Twas a long, but productive day. In the morning, I went into Boston to pick up some certified copies and on the way back a skeletal, bearded old git sat next to me on the T. He stank so bad, I had to tilt my head away from him or I probably would have thrown up in my mouth. Judging by the odor, my guess was that he'd been eating a lot of Italian subs, curry dishes, and moth balls. He kept jawing at me in a loud voice, but I had no idea what he was saying because I was listening to Fairport Convention on my iPod. I may have had to put up with his stench, but I wasn't going to cater to his nonsensical ramblings. You may be asking yourself how could I tell his ramblings were nonsensical if I couldn't make out what he was saying. Trust me, they were. You should have seen the looks on the people sitting opposite us; their eyes told a story I was glad to be tuning out.
My DVD of Guy Maddin's Careful arrived in the mail yesterday. I watched some of it last night and will probably start the whole thing over tonight. It's the first film I ever saw of his and it's what hooked me. The visuals are incredible, almost overwhelming at times. The film recalls feverish dreams I had as a child when I took ill, which was often. Those dreams are fondly recalled; they were born from sickness, but they were for the most part friendly sojourns to surreal locales. Werner Herzog says we're starving for new images; Guy Maddin filled my plate with this film.
I'm beat, so I'll finish this up and get things I need to get done before sleep overtakes me. I'll meditate, read from The Trial or A Visit From The Goon Squad, maybe write some music. Or I'll go clubbing and get my dance on.
It's been decided: I will sit down and chant. After that, who knows.
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