Fin du Monde

ok psychosis is back, but i don't care about this blog anymore to make it seem more valid thus the psychotic disregard for interesting ness or format but perhaps it will stand as an amusing archive for myself or others in future lonely rainy days, you know. something like that.

funny psychosis moments:

last night, my mom suggested i put some beer in the freezer. it was some nice unibroue stuff with corks, so we re-corked it with an already used wine cork. great. on its side in the ice box, foam started oozing through the corkscrew holes, so i had to stand it upright, and also take out the ice cubes that had beer foam frozen to them.

there was some beer foam in the bottom of the ice tray, so i dabbed at it with a damp cloth, but every ice cube nearby stuck to the cloth, and i thought it was pretty goddamn hilarious. i put it in the sink, but that wasn't enough for dear mother. she had to get the ice off of it.

so, she tried to shake them off. they were frozen to the cloth pretty good though, so i suggested she merely run water over them.

she did this, and I don't even know, you might have to try this yourself to see if you find it funny at all. could be a good psychosis meter. the way the cubes individually plopped from the towel into the sink was quite hilarious. probably more hilarious than the macaroni incident of the past summer. (*too bad i don't have an intern to link to that for me. i'm too lazy.)

probably more hilarious than the vintage psychosis of sixth grade plasticine boredom in which the sound of a perfectly round ball of plasticine hitting a hollow desk is the best thing ever. (RIP elementary school. RIP sara king living in canada.)

i wish wes anderson would make a music video goddamn...

and also, the standard poodle in the family still makes cow sounds. Korova.

FIN

leaving new york

so how about the psychotic guy from upstairs named Johnny (Gianni?)  pounding on my door threatening to "fucking break my legs" if I make noise again?  

pretty psychotic.

On the subway platform, there was a rotary telephone ringing, nonstop.  Empty office, subway platform.  For two bucks a night I guess those wooden benches are support enough for sleeping.  The curves and tiles of 34th are maddening.  Perpetual glow.

I think this blog is probably... oh, on its last legs.  I am probably still psychotic.  But I don't know if this is the venue for it anymore.  

Thanks, summer midnights, for rendering everything funny.

Thanks, Ketel One trucks for solidifying my theoretical loyalty to your vodka.  If I were to drink vodka, I would drink yours.  Maybe.  

Thanks, New York City, for catering perfectly to psychotic tendencies.  Good-bye.

I think I have concluded that the state of my psychosis relates directly to how far back in my memory I am dwelling.  To spend time thinking further about the past is to distance oneself from the present, and the more that happens, the weirder things get.  The other end of the spectrum is psychotic, too; to only have in one's head that which is directly in front... 

I like to think about what occupies my mind when I'm thinking or saying other things.   

Many of the same images over and over again, running continuously I suppose.  

dear december,

I guess I feel removed enough from the psychosis to recognize it in others, these days.

- bird cries in van sant films

In a sedate sort of way, 

i'm sure the psychosis is just sort of sleeping.(subversive.)

  

Eating chili, deliriously happy, at four in the morning is a good psychotic start, though.

Watching puppy Henry bounce on my air mattress is good material, too.

Answering McSorley's payphone to talk to rude men in Wisconsin was rather hilarious, too;

as was trying to use the ATM in the hat shop but getting co-erced, after midnight, into trying on many hats, and then feeling guilty about really just coming to use the ATM, and so leaving, to suggest that really, trying on hats was all I wandered in to do.

Being inarticulate...

(indications of the mess)

days getting shorter/darker, sort of like the fading of my ability to speak properly on a daily basis.  lag time... ha.  like my laptop, too.  not enough RAM.  

The post office isn't open and today was the only day I wanted to go.  I realized I've never been in an actual post office in Canada.  Only pharmacies.  This confession surprised Allison.

this gets stuck in my head sometimes, despite me only listening to it while i was seventeen.

the angelic harmonies, only.

"

... patron on ice

we can pop bottles all night 

baby you can have whatever you like

you can have whatever you like ... 

"

the stucco strip malls lent the illusion of being always lost

but, 

the radio towers

some deteriorating film

corrugated metal and the rain on it

warm tones resonating somewhere in my bloated torso

all orient

but still stuck on november

...

psychosis, 

right now?