three in the morning productions

carpe diem

I'm watching my big toe wiggle out of its leopard-print covering. For three nights and a day I've worn this very same pair of socks and it wasn't until one-act rehearsal this morning that I noticed the hole mousing hello. I was quite amused and disappointed because I couldn't find the camera to take a picture of it so that I could add it to my collection of bumgevity. That and it's also high time Kareen does laundry.

I haven't lived to seize the day in what seems an epoch that I've let slip through. I look back on today with no regret and I feel some satisfaction in that. No staring at myself in the mirror for hours and becoming lost in self-searching, no driving just to drive and have the world pass me by at my side. Either I directed my listlessness into the stroke of the brush or into drilling my fingers along the piano keys. And while I firmly believe that Art is never a waste of time, I've somehow made an Art out of wasting time. I'm pleased though, that I didn't have to escape beyond the house. Oddly enough, I can't remember a time before that I was ~willing~ to stay in. That's not to say however that I wasn't hit with pangs of wanderlust. After rehearsals, I had to struggle with turning the wheel in the direction of home. A compromise was made; I didn't drive off to another city in some other state, but I did wander around downtown, crossing streets (just to cross streets) with my hands pocketed and my hair strewn in a fluttering disarray over my face. Yes, I'm sure I looked perfectly scary, but the city-savage hauteur would have worked out if I had a cigarette in one hand and whiskey wrapped in brown paper bag in the other. I went into the Hobby Shop, poked around for a bit and then picked out a set of acrylics and some brushes.

Even when I returned home and discovered the message on my phone, I was still in a mind to frighten myself. In the din of distortion guitars and rasping male vocals that gripped the walls of my room, I wondered how at this rate I could hang on to all my blues and fuck you's.

To you who would unravel me, you shall be... like death descending... upon sweet sorrow... or the savior... of my despair.

02.16.03 - 2:12 a.m.

	carpe diem I'm watching my big toe wiggle out of its leopard-print covering. For three nights and a day I've worn this very same pair of socks and it wasn't until one-act rehearsal this morning that I noticed the hole mousing hello. I was quite amused and disappointed because I couldn't find the camera to take a picture of it so that I could add it to my collection of bumgevity. That and it's also high time Kareen does laundry. I haven't lived to seize the day in what seems an epoch that I've let slip through. I look back on today with no regret and I feel some satisfaction in that. No staring at myself in the mirror for hours and becoming lost in self-searching, no driving just to drive and have the world pass me by at my side. Either I directed my listlessness into the stroke of the brush or into drilling my fingers along the piano keys. And while I firmly believe that Art is never a waste of time, I've somehow made an Art out of wasting time. I'm pleased though, that I didn't have to escape beyond the house. Oddly enough, I can't remember a time before that I was ~willing~ to stay in. That's not to say however that I wasn't hit with pangs of wanderlust. After rehearsals, I had to struggle with turning the wheel in the direction of home. A compromise was made; I didn't drive off to another city in some other state, but I did wander around downtown, crossing streets (just to cross streets) with my hands pocketed and my hair strewn in a fluttering disarray over my face. Yes, I'm sure I looked perfectly scary, but the city-savage hauteur would have worked out if I had a cigarette in one hand and whiskey wrapped in brown paper bag in the other. I went into the Hobby Shop, poked around for a bit and then picked out a set of acrylics and some brushes. Even when I returned home and discovered the message on my phone, I was still in a mind to frighten myself. In the din of distortion guitars and rasping male vocals that gripped the walls of my room, I wondered how at this rate I could hang on to all my blues and fuck you's. To you who would unravel me, you shall be... like death descending... upon sweet sorrow... or the savior... of my despair. 02.16.03 - 2:12 a.m.