10.53am
Sunday
12 September 2004
[Transcribed from handwritten in my little pink book.]
Flying makes me very happy and excited in a way that is partially linked to sexual delight and pleasurable surprises, but is, on the whole, some sort of child-like wonder. The moment the engines start powering up and racing down the runway, I am breathless with anticipation—the airport lines and hassles and waiting are a long, drawn-out build-up to this one event. This massive amazing piece of machinery simply decides to pick up and depend on the ground no more, and it's like all weight is nothing, is all curled up in this tiny spot in your throat that does not fully believe that this is possible, and wants more than that unavoidable moan of a gasp, wants to scream.
The other part of my body that is holding my nerves and tension and excitement and childish pleasure is throbbing and shuddering with the vibrations of the engine.
My head is just light and woozy and wants a pillow. It may also need kisses.
• × • × • × •
I'm listening to music way more loudly than is good for my ears or my desire to have battery power last the entirety of this four-hour cross-country flight. The entire fun of having an iPod, though, is that ability to have an entire fucking rock concert between your ears, one of those shows that you go to, trying to be cool and disaffected, but then it makes you unable to do anything but slam your head and tap your feet and yes, sometimes, yell at the top of your lungs, when you know the words and love them enough that you can convince yourself that the artist won't mind this horrible slander of their creation, even though you know that's never really permissible and you're ruining the show for everyone.
It is just what one must do in the face of rock.
• × • × • × •
I've been wondering lately about the concept of soulcrushing lifealtering love. A lot of people seem to yearn for it, but I suppose it is especially females who've watched too many pointlessly overdramatically "romantic" movies. Or teen soap operas featuring cloying "soulmates." But it is the people that actually, you know, get along, that end up making it, isn't it? But don't too many common interests and attitudes and buddy-buddy-ness-ities lead to boring monotony? A long steady life of being buds, but not passionately connected spirits? I suppose I'm talking total bullshit. It is related to my never-to-be-resolved (or-even-understood) love/hate relationship with drama, and with love, and with... being a total emofage who cannot stop talking about BULLSHIT.