11/21/25 - Pennyroyal Tea☆

Right now, I'm back on a Nirvana kick. It's a little too irreplaceable. The song Pennyroyal Tea is having an all expenses paid vacation at the front of my head. Kurt's lyrics can feel cerebral to the point of inspiring paranoia. Before that, I was listening to groovier stuff, sort of in a cute harmonic kitsch... gave me all the wrong feelings. And what wouldn't make it worse than hearing that song, About a Girl.

If only you guys could talk to her. If you could hear their voice, if you could see her face, you'd understand. Immediately.

My entire mindset shifted a little yesterday. I saw my friends, my friends! And they looked great! Talking to them, they seemed fine, too. As in, their lives are going well, yknow. Archimedes stays involved in their activism, and Cronkite is working remote, he'll be moving to Europe! I'm gonna miss him, he's one of my best friends. I hope they treat him well over there. I really do...

I'm a little sleepy. We split after 12 on a work night. Bad idea, even if Angel's Egg was worth the trouble. And it was worth it, let me tell you. That sort of oblivion on the big screen... nothing better.

But I'll tell you what, I'm not a natural at this. I'm not the best at that sort of "game." I've never liked that term, anyway. I never think I should learn how to do it the right way, I just felt like if it was ever meant to be, it should figure itself out... that was a naive sort of mindset, I guess. The wrong sort of mindset, wouldn't you know it, Adri.

"I was trying to do a Smokey, and I just aren't Smokey."

That's how George said it, in that alt take of While My Guitar Gently Weeps.

What I love the most about the Beatles is they were simultaneous in their aspects. They were as average as they were incredible. The kind of band where their maximalist victories were as impactful as their reedy, tinny songs, and their intimate, somber works. They didn't necessarily try to make their voices, or their sound, retain the exact sensibility of other bands or artists, because The Beatles itself was it's own sound. George's pocket he worked in on a lot of those tracks in Revolver was a pocket that makes sense for the sonic world the band looked to cultivate. John's approach made sense in that world, too. So did Paul's, and every now and again, Ringo would even have his own tree in the clearing. George Martin, their producer, understood exactly the sort of fishy flavor they needed. He gave some sparse mixes so much life. He'd let the fuller compositions layer in just the right way. The Beatles are like... salmon. Salmon is done in a million and a half ways, but that flavor, that color, is unmistakable. Smoked salmon and baked salmon taste different, but the flavor is still unmistakably salmon, even when it's different like that, y'know? Hear a Beatle song for just enough, you'll be able to identify a Beatle song within the first 3 seconds almost every time.

They're good in a way that only a few musical artists ever manage to really capture. You probably think, that's not true, there are loads of influential and acclaimed artists out there who create an audience for their unique brand. But you're sort of forgetting that those influential and acclaimed folks are a minority compared to the vast majority of artists who are just as talented and unique, but their specific flavor just doesn't capture that same zeitgeist. And it's not even really their fault. Not everybody can be Michael Jackson, yknow?

I guess that sort of thing, that kind of singular variety of "attractive..." that's what does it for me. It's not just what keeps Titania in my head, no. I've an interest in Persephone for the same reason. I don't see the same things in each of them, despite what's similar. I think I found new things to like in some people, these days.

I do feel a bit bad about speaking on this knowing that Persephone is a consistent reader of our chronicle here. I just haven't had a chance to really talk to her in any neutral setting before, is the thing. If I even ever did, yknow. I remember she was at a protest in Hart Plaza, and I saw her, but I didn't say anything. Somewhere down the line she followed me on Insta, and I noticed her posts and what have you. I could obviously see that she was gorgeous, she lived out of state, and that she is also a visual artist and event organizer, but I had to think about what else I knew. I knew she was impressively involved in the Palestinian struggle, as well as following and speaking on what's going on in Sudan, Congo, domestic problems, as everyone should be. I knew that Persephone was culturally connected to the Palestine, yknow. And I knew nothing else about her, right? So, for that reason, I choose to be open to any chance of getting to formally meet her one day, if it's ever in the cards. Whatever happens with me, in any of the people I engage with, I would never close the door on getting to know someone, especially someone who catches my eye like that. 

"If it's ever in the cards," that's a good sort of irony. I still have those postcards she made. I hope she's doin okay.

Hmm. Despite the chipper tone of the entry... here I thought I was wiser than really am. I can put words together really well, but don't let my diction act as an illusion. I am very much just a person. I've got some issues I try to take responsibility for, you know. Some rickets in the mind I'm trying to get rid of.

The rickets being that I'm still dwelling on it.

Let me tell you about my friends in Gaza. My dear friends, my girls, let me regale you.

I was able to talk to Remas about books. Comic books, specifically. My texts are some of the only "literature" she seems to have around, these days. You know, Amal can't go to school, right? She's not able to teach her what she should know. Reminds me of the Colonels, in Greece. They couldn't read, did you know that? A lot of the solider boys of Greece during the Junta didn't actually know how to read.

Remas likes suspense, and romance stories, same as me. It still feels a bit surreal to actually say out loud, that I'm actively friends with people in a concentration camp. It feels perverse, a bit weird, but it's necessary. I'll be finding Arabic pdfs of books to send to her. Remas is the same age as me, but our lives are completely different. It's not fair to her. She doesn't get to be young, anymore. No not our dear Remas. She has to be the strongest woman on the planet every day just to get through it all.

Manal, she likes to open our conversations with neutrality before she breaks into the sadder stuff. I get it. Doesn't mean I can predict it. Sometimes she can joke around, she can laugh about some stuff, it seems like. She's got three kids, it's incredible; I could never in my life do that, for obvious reasons, but also because of the sort of variety of courage that would take. It's superhuman to manage that while the air boils around you from bombing campaigns. Manal is one where my conversations with her can be more serious, in the sense that she has more on her plate, but also because I have to talk transfers and info and business, too. She's a cooperative partner. Manal is the wisest of all the people I've met from the Strip so far. She believes in the promises of God, and she perseveres through trials that would kill anyone lacking that fundamental grit she's managed to make her modus operandi.

Let me tell you something. I've had nothing but luck avoiding those ICE guys. I've yet to encounter the gestapo. I just wish none of that was real. I just can't believe that this is our real life, yknow.

They finally did it, is what it feels like. 

They finally "beat" the bomb.

Let me end with a sleepy thought...

Keeping an eye on the world going by my window... taking my time...

Lying there and staring at the ceiling... waiting for a sleepy feeling...

I'll wait as long as I need to. I'll wait to hear what she wants to say.

I don't want to speak, I just want to listen.

I'll see you guys in a bit.