Chan Marshall...

I am in love with. Been in love ever since I first heard her song. I was trying to explain this to the girl who was taking me to The Greek to see her tonight. Hadn't been to the Greek all summer - best venue I've ever known, just exquisite. Anyway, when she first waltzed out onto that stage and started that raspy soul sucking shit, I felt like I was falling into the floor. I wanted to meet her, tell her she wooed me, that she should be honored and that so few actually do. I felt like I was saying all of this out loud to my company - possibly foreshadowing lightly of what was to come between the two of us in real life. See, I had been seeing this girl long enough - or better...had enough of a connection and enough respect for her to know we had to talk. We were moving in separate directions and I could feel it. She was absolutely moving into the direction she should have been moving - towards me - and I was...well, standing still. I just wrote an e-mail saying something like, I've only gone on 4+ dates with 2 girls in the 5 years I've been in Los Angeles and loved both of them...before deleting it, as if it was supposed to be some form of consolation for my ending the night with words that led her into slamming my door and starting intentions of not behaving normally around me for the next 3 weeks. I was lucky to be with her. Absolutely and still...this is just how I behave.

I couldn't fuck her, just couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't kiss her anymore. I couldn't do anything that wasn't absolute truth - even if she wanted me to and was asking nothing of me but to be present...or so she said...or so we all say. Today, I wrote my manager and asked him why the fuck he hasn't sold my rapture yet. He said something like Labor Day and then asked me why I haven't written my next outline. Over the next 3 days, on a sweet binge and out of spite and as a loving fuck you, I'm going to write my entire next script and drop it in his god damn face. Tomorrow, after a good 5 weeks off from running, I'm meeting Billy Mac to go for a run, to breathe in the shit and soot of these forest fires and start my obsession again with getting my 26.2 under 3:11. Fuck the booze I've been drinking and the weakness I've been consuming. This thing has to be done, both of them and everything and I was trying to explain to her that this was all on my mind and invading and that the invasion is unstoppable and she said something like that's just an excuse...that's all an excuse. Then she tried to lump my behavior into everyone else's, knowing how much it would piss me off to conjure such make believe - to group me into the fucking masses when we all know better.

It's not me, it's you. All I want is to speak and can't...

There is no one for me to play with.

City of Delusion...

I was driving home to change when my car broke down at the corner of Holloway and La Cienega. Time was tight, had an hour to get across town for a show. The tow came, took my girl away. I ran home, changed, hopped a friend’s car and rode Fountain to Vermont to the Greek. On this night, thank the Angel of Hustle I was flying solo.

I parked at the bottom of the hill and began a half-mile jog uphill. Soaked and short on breath, I found my seat 30 seconds into “Take a Bow.” Muse had taken stage.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a show of any kind stone sober. To this one, I had no choice. There was no time to sip contradiction as I trekked the hill. Green Tea Vitamin Water and Ciroc was still sitting in my fridge.

The show was tragic. I would have stayed all night. And if I had the time and wasn’t saving raisins for Europe, I’d drive to San Diego or Phoenix for a second taste. Walking down that hill after the show was over, I worried about never seeing a set as good…or a band as remarkable.

That was the story of the night…

…

Transition is an amazing thing. And with it, the fear of change. I think I’m going to give up my apartment when I leave Los Angeles. After all, how can you ever learn to fly with one foot tied to the ground? It means clearing house in the middle of August and trying to rustle scratch for stuff I’ll likely end up leaving on the curb.

My entire life, I’ve had a difficult time giving roots much of a chance to grow. For two years, this has been a temporary apartment. Couches, crates, cabinets…a six foot Love Sac that will certainly fetch a bill due to its appearance as a sexual Godsend when actually, it’s impossible. Everything inside this place floats.

How appropriate that the apartment’s tenant follows suit.

…

It’s a calm night here. Sigur Ros plays the soundtrack to a setting Los Angeles sun out the window, to a rattling fan over my shoulder. It’s purple outside and most nights, these are the moments I wish could last forever. And in the future, no matter what happens to this soul, whether it’s so full I’ll fear rupture…or whether it’s empty and content, that’s something that will never change. A dream to hold the world in a moment where everything is right or wrong.

…

Summer is slowly ticking, and with it, my first stint in Los Angeles is coming to an end. But too often lately, I find myself playing with variables. Call Summer X and Los Angeles Y.

Now, add urgency and the weight of self-imposed expectations that words would fail capture. Then, re-value your variables. X= My allotted time. Y= life. Last, say it four times out loud.

No. Say it like you mean it. Half of half as much as I do…

Maybe, just maybe you’ll partially understand. It’s scary…when all you want to do with a life is speak.