The Lion’s Lair, Denver. A female mannequin head hangs over the bar with a Mohawk of syringes, its eyeballs drooling out of their sockets. The bartender talking about her daughter’s ringworm. Gee, it’s great to be back home.
Elliot Smith killed himself yesterday. I’m outlasting all my idols on this tour. Without wanting to.
I’m still fucked up from my visit today with ‘The Oracle,’ as she shall henceforth be known. [On my mom’s recommendation, I went to go and see a psychic who made some pretty accurate predictions for her seven years ago. This same woman predicted that I was going to be very wealthy when I was 27. Well, I’m 26, so I’m assuming it’s not going to be a slow build to my eventual fortune.] It’s baffling, every word out of her mouth blew my mind and I’m still exhausted from hanging on her every word for half an hour. It’s super encouraging to hear from her that this year ! is going to go well for my music, but she said several times, in clear language, that I can fuck it up by “letting my energy go down” a.k.a liquor. It seems like that’s what I’ve been trying to do forever, just to exert my own will over what she said when I was nineteen. Pretty fucking stupid. Worst thing is, I said “Alcohol?” and she said “Yes… but that’s not it.”
Posted by Mishka at October 22, 2003 12:18 AM