Five or six years ago, I was at a pizzeria with my father and little brother, Dan. A large group had arrived shortly before us, so the service was crap. We were hungry and waiting. Dan, who must have been seven or eight at the time, was not dealing well with his impatience. He was starting to give a sort of show, advertising his unhappiness. He sounded mournful sighs and squirmed around in his chair. My father was doing his best to placate him until our food arrived, but we hadn’t even been given breadsticks to calm our hunger. Dan was loud. People were staring. The big party that arrived before us was being served.
So, Dan has trouble communicating. And he can’t deal with not getting his own way. And when I say he can’t communicate, I really mean he can’t speak in more than fragments. And when I say that he can’t deal with not getting his own way, I really mean that he is essentially incapable of empathy. Dan is autistic.
1. Here is the entire album compiled on a Grooveshark playlist.
2. Listen along.
3. This could aid some people in visualization. Or something.
This isn’t a review. There are already lots of great reviews of Kid A. There’s nothing much of value I can add to the conversation; the album is a Laocoön. This piece is instead a meditation, or a meditative story, on an experience of the album.
A few nights ago I was restless, as lonely people are restless. I’m not being dramatic. All my roommates had left, and I was looking at a solitary week. Also, I had avoided going to the gym that day out of mere laziness. I felt guilty and unable to concentrate. I sat around watching TV, not motivated to do much. I was in a Funk. It’s a mood I recognize.
So I’ve moved on over to WordPress. It was best to do it before I became too committed to Tumblr. WordPress has a feel and ethos that I find much friendlier to the kind of blog I’d like to run: one that focuses primarily on writing, and less so on visual art. I’m still experimenting, and figuring out what I want to do in this space.
Am I creating a character and inhabiting him? Am I being as genuine as I possibly can? Recognizing the fact that trying to write genuinely, or naturally, is about as difficult as trying to figure out what you’re supposed to do with your arms at a party, I’ll probably exist somewhere between those two states.
I’ll try to be as close and honest with you, the reader, as I would be with a reasonably close acquaintance in polite company after a few beers. There are secrets I will keep, and some topics which will not be breached, but I am willing and excited to have in-depth discussions. I will tend to assume, anyways, that any readers are my actual friends and family. That simplifies things a lot.
On movement, or motion: I mentioned previously that I was focussing on friends as objects of admiration. I specifically mentioned their “motion”. That phrase was a bit of a weasel word; I said something vague and poetic, and left it to the reader to decipher. The meaning may have been fairly clear given the context, but I feel like I may have used it simply because I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to say.
Yesterday was my twenty-first birthday. As per tradition, lotsa people wished me well on facebook, and others called or texted me. I appreciate every kind word. So as long as I have this extra birthday attention, though, I’d like to blather about some stuff.
This Summer is nearing its end, but I’ll remember it as one of the more difficult periods in my life. Although my hardships have been relatively trivial, they piled on in a way that made me feel, at times, helpless and suffocated.
I went through some relationship trouble. I’ve been taking an intensive second year Chinese course. A friend was diagnosed with something scary. I’ve been isolated from the majority of my friends and family by a city in which I don’t know anyone. UCLA even tried to kick me out of my apartment a few weeks ago.