The Boy Looked At Johnny
January 20, 2003. Night.
The other night I went to go see Baku Hatsu play, and
somehow ended up onstage singing. Then I somehow ended up
jumping and falling off amplifiers and drum kits and
flailing about like an overmedicated Ian Curtis. Then I
somehow ended up in an orthopaedic surgeon's office getting
a cast on my wrist, which I somehow ended up fracturing.
Hmm. It all sounds very fishy, doesn't it?
But wow! What a shitty week healthwise. I bruised my whole
body up at said show, besides the wrist, and had a pretty
nasty 100 degree-plus fever as well. Sick, sick, sick. Nigh
immobilized! Being sick is awful and lonely. And scary.
Terrible thoughts flood one's mind uncontrollably: I'll
never get better! I'll never have the energy to be a
successful artist-slash-musician-slash-human being! Jessy
and me will never work out! She hates me, anyway!
They played Sam Cooke and the Soul Stirrers on the radio
during the worst of it. 100.6 degrees, "Touch the Hem of
I cried like a baby.