tales from an ordinary world

1999-08-03

Three and a half hours to kill in the city before I meet A. to see 'Pi'. I guess I could go and sit in Caf� Sahara, or, if all else fails I can always go and kill time at the office. But I know I shouldn't do that if I can avoid it. There's meant to be more to life. Or something.

There's so much stuff in my head waiting to come out, but it's all blocked by all the music and lyrics spinning around in my mind.

I'm wishing for too many impossible things. Please make it stop.

There was another guy writing, at a table just over there. A latte instead of my macchiato, and soft-pack (oo-err) cigarettes. But he was writing. Well, I think so - he was hunched over it, like he needed to protect it from something ?

Listening to that old Tear Garden CD I picked up a month ago, I remember what I love about this sort of music - the sheer randomness of sound, of noise, but all the same it's by no means unlistenable (unless you're easily put off). I'd love to be able to do stuff like that, but it's hard to know where or how to start...