I was pretty unhappy today, until I started listening to music again.

It took me until noon to fix something to eat. My parents' new house is a mystery to be in. I also get 1.5x lazier in it.

I walked to Kailua. Weather was nice, windy. Hit the regular second-hand stores, found a few things. I still need a handheld cassette recorder, which has been way more difficult to find used than it should be. I bought crackers, then returned them one minute later because they were stale. People aren't very friendly here. Where'd people get the idea that they are? Maybe I'm not friendly. I felt a little sick, so maybe.

Big awkward dude sitting outside Longs ringing his Salvation Army bell and singing tunelessly. My hero. At least out of the ordinary, which nothing is here. What I really ought to have done is get a cheap guitar from the antique store and returned to join him. But I think I was too scornful to be creative, at that moment.

I think what it is is: I feel trapped. All possibilities appear sealed. I see the imminent patterns of oncoming traffic, I know every square inch of mottled, pitted sidewalk leading into Kailua. I've met at least 80% of the people on this island, likely, if I contemptuously dehumanize many of them into the same general personality shapes. For me, Hawaii is like watching a distant ocean freighter, moving across an unimpeded horizon, with an unnerving constancy and slightness. You know where it's been, you know where it's going, and, because you've been watching it for so long, you could say how long it would take to traverse any given distance. The weather is, yes, always moderate. I ask myself, why do I even bother to look up? To look up is to be ingratiated. When that new parking facility, the first and most unsightly large-scale three story building in Kailua comes up, it makes perfect sense. It was there the whole time. It was part of that horizon. That's the tragedy. But. There's still birds. The indiscernable fizzle of waves. That's all I have. Those parts still move, those parts that aren't supposed to be focal points. That's the only way I can save Hawaii from my own sense of despair. So that's why I want to go camping. Nature has that ability to diffuse your sense of focus. And draw. I'm going to try for Herriman. Music as well. All these things I've done before, but, this time, although not the first time, towards renewing that blurry little ocean freighter into something different, closer, that I can actually feel for. Or, short of that, something I can live peacefully with. That would be great.