saturday august 11 2001    |    12:54 a.m.

another late-night, overtired entry for the day.

just got back from making the flier rounds with ed. basically i followed along and took the city in with big sleep-heavy eyes while he slipped the beautiful shiny orange-and-brown cards under windshield wipers.

we went to the wallflower gallery | the mercury theater | [drove by] zetafest, decided against littering there | revolver.

had a near-death experience at the wallflower gallery involving an overzealous, out-of-nowhere immense soccer-mom van.

met extremely good-looking owner-and-friends of the mercury in a smoky room next to the projection room: i peeked out the projection room window and i swear it was better than whatever film was showing below: the gritty imperfect faces of the actors engulfing the room, and only three people watching, and me from the vantage point of the lens.

zetafest was just plain scary. meatheads running loose through an otherwise-deserted downtown miami.

revolver was the most surreal experience yet. martin-from-the-kitchen taking tickets at the door, as he did at the kitchen, and as big a prick as ever. two girls from high school, one older and evil, another younger and she used to rock and unfortunately she was very much with the evil one. then papo with friends in tow -- we had a lightning cigarette. then ed's friend's friend with the powder-blue vespa and ed's friend paying for the guitar ed sold him. fliers, two more kids from high school, and oh my GOD so much gel in people's hair! "the scene" is a sticky one, apparently.

and so i was dropped off with three fliers and ed's band's button in my possession.

i'm getting that urge to run away and leave everything behind in a cloud of dust again.

these urges these urges these urges can be so very very misread / c'mon baby now was it something i said

but i'm running out of places to run to in my head. nowhere's quite far enough to justify leaving.

this said, i'm going to put something in my stomach other than nicotine.