Friday, July 24, 2009

The Logic of Carrying an Umbrella During a Lightening Storm in a Plains State

So this is day two of chewing this gum, which has been strange, actually. I haven't necessarily wanted a cigarette per se, but I have been quite liberal with this gum (11 pieces in 2 days), which isn't really gum so much as a gum-ish substance that does the work of chewing tobacco. You chomp on it a bit and then slip it between your gum and cheek and enjoy a tingle sensation as the nicotine seeps into your blood. I can't imagine this being any good for my gums, but whatever. At least now, when I want a cigarette, I reach for a piece of gum. They say it takes a month-ish for your brain to start making new connections when it comes to cigarette smoking, and so I figure that a month-ish of not smoking but chewing this gum, which I should start needing less and less of. I know I can live without cigarettes, it's just that it hurts. Thus far the gum has allowed me to not hurt while not smoking.

J. is a huge fan of The Mars Volta, and one of the first times we fucked we listened to "De-loused in the Comatorium". This was somewhat bizarre, to be honest, as the sex mix I made once upon a time--yes, the one I listened to more often when writing than when having sex--is composed of music by Mogwai, Sigur Ros, Red Hooker, Mono, and Port Royal. J. says, when I begin to play this music--"( )" by Sigur Ros--that it is "too pretty." You need some raunch in your sex music, he says, and I start to become nervous: what exactly does he want the music to be raunchy for? Well, today I discovered that when you give a musician inclined to rhythmic music two hits off a new "water-pipe" (read: bong) and then play Chicago Afrobeat Project while having sex it is something along the lines of raunchy. Porn star pounding sort of raunchy. Which was amazingly hot. Because, as I also discovered, when you give a boy who is inclined to good sex two hits off said bong... well, you get the idea.

The Mars Volta: I'm not entirely sure this isn't just obscurity--brilliantly composed and performed, to be sure--for the sake of obscurity. That is: pretentious prog rock that involves spending more time trying not to be turned off by than actually enjoying it. Again, I'm not entirely sure.

I finally got around to installing this program a boy told me about while we were waiting for our multiply-delayed plane (departing, surprise surprise, from O'Hare). "Torrent" it's called, and you simply find a whole fuck-ton of music very quickly. Undoubtedly I am slow to come to this, but in lieu of a cd drive that actually enables me to burn/upload music, this will have to do. Which pisses me off: I have a brilliant-ish mix made for J. and I am very eager to hear what he has to say about it. This Sunday I am dropping the laptop off to get fixed.

Ok: writing makes me want a cigarette. Fuck.

No comments: