Friday, April 30, 2004
Soundtrack: Dianogah, Casual Dots, Joe Strummer, 12 Hour Turn, Joy Division

Is anyone still reading this? That's an interesting question (interesting to who? ...I guess me the keeper of this here site). I hardly update it, I find myself too busy doing too many other tasks. Things that at one time used to be fun, but now have become jobs. Menial repetitive jobs.

Weblogs are strange anyway, a few months ago I came to the conclusion that they encourage people to be stalkers. ...But at the same time, people well knowingly post shit up for the entire galaxy to see and read - just like I'm doing now. I read weblogs everyday of people (that I've never met) from all over the world, in places like Milan, San Francisco, Chicago, Portland, London, and Stockholm . Why? Mostly cuz it passes the time at work. I guess I'm saying the fact that people have these weblogs and I read them makes me feel like a stalker. I know about these people and what they do with their lives. I pass through them like flipping the channels of reality TV soap operas. I read along and think to myself: "Oh I see Billy is taking a trip to France, oh and Maggie is having trouble with her boyfrind again." Then I come to a point and say "why am I reading this fucking crap? ...stop." And then I realize that I'm bored to tears and strapped to this office chair for another 6 hours, so what the hell else is their to do. Biding my time, that's all. I am paid to remain in a building for 8 hours a day.

Ah but, who cares.

Anyway, tonight I felt like updating this thing. I felt like doing something that was entirely self-centered. Pouring out my energy onto this cyber paper (so to speak). I am typing at this moment for my own sake, if you happen to get some sort of enjoyment out of it that's good too. I actually realize that that is the true reason why some people keep weblogs. It's a process of unloading the dead weight burdoning their souls. One unloads their energy onto a page converting it into words, others read the words and as they read those words are once again converted back into energy. The readers absord the energy of what you the writer has just unloaded. Energy is neither created nor destroyed.

It's friday night, and I'm feeling antisocial. The store seemed like a logical safe haven. I closed the curtains, turned the lights down, wached the cockroaches scurry across the counter, and fired up the computer. Sometimes this store and I are like the two negative sides of a magnet repulsing each other. We want nothing to do with each other, but tonight, in this city of San Francisco, I don't think there's anywhere else I'd rather be. Outside the fornt door, there are social obligations calling me (as there are in any big city, where you know too many people): Stefans birthday, visiting out of town friends, and punk rock shows up the street.The bar across the street and it's loud partying patrons, reinforce why I'm hiding out in here. I can see people's silhouettes in the front window pointing at the merchandise, some saying: "oh that is so cool" and others pipe out: "I don't know how a place like this stays in business." I'm a fly on the wall, that sits beyond the window's tranlucent curtains, in front of the big glowing monitor.

On other notes, today, I overheard someone say something that really resonated with me. The person said:

"Heidi is thinking of changing direction in her life."

I thought that sounded great. It's nice to be reminded every so often that you can, in fact, move on to pursue other things in life. Your not stuck anywhere.

That's it for now, I'm out of tea. On second thought, I think I'll ride my bike down to Stephan's birthday party and have a beer.

Take care,
Andrew

PS-
SOBSTORY#6 came out last week.
If you want one send me a buck:
PO Box 170247, SF CA. 94117.

Thursday, November 6, 2003
Soundtrack: Juno