someday is everyday

tumblweeds

2010-03-15T23:47:00.000-07:00

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vortex

2010-01-26T00:08:00.000-08:00

i want to write a poem that starts with the word
vortex and have it end up being a story about how
i feel all this love but also a study of why still
so much sadness

vortex may not be the word i want to use though,
really, since it means something that resembles
a whirlpool according to the dictionary, and though i
really believed all this time it means a place of great energy
and mystery, what do i know compared to the forces of
definition?

so what are the words that mean the most to you
becomes a part of the story too,
and what do they mean when you mean them
some other way?

and so we go down the vortex mute or mumbling,
imagining stumbling together toward
light

and the reason why still so much sadness is because
you see
sadness never ends, and the meaning of all this love is
you see
you've found someone to share your sadness with

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photo credit: pyriet

everything they do is conscious

2009-12-03T00:21:00.000-08:00

which is mastery of intent,
which is pure, and art,
which I respect for its clarity,
and admire for its beauty,

which I want you to respect
and admire too,
so we can share that feeling
each of us,
share in that groove,
so we can feel something
that is unlike anything else in this world

and for a moment
feel what is real.

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brave man with a sword

2009-10-09T16:36:00.000-07:00

In Reading gaol by Reading town
There is a pit of shame,
And in it lies a wretched man
Eaten by teeth of flame,
In burning winding-sheet he lies,
And his grave has got no name.

And there, till Christ call forth the dead,
In silence let him lie:
No need to waste the foolish tear,
Or heave the windy sigh:
The man had killed the thing he loved,
And so he had to die.

And all men kill the thing they love,
By all let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

— "Ballad of Reading Gaol," by Oscar Wilde, read by Mike Tyson

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passenger side

2009-09-18T12:12:00.001-07:00

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nobody likes a sleepyface

2009-09-11T11:32:00.000-07:00

someone so insomniacal
sullen and bleary, befuddled by noise and scents
they deem all action too intense
conversation confounding with humor
they do not want to laugh
the sun is too bright
these clothes don't fit right
and their back and their neck

nobody likes a sleepyface
because where is their mind

what to do, what to do
misery they look it
they cannot think of one thing
except to touch their head
and close their eyes

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happy america

2009-07-02T02:03:00.000-07:00

eventually comfortably silent. a look. laughing. in love.

the highway.

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2009-06-02T22:45:00.000-07:00

Michael Pangrazio
"Government Warehouse"
1981

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3333

2009-05-18T22:35:00.001-07:00

people have come to this blog. strangers, most. most stay for less than five seconds. most have come because of this post. and most of the rest come because of this one.

three-thousand three-hundred thirty three. a lot of folks. someone from the Islamic Republic of Iran yesterday clicked a link that brought them here. what a time to be alive.

3333. what kind of a year will that be? seems like a long ways in the future. and yet, would someone from 700ish A.D. be so dumbstruck by our world, as we live today? what, in all of that time, has changed so much? sure, there are all the conveniences (contrivances?) of our technologically badass society. and yet, we still live in communities, still seek love, still fight wars, still are humbled by our own smallness, still search for answers that will never come, tell stories and work each day, eat and have sex and create new generations...

visions of the future always seem so foreign. still, while the world may change, and while we may reshape the world with our uncaring hubris and even destroy our place in it, humans will never change. all the good, all the bad, all the middle... as history has grown, as knowledge has expanded, as progress has been made... so too have the meaningful things become muddled, the important things become distant, the least valuable things given a price and the most valuable things deemed mysterious and unattainable...

anyway, thanks for stopping by. this blog is just an elaborate way for me to say hello.

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make believe tomorrow

2009-05-15T01:01:00.000-07:00

need to get out the country
do something new
listen to Phish again
in a few days you

feeling restless
like it's all falling into place
kind of like the paradox of time travelers
in the past create themselves who

make believe a bright light see it
make believe nothing too

meantime some seagulls all standing
in a circle in a culdesac
one
silent as the next
kicks a pebble stops to think
of flying to

but how far when
tomorrow it may be nice here
nice
to stand in a circle warm asphalt
underfoot again
and to fly
where
and to wonder
why

and to wonder
is this poem about birds or feelings?

don't know what this is
about
or don't want to say

maybe both

maybe it's about traveling
through time
or how to make believe
tomorrow

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2009-04-30T00:07:00.000-07:00

Kamrooz Aram
“Last Gleaming”
2006

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(via.)

eleven words

2009-04-22T19:13:00.000-07:00

onymous
borborygmi
velutinous
haptodysphoria
Mamihlapinatapai
plenilune
karoshi
metempsychosis
pogonotrophy
xenodochial
lexiphanic
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the sound of thunder

2009-04-09T18:20:00.000-07:00

In 1704, playwright John Dennis invented a new method of producing the sound of thunder during a play. Dennis's play was unsuccessful, but his thunder technique was soon borrowed by another production, leading Dennis to exclaim:

Damn them! They will not let my play run, but they steal my thunder.

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little chap

2009-04-06T21:12:00.000-07:00

A careful man I want to be,
A little fellow follows me;
I know I dare not go astray,
For fear he'll go the self-same way.

I cannot once escape his eyes,
Whate’re he sees me do, he tries;
Like me he says he’s going to be,
This little chap who follows me.

He thinks that I am good and fine,
Believes in every word of mine;
The base in me he must not see,
This little chap who follows me.

I must be careful as I go,
Through summer’s sun and winter’s snow;
Because I am building for the years to be,
This little chap who follows me.

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dwight d. eisenhower is my homeboy

2009-03-15T12:05:00.000-07:00

D-Day.

the highways.

laserbeams.

is he a supranatural intradimensional master of time and space???

i think so.

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staying up all night listening to Phish

2009-03-07T02:38:00.000-08:00

ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuulez

they are badass
modern technology is neat
i'm drunk & high
all is well

welllllllllll in the world
saw a tshirt today
said 'the point of art is to define
panic'
thought that was an interesting point
concept

point concept point
level-headed boy better bend
conceptualize the stratosphere smiling
a sky divided so far
piano deep thunder groove
dogmatagram fishmarket stew
so far smiling

smiling big
breathing
hear the voices flutter through
glistening

here
here in that happy place
inside deep inside somewhere
like what that guy in Bittersweet Motel with the harmonica
said

everybody is here and no one is
it's an amazing thing
being
here

the night expands
the night is long and she is meant to be

seize her
celebrate
come from the top top mountain baby

grow grow build build
where do you go
when the lights go out?
go on then
the night expands
a dream it's true

boy
man
gawd
aww, shiiiiieeeeeeeet...

gawdamm epik
so gawdamm epik you need a different spelling for the words
goddamn epic shit
yes you

you need to be
here

yes
you

i would love to spill the beans with you till dawn

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diamonds on my windshield

2009-02-27T00:19:00.000-08:00

Diamonds on my windshield
And these tears from heaven
I'm pullin' into town on the Interstate
I got me a steel train in the rain
And the wind bites my cheek through the wing
And it's these late nights and this freeway flying
That always makes me sing
'Cuz lookee here
There's a duster tryin' to change my tune
He's pullin' up fast on the right
Rollin' restlessly by a twenty-four hour moon
And a Wisconsin hiker with a cue-ball head
Wishin' he's home in a Wisconsin bed
But there's fifteen feet of snow in the East
It's colder than a welldigger's ass
I said, it's colder than a welldigger's ass

And now Oceanside, she ends the ride,
With San Clemente coming up
And them Sunday desperadoes slip by
And cruise with a dry back
And the orange drive-in, and the neon billin',
And the theatre's fillin' to the brim,
You got slave girls and a hot spur and bucket full of sin
In that metropolitan area
With all them interchanging connections
And fly-by-nights from Riverside
And out-of-state plates, running a little late

Now the sailors jockey for the fast lane
So 101 don't miss it
You got rollin' hills and concrete fields
And that broken line's on your mind
And the 8s go east and the 5s go north
And the merging exits back and forth
You see your sign, you cross the line, you signal with a blink
'Cuz that radio's gone off the air,
Gonna give you time to think
And you hear the rumble as you're fumblin' for a cigarette
Go on blaze on through that midnight jungle
You remember someone and you can't forget

And one more block, that engine talks
And whispers: home at last
I said, one more block, that engine talks
And whispers: home at last

'Cuz you got diamonds on your windshield
And them tears from heaven
Pullin' into town on the Interstate
With a steel train in the rain
And the wind bites my cheek through the wing
It's these late nights and this freeway flying
That always makes me sing
- Tom Waits, "Diamonds On My Windshield"

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hippos on holiday

2009-02-16T21:57:00.000-08:00

is not really the title of a movie
but if it was I would be sure to see it.
I love their short legs and big heads,
the whole hippo look.
Hundreds of them would frolic
in the mud of a wide, slow-moving river,
and I would eat my popcorn
in the dark of a neighborhood theater.
When they opened their enormous mouths
lined with big stubby teeth
I would drink my enormous Coke.

I would be both in my seat
and in the water playing with the hippos,
which is the way it is
with a truly great movie.
Only a mean-spirited reviewer
would ask on holiday from what?

- Billy Collins, "Hippos on Holiday"

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interpretation

2009-02-02T23:53:00.000-08:00

A film should stand on its own. It's absurd if a filmmaker needs to say what a film means in words. The world in the film is a created one, and people sometimes love going into that world. For them that world is real. And if people find out certain things about how something was done, or how this means this or that means that, the next time they see the film, these things enter into the experience. And then the film becomes different. I think it's so precious and important to maintain that world and not say certain things that could break the experience.
You don't need anything outside of the work. There have been a lot of great books written, and the authors are long since dead, and you can't dig them up. But you've got that book, and a book can make you dream and make you think about things.
People sometimes say they have trouble understanding a film, but I think they understand much more than they realize. Because we're all blessed with intuition -- we really have the gift of intuiting things.
Someone might say, I don't understand music; but most people experience music emotionally and would agree that music is an abstraction. You don't need to put music into words right away -- you just listen.
Cinema is a lot like music. It can be very abstract, but people have a yearning to make intellectual sense of it, to put it right into words. And when they can't do that, it feels frustrating. But they can come up with an explanation from within, if they just allow it. If they started talking to their friends, soon they would see things -- what something is and what something isn't. And they might agree with their friends or argue with their friends -- but how could they agree or argue if they don't already know? The interesting thing is, they really do know more than they think. And by voicing what they know, it becomes clearer. And when they see something, they could try to clarify that a little more and, again, go back and forth with a friend. And they would come to some conclusion. And that would be valid.

- David Lynch, "Interpretation," Catching the Big Fish: Meditation, Consciousness, and Creativity, pp. 19-20

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2009-01-27T17:16:00.000-08:00

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joke from the Sketchfest show we went to last night

2009-01-26T16:40:00.000-08:00

- How many M. Night Shymalans does it take to screw in a light bulb?
- Four. Because his movies are so fucking terrible.
- David Wain

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NYC NYE

2009-01-06T23:14:00.000-08:00

out the subway at 14th and 1st. no gloves yet. Magic Hat. salsa talk. Vusi. sofa bed. morning at Joe's. village walk. crowded rock. Miró. the way things go. Van Gogh. redhead. found wings. sister in Walnut Creek. cold in Queens. breakfast at 3pm. snow. pizza. show. unite! love. highly suspicious. late night. feels like zero. haven't thought about that in years. counterintuitive. 2/2/05. breakdown. the last one ever. what are you doing here. stand by me. what if i said. down chick. football. food network. aggressive and crisp. it's too far. Thai on a tray. donuts. decisions. pumpkin and marble. in a bank. in the park. empty trees. no time. why? The Wrestler. sprouts and spaghetti and merguez. delish. where to. check your coat. $17. bagels. like a local. City of Ember. Mac and Charlie and Dennis and Dee. a busride, a burrito and the Chargers won. surprise.

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the most interesting question

2008-12-13T02:35:00.000-08:00

we say the universe is infinitely large. by describing it this way, we are saying the universe is one of two things.

the first possibility of what we mean is that it is myriad in every moment, myriad in every possible possibility (and in every possibility of every possible possibility, etc.) -- what we are saying is that every fragmentary moment exists, physically, somewhere out there on the other side(s) of the universe. when you look up at space, somewhere out there, someone -- you -- is living a life of total synchronicity, with every similarity, in sum, to your existence, except for a slight momentary change in the history of your being. and another. and another. and another... an infinity of yous. not to mention the infinities of not-you, on this world and every other, in their evolution and essence. just an entire infinity of infinite entirety.

that's one way to look at the meaning of infinite: that the universe contains, physically, every possibility for everything ever. is this likely?

the second meaning is that this universe of ours is so large that its size is simply beyond our comprehension. we cannot fathom how utterly huge this place is, so we call it infinitely large.

while this second meaning seems like it may be the more-likely-to-be-accurate definition, it is still insufficient. because we are within a universe so truly all-encompassing that it goes and goes and goes and goes... on and on and on... and to our feeble cognitive ability and microscopic range of perception, it just seems to go on forever. and yet: does it go on forever?

if we are saying that the universe is just this extremely, extremely large place, then surely, at some point -- in some scale of gargantuity we cannot comprehend, at some strata of creation -- there is somewhere where the universe stops. if we are saying that the universe is a vast enclosure of space and time, then, at some point, the universe must have a physical end. somewhere where there is no more universe. a place where the universe no longer is.

and so, the most interesting question to me is not which of these two definitions of infinite is, ultimately, the more correct one. no, the most interesting question to me is, if the universe does indeed have an end -- then what is on the other side?

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youtube friday

2008-12-05T07:44:00.000-08:00

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the memory of a stop sign

2008-11-13T22:00:00.001-08:00

this row of lights all in a row
pretty lights across the water
lights in the sky, lights in the water
reflected in my eyes
in the sky a spotlight,
a moonrise, a helicopter flight
in the sky spinning
up and up and up away
ludicrous volumes
delirious noise
does not fade
away, like love
a breeze before a storm, cool
twilight before the dark of night
this row of pretty lights all in a row
across the water, a bridge across the water
crossing the bridge
a bridge made of light pretty light
a bicycle rider in all black peddling
the mist of history in his eyes, the memory of
a stop sign and belonging to more
than this
more than ever
across the water
a hip hop song in his earbuds, perhaps
a crescendo of hope, an ocean
of consciousness, an ocean within,
a wave crashing,
wave after wave after

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greatness leads us onward

2008-11-04T13:47:00.000-08:00

'Hmm,' Sharrow said. 'Fate preserves us from greatness.'
Dornay shook his head. 'Dear lady, don't let the mean-of-spirit infect you.' He glanced at the tall portrait. 'Greatness is his legacy, and our hope.'
'Do we really need greatness, Mister Dornay?' she asked him.
He turned slowly and walked towards the doors at the far end of the room, and she followed him. 'We must need it, my lady. It is all that leads us onward. With it we may dream. Without it, we merely subsist.'

– Iain M. Banks, Against a Dark Background, pp. 151-152

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photo credit: baonguyen

dancing choose

2008-10-21T10:56:00.000-07:00

he's a WHAT? he's a WHAT?
he's a newspaper man
and he gets his best ideas
from a newspaper stand;
from his boots to his pants
to his comments and his rants,
he knows that any little article will do!

though he expresses some confusion
bout his part in the plan,
and he can't understand
that he's not in command;
the decisions underwritten
by the cash in his hand
bought a sweater for
his weimariner too.

now i'm no mad man,
but that's insanity
feast before famine,
and more before family
goes and shows up with
more bowls and more
cups and the riot for the
last hot meal erupts
corrupts his hard drive
through the leanest months
shells out the hard cash
for the sickest stunts;
on aftershave, on gasoline
he flips the page and turns
the scene.

in my mind i'm drowning butterflies
broken dreams and alibis;
that's fine.
i've seen my palette blown
to monochrome –
hollow heart
clicks hollowtone,
it's time.

eye on authority,
thumb prints a forgery
boy, ain't it crazy what the
lights can do
for counterfeit community;
every opportunity
wasted as the space
between the flash tattoo

and the half-hearted hologram,
posed for the party
now he gloss full bleed
on a deaf dumb tree
cod liver dollar signs,
credit card autograph
down for the record
but not for freedom.

angry young mannequin,
American, apparently,
still to the rhythm
better get to the back of me
can't stand the vision,
better tongue the anatomy
gold plated overhead,
blank transparency
in the days of old,
you were a nut
now you need three bumps
before you cut
not that i should care about
nothing i ain't scared of, but
i guess you had
to
be
there.

in my mind i'm breeding butterflies,
broken dreams, and alibis
that's fine.
i've seen my palette blown
to monochrome –
hollow heart
clicks hollowtone
in time.

i see you figured in your action pose
foam-injected axl rose,
life size,
should something shake you
and you drop the news,
lord, just keep your dancing shoes
off mine.

- TV on the Radio, "Dancing Choose"

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i think this old Zen saying about tea can be applied to beer as well

2008-10-20T19:29:00.000-07:00

The first sip is joy,
The second is gladness,
The third is serenity,
The fourth is madness,
And the fifth is ecstasy.

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staring at the sun

2008-10-13T23:50:00.000-07:00

Mine is a heart of carnelian, crimson as murder on a holy day. Mine is a heart of cornel, the gnarled roots of a dogwood and the bursting of flowers. I am the broken wax seal on my lover's letters. I am the phoenix, the fiery sun, consuming and resuming myself. I pace the halls of the underworld. I knock on the doors of death. I wander into the fields to stare at the sun and lie in the grass, ripe as a fig. The souls of the gods are with me. They hum like flies in my ears. I am I. I will what I will. Mine is a heart of carnelian, blood red as the crest of a phoenix.

- "The Heart of Carnelian," from The Egyptian Book of the Dead

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to the center of

2008-10-07T22:03:00.000-07:00

the almost boy smiling at the sky
the cosmic ray from the center of
his heart to the center of
the sun to the center of
all things
smiling
at everything
he can almost see
the center of

the everywhere machine eating the heart of
the earth every day
eating the sky with its smell of
nevermore its cries of just once

the center of the emptiness erupting
with love
never was the thing she wanted

the all-around girl smiling at the sky
the everywhere machine all around her
crumbling to dust clones
all alone with a camera
and a phone
cursing

it's not anger or dread silent dread
it's not hope or hopelessness
or ferociousness
she once felt but no longer
not the acceptance of the universe
she seeks not the center of
every moment she misses
not what she believes

she wants to know the way
to the center of a sunset
to the center of a sound
to the center of her senses
to the center of unbound

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burning bright

2008-09-21T21:50:00.000-07:00

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

- William Blake, "Tyger"

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DFW

2008-09-17T13:07:00.000-07:00

David Foster Wallace's suicide has saddened and angered me in a way that I can't quite describe, and it's something I've been trying to come to grips with for the past few days. I've been affected by it in a weird and surreal way, disbelief leading to this cynical acceptance, as if it were just another sign of how the world is on a waterslide and the pool at the bottom is a shitpile.

it's not just the sudden loss of someone I've admired so much. it's not that there will be no more stories, articles, thoughts, writings from this great writer. though that is upsetting enough.

he said the best books were "a conversation about loneliness." he said, "If a writer does his job right, what he basically does is remind the reader of how smart they are. Wake the reader up to stuff that reader's been aware of all the time."

it's that there's no else who could do that, who could say that. who could be both self-deprecating enough and brilliant enough to know it and get it and want to make it understood. and who would make it understood, so lexically gracefully and so totally alarmingly precisely and so awesomely comically subversively and yet so sublimely and almost beatifically sadly. as if America need not be so, as if we could be so much more, as if this modern life is infinite in both its jest and its mundanity, as if we as people are restricted only by our communication and our compassion, or our lack thereof.

it's that there's no one else who is writing about the essence of words, of language, writing, expression, no one else writing about how to express truth, love, honesty, integrity, unirony, unselfcenteredness -- all without actually writing about it. the point made just as a by-product, a matter-of-fact, a consequence of the everythingness of his observation.

it's that there's no one else who is writing exactly and only and with unerring focus on how to be a decent human being in this mad American now. no one else writing-as-observation, no one else even seems to be observant. no one else wants to really look at and discuss what it's like to be... here. it's not just about what this American life in these days of ours is and what-it-all-means to be alive. it's that no one else is writing about what it's like, in sum, to be David Foster Wallace. what it meant to be him, and what that meant was attempting to share all of it, to try, ambitiously and majestically, to elucidate such empathy and wisdom, such humor and depth, such supreme knowledge and grandiloquency and yet to be crystal clear about it, about all of it, to be crass and hubristic and heartfelt and humble, and to be, in essence, really just a guy, himself, all of it.

and now no more.

not another word.

damn.

listen to this segment of him being interviewed on 'Fresh Air' in 1997.

read this article he wrote about Roger Federer.

read this eulogistic thread at McSweeney's.

buy his books and read more.

there are few people i truly admired more than DFW. it's just some seriously sad bullshit that he's dead.

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2008-09-03T22:45:00.000-07:00

Erica Gibson
"Woodchipper"
$450.00 - SOLD
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(via.)

the other side of here

2008-08-26T22:01:00.000-07:00

feel disconnected going through motions
emotions
folding clothes comfy coming down from
so many moments only seen from a distance
far away
the future and what i want to be someday
am i
the best sexually
i could be
on top of a mountain somewhere probably
out in the earth doing some good
not under some blanket
asleep always dreaming
asleep always awake wondering
what it means to wander
when
every time i want to drop everything and run
every time i want to look around town for
lights in different patterns and sounds
i've never heard before i wonder
what it means to wander
and i find nothing
is on the other side of here

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great

2008-08-19T00:43:00.000-07:00

this week is
great

the looking forward to
the walking there
the video wonder and audio wandering toward almost
being there best

the amount of time spent smiling
the trip from quietude to figures to total sound
the sweater argument in the forest by the road
the way the moon will look behind
the cartwheel in the clouds
the way you will look
lovely

and no one will know what
light

and all we will want
is to eat breakfast
in the middle of the night

great
this gig in the sky
great
this festival nearby

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detail from "aqua galactic" by n8w.

community, identity, stability

2008-08-15T22:05:00.000-07:00

Mother, monogamy, romance. High spurts the fountain; fierce and foamy the wild jet. The urge has but a single outlet. My love, my baby. No wonder these poor pre-moderns were mad and wicked and miserable. Their world didn't allow them to take things easily, didn't allow them to be sane, virtuous, happy. What with mothers and lovers, what with the prohibitions they were not conditioned to obey, what with the temptations and the lonely remorses, what with all the diseases and the endless isolating pain, what with the uncertainties and the poverty–they were forced to feel strongly. And feeling strongly (and strongly, what was more, in solitude, in hopelessly individual isolation), how could they be stable?

-Aldous Huxley, Brave New World

aquathletic vitae

2008-08-06T00:01:00.000-07:00

NYT:

The crux of [Michael] Phelps’s superiority — the quality that allows him to maintain the power and efficiency of his strokes when other swimmers begin to falter and that allows him to overpower competitors in the final lap of a race — is his endurance. Years of [coach Bob] Bowman’s drills have developed and refined Phelps’s capacity to endure, but from the outset Phelps brought to the pool physiological attributes that place him at the limit for his species. Under aerobic strain, Phelps produces far less lactic acid than other athletes.... Genadijus Sokolovas, an intense former pentathlete from Lithuania who is the sports-science director for USA Swimming, explained to me how important this is: “I recently calculated how much Michael is going to swim in Beijing. We don’t know his final schedule yet, but if it’s similar to Athens, the total time he’ll spend in the water — preliminaries, semifinals, finals, warm-ups, cool-downs — will be the equivalent of running eight or nine marathons over the course of the Olympic Games.”

that's based on the number of calories burned. going by distance, he'll swim a "mere" 30 miles. yeesh. what a crazy gunard, right?

yet 'tis true. weird fishes = rad.

and something else true for ye, re: water. didja know...? Point Nemo is the spot in the middle of the Pacific Ocean that is the place on Earth farthest from land. fact!

}}{{

quotable

2008-07-28T23:18:00.000-07:00

Build a man a fire, and he'll be warm for a day. Set a man on fire, and he'll be warm for the rest of his life.

In the beginning there was nothing, which exploded.

Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.

It is often said that before you die your life passes before your eyes. It is in fact true. It's called living.

- Terry Pratchett

}}{{

the list

2008-07-23T21:51:00.000-07:00

hang pictures.
brew beer.
camp at desolation.
get a rug for the kitchen.
read 'the terror.'
buy parmesan cheese.
drink a caucasian.
yoga.
update facebook status.
look at flights for nye in nyc.
drive to yellowstone.
renew passport.
bike to work.
more bluegrass.
more art.
happy hour.
wedding gifts.
}}{{

the best thing about cocaine

2008-07-12T05:54:00.000-07:00

is feeling empty,
feeling false.

feeling like there
is
so much going on here-
feeling so much.

feeling this and then
a song lyric, feeling this
and then.

look, i was warm.
i was this and then i thought
i was here when you saw me
here when you saw
here when you saw
the way i love about you
the why i love
you here.

the best thing about cocaine
is inside every single certain moment,
and being here awake-

being better than you think,
better among all strangers,
better than i believe
and certain
all is well when you say so
all is well when you say

listen, look and look and look and feel
the best thing about cocaine is that it
isn't real
}}{{

running, returning

2008-07-06T21:38:00.000-07:00

Sooner, or later
Everyone will know,
Within shadows,
In there light will grow
And love is on its way
It's more than I can see

Running, returning
On and on it goes
To a place
Where love begins to grow
And I am on my way
To where I've always been

Come walk with me in the morning light
Call the curious sun
Let it claw right inside heaven in our hands
And when the cold wind blows
We'll wake up on the other side
Where the sunlight sounds like moonlight in our ears

And even underground
They'll hear
Songs of our souls
A song without tears
Rising up

- akron/family, "Running, Returning"

}}{{

this just in

2008-07-01T10:56:00.000-07:00

magic mushrooms are totally fun and in fact their effects can be enduringly magical.

catching up with thousands of years of human behavior and communal observation of the wondrous spiritual understanding that accompanies the use of natural hallucinogens, Science was quoted as saying:

...when they surveyed volunteers 14 months after they took the drug, most said they were still feeling and behaving better because of the experience. Two-thirds of [the volunteers] also said the drug had produced one of the five most spiritually significant experiences they'd ever had.

well, no duh. however, Science:

...also said that despite the spiritual characteristics reported for the drug experiences, the study says nothing about whether God exists.

get that? no mention of whether God exists. none! where are you on that one, huh, Science?

}}{{

the view on mars

2008-06-21T14:04:00.000-07:00

}}{{

the law of the jungle

2008-06-17T16:44:00.000-07:00

Now this is the Law of the Jungle -- as old and as true as the sky;
And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die.
As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back --
For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack.

Wash daily from nose-tip to tail-tip; drink deeply, but never too deep;
And remember the night is for hunting, and forget not the day is for sleep.

The Jackal may follow the Tiger, but, Cub, when thy whiskers are grown,
Remember the Wolf is a Hunter -- go forth and get food of thine own.

Keep peace withe Lords of the Jungle -- the Tiger, the Panther, and Bear.
And trouble not Hathi the Silent, and mock not the Boar in his lair.

When Pack meets with Pack in the Jungle, and neither will go from the trail,
Lie down till the leaders have spoken -- it may be fair words shall prevail.

When ye fight with a Wolf of the Pack, ye must fight him alone and afar,
Lest others take part in the quarrel, and the Pack be diminished by war.

The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, and where he has made him his home,
Not even the head Wolf may enter, not even the Council may come.

The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, but where he has digged it too plain,
The Council shall send him a message, and so he shall change it again.

If ye kill before midnight, be silent, and wake not the woods with your bay,
Lest ye frighten the deer from the crop, and your brothers go empty away.

Ye may kill for yourselves, and your mates, and your cubs as they need, and ye can;
But kill not for pleasure of killing, and seven times never kill Man!

If ye plunder his Kill from a weaker, devour not all in thy pride;
Pack-Right is the right of the meanest; so leave him the head and the hide.

The Kill of the Pack is the meat of the Pack. Ye must eat where it lies;
And no one may carry away of that meat to his lair, or he dies.

The Kill of the Wolf is the meat of the Wolf. He may do what he will;
But, till he has given permission, the Pack may not eat of that Kill.

Cub-Right is the right of the Yearling. From all of his Pack he may claim
Full-gorge when the killer has eaten; and none may refuse him the same.

Lair-Right is the right of the Mother. From all of her year she may claim
One haunch of each kill for her litter, and none may deny her the same.

Cave-Right is the right of the Father -- to hunt by himself for his own:
He is freed of all calls to the Pack; he is judged by the Council alone.

Because of his age and his cunning, because of his gripe and his paw,
In all that the Law leaveth open, the word of your Head Wolf is Law.

Now these are the Laws of the Jungle, and many and mighty are they;
But the head and the hoof of the Law and the haunch and the hump is -- Obey!

- Rudyard Kipling

}}{{

batmanime

2008-06-17T01:07:00.000-07:00

}}{{

the sound of everything

2008-06-04T00:12:00.000-07:00

turning and turning
over every morning
don't want to wake up today

went to the market bought
a seaside vista, a poem from a blog,
some muscles and some fun

bought a lot with the cash dad
gave me, saw a suit and a smile
not for sale because what price
would it be to wear it like that?

of course no one can
sound the same in a casino after
six vodka shots, no one can
throw dice in the shadow of an
erupting volcano and not shout

forget it

forget freedom from the music made
by man, freedom from the future
past present presented by tomorrow
when you sleep, you sleep alone

when you sleep, the alarm is not
the same as the doorway in the sand,
the water in the sky when it falls,
the wisdom of the ancient mothers

and the sound of everything
all at once

}}{{

dispatches from the R. Kelly trial

2008-06-03T16:18:00.000-07:00

is the most entertaining thing i've read in a while. hitsville, a really excellent blog, has been following the case, as well. it really is incredible how little attention the national media has given this trial, and to his pattern of grossly mictura-pedo-libidinous behavior.

unrelated: fainting goats!

}}{{

basically supercool

2008-05-24T03:11:00.000-07:00

the breeze blows the blinds
the wind
the silence in the darkness
the way thoughts

words are everywhere
every word every tale to tell
everyone i know
everyone i know
all we want to be always is
basically supercool

all we want to be is always

beyond
books in the bathtub
the west side of the bed
the quiet cigarette in the courtyard
the cold

past midnight
windows closed
lights on
drinks aplenty drugs
what do they think about me
what do they think
why

outside the night
far inside
far
}}{{

2080

2008-05-13T10:42:00.000-07:00

I can't sleep when I think about the times we're living in,
I can't sleep when I think about the future I was born into,
Outsiders dressed up like Sunday morning,
But with no Berlin Wall what the hell you gonna do.

It's a New Year,
I'm glad to be here
It's a fresh spring,
So let's sing.

In 2080
I'll surely be dead
So don't look ahead,
Never look ahead.

It's a New Year,
I'm glad to be here
It's the first spring,
So let's sing.

And the moon shines bright
On the water tonight
So we won't drown
In the summer sound.

If you find me I'll be sitting by the water fountain,
Picket signs, letdowns, meltdown it's Monday morning
But it's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's alright
It's alright

Cause in no time, they'll be gone I guess I'll still be standing here.

It's a New Year,
I'm glad to be here
It's a fresh spring,
So let's sing.

In 2080
I'll surely be dead
So don't look ahead,
Never look ahead.

It's a New Year,
I'm glad to be here
It's the first spring,
So let's sing.

And the moon shines bright
On the water tonight
So we won't drown
In the summer sound.

Yeah yeah we can all grab at the chance and be handsome farmers,
Yeah you can have twenty one sons and be blood when they marry my daughters,
And the pain that we left at the station will stay in a jar behind us.
We can pickle the pain into blue ribbon winners at county contests.

- Yeasayer, "2080"

}}{{

assemble head

2008-05-08T17:30:00.001-07:00

}}{{

my new favorite word is

2008-04-21T01:01:00.000-07:00

interrobang.

}}{{

the buffalo theory

2008-04-16T22:07:00.000-07:00

by Cliff Clavin.

"Well you see, Norm, it's like this . . . A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. And when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members. In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Now, as we know, excessive intake of alcohol kills brain cells. But naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine. And that, Norm, is why you always feel smarter after a few beers."

}}{{

one year of this

2008-04-06T19:22:00.001-07:00

exploding, exploding, exploring
surrounded by exclamation points
making miscellaneous movements
decided by voices
serene as fuck
this way and this
dancing with the prancelopes
as perilous, as pleasant
arranged for garrulous creatures
yourmyself
afloat in a sea of ichthyology
which whiskey sweater when
under paused thunder
must every most every
or else harmonies hover
did what found what did
certainly tastic
because until
}}{{

one month

2008-04-01T11:56:00.000-07:00

without meat.

why?
}}{{

2008-03-25T02:10:00.001-07:00

}}{{

today should be a national holiday

2008-03-20T19:11:00.000-07:00

tomorrow too. for serious.

so my Final Four picks are Kansas, Louisville, Xavier and Memphis. Kansas v. Memphis in the final, with the Jayhawks winning it all. so: goooooooooooooo... er, Kansas? well, that's what it says here, so i guess i'll just go with it.

while we're here, here's reason #112 to vote for Obama: he filled out a bracket and Hillary didn't. (a Barack-et!) yeah, she had to "consult with" her husband, who (through a spokesperson) took a pass on making any picks. which is just so lame ass, on both their parts, for a variety of reasons. even McCain did one. McCain. i like to imagine him wearing a leather vest and hanging by his one good arm from a helicopter as it lifts him to safety after foiling some international super-villain's criminal plot, even though he's all old he's still smirking holding a knife between his teeth, and this evil mastermind is down below clenching his fist and yelling "McCaaaaaiiiiiiiin!!!!" all pissed. yeah, that cracks me up. serious, i am sitting here laughing.

Ol' 'bama's picks were pretty lame, though, gotta say. no real upsets in there. and he and McCain both picked UNC to win it. go figs.

hey, wouldn't that be a great mascot? the figs. the fighting figs. go fighting figs! and a giant fig newton for the mascot. serious, who wouldn't want to have a fig newton as their team's mascot? with a fierce expression on its flat figgy face: the fighting figs.

i'm not even joking. i actually honestly think this is a good idea. maybe even a great idea. or maybe i'm just giddy because it's tournament time. maybe i've been infected with the madness that happens only in march! whatever. the fighting figs will destroy you! McCaaaaaiiiiiiiin!!!!

}}{{

soul music after midnight

2008-03-18T00:54:00.000-07:00

these days
professional sports is very interesting
these days
some people get rich and others eat shit and die

try not to think about it
observe
a complicated thing made simple
the way you look tonight
the rain
the puddles in your voice
don't want to end up too far away
running my fingers through my
springtime for sure
too far away don't want to fight
like a midnight text message
like a ray of sunlight
shining
an eclipse

what's in the news is of no
what's in the past
where's my coffee memories the taste of
don't want to get too close
the smell of garlic, the sizzle
makes no
fuck and every other word when i laugh
somewhere between the horizon and a hangover
but quiet
because of the black mirror
because of that jacket
that soul song
soul music after midnight

seek and ye shall
so far so
they say who
did what found what did who
these days
you

}}{{

reflections on a mote of dust

2008-03-10T17:14:00.000-07:00

"We succeeded in taking that picture [from deep space], and, if you look at it, you see a dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever lived, lived out their lives. The aggregate of all our joys and sufferings, thousands of confident religions, ideologies and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilizations, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every hopeful child, every mother and father, every inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every superstar, every supreme leader, every saint and sinner in the history of our species, lived there on a mote of dust, suspended in a sunbeam.
"The earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that in glory and in triumph they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of the dot on scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner of the dot. How frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the universe, are challenged by this point of pale light.
"Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity -- in all this vastness -- there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves. It is up to us. It's been said that astronomy is a humbling, and I might add, a character-building experience. To my mind, there is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly and compassionately with one another and to preserve and cherish that pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known."

- Carl Sagan

}}{{

navigate

2008-03-01T01:51:00.000-08:00

i like to be in a room full of people standing still
and staring in the same direction
standing still and staring

i like to be where
heads nod and heads nod
together
in time we're standing still staring
there

hips and eyes lost in thought earplugs ideas
a hairdo, inertia
an entire moment, eyes lost in

blink

most of my friends really want to know what up with
most of my friends

drink, smile and navigate
somehow

it feels good to apply my mind
to something
think

apply yourself to finding out about
a Zappa quote
a certain

finding out about
what do you believe?

what up
too loud to text to say
here i am standing
still
staring

at which way to the
i like to be
listen

everyone should hear this harmonica solo
damn

}}{{

a picture of a sheep

2008-02-29T15:48:00.000-08:00

}}{{

for hours in darkness

2008-02-25T00:29:00.000-08:00

just watched the latest episode of The Wire and saw that Gus Haynes, the fictive city editor of the Baltimore Sun, had this headline taped to his computer:

Many Are Trapped for Hours In Darkness and Confusion

it's from the New York Times, looks like, after the first World Trade Center bombing.

so: is it a shout-out? or is it a snarky commentary, a sidelong glance at the Gray Lady, a grammatolatric in-joke? or is it beyond that, even – and are they being profound?

}}{{

no blogging

2008-02-13T01:15:00.000-08:00

in the middle of a thought
no blogging
at night

in the middle of

no words to find to title
the moon my favorite kind

went and saw it one time you
were there
great

it was great you
were there

}}{{

none shall pass

2008-02-05T22:25:00.000-08:00

Flash that buttery gold, jittery zeitgeist
Wither by the watering hole, water patrol
What are we, to heart huckabee, art fuckery suddenly?
Not enough young in his lung for the water wing
Colorfully vulgar poacher at a mulch like,
"I'ma pull the pulse out a soldier and bolt." (Fine.)
Sign of the time we elapse,
When a primate climb up the spine and attach
Eye for an eye, by the bog life swamps and vines,
They get a rise out of frogs and flies
So when a dog fights hog-tied prize sorta costs a life.
The mouths water on a fork and knife
And the allure isn't right,
No score on a war-torn beach
Where the cash cow's actually beef.
Blood turns wine when I leak for police
Like, "That's not a riot, it's a feast. Let's eat."

And I will remember your name and face
On the day you were judged by the funhouse cast,
And I will rejoice in your fall from grace
With a cane to the sky like, "None shall pass."
None shall pass, none shall pass...

Now if he never had a day a snowcone couldn't fix
He wouldn't relate to the rogue vocoder blitz,
How he spoke through a no-doz, motor on the fritz
'Cause he wouldn't play roll over, fetch, like a bitch
And express no regrets though he isn't worth the homeowners' piss
To the jokers who pose by the glitz. (Fine.)
Sign of the swine and the swarm
When a king is a whore who comply and conform
Miles outside of the eye of the storm
With a siphon, a lure and a prize and award,
While avoiding the vile and bizarre that is violence and war.
True blue triumph is more.
Like, "Wait, let it snake up outta the centerfold,
Let it break the balls of Jericho. Ready? Go."
Sat where the old cardboard city folks
Swap tales with heads like every other penny throw...

Okay, woke to a grocery list
Goes like this: duty and death.
Any one object, come stand in the way,
You can be my little Snake River Canyon today.
And I ran with a chain of commands
And a jetpack strap where the backstab lands if it can. (Fine.)
Sign of the vibe in the crowd
When I cut a belly open to find what'll climb out,
What a bit of gusto he must erupt
Make a dark horse rush like enough's enough.
It must'a struck a nerve so they huff and puff
Till all the king's men fluster and clusterfuck.
And it's a beautiful thing
To my people who keep an impressive wing span
Even when the cubicle shrink,
You gotta pull up the intruder by the root of the weed
And march you through the machine...

- Aesop Rock, "None Shall Pass"

}}{{

the last ten movies i've watched on netflix

2008-01-30T01:18:00.000-08:00

The Ten - not funny at all and i fell asleep (one star)
Sunshine - ridiculous and retarded (one star)
Superbad - McLovin what! (five stars)
Ratatouille - Patatoswaltouille. (four stars)
Shoot 'Em Up - give 'em the ole carrot to the eyeball. (three stars)
Ghosts of Cite Soleil - is being an über-violent thug in Haiti supposed to be cool? (three stars)
Futurama the Movie: Bender's Big Score - still Futurama, only less so. (two stars)
Safe Men - quirky with a capital irky (two stars)
First Snow - he dies, or is he just hibernating? get it? zzzzzzzzz. (one star)
Hot Rod - cool beans. (three stars)

yeah, so this has not been a real tremendo stretch of filmosity: an average rating of 2.5 for december-january. yucko. and hey, Sicko has been sitting there at the top of my queue -- under "very long wait" -- the whole time.

hopefully the recently released Conan the Barbarian (with Arnold commentary!) will ship soon. yeah, that's what i'm talking about!

}}{{

sort of juxtaposed

2008-01-25T00:34:00.000-08:00

somehow we are so certain
of so many one thing, somewhere
somehow sort of juxtaposed
when we dream and describe it

when we wake to our shaking selves
helpless with laughter in the quiet cold
cold and quiet and about to begin
to believe in the best of no more
beyond compare

but there
there i want to be
alive and asleep in a hotel big bed
out on a balcony screaming
but why?

and yet i want to be

without knowing why
i could sit forever i should
i would stack chairs stack
chairs all day perfect all
day every

but why would i?

and i'd be smiling

about to begin to believe
in the every of everything we talk about
the every that is floating
the every that is light
whatever it is however
it is
there
and isn't the way the thought arrives like any other
like any other
no

}}{{

photo credit: Jeff Kerr

the fortune from my fortune cookie last night

2008-01-09T10:07:00.001-08:00

"An alien of some sort will be appearing to you shortly!"

exclamation point, indeed.
}}{{

poem for a new day

2008-01-01T04:28:00.000-08:00

yes indeed there is so much to be had here
so much
so

certainly much

can't wait for it can't
wait

for sunrise
can't wait for dreams

can't wait for so much

}}{{

mine this meadow, mine this dawn

2007-12-13T00:42:00.000-08:00

more moments merely dreamt of, fewer futures feared lost forever

always arriving
remain
in a state of constant departure
while always arriving,
that's the quote

another like this
is a carousel, up and down
and around

mine this memory, mine this timing
is the secret to comedy
shit

always like this
a life spent
looking for nothing more than to learn what to look for
and find what to keep and to keep it real and true and deep
but not too deep

to learn
the history of humanity in ten bullet points, how to laugh
or what my music means about me while i'm listening
to a song called "tyrants" from an album called in the future

and thinking about this

thinking about this fate
but not too hard

mine this music, mine this truth

uncertain, staring at the sunrise
early morning in my mind
a hazy light slanting between trees
a bicycle smiles by
a gliding face, a gilded place
and not-so cold

mine this meadow, mine this dawn
mine this idyll moment

i made it

i made it mine
and i wonder what makes me want to
make everything mine

}}{{

photo credit: Siggav

hi

2007-12-09T04:20:00.000-08:00

there are a lot of things i want to say to you right now
a lot
of things

i want to make music for you

is one

two is totally about another thing
another thing i want to do

there was this time and this other time
when you should've been there

there meaning here

and i thought you were
because
you were

because i thought you were

here
meaning here

meaning more than here

meaning this

this is this
this

this meaning this
this meaning more than
this

only more when you see
suddenly so

}}{{

2007-12-05T16:34:00.000-08:00

}}{{

what else are your thoughts today

2007-11-26T20:26:00.000-08:00

the way the herons glide in the half-dark, the sound of the freeway,
the time it takes to drive
the way your thoughts become so much more

listening to this a lot
reading

sleeping and saying things while sleeping and saying things while awake
about dreaming, making a list of dreams

there is this discussion about the Coens' new film, a comment called
THE ENDING IS NOT WHAT YOU THINK. NEITHER IS THE MOVIE.

of interest.

there is a girl, there is time and a lot of laughter

there are a lot of awesome curse words, yes indeed
a fucklot

all day like this with headphones on
imagining the future full of fearlessness,
all lovely and lyrical as shit

imagining the future full of fictional skies

meantime
there's all this meandering of mind,
all this wandering around
under paused thunder

but if you're wondering
what's really unusual here and now,
i'd say nothing much

}}{{

conversation around a fire, and a coin

2007-11-06T22:50:00.000-08:00

      They rode on into the darkness and the moonblanched waste lay before them cold and pale and the moon sat in a ring overhead and in that ring lay a mock moon with its own cold gray and nacre seas. They made camp on a low bench where walls of dry aggregate marked an old river course and they struck up a fire about which they sat in silence, the eyes of the dog and of the idiot and certain other men glowing red as coals in their heads where they turned. The flames sawed in the wind and the embers paled and deepened and paled and deepened like the bloodbeat of some living thing eviscerate upon the ground before them and they watched the fire which does contain within it something of men themselves inasmuch as they are less without it and are divided from their origins and are exiles. For each fire is all fires, the first fire and the last ever to be. By and by the judge rose and moved away on some obscure mission and after a while someone asked the expriest if it were true that at one time there had been two moons in the sky and the expriest eyed the false moon above them and said that it may well have been so. But certainly the wise high God in his dismay at the proliferation of lunacy on this earth must have wetted a thumb and leaned down out of the abyss and pinched it hissing into extinction. And could he find some alter means by which the birds could mend their paths in the darkness he might have done with this one too.
      The question was then put as to whether there were on Mars or other planets in the void men or creatures like them and at this the judge who had returned to the fire and stood half naked and sweating spoke and said that there were not and that there were no men anywhere in the universe save those upon the earth. All listened as he spoke, those who had turned to watch him and those who would not.
      The truth about the world, he said, is that anything is possible. Had you not seen it all from birth and thereby bled it of its strangeness it would appear to you for what it is, a hat trick in a medicine show, a fevered dream, a trance bepopulate with chimeras having neither analogue nor precedent, an itinerant carnival, a migratory tentshow whose ultimate destination after many a pitch in many a mudded field is unspeakable and calamitous beyond reckoning.
      The universe is no narrow thing and the order within it is not constrained by any latitude in its conception to repeat what exists in one part in any other part. Even in this world more things exist without our knowledge than with it and the order in creation in which you see is that which you have put there, like a string in a maze, so that you shall not lose your way. For existence has its own order and that no man's mind can compass, that mind itself being but a fact among others.
      Brown spat into the fire. That's some more of your craziness, he said.
      The judge smiled. He placed the palms of his hands upon his chest and breathed the night air and he stepped closer and squatted and held up one hand. He turned that hand and there was a gold coin between his fingers.
      Where is the coin, Davy?
      I'll notify you where to put the coin.
      The judge swung his hand and the coin winked overhead in the firelight. It must have been fastened to some subtle lead, horsehair perhaps, for it circled the fire and returned to the judge and he caught it in his hand and smiled.
      The arc of circling bodies is determined by the length of their tether, said the judge. Moons, coins, men. His hands moved as if he were pulling something from one fist in a series of elongations. Watch the coin, Davy, he said.
      He flung it and it cut an arc through the firelight and was gone in the darkness beyond. They watched the night where it had vanished and they watched the judge and in their watching some the one and some the other they were a common witness.
      The coin, Davy, the coin, whispered the judge. He sat erect and raised his hand and smiled around.
      The coin returned back out of the night and crossed the fire with a faint high droning and the judge's raised hand was empty and then it held the coin. There was a light slap and it held the coin. Even so some claimed that he had thrown the coin away and palmed another like it and made the sound with his tongue for he was himself a cunning old malabarista and he said himself as he put the coin away what all men knew that there are coins and false coins. In the morning some did walk over the ground where the coin had gone but if any man found it he kept it to himself and with sunrise they were mounted and riding again.

- Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian, pp.244-6

}}{{

who owns the fish?

2007-11-02T12:15:00.000-07:00

There are 5 houses that are 5 different colors, all in a row. In each house lives a man with a different nationality. The 5 owners drink a certain type of beverage, smoke a certain brand of cigarette, and keep a certain pet. No owners have the same pet, smoke the same brand of cigarette or drink the same beverage.

The question is: "Who owns the fish?"

Hints:

The Brit lives in the red house.
The Swede keeps dogs as pets.
The Dane drinks tea.
The green house is on the left of the white house.
The green house's owner drinks coffee.
The person who smokes Pall Mall rears birds.
The owner of the yellow house smokes Dunhill.
The man living in the center house drinks milk.
The Norwegian lives in the first house.
The man who smokes Blends lives next to the one who keeps cats.
The man who keeps the horse lives next to the man who smokes Dunhill.
The owner who smokes Bluemasters drinks beer.
The German smokes Prince.
The Norwegian lives next to the blue house.
The man who smokes Blends has a neighbor who drinks water.

(via.)
}}{{

one month

2007-11-01T23:14:00.000-07:00

without a beer.

why?

}}{{

my favorite palindrome

2007-10-26T16:13:00.000-07:00

RETTEBS IFLAHD NOCES, EH? TTU, BUT THE SECOND HALF IS BETTER.

related: Bob.
}}{{

miscellany

2007-10-24T01:11:00.000-07:00

Knob Creek on the rocks is one way, but i just learned about Michter's. now there's the juice.

all The Darjeeling Limited did was: 1. make me want to go to India. 2. be a good movie.

dice stacking is a thing.

Genghis Khan's given name was Temujin.

eunoia is a great word, and would possibly be a great name for a girl. it means 'beautiful thinking' or 'well mind'-- and it's also the shortest word to use all five vowels.

Paul Hogan hosted the Academy Awards. no, really.

click around.

Survivor is getting interesting.

Picasso's full name was Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno María de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Clito Ruiz y Picasso.

a turkey-cock is a pompous person.

the Ethiopiques albums are superdope.

111,111,111 x 111,111,111 = 12,345,678,987,654,321.

}}{{

how's it gonna end

2007-10-21T02:33:00.000-07:00

How will our universe end? Recent speculation now includes a pervasive growing field of mysterious repulsive phantom energy that rips virtually everything apart. Although the universe started with a Big Bang, analysis of cosmological measurements allows a possibility that it will end with a Big Rip. As soon as a few billion years from now, the controversial scenario holds, dark energy will grow to such a magnitude that our own Galaxy will no longer be able to hold itself together. After that, stars, planets, and then even atoms might not be able to withstand the expansive internal force. Previously, speculation on the ultimate fate of the universe centered on either a re-collapsing Big Crunch or a Big Freeze. Although the universe's fate is still a puzzle, piecing it together will likely follow from an increased understanding of the nature of dark matter and dark energy.
-Astronomy Picture of the Day

The sirens are snaking their
Way up the hill
It's last call somewhere in
The world
The reptiles blend in with the
Color of the street
Life is sweet at the edge
Of a razor
And down in the front row of
An old picture show
The old man is asleep
As the credits start to roll

And I want to know
The same thing
Everyone wants to know
How's it going to end?
-Tom Waits, "How's It Gonna End"

}}{{

dance of the dawn

2007-10-12T00:38:00.000-07:00

i am an undersarcastic american dancing boy
with a beard
which is a little weird
perhaps not

as hilarious as a terrific hotdog
costume wearer wandering around town
singing opera

perhaps

what i really want to say
about every band i see
is this jam is the motherfucking shit
right here

my favorite thing to do when i'm sleeping is
dream
i wonder

why am i so in love with this computer
music

this understanding of meaning
which whiskey sweater when

there's something i do love
always
and that's
the smell of a fine woman walking close in the autumntime

the dance of the dawn
the light, the light

}}{{

addendum

2007-10-10T16:03:00.000-07:00

to earlier post re: funny animal group names.

a fixie of hipsters.
}}{{

those fricking freakydeaky android chicks

2007-09-29T04:07:00.000-07:00

in that new Heineken ad creep me the fuck out. i mean, the one chick with crazy roboto-arms pulls a mini beerkeg out of her insides, and then all of a sudden there are three of them! stop multiplying you cyborg freaks! ... i want to shout. they all proceed to start dancing unnervingly implicatively erotically, shaking their white white vaguely asiatic exceptionally well proportioned but clearly creepazoidal cyborg bodies at me and then of a sudden pouring out a frosty mug, all the while staring straight at me, the viewer, with an expression of such demon-affected pleasure that in attempting to seem however fuckable or come-hitherish some ad wizard surmised would be impactful, these freakydeaky android chicks in reality come across as unrepentant human-haters sent from the future on a mission of committing acts of violent murder upon as many impressionable drunkards as possible. seriously, what. the. fuck. that is not what i want from my mini keg commercial.

unrelated: i noticed yesterday that the giant purple head that was in golden gate park for awhile is no longer there. this made me sort of sad; nothing was left but the stain on the grass. i always loved it when i was in the park, and saw that giant purple head. it was always so giant. and purple.

hey: hyphy slang is awesome. i got graaaayypes! i got puuuurple!

i'm thinking a ghost riding a whip would be a great halloween costume. or a man with a giant purple head. or Ahmadinejad. (timely!) or Sigourney Weaver. (from Gorillas in the Mist!) or a freakydeaky android chick.

i can't decide.

the thing about being here is that you are always right

here.
}}{{

a picture of a sloth

2007-09-25T12:40:00.001-07:00

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funny animal group names

2007-09-18T15:24:00.000-07:00

an ostentation of peacocks.
a shrewdness of apes.
a rhumba of rattlesnakes.
a mustering of storks.
a pandemonium of parrots.
a venue of vultures.
a smack of jellyfish.
a coalition of cheetahs.
a wisdom of wombats.
a business of ferrets.
a bloat of hippopotami.
an unkindness of ravens.
a parliament of owls.
a tower of giraffes.
a convocation of eagles.
a destruction of wildcats.
an ambush of tigers.
a mob of emus.
a crash of rhinoceroses.
an exultation of skylarks.
an implausibility of gnus.
}}{{

the autumn days

2007-09-17T00:12:00.000-07:00

the autumn days are coming, the time to
find a hoodie and a coffee cup, keep an open
invitation to dinner and drinks because dark
sooner than light, light eliding like fog surrounds
the city, the folk alive in mist and whispers, ninjas
and crooks and nannies and perceptions of the hardcore
avoiders of fate, mumblers who'll wait for the past
before believing tomorrow lies, all sit around
saying "can i borrow your disguise?"

the autumn days are coming, do you want
to listen to every theoretically present person
share again such wonderful insight at full length
when you are perhaps only hungry for perfect
humorous doom? superheroes and the criminal
underworld excessively engaging as a motif,
the ability of society to wear a costume
and fool itself into functioning happily
as a democracy will repeatedly do

the autumn days are coming, the time for
sleeping under a tree and dreaming of the
tale you would tell buddha if you met him
at your local where you'll meet friends later
and watch the game, what would you say
would he laugh i would think so but it would
have to be a good story and in your dream
it is

}}{{

the metaverse

2007-09-12T09:18:00.000-07:00

is coming. and this is a pretty amazing thing. i hate the word 'amazing', but i really mean it here. this thing is amaaayyyy-zing.

it's a new visualization technology called Photosynth: "a vastly powerful piece of software capable of taking a wide variety of images (for instance, Flickr images, taken by hundreds or thousands of different people), analyzing them for similarities, and grafting them together into an interactive three-dimensional space. This seamless patchwork of images can be viewed via multiple angles and magnifications, allowing us to look around corners or 'fly' in for a (much) closer look."

ok, ok. just take seven minutes of your life and watch the presentation, delivered by the creator of the software at TED2007.

it's the seeds of Neal Stephenson's metaverse, but, like, for real. (a) for real, and (b) imagine the implications, once video mapping becomes possible in the same way. a virtual world is only a matter time.

but how much time?

}}{{

direct quote from Mystery, host of The Pick-up Artist, a reality show on VH1 about helping unconfident men learn how to meet and attract women

2007-09-05T00:45:00.000-07:00

"I think we'll all agree that this is a lot more than just about picking up girls."

}}{{

two days, two shows

2007-08-26T22:40:00.000-07:00

I remember my mother’s
Sister’s husband’s brother
Working in the goldmine full-time
Filling in for sunshine
Filing into tight lines
Of ordinary beehives
The door screams I hate you
Hate you hanging around my blue jeans
Why is there no breeze
No currency of leaves
No current through the water wire
No feelings I can see
I trust no emotion
I believe in locomotion
But I've turned to rust as we've discussed
Though I must have let you down
too many times
In the dirt and the dust

I have no idea how this happens
All of my maps have been overthrown
Happenstance has changed my plans
So many times my heart has been outgrown
Now everybody’s feeling all alone
Can’t tell you who I am
When everybody’s feeling all alone
Can’t tell you who I am

I am looking forward
Toward the shadows tracing bones
Our faces stitched and sewing
Our houses hemmed into homes
Trying to be thankful
Our stories fit into phones
And our voices lift so easily
A gift given accidentally
When we’re not sure
We’re not alone

-Wilco, "You Are My Face"

. . .

Brass Monkey - that funky Monkey
Brass Monkey - junkie
That funky Monkey

Got this dance that's more than real
Drink Brass Monkey - here's how you feel
Put your left leg down - your right leg up
Tilt your head back - let's finish the cup
M.C.A. with the bottle - D. rocks the can
AdRock gets nice with Charlie Chan
We're offered Moet - we don't mind Chivas
Wherever we go with bring the Monkey with us
AdRock drinks three - Mike D. is D.
Double R. foots the bill most definitely
I drink Brass Monkey and I rock well
I got a Castle in Brooklyn - that's where I dwell

Cause I drink it anytime - and anyplace
When it's time to get ill - I pour it on my face
Monkey tastes Def when you pour it on ice
Come on y'all it's time to get nice
Coolin' by the lockers getting kind of funky
Me and the crew - we're drinking Brass Monkey
This girl walked by - she gave me the eye
I reached in the locker - grabbed the Spanish Fly
I put it with the Monkey - mixed it in the cup
Went over to the girl, "Yo baby, what's up?"
I offered her a sip - the girl she gave me lip
It did begin the stuff wore in and now she's on my tip

Step up to the bar - put the girl down
She takes a big gulp and slaps it around
Take a sip - you can do it - you get right to it
We had a case in the place and we went right through it
You got a dry Martini - thinking you're cool
I'll take your place at the bar - I smack you off your stool
I'll down a '40 dog' in a single gulp
And if you got beef you'll get beat to a pulp
Monkey and parties and reelin' and rockin'
Def, def - girls, girls - all y'all jockin'
The song and dance keeping you in a trance
If you don't buy my record I got my advance
I drink it - I think it - I see it - I be it
I love Brass Monkey but I won't give D. it
We got the bottle - you got the cup
Come on everybody let's get ffffff

-Beastie Boys, "Brass Monkey"

}}{{

climbing up buddha

2007-08-16T19:04:00.000-07:00

marriedtothesea.com

}}{{

"A Little Fable," by Franz Kafka

2007-08-06T12:12:00.000-07:00

"Alas," said the mouse, "the whole world is growing smaller every day. At the beginning it was so big that I was afraid, I kept running and running, and I was glad when I saw walls far away to the right and left, but these long walls have narrowed so quickly that I am in the last chamber already, and there in the corner stands the trap that I must run into."
"You only need to change your direction," said the cat, and ate it up.

}}{{

what are the five best songs

2007-08-04T16:01:00.000-07:00

by Led Zeppelin? i'd say...

1. Since I've Been Loving You
2. Stairway to Heaven
3. Immigrant Song
4. Dazed and Confused
5. No Quarter

but man, that's tough. real tough.

}}{{

birdland revealed

2007-07-25T00:31:00.000-07:00

unaccustomed to seeing so many pelicans soaring so high above the bridge,
the staring bicyclist swerves into a pedestrian and falls. motorists brake, heads turn,
a windy day.

the sudden sun, the glitter of the sea, the city far and built.

talking to a pillow near a lamp, the phone balanced on an ear, mumbling some,
making sense, sensing this, sensing the occurrence
of time, the long life of a late night past.
the door opens
and closes, the window lifted just enough for a breeze.
a cat in the street.

purposefully imagining a rollercoaster while trying to shampoo,
while trying to lather, rinse, repeat. listening to jazz music,
keeping music in mind.

this shared such-and-such, this smile. resist it, resist every last word,
resist the lie, resist when you wonder whether you'd rather be invisible
or fly.

}}{{

what the world will say one day

2007-07-17T00:33:00.000-07:00

And a Man sat alone, drenched deep in sadness. And all the animals drew near to him and said, "We do not like to see you so sad. Ask us for whatever you wish and you shall have it."
The Man said, "I want to have good sight." The vulture replied, "You shall have mine."
The Man said, "I want to be strong." The jaguar said, "You shall be strong like me."
Then the Man said, "I long to know the secrets of the earth." The serpent replied, "I will show them to you."
And so it went with all the animals. And when the Man had all the gifts that they could give, he left.
Then the owl said to the other animals, "Now the Man knows much, he'll be able to do many things. Suddenly I am afraid."
The deer said, "The Man has all that he needs. Now his sadness will stop."
But the owl replied, "No. I saw a hole in the Man, deep like a hunger he will never fill. It is what makes him sad and what makes him want. He will go on taking and taking, until one day the World will say, 'I am no more and I have nothing left to give.'"

- Apocalypto

}}{{

the wait, the hunt

2007-07-16T18:36:00.000-07:00

five email replies in a day, crazy. in an afternoon! when the fog-breeze blows, as they say, sometimes it's strong enough to knock your hat off.

so: some doin's a-transpirin'. we hope.

i met a guy the other day who just got back from Tanzania, climbed Kilimanjaro. so cool. in a related thought, "Filles De Kilimanjaro" might be my favorite Miles Davis song. i've never read Hemingway's story, though. but someday.

everyone's up to something,
every day has a price

my friend danced like a monkey,
and checked me for lice.

}}{{

this is for someone

2007-07-13T02:44:00.000-07:00

such is all because I love
for her in some way some
how why it is this say what
when here we are not so near
never far so silent thus this
thought this there where we
wonder why we wonder
why

this is for someone that I miss
someone that I wish was here
beside me if she was only if
I wouldn't write this
I would touch her
only touch her
snuggle and sleep
and smell
and smile
}}{{

high sierra rules

2007-07-10T18:53:00.000-07:00

}}{{

saluton

2007-07-01T02:42:00.000-07:00

that's how you say hello in esperanto. saluton. i like it. thank you is dankon. and cheers is... okay, i don't know what cheers is. wikipedia doesn't say. i guess cheers in esperanto is just ... "cheers". i always said that hello, thank you and cheers were the three most importante phrases to know in any language. or, the only three phrases that you really had to know to get by. hello, thank you, cheers.

this is true. i think.

did you know that William Shatner made a horror movie with dialogue entirely in esperanto? did you? well, it's true.

tonite i lost at poker, first one out. played some katamari, a great game -- you just pick up shit. roll around, pick up cows and cars and trees and tractors and relaxing dudes and windmills and giant octopi. good fun.

the Budos Band is good.

hey, you should get pando. yes, you. seriously. get it and tell me you've got it. then, when i hear an album i really like, i can email it to you. not email in the conventional sense. no, i can "pando" it to you -- alert you to this shared-file opportunity and then share it, via pando. and in the same way, you can pando shit to me. not just music. whatever files you might like to send my way. anyway, do it. it's fun. i even know of a pando group where people share music, via my friend Saleema, if you want to get in on that, too. pandorama!

John From Cincinnati sucks and Flight of the Conchords rules. doy.

my Netflix queue is all weird.

i want to go back to Southeast Asia. or elsewhere. why not? what's so great about here, besides beer and baseball and pando and my bed that i sleep late in? and my friends, jerks and sweethearts that they are.

stupid money. stupid life, here we are.

gisla revido means goodbye. and forfikigu means fuck you.

}}{{

you should watch this

2007-06-28T12:41:00.000-07:00

}}{{

the arc of a cormorant

2007-06-23T01:18:00.000-07:00

i saw more than four cormorants flying through the air
while sitting on a cliffside near the ocean the other day,
watched them swoop down in a giant curving descent
and then glide eversoclose to the waterline
till they were out of sight.

the sky was big that day, the sun bright.

say, what's the difference between a sun roof
and a moon roof? the difference between
the sun and moon, i suppose.

and what is that? no one can say
with anything approaching absolute authority.

so much is mysterious, unsussable, like when
a curious and not-unique thought occurred to me
while i was watching the film Little Children.

that is, that there is very little in life that is
all that curious anymore. life just is as it is,
for everyone, always.

and that is what's so curious about it,
that everyone else's everpresent mystery
is all that there is that
is all that interesting.

just this, the drama of another reality,
and how we can shape our love for it into song.

hey, i told you it wasn't a unique thought.
and anyway, it's probably wrong.

}}{{

LII, from 1 X 1 [One Times One]

2007-06-18T11:20:00.000-07:00

life is more true than reason will deceive
(more secret or than madness did reveal)
deeper is life than lose: higher than have
- but beauty is more each than living's all

multiplied with infinity sans if
the mightiest meditations of mankind
cancelled are by one merely opening leaf
(beyond whose nearness there is no beyond)

or does some littler bird than eyes can learn
look up to silence and completely sing?
futures are obsolete; pasts are unborn
(here less than nothing's more than everything)

death, as men call him, ends what they call men
- but beauty is more now than dying's when

- e.e. cummings

}}{{

don't stop bereavin'

2007-06-14T12:11:00.000-07:00

so that was how it ended. that. was how. it ended.

don't stop believin'.

i don't know what that means. but right on for the darkness, know what i mean?

my friend Jme says she doesn't like this blog as much as she liked the old one. she says she can't relate to anything here any more, and how come i don't post as often and not as much prose.

well, maybe she can relate to this!

oh, right. you can't see that. i just raised my middle finger and wagged it in front of the screen. i did. i know it's unlikely that you'll bereave this, so you'll just have to trust me.

question: what's the difference between a frog?

answer: one leg's both the same.

that joke, ladies and gentlemen and Jme, is courtesy of Mr. Bobby Weir.

what should i have for lunch/dinner/dessert? this is the eternal question. none of that other stuff about the soul or the cosmos or reality or divinity. just: what will go in my belly soon.

you know what makes a book really good? when you can read it aloud and it sounds more vivid, more deep and true. when it somehow sounds more real, more real than the silent ideation. when it sounds like the sound of consciousness -- but loud.

when it sounds like awakening.

hey, my computer's broke and i need a job. such is life.

}}{{

running the numbers

2007-06-04T11:34:00.000-07:00

Plastic Bags, 2007. Depicts 60,000 plastic bags, the number used in the US every five seconds.

"This new series looks at contemporary American culture through the austere lens of statistics. Each image portrays a specific quantity of something: fifteen million sheets of office paper (five minutes of paper use); 106,000 aluminum cans (thirty seconds of can consumption) and so on. My hope is that images representing these quantities might have a different effect than the raw numbers alone, such as we find daily in articles and books."
-Chris Jordan

}}{{