That night was cold. Jordan & I got the hell outta there when Best Buy employees appeard with bullhorns, started dispensing rebates & organizing the line at around 3:30am. No thanks. We relocated next door to the GameStop parking lot, sat in his car with the heat on full blast, and he explaind to me his unhappiness: “I don’t think I have it all up here,” he said, tapping his head. “There are five popsicle sticks, and I’m missing the third one. My mind gets an idea and then immediately throws it away & moves on. That’s why I can’t stay motivated, can’t stay focust on one project. The thought never gets from the second to the fourth stick.” But what are the popsicle sticks? “No fucking clue! That’s what I’m talking about. It’s just what my brain serves up, and I’ve no idea why—I can’t evaluate it.” I watched & listend the rest of the trip and saw that he was right. He would start to explain something, and then lose it. His mind is making so many associations all the time it’s hard for him to grasp any particular thread & follow it to its conclusion. “I’m missing my widowpicker,” he said, using another half-baked symbol without defining it. “And this steering wheel here reminds me of why everything sucks. The surface pattern, the texture kinda looks like brains, with neurons & electrodes firing all over the place… but, I still see a penis in there somewhere.” We clung to this juvenile reflex like a lifeboat, cry-laughing & gazing up thru the windshield of his Geo Storm, beyond the artificial lights of the retail outlet & into the deepblue electric night sky.
Took my car over to Crockett Park, walkt to the unlit amphitheater, and dialogued till dawn. We discust how pairs of people can sometimes complement each other, where one person has what the other lacks, and vice versa. I have a drive with no goal, can he have a goal with no drive? Is it even possible to join forces & become a team? We stayed alive against the cold at least, until the sky glowed silver in the east—then we took simple pleasures in heating up the car & listening to Frusciante. Jordan is supportive of Jeremiah’s replacing Sean in the band, pointing out (the obvious, but it hadn’t yet occurd to my dumb ass) that Jerry is a better singer than any of us. “Dude, you have to give him that pin,” he said. “He’s Jerry Mandarin!”
Back at the shopping center the traffic was insane, all the lots packt full, cars & humans milling around like insects, and it was only 5:45. Peaceful drive home. I was coming down, but I’ve driven on acid at dawn before: the first time Jordan & I ever took it, this past summer with Ceejay, I drove us a couple times back & forth between the Muse and Jordan’s house (the old one, the one his parents rented while their current one was being built). (We were listening to The Postal Service.) Once home, it only took me an hour to fall asleep.
Friday suckt. I spent the afternoon & evening recording songs but then the notice from the bank came in the mail, and I had to explain myself to my parents. Mom was super mad. That money was a meager “college fund” from my grandmother (her mom), intended to last a while—and I blew thru it before the end of the first semester. Yesterday was her birthday & even tho we already celebrated it at Thanksgiving dinner, she said something about it ruind her day. Took an angry, freezing walk to calm down. Dad made me feel better. I still felt guilty, strest.
Twister was on TV that night, and I hoped Maybel was watching. Like so many kids in the ’90s, we both saw this movie when it came out in theaters and decided to become tornado chasers one day. She is quickly growing nearer to my heart & I’m not sure how or why. It’s a mutual affection but I can’t really define it further. I want her to be here.