back up

The Internet is down in our office today. I am not happy about this. I type in something called a word processor, which has an annoying habit of making my cute word manipulations look wrong. I know that sometime within the next five hours I will be able to copy this into my blog, but I can't seem to touch the connection. I have nothing but time.
I am feeling better today than I felt yesterday, of course I am still rather tired. The effects of this weekend seem to have diminished.
I was able to evaluate my guitar performances last night. Slut Buffet was disappointing, The curse was and encouragement, Guerilla is workable, Guaranteed Used is tolerable, Mondo Di Corpo is confusing but functional, and R.S.O. may be salvageable. It is rather sad about Slut Buffet, I thought for certain that it was going well, in the end it turned out to be a combination problem of the bridge pick up and microphone placement.
Last night we ate in the train car on sunset. I have finally made a solid correlation between long weekends of debauchery and the desire for very bad food the following week. The body is desperately trying to replenish itself.
Devin was over last night. He laid a bass track to High and Tight, and a Keyboard track to Mondo Di Corpo. He also recorded the keyboards for Lady Slipper. Moving along we are.
An odd bit of fortune came our way this weekend. Yvonne found for Devin, at thrift store for $7, a flute, this is wonderful because Devin's does not actually work, and Amy and I promised last June to fork over the $100 to have it fixed. The $7 flute appears to work, but until we record the flute track for Grady I keep my fingers crossed.
I am disconnected here today. If a man blogs in the forest and can not connect to upload it, does he even blog at all?
I feel as if I should do a bit of creative writing to pass the time, but I am tired. It is currently not possible for me to feel like I am ever not tired. I can remember that just last week I was blogging on much coffee, and that I felt energized, but today those memories are not real enough to be believed. It's this ever present exhaustion, the annoying reality of working a day job while trying to accomplish something else, better, in your spare time.
Tonight it would do me well to change the strings on my acoustic guitar. I could then possibly record guitar parts for Grady and maybe even an acoustic part for High and Tight. First of course the messy messy house would need cleaned, and then really the nasty nasty laundry should be completed, of course when all this is done I'll be too tired to change guitar strings and play. So this is the essential hell I've often found when balancing work and separate ambition. While I have actually come to trust and desire the freedom of being able to live from something not connected to my art, allowing me the purity of expression to not need to create because my stomach is empty, I have found that it is constantly repeated hell that I am at work for 8 hours a day, thinking most of the time about the music I would like to be creating, and getting deep into the ways in which I would like to be creating it, only to come home and have too much other life to deal with, or no energy, or that my mood has been mind fucked by a day of drudgery thus keeping me from the space where I could create anything.
This lack of internet can really lead to whining.
I was just thinking to myself that I should probably run the bass line on Guaranteed Used through a compressor. I really hope that I can make the recording of that particular song work, it has always been such a favorite of mine.
I'm really just typing to hear my fingers clatter at this point aren't I.
I have not written a poem in a very long time. I am beginning to find this disturbing, probably just because I have the time, which is actually even more disturbing. I think I shall maybe exercise those less than oft used muscles now.
Suggestion by disconnection,
insinuation regime,
pony hat with blinders,
bound to the team,
teaming with secrecy,
off on the fact,
in service of services,
recorded and tracked,
day dream builder, be-er
the maker believer,
assumption deceivers,
attracting to reachers,
slap hand happy faces the awful truth
buried in bunkers receding from use
one slip symptoms
day trip customs
instead unsung
reused freedom
Math mad creature,
inbred feature,
after thought thinker,
post use teacher,
hindsight glasses,
show off classes,
back pat patches,
bitch slap lapses,
chore boy dealer,
down nose seer,
user re sealer,
mythical separation station

And on to yet another one I suppose. Really, I need to get back in the habit of poems.

The more haggard merry headed back west, distracted by uses that all lead to less, tip toed scales weigh nothing but fractions, more appropriate uses make actual actions. The stigma is shiny and draws the group in, attracted by places the wasted have been, the path of the narrow, and the travel less road, a no brainer of course the discourse of the knows.
comfortable loops repeat in the foreground, patterns are matching to lackings yet not found, perversions accepted and covered in gloss, retrofit formers to cover the loss, stubborn endurance, blessing insurance, a method grown lesson in life.