It's so strange to be thinking about Suley. I saw someone yesterday who reminded me a bit of her – the olive skin, the dark, dark eyes. I didn't know her very well at all. But since seeing the look-alike, I've been thinking about her almost constantly, conjuring her face, hearing her name in my head. I've been getting flashes of our work area at the call center, I've been replaying memories of shared work. It would make more sense to be thinking about other people, people I knew well and really cared about. Suley was just someone who sat next to me once or twice.
I've also been having a song play in my head to the point of distraction – something I heard in a video, a woman rolling around in a bed whining "Its quarter to three and I'm a little drunk and I need you now" that kind of crap. Unfortunately her voice reminded me of Jonatha Brooke, so initially I paid attention. The song has a memorable if awful hook, and it's been playing ever since. The lyric is as silly and obvious as the worst country songs can be – I've been thinking of recording my own spoken word version of it – but rather than a nubile post-teen rolling around on a bed in a satin nightgown, it will be me, ugly faced and drunk slurring my way through the lyric like a stalker in a late night telephone call.
I guess on a day like this with these loops going, I can honestly say that my thoughts betray me. Too unruly and (there it is again I need you now) intrusive. Today was my big shave day. My head is bare as a baby's bottom, and I'm looking clean again for the first time in a while. My hair was getting long – no longer attractive, it grows in lank and oily, and hangs limply over neck and ears. So this morning I took off most of it with the sideburn trimmer on my electric razor, and then followed up with the Sensor. My face is bottom heavy now. The "Just for Men" is on the medicine cabinet shelf calling my name. Its saying "Eric – do the skunk stripe again." And yet I may.
After talking so much with people about how "different" my book is from a journal, here I am using my laptop to produce a journal which is much more like a regular journal. So far, the blog has not been creative at all. Its all observation. I have to be more disciplined to create more free form stuff. Maybe it's because the blog is published instantly, so I have to contend with the idea that someone else may actually read it.
Well, I'm thinking about "Pan on the Diameter" again. It deserves, at the very least, a rewrite. It shouldn't take too long, and now that I have the laptop in tow, I should be able to produce ten pages a day, or thereabouts. It would be nice to start putting the polish on it, eliminate some of the crap (and I'm sure there is a lot!)
The weather is a repeat of yesterday – clear skies, no clouds. The sun sits up there like a demon, an enemy implacable that people want to defeat. They try to undermine his power at every turn – air conditioners, curtains, swamp coolers, fans. Everywhere you go you see places designed to banish the sun – rooms without windows, awnings. The restaurant have outdoor seating, with misters to try and mitigate the hot air. Its September. The days are much shorter. Sunset comes at seven, and earlier every day. Birthdays are coming up, including my own. And I'm looking forward to October, when the evenings will start to get col
The tattooed duo was here just a while ago. That's what I call the couple I see around town every now and then. One is a tall, statuesque brunette – the other is smaller and a bit more stocky, but with a pleasant face and a dazzling smile. I'm not certain that they are gay, but that is my guess. They are also tattooed. The tall one has nearly a full arm of them, like a sleeve. There is a small dark one on her neck, and when she is nearby I find my eyes drawn to it almost obsessively. Her companion has tattoos on her arms, neck, and face. She also has a few piercings, small glittering studs. I love seeing them. In a town like Sierra Vista, where so many of the expression of self tend towards the gaudy or downright ugly, the tattooed duo has a class and an elegance that I appreciate. A few weeks ago, the taller of the two came over to look at my work – I had a page open with an image of a feathered creature of some sort – looked part human, part bird. She told me she really admired my work. I wanted to talk and introduce myself, but found myself retreating as usual. When I work I tend to be only superficially social. Don't get me wrong – I like it when people talk to me as I work. I wouldn't work in public spaces, cafes and libraries if that was not the case. But I also find myself retreating into "public" mode, as I did when I played in the Square, open, but only to a certain level. I never introduce myself unless someone specifically asks me for my name. Even then, I tend to give them a nickname or just the first name, and they are often put off by that. Its something I've tried to change over the years, but for some reason haven't managed to.
I was out with my parents yesterday, and I saw them then too. My mother made a comment which bordered on rude, and I immediately told her that I knew the two of them, and that they were really very decent. I also mentioned that I found the tattoos, not bizarre, but very, very beautiful. Then mom and dad went into one of their patters, comparing notes about how accepting they are of other people. "Look how well we took it when Uncle Bill told us that Lucilla was gay!" Very self-congratulatory.
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