11/30
retro-fittingly so.

i've been working on my new story (not to be confused with the story of the month and thinking maybe i shouldn't be writing about Washington right now. it's cheating. like did you ever read when Hunter S. Thompson tried to report on actual news events? "those bastards have no idea what the hell they want, democracy my ass." looking past your nose is a problem, but how do you describe yourself? you've never even *seen* yourself the right way around.

you can't be what you were

there's no movement

there's no movement

last night i saw jem cohen's instrument movie. shots at the end of it all came from fort reno, ian and lauren and jason and that dog. even (oh, hush up) allison. and all the kids, it was supposed to look nostalgic, like the shots at the end of *grease*, but damn, jem cohen! don't you realize that nostalgia has to be earned? the thing that keeps me from just totally becoming a punk writer writer is that i don't want to end the story yet. it's not dead.

speaking of which: i was in philly last week. went into the South Street diner and Snorey's graffiti was still there: PUNK'S NOT DEAD, GREEN DAY'S JUST SITTING ON IT.

god bless that boy. wherever he is, god bless him.

but summer is gone, and so is fort reno. and so are the graffiti kids, although they were never in this country to begin with. the fort reno shots, all in grainy black and white, like you're supposed to cry or something. (i'm not saying that i did. i don't cry) even allison wolfe waving at the camera was supposed to make you laugh and instead it seemed so end-of-the-summer, all melancholy like the honeysuckle in P Street Park.