Vessel Log: 2009 01 08

: The moon rises vague and gigantic over a barren tree hill. Took the long way to school; a walk over white Martian geology, used my body to heat my clothes. Took off my black gloves. Is quiet. Kinoko rice for lunch. Whittling a story from the shavings of another. The names that change. Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. At 8:00 PM Venus descends out of the nightsky. The day that arises when she will longer be there.

Vessel Log: 2009 01 07

: 7:03. 30 minutes behind schedule; skip breakfast; two sips of tea; no interpreting the news. That’s okay. Be back in a few hours. The cold office umpires me to sojourn to the locker room to stretch and examine my gray hairs. Bookslut.com. E. and I on the carpet, drinking tea. We talk horror movies, Erica, and Basshunter. This American Life and a dinner of tofu miso soup, carrots and bok choy. 

Damages

All you lucky kids with televisions attune to FX last tonight got to watch the season premiere of a show I thought would never come back. When Damages finished its first season in October of 2007 I was just coming off a stint of 2 weeks jury duty, walking into the jungles of my thesis, perhaps beginning Battlestar Galactica and beginning a long and arduous process applying for the program I’m currently participating in. Watching Glenn Close shoot and flip masks from sensible lawyer head of her own firm to crazed and manipulative warrior was a literal thrill. Sitting on Erica’s couch with a cup of tea (or a coffee from Hudson Bay), a bowl of cereal (or a burrito), and pressing play on the DVR player to watch Damages was a highlight I’d forgotten about. Until now. I hope you all enjoyed it. I will watch it as soon as I can.

Damages could’ve been on the 24 list. The series premiered on July 24, 2007, my birthday. 

San Francisco Chronicle TV writer, Tim Goodman on the first episode of Damages: Season 2. Here.

Vessel Log: 2009 01 06

: White, featherless birds leap from tension wires. In flocks they sail to the snow, tumbling from the air. Skiers on the mountain; watch as they swerve and fall. The snowfall is commercial genteel. It’s still cold in here. Kept cool by a metal desk. The principle made konoko rice, topped it with green seaweed and pickled pink ginger. Sunset. Dozed on two separate cold floors. MossBurger is a study hall. The Cuba Film Festival meeting at Habana. Snow drifts and disappears on heated sidewalks. Afia and Charlie at the train station. We made friends with a 79 year old lady on the Super Kamui. She gave us cough drops. I thought she knew I was American by how loud I was talking. She was coming from a New Years party. I think she has healing powers. The keyboard is cold.

Vessel Log: 2009 01 05

: Russian sun, Siberian snow. Soft on the nose and fingertips. Cars sizzle and slide on the ice. Pixies and Portishead. The White Tiger moans, curls into a ball, purs on a snowman blanket. As if it were a crinkled calendar page. The fifth or the sixth? Breakfast might be too much, the coffee is running low. Some things never change: a trip to the grocery store is shuffled from afternoon to evening. Salmon in the pan. The rice steams like screaming heard from far away.

Vessel Log: 2009 01 04

: the comfortable electric heat of the room. Slats up, against the window; the appearance of a prison but it’s for your own protection. Another day of reinstallation, the music pops into being trailing with it fumes. It’s snowing. No, it’s not. Already finished reading that book. Typed conversations with Mom. March is coming very soon. Remember when I said text messages were 面倒臭い? I want to rephrase that. Yes, it is. Broken arrow cold. Last week’s laundry made it to the bureau. (What’s the story) morning glory? A Neko Case moment in my bedroom, air guitar trailing and, wouldn’t you know, tears still well for the tiger on its chain.

Twenty-Four #008

At Thriller Karaoke our room was number 24, pointed out by a friend of mine. It's a fuzzy picture. I was trying to be quick and inconspicuous. But I was neither.