be an actual brand-new creativity subsite I can link to, but for now, it’s more like a post here and there. Today’s entry: Dr. Horrible and the Future of Entertainment, which reveals why Doogie Howser is the man of tomorrow.
One-sentence story
Feeling lucky, he realized, about two minutes too late, was not the same as being lucky.
Not a snake
You say I’m a snake but snakes
move with purpose, right?
They lead with their head. Reach
with their mouth. Draw a
dry belly line with an impulse dotting
each turn.
Have you ever seen a snake tumble? Or trip? Or twist?
Not a snake.