Bicoastal

He lives in absolute terror of a saxophone he has kept under his bed for four years. He played it since his mouth learned to blow, then put it under the bed four years ago because he had grown bored of it and moved on to affairs with lovelier instruments; a clarinet for two months, a flute for awhile, the drums. He went back to the saxophone and couldn't face it unashamed, so he put it under the bed and learned to play sociology, the jewel of all musical instruments. This all has something to do with the difference between fingerpainting and Jackson Pollock, or Motherwell, or when a man plays stupid noise he finds attractive on a violin he can't play, as opposed to the man who can play etudes but chooses to screech. The joy, the redemptive power of the horn he felt unentitled to, as if he had to pay more to get his interest back from the saxophone. Now he fears the saxophone will end up in his mouth like a crackpipe, that twenty years from now he will look back on that one delirious hour with the reed in his mouth, his fingers tapping the brass, and regret it forever. That he will end up some sham Anthony Braxton, always in fear that people will discover him as a fraud. Or that he would spend the rest of his life like Anthony Braxton, scribbling pictures of bicycles and numbers to describe tunes that, language having been stolen from him by the music, he can't name. Yesterday he remembered his affair with the clarinet, momentarily on the D train, over the Manhattan Bridge, and was momentarily swept upward by the memory of the clarinet's wood smell. This somehow coupled with the scenery, the blue riveted-iron bridge that colored his memory like a drink mixed with mathematics and Duke Ellington. -Mike Doughty.

I think that this man might be one of my biggest influences if I ever continue writing into the
future. I share his thirst for analogies of things that don't make sense. The irony and beauty of his words steals my breath away and hits me like a brick wall. What a guy. Yeah..Last post..Brash. But maybe I needed to say it, because I won't say that all of it was true, but some of it definitely was. People are brash yes, and they do later take back their words, but their is always a slight trace of the cocaine thoughts that you just cant find and sweep up. Chad, I am so glad that you listened to yourself. I was worried for a tad, you were so quiet. Like not even upset, just quiet. Of late, when actions are silent, their consequences can evaporate into your veins, winding their way through your heart and brain before you even know it. And Ryan Perry, if you ever by any crazy half chance read this. I am sorry, I managed to piss you off within 20 minutes of finally appearing on chokey. When I stated bottom, I meant Mail Order Husbands, and the meaning of a gorilla mask. Ask Chad, I am a sincere 15 year old. Young, and stumbling over incorrect meanings. Whoops.

We play Tucker tomorrow. My friend and I put up a sign in the hallway that said BEAT THOSE TIGERS SOFT BOYS. Mmm I love being immature sometimes. I am going to Longwood this weekend. I am very excited to see Cameron and her college and yay. I think I am going to end up a doctor in the peace corps, because deep inside, even though I don't exactly follow the hippie way of life, the soul is there. But that's why the hippie revolution never got off the ground in the first place. There are probably no more then 50 true and true hippies in this entire world. Pure selflessness, not caring about money, philosophy, and helping each other doesn't exist in this world. What a shame. Hunter if I hear from one more person that they heard I was bisexual, then I will jump on the Hunter and Bill hooked up bandwagon with a vengeance. Which is precisely why I am not a true hippie. Oh well. Katt, here is a quick response to the letter that got lost in the shuffle with my cat being lost and ect. One more Mike Doughty sigh. I think you will understand.

BICOASTAL Each city is its own dream life.
In each, the other the dream.
She is awake only on airplanes.
She hurdles weeks through the calendar in each city,
longing for the other.