8-23-02

It’s not like I’ve been on a trip, or was abducted. No one issued an Amber Alert on me.

Aliens didn't take me away... Elvis never bumped into me in some well-lit hallway of Area 51.

There was no lost time incident.

I was never in a Turkish prison.

I just didn’t feel like writin’ nothin’.

I still don’t. But Hotel, CA is quiet tonight... the whole town’s turned in it seems. It’s not that late, but it’s not all that early either.

It’s going to be very nearly December soon, and I’ve neglected to comment on the year, thus far... not a single line, not a single letter.

Maybe I’ve been preoccupied, but not with myself so much. Things changed, the way they always do, when you least expect them the most.

Neil Young is singing, “tonight’s the night...” over and over, but it’s not tonight at all. This is not the night. This night is slow and nothing’s going on, but he sings it on and on anyway.

I still don’t feel like writing. Not when nothing’s going on, not tonight anyway.

Xian