joined up with Anne, Jess, Dave and John, went and saw Control, the Ian Curtis biopic tonight at 9:45, got out around midnight to people shutting down the candy bar and a shut-down escalator. Walking down a still escalator after two hours watching black and white Ian Curtis (sam riley, or whatever, but for arguments sake, Ian Curtis) stare at walls, not talk to his wife, sing songs about going crazy, not talk to his girlfriend, smoke cigarrettes-- so many sexy cigarrettes-- not talk to his bandmates and ultimately kill himself, well, not sure why a still escalator would seem even odder in that context, but it did.
Y'know, usually when they make a movie 'bout someone wif a reputation for bein' depressin', they show this whole ot'er side. Y'know, laughin', makin' jokes. Not here.--
That was John, as we waited for the girls to get of the lou. Yeah, no kidding.
* * * * *
so now I'm back in my room, my underwear is all piled on my heater in hopes that it dries before mildew sets in. because no one's fed the dryer meter. listening to Damien Jurado with the lights on, thinking about putting up more pictures, maybe, now that I have a few recent ones.
I'm past the point of not saying anything waiting in que at the grocery, but I do notice my pronounced RRRRRs and sort of thudding way of speech. When I'm drunk sometimes I notice trying to affect a weird mix of welsh and sort of cockney accents. Neither to much effect.
I guess the important thing is that I am writing a lot, even if I'm not sure to what effect, and I am reading a lot and so many of the things that had me thrashing about like a caught salmon my last year or so in Bellingham are just fading into the slipstream.
