the unknown

you don't know me; in fact, it's a pretty safe bet that even if you had met me, you wouldn't have any recollection of it. i'm the new guy, the stranger; invisble man. i walk through a crowd and people are only vaguely aware of shape, maybe, an outline, a shimmer, a glint out of the corner of an inattentive eye. but never a focused image. its almost like my person is made of something inherently blurry, vaseline on camera lens. or perhaps more accurately- inherently shadowed. eyes can never quite settle in one place long enough to get a fix, take a reading, but rather swim around uselessly. and this is no pity party- rather a fact, an apparent fundamental truth of my existence, proven countless times, in endless maddening repetition, more constant than the tides. and it's not like i asked for this obscence special un-power, this (until recently) pointless and debasing non-ability of interaction. it's simply how the chemistry and physics of me work out, the most natural thing in the world, in some ways. in fact, i despised this lonely circumstance, this solitude until a realization came upon me, that everything has its opposite, its counterpart that is exactly different, yet inextricably linked through a shared pairing in the universe. if there can be such a thing as celebrity, a person of features so familiar that they appear instantly known and knowable, then there must exist the other, the unknowable, unrecognizable, the un. in fact, it cannot be any other way.

the formal absence of precious things

visual inspiration struck during the frantic drive to practice, late, in the form of a strange, ultramarine blue; boiling and angry. me and the sky, that is. i was driving practically suicidally, angry and having an out of body experience. the thought continually grinding in my head that conversations were had about me the night before, and i wasn't invited. or told what they were about, only that it happened. i'm not proud that that enrages me to stratospheric levels of unhappiness. i probably deserve what i'm getting anyway.

and practice is a chore; the songs i don't like and my jazz is still unavailable to me; in the firm grasp of another. but now i'm whining. it could always be worse... and i promise i'll never leave you behind again, baby. after practice, a hesitant voyage to pick up the author of a children's book and some-time skinny dipping intraveinous intervene-ist. go directly to hub, in order to well-wish a newly minted argintinian. and oh look, now the visual inspiration capturing device is nowhere to be found. fuck. gone. then, of all the outcomes available in a universe of infinte possibilities, we find the newest replacement, one foci of my new ellipse of unhappiness, seated at a table of people i'm thinly acquanted with. all of which, through bad memories. circles turnig inside of circles to bring our paths continually across one another... i won't be saying hello. there is a notable absence, however. my mind betrays me and wonders why she's not here. i guess you take what you can. at this point, aforementioned book author proceeds to ask me if i know this really cool girl he met the night before (while out with one of the original talkers previously mentioned at the beginning,) this girl who chatted and drew him an awesome picture on a coaster. she was really talented, and smart, and cute. i think her name was...? i told him that i, in fact, did know her; but only in the sense that she had just dumped me. hmm, when are you leaving, again, exactly? and that ties it all together, folks, for the crappiest evening of the week so far.