today

took a day off from work. i only wish i could take a life off from work. i slept late, till about 12:30. awoke only because the dreams were getting too weird. got up, watched the basie band on a dvd. pretty good, although a female singer kind of bothered me, and then a drum feature. fuck drum features. great band though. finally decided i couldn't lie around any longer. must have been the puritan in me. man, i wish i could shake him once and for all. well, he keeps me from being out on the street, i'll give him that. decided to ketchup on some music. started with an earl hines record, with budd johnson on tenor. man, those old dudes could wail. then i listened to a randy weston disc with cecil payne. i played it because i thought it might be expendable. 10 seconds in, i realized it wasn't. ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. not the most original meal, johnny, but i'm no chef, so you do what you have to.

now, i'm at the library writing this. you know, my job ain't that bad, but it would be nice to like it, you know? i mean, like i like hank mobley, or ike quebec. that kind of like. i guess we can't all be nat hentoff. every day, got to get up at 7. if a man wants to get up at 7, then great, but when it's not your choice, it sucks. we have created a world of alarm clocks and coffee drinkers, of guys grabbing bites on a moving train. a world of semi-awake zombies with bills to pay. progress. so, every once in a while, in my half assed way, i rebel. i call out. i sleep in. i put a record on. i read the literary bombs dropped by bukowski.

the time goes too fast. tomorrow i'll be a slave again. i'll talk to people i want nothing to do with. i'll be a part of something not hateful, but slightly out of tune, as the song goes. it could be much worse. ask mumia, or the boy bombed in baghdad. but our own tragedy deserves a telling too, no? the mundane murder kills as well. the subtle shot fires, destroying our serenity and our sanity. we are almost too busy to notice. we justify, because who will support us? what else is there to do? classmates thought i could be a great comedian once. that probably would have sucked too. just another struggling stiff, starved for laughs at some out of the way comedy club, stealing from bruce and carlin. also, i have a decent voice, but the last thing the world needs is another run of the mill lounge singer. let some one else sing new york new york. let some one else sit in with a mediorce piano player at some bar run by a fascist who only hires white guys to play jazz. fuck that.

let the others try out for american idol. let the others stand in line for the next toy. their shallow dreams don't satisfy. but, where is the real thing? oh yeah, the guys with the real dreams get murdered, or imprisoned, or silenced by the shit that surrounds them.

still, i'm happy i took the day off. sometimes you gotta come up for air, get some peace amongst the pollution.

tomorrow it starts again.

and i don't even hate my job. i'm one of the lucky ones.

what a world.