mood: averagemusic: 'shadow of a doubt' by sonic youth

memorial day. it was but wasn't memorable. the whole day i didn't do a damned thing. a bunch of driving around to old spots wasn't enough to cure the terrible ennui biting at my soul, and so i went home at 11 with a heavy heart and a head full of self-deprecations.

earlier, though, i went to the westchester plaza to return 'the virgin suicides' to blockbuster. it wasn't that good. (sofia coppola's work is quite the acquired taste, but she tries.) there was a book sale in the parking lot that day, so i browsed for a few minutes. out of nowhere an man named jason starts up conversation with the line, 'hello. jesus loves you, did you know that?' it was in a really patronizing way, too. i let him ramble on and on about bible-this and heaven-that, but i wasn't in the mood to argue. i told him i didn't implicitly believe in jesus, and he kept telling me i was going to hell without actually telling me i was going to hell.

it was like, 'if you don't accept jesus into your heart, you won't get into heaven. and there are only two places to go at that point, heaven...(pause)...or hell. (pause) but i'm not saying you're going to hell or anything.'

the kicker happened once he left. i watched him walk away, then i looked back down at the rows of used book. there, wedged inbetween books twice it's size was nietzsche's 'thus spoke zarathustra' with a satin red cover, white letters, yellowed old pages, and a disturbingly evil-looking visage of nietzsche himself on the front. i opened the front cover, and someone had taken notes in bulletpoints, the first of which read 'god is dead'. i bought it right away. i've never been one to ignore ironic value.

later that night i ventured to unurban, which i hadn't been to in weeks. i walked inside and bought coffee with whatever quarters were in my center console. (since quitting my job, i'm doing my best to spend less.) walking towards the back i was listening to the dj spinning remixes inbetween jams, since it was still 'green: spoken word' night after all. i spotted amber tamblyn, whose name i had to look up because i don't watch 'joan of arcadia'. i only saw her for a second, but i could tell she was surrounded by sycophants and i got an unjustified 'bitch' vibe from her. i have no idea why i was so cruel at the time.

once i was outside listening, since there was no room inside, a homeless man sat a few feet away on the other tree stump stool and asked me for some change. i gave him what i had in my pocket, which was a quarter. (cutting back, remember?) i never learned his name, but from the short and damn near unintelligible phrases i drew from him, he was the first person to play the 3rd street promenade with his recorder, which was in his pocket. he proceeded to play a short piece. (only in l.a....) i finished my coffee and we said goodbye, or as he liked to say, 'G'BLARR'.

---Goei---