“I’m not gonna teach him how to dance, dance, dance”

Last night, I compiled my fourth playlist since I started up again. The soundtrack to a fake romantic comedy about a girl who works as a barista. Inspired by nothing and everything. I made two copies. One for Angela (I promised her one way before it ever came to fruition), and one for me. A good amount of time spent on thinking about it, I realized that it’s something I may attempt later in the future. I just need to carve out the story a little more, and pepper it with romantic comedy clichés—”[T]his song sorta gives it the kissing in the rain feel. Which, as we all know, is romantic (but not in real life as rain water is really dirty due to all the pollution in the air).” For those of you reading this and wanting to recreate my playlist (I’d totally share it with you if I had the ability and disposable income), I’ll add the track list at the bottom of this post.

Angela's copy
Angela’s copy

For the cover and CD art, I used a collage by Ashton Cutright entitled “Summer Reprise,” which you can buy at Etsy. Ashton and Miranda’s CDs were the first to feature art on the cover and CD label. It’s something I’m probably going to add from now one because, as I’ve stated before, I love making these CDs and creating arte for them adds to the fun. Like scribbling doodles on the cassette tape sleeve.

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Serving Him: Sexy Stories of Submission
Serving Him: Sexy Stories of Submission

So the above happened today. Upon receiving my copy of Serving Him edited by the sultry Rachel Kramer Bussel, I noticed the packaged open. No explanation. No attempt to tape up the violation of my package. It’s been some time since I received an erotic book to review in the mail. About a year, actually. Copies have been sent to me via e-mail for Kindle or Nook readers (I have a Samsung Galaxy Tab 3, and I use the Nook app due to Amazon’s tight ass restrictions on their Kindle app). It’s sad that Ms. Bussel may take the same route because the USPS decided to open and lose several packages because they suspect that their media mail service is being abused.

I started the book, checking off Lori Selke’s “What You Deserve.” I won’t review the story here (not yet).

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My coworker told me his creative well has run dry. It’s something I’m familiar with. However, there’s never been a time that I couldn’t write. It’s just what I write isn’t worth reading or worth the time spent writing it. Words, good or bad, never failed me. I can’t begin to imagine what he’s going through.

I force myself to write something every day. Good or bad, just keep writing and things will get better. I read as much as I write and I’m reading less these days. I need to change that. Need to switch off the TV and the computer once in a while and just start writing.

  1. I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You – Black Kids
  2. Teenage Angst – Placebo
  3. My Body’s A Zombie For You – Dead Man’s Bones
  4. Ah Uh Mi Hed – Shuggie Otis
  5. All I Want – Kodaline
  6. Memory – Sugarcult
  7. I Love Rock And Roll – Zombina & The Skeletones
  8. Recycled Air – The Postal Service
  9. Make Me Fall – Nina Nesbitt
  10. Sideways – Citizen Cope
  11. Breathe – Sia
  12. True Love Waits (Live in Oslo) – Radiohead
  13. Geek Love – Nerina Pallot
  14. Teenage Angst (Piano Version) – Placebo
  15. Swimming Pool – Freezepop
  16. I Melt With You – Modern English

Doldrums · Music

“Let’s consider change of scenery…”

Exhibit A: Books, when placed side by side, that best describe my current state
Exhibit A: Books, when placed side by side, that best describe my current state

I’m standing (not now, of course, but the present tense seems most appropriate) in front of the alcohol. The booze section of the local grocery store. All sorts of beer behind and semi-fancy wine in front of me. My attempt at exuding an air of mercurial personality is failing. Deep down, I’m still me and am befuddled by alcohol. I can imagine myself picking up a bottle of MD 20/20 and popping the cap and drinking it there in the aisle, but what would that prove? The only warmth the alcohol could bring is that of confirmation: I’m seeing myself more and more as a failure, and thus I have accepted my status in life.

I attempted to fill this chasm in my heart with greed. I attempted to fill it with affection. I attempted to fill it up with whatever I can get a hold of. And all I can think of is her. And not the her I should be thinking of. Not the her whose indifference toward me of late has left me bruised and beaten. Not the her who would have me a whim. The her that I… My existence is just a that. I exist to her as foreground. Or background. Or a footnote. And while my dreams are still of her–the her I should be thinking of, the one who comes to me like a friend and lures me with affection only to drop me, knowing I’ll come running back for more–my waking thoughts of are this other her. This anonymous. This vagrant sleeping on the park bench of my mind. The her who causes me to pour out awkward metaphors and similes.

Exhibit B: Coffee stain was added specifically for Angela so she's the only one who gets a copy
Exhibit B: Coffee stain was added specifically for Angela so she’s the only one who gets a copy

Last night, I compiled my first “mixed tape” CD in years. Angela’s to blame for that one, by the way. I forgot how much work goes into making one of these suckers. “Peripetia” (an accidental misspelling of Peripeteia, but after the third printing of the playlist, I gave up and left it) took me five or six hours of listening to music nonstop finding the right songs that fit in with both feeling and flowed into each other. And because I stamped the track list with a coffee stain (obviously, not a real one), the only person who gets a copy of this one was Angela (other than me, I mean, it was my hard work). I spent all day at work listening to this while shelving. I’m listening to it now as I’m typing this (playlist, not the CD, because homie, sadly, owns an iPod).

Whenever I made one of these CDs in the past–whenever I was serious, and not just making something to play while fucking on a half pipe–a story must be conveyed. With a title like “Peripetia” (in which peripeteia means the “sudden change,” the plot twist),I wanted to make the soundtrack to a fictional falling-out-of-and-back-in love story. And not necessarily with the same person. Of course not. what sort of twisted love story is that? Addiction was needed, because how else can love be described. The CD starts off with Blood Red Shoes‘ “It’s Getting Boring by the Sea” and ends with “As You Are” by Garfunkel and Oates. So faster, slightly upbeat songs and flowing into slower, sentimental lyrics.

Not all the songs I wanted made it, though. They either didn’t flow with music, or they didn’t fit lyrically. Music by Tim Minchin (too funny, or too Christmas-y), Dirt Bike Annie (none of the songs fit), and Innerpartysystem (too dance-y) didn’t make it. Perhaps a sequel is in the works?