The Point?

The plot to a horror movie bugs you, sets you in motion to want to watch a movie that will take away the bad unpleasant destructive vibes, or read a mystery book or something. Perhaps you’ll write a story. You don’t know how, though. Perhaps you’ll talk about your day, journal, etc. You really didn’t do anything. You get up too late. You are in a haze. You have plans to organize yourself, prepare for school, get in the right mindset. Mostly you sleep late, much too long, then you try to get vital, then you try to wind down.

Perhaps you’ll blog. You’ll publish this on the internet. Perhaps not. Maybe just get some more white wine.

You play music with some friends today. About two hours. You want to play drums but you play guitar – one of the guys only plays drums. The first song you play is wonderful, alive. Most everything after is stillborn. Kelly walks you out and talks to you briefly about this girl he was attempting to share his feelings with. You are drained. You find that you are never growth-centered with him You are very hungry afterwards. You eat then take a bath. You go on the internet for a few hours, aimless, enveloped. You watch Parenthood at 10. Unfortunately Trish comes out and watches it with you. Garrett is outside with a friend; she waits for him. You dislike watching things with her, she comments too much, sticks your relationship on the screen. You lose touch with your feelings and the narratives feelings. You’re not silent enough in such a situation.

What’s the point of a thing like this? Writing something like this, that is. You have some ideas. You like the idea of caring for yourself in the Foucaultvian way by recalling the day. You also find that there is a stillness and an inspiriting energy culled after from such work. Perhaps with this in mind it may be to the point.