Those are the days where you know

Monday 10/27/25

I have not been doing a good job doing anything. At the task of doing anything. There is no point to any of it right now and no point in living or being here. If I create something, that thing is the thing it is, at the level it is, but that's the end of it. The thing remains here with me. That is is the best thing there is doesn't matter. It's still a thing that just sits here unseen by anyone save me. I don't think anyone can understand how hard it then is to get up the next day and make another such thing. These aren't thing made for me. They are for the world. That's the point of them. But I can't keep having days like I've been having.

It's in the thirties this morning. First time I think it has been since the spring. Early forties both days over the weekend before the sun came up. Got into the mid-fifties later. Perfect fall days. I didn't do a good job fitness-wise either, with the point of fitness for being that I can live longer and keep creating, which is one of the more haunting ironies of my life at this juncture.

I only ran stairs one day. That was Saturday, with 3000 at City Hall. That's actually just one day out of the last four. I did 100 push-ups Saturday and 150 yesterday. Walked ten miles on Saturday and twelve on Sunday, which was at least decent. Yesterday marked 3388 days, or 484 weeks, without a drink.

"You're Probably Just Tired" is at 2400 words. I'll see how it looks and where it's at today.

You can be the strongest person who's ever lived. You can be the smartest. The most self-assured because you know exactly what you are. But even that person can't be completely alone in every way for years, decades. These hard lives that some people in history have had that are harder than other lives, all give out and end by the early forties. And those people have some people. Van Gogh had some people. He lived in houses, too. But that's as far as anyone can take it. Early forties. They had to die because they were going to. You can't keep going so that they're you are at eight like that, or ninety, or more. The shelf life is early forties. I'm alone even in this.

I had thought about going to see Murnau's Nosferatu at the Peabody Essex Museum on Saturday, but I didn't think I could handle riding the commuter rail to and from Salem on the last Saturday before Halloween. Probably a wise decision.

An external hard drive failed somewhere between Friday and Saturday, so I spent yesterday morning trying to deal with that and making sure I'm okay until later this week when a replacement drive arrives.

The Celtics fell to 0-3 to start their season. They shouldn't be this bad. I think expectations and an acceptance of those expectations has something to do with it.

My nephew Charlie called my mother the day after my sister's anniversary to see if she was feeling any better. I thought that was very kind of him.

Got some sunflowers on Saturday.

"Health coach." And it's just some woman who gets people to pay her to lie to them. A divorced woman often. With no qualifications. No intelligence on this score. Nothing to offer. No insight, no strategies. It's all made up. And people give such a person money. Voluntarily. To "be in their corner" and cheerlead. To put heads together like that person cares or knows. They pay for that illusion. And they likely believe the illusion is reality. If these women have a website, there's likely to be standing in some well-to-do person's kitchen (because of the money someone else makes) holding a bowl of plum tomatoes.

It's funny, too, because I'm looking at one of these sites as I write this, and every single photo is of this woman--the coach--and nothing else. She has a blog, and the cover photo for each entry is her. It's just narcissism. But people can't tell what anything is anymore, which is the single most deadly factor in our world and society. Staged photos, too, in that creepy social media way. Here I am in deep thought--wait, you didn't get it, take another shot, hon; Here I am throwing my head back so my hair does that thing; Here I am at my laptop thinking hard as I write something super important; etc.

Someone was telling me that Hocus Pocus is one of their favorite films and that's true at all times of the year, and I said that I was the same way in that my "seasonal" favorites aren't limited to their particular seasons.

They asked what those favorites were, to which I said, "For this season--and beyond this season--there's Dracula (1931), Carnival of Souls (1962), Return to Glennascaul (1951), House on Haunted Hill (1959), The Black Cat (1934), Dracula (1958), Frankenstein (1931), Cat People (1942), Dead of Night (1945). Totemic films. House on Haunted Hill might be the perfect Halloween film in terms of blend scares and fun. Carnival of Souls has always frightened me. The 1931 Dracula is probably my favorite of all of these. When the title card comes up as Swan Lake plays, it produces this response in the core of who I am. The Black Cat is a pre-Code film that is very fucked up. Cat People is classy scares for smart people. Return to Glennascaul is a short film that's practically perfect," so I guess there are some recommendations in these last few days until Halloween.

Downloaded some interesting items. The first season of Newhart. That's really the only one you need. The show became something else after. But it's quintessential New England for that first season. Bear Family's Bill Anderson box, The First Ten Years: 1956-1966. Billy Fury's Live at the BBC. Bonnie Owens' Queen of the Coast. A couple Stanley Brothers and the Clinch Mountain Boys Bear family boxes. Dexter Gordon's The Complete Prestige Recordings. Witches' Brew, a 1958 album from conductor Alexander Gibson with the New Symphony Orchestra of London, which features works like Danse Macabre, A Night on Bare Mountain, the Tam O'Shanter Overture. The 50th anniversary deluxe edition of KISS's Dressed to Kill, which includes gigs from Detroit and Davenport.

Made sure I walked through the Public Garden. There are days where you know how beautiful it will be there. I stopped on the bridge thinking that this was indeed one of those days. I was thinking a lot of things.