Blunted trauma
God, this place saps desire like some magic desire sapping machine. This place being Chinook Lane, Chattaroy towneshippe. I'd love to report that I've been fantastically productive since coming back from Boston.
In focusing on doing that thing along the way I forgot the writing samples I was supposed to bring--forgot about the first un-self-indulgent thing I would have done since what--two weeks ago I guess. The GREs, whenever that was. What is it about this provincial life that wipes my brain clean and makes me a mumbling dullard? This place makes me a moron, but it's so tranquil I can't bring myself to leave.
I think it's the dialup. And the sirens.
Right now I'm listening to Eliot Smith's post-suicide album for the first time since I bought it a week before it came out [connections]. That's a long time ago. Since moving back to Spokane, my interest in things that normally interest me has dwindled. Music, all that. In it's place I've put nothing. Nothing new.
And now I'm listening to this sad, dead man and I feel nothing. This bucolic condition, it dulls you around the edges. I never had much edge to begin with, but now you could safely give me to a class of kindergarteners and let them run with me.
I've believed it for a while but now I have proof: Thoreau was an idiot.
Since I'm not doing anything, I should be doing something. But what--maybe I'll write something. Like this, only better.
These men are cowards Donny.
posted by Luke @ 1:37 AM
3 comments
3 Comments:
Ahhh, bucolic torpidity ... Good times ... Good times.
Sincerely,
40-something you.
Hmm..."Blunted" trauma and a picture from The Big Lebowski. Yet no marijuana at all, you teetotaler. Well, that's what i was doing all weekend, the connection to your blog being that you'd probably have a little more fun if all your friends weren't flakey. Though it occurs to me now, after the weekend, that the entire concept of "weekend" is irrelevant to we without jobs. And Zach and Keynan work weird hours anyway.
Ah, you should be jealous of my musical "interests." i barely have any; nothing to dwindle down from. i never need anything new...i've been listening to a Tom Petty anthology for two weeks with no complaints.
-ben
Yeah, that's unfortunate, I didn't intend the pot reference. It seemed like a nice way to sum up malaise, but it ended up just conveying all these other satelite meanings, especially with the Lebowski reference.
That's annoying.
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