baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Shaking Loose The Writing Muscle My head aches; the sad and sweet remnant of a night spent grooving on an ill-lit stage somewhere in Silver Lake. Why the town is named Silver Lake, I have no clue. Situated alongside the shoulder of the 101, and planted squarely in the shadow of industrial Los Angeles, the town is neither silver nor waterbound But, there we were last night-breathing air stale with the scent of bad decor and torn barstools-adding our own little screech to the noise pollution. I'm tired of shithole places like this-but still I keep coming back. I surrender to the pull of this noise everytime. And wether that's a sign of weakness or idealism is beyond me. ______________________________________________ As I was walking to my car this morning, mind filled with thoughts from yesterday�s face to face encounter with The Dream, Girl-Unit said, �you know the second you stop chasing the butterfly is the second it lands on your nose.� ______________________________________________ I�m thinking of acquiring a rock star name-like Edge or Bono. At first, I considered C.L. Cool B (for �Cats Love Cool Baggage) but the sheer number of syllables renders the moniker ineffective-it stalls midway down your tongue and sits there like a stubborn remnant of last night�s lasagna. I need simplicity. Simplicity equals cool. And cool is simplicity. ___________________________________________________
I swear, sometimes my diary entries sound soooo much like bad advertising copy that it�s almost embarrassing to think that for a short, sweet time-I actually got paid to write ad copy. __________________________________________________ My truck is louder than fuck. I just bought a new amp for my stereo-Sheer Manly Wattage that pumps out enough bass to drown out those obnoxious slammed Hondas that come down my street blaring obscenities streamed on top of drum machine pattern number whatever. Although, I tend to stay away from the trappings of testosterone, I have to admit a certain affinity for loud. But, this is a private affair. I prefer to keep my loud to myself. The tinted windows stay rolled up, the music stays inside-away from those who may not appreciate the sounds of distorted guitars as much as I do. I wish others would do the same.
___________________________________________________ Silly the power of beautiful women. Pure Damn Silly. And to think that the simple cool of Girl-Unit�s love is all I need to protect me from these annoying trifles of temptation. Stay away demon spawns with breasts and eyes and legs and voices low and seductive! I have no need for you-you distract me from the goal at hand. ____________________________________________________ Soon, I�ll be more cohesive-more thoughtful-with thoughts that last longer than a single paragraph. But, for now my creativity is in pieces-much like my writing. All apologies to those reading this. I hope you consider it time somewhat well wasted. 3:10 p.m. - 2002-03-07 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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