I'm Still Here - Purgatory

I've lacked any kind of inspiration for throwing thoughts away, out into the void. One think - one think-thing I realize - I always liked the idea of blogging to no one. Doing it for my own reason, to write as if in a journal, ephemera of thoughts, less than particles, a few stray ions out there for maybe my future, uploaded-to-the-singularity self to read back on later. Social media seems too low-effort - I don't really like posting my thoughts there for fear of getting into an online interaction. Internet cowardice. What do I like? Purgatory. Reading - very slowly reading - the John Lurie book I got for Christmas last year, "the HIstory of Bones." He is quite a human, a genius at existence, a chaos storm in the form of a man. Right now, I'm still early in the autobiography - his teenage and early-adulthood years. He's searching for meaning, searching for a better saxaphone tone, searching for God in himself, doing yoga, having random hippy experiences, sexually transmitted diseases, riding a bicycle inthe frigid cold winter of Ne wEngland 1971, almost dying and calling a friend to pick him up, suddenly moving to Wales to be near his mother and then staying in a cold little cement beach house while hallucinating. The entire thing reads like a fever dream poem and I love it. I woke up at midnight and read a chapter since i was too caffeinated to sleep and it was pouring rain outside. And I let the cat in - he was very grateful. Also - I hate booking shows for my band, I hate doing pricing for my work accounts and I hate that the house is a disaster mess. I love this tea I'm drinking and also Patti Smith. Later I will try to make some kind of music I can actually stand - pushing through the spiritual muck, into a new vestibule.