Monday, September 08, 2003

Hi Fluffy Toy:

So can somebody explain what it means to have a private blog? Can't everybody still read it?

This morning was one of those mornings when you wake up feeling so uncool and lonely and weird, you just go, OK, we're gonna totally pretend this isn't happening.

It's really good sometimes to just completely deny how you feel, just steamroll right over it with some steamroller goodness. So I totally Frenched with Sloopy, and made some toast and coffee and turned on Heart's "Little Queen" loud. Heart in the morning is a sweet tonic to my soul.

Every ten months or so.

Seems like the people around me are all dealing with really heavy shit, and it makes me so sad to feel so sad all around. You gotta let that shit out, somehow: rock out with your guitar, write a bad song, go running, do it, or all of the above. Sometimes just keeping up with the overflow runoff of your emotions is all you can really do. I guess you can bottle it up, too. They say that the people who know how to bottle it up are much more productive and stable. I just read about a study on this stuff. But I think those people usually have heavy-duty breakdowns or crises later in life, or they get sick.

Everyone pretends the Sixties were so happy and wild and fun and free. That's bullshit. The Sixties were miserable and hard and that's why so much great art came out of them. You got to remember that sometimes things have got to be hard.

I mean, I have to remember. You don't have to do shit.

Well, you might want to look at this, if you like "Smells Like Teen Spirit."

I like Flea and I read his diary entries every so often on the Chili Peppers' website. I liked what he said recently about playing trumpet. He practices a lot. He just really likes to do it. And he said, I'll never have great technique. I can only be as beautiful as I can be. But it is my every intention to keep practicing and get somewhere.

The guy is 40 and he's still trying to get somewhere. I think that's neat. That's how he got somewhere in the first place. By really trying. And not going, oh, I'm forty, I'm too old. Or, Oh, I'm poor and 19 and nobody and I had a fucked up childhood. Or, Oh, I'm short and funny looking and have crooked teeth. Or whatever. He just does what he's driven to do, and works at it faithfully. I saw the movie Blue Crush and told him that after I saw it, I thought, wow, if I was a 14-year-old girl that movie would really make me wanna be a surfer. He said, "I'm a 40-year-old man and that movie made me wanna be a surfer!" (Which he is.) See? he doesn't go, I would, if only I were younger-different-better. He just goes, I want. I will do.

I get inspired by people like that and I follow their lead. People who really work hard. I just started reading the new Harry Potter book, and I was so impressed by her creativity, right off the bat, it inspired me to write something really goofy and fun yesterday, in the middle of a gloomy-ass shitty Sunday. You know, those books don't drop from the sky, perfect and complete. Somebody who goes to the bathroom and wakes up with morning breath and bedhead decided to take time every day to fucking pound that shit out. That act, as much as the art itself, is where it's at, baby.

Somebody next door is going through an "Aretha Franklin and the Southern California Community Choir" phase. I think that's all right.



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