 11 february 2000 inescapable funk mo betta blues say i've got ya covered my man stay low, wait it out Rain. Like static in my head, yet surrounding me. It seems my whole being is rattling with the impact of falling water. It hardly ever rains here, and that very fact makes the experience all the more intense. Tonight, here, alone in the apartment, the storm feels like my cocoon, and not one from which I could hope to escape when the sun decides to shine again... Two hours ago I stood outside at the furthest reaches of Malibu, on the balcony of a friend's apartment. I was staring through the rain to the horizon. The waves slapping the sand, and receding, looked intimidated by the gravity of the downpour. In the distance, two lone lights from a boat. Probably a freighter, but it seemed smaller. I couldn't help but wonder if it was the salvage team from Alaska Airlines Flight 261. I was only a mile south of Point Mugu. Looking out to sea, looking out to see ... the ocean became a giant tomb, encased in water, receiving additional yet unneeded fortification from the heavens. And the solitary boat, looking for what? Pieces of an airplane? Pieces of people? Pieces of me ... I don't know why I feel like I'm falling apart. This isn't lonely. Lonely is much more tangible than this, not better, not worse, just more tangible. I am not me, or that's how I feel, if that makes any sense. I've been doing too much thinking lately, asking anyone and anything for the answers to my life. Who am I? Why am I here? What was I really meant to be? Why don't the people that matter most return my calls? Why do you drive on a parkway and park on a driveway? I need to sleep, to close my conscious to this for a while ... thinking makes it worse, so bad I can't even write about it with any degree of lucidity. No, this certainly isn't lonely. I fear it's flat out alone. ~~~ one year ago: too lazy to write.
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