october 28, 2002

born, stubborn me

really there is no artistic expression which keens to me more than music.

intellectually, i can appreciate all levels of realization and explanation -- but i only ever truly relate to song.

like -- there are three major veins on my right hand, and i'm not sure if there is anything sexier than the undercurrent of life which they represent -- in everyone.

october 27, 2002

stay tuned

it feels strange. tip of the iceberg, i think, or somehow just like christmas. one year, circa two years old, i woke up fairly early, perhaps four or five in the morning, ran down to the tree, grabbed the first wrapped gift i could get my pudgy toddler hands on and ripped it open: a wonder woman mirror.

it's one of my more potent childhood memories. that, and riding my bike around the yard with unsharpened colored pencils hanging out of my mouth -- pseudo-cigarettes -- playing hard boiled private detective speeding around the city on her motorcycle -- the family dogs always up to something big.

but, yeah, i feel wonder coming on.

october 23, 2002

velocity

constant: is it my imagination, or do i feel more -- er, what's the word? -- emancipated as of late? you're not actually walking in place, ms. oak.

harping on perspective, but maybe just getting a bit better at keeping things in line. several weeks shy of my 27th birthday (egads!) and inching closer to some semblance of self-satisfaction. you know, i've always dug the odd years, and i'm looking forward to this one.

with my brother moving in with me this weekend, i'm incredibly excited about the opportunity for musical creation this presents for the both of us. we have been speaking about it for a few weeks now and can't wait to sit down and write music together again. it will definitely be cool to hang out with him more often, as well.

a musical full circle -- wonderful, no? what loveliness patience bears.

october 21, 2002

the smell of grass in spring, and october leaves cover everything

seams:

staples affixing canvas in place

acrylic bumps/curves

velveteen dust

 

glistening mustard, frog

. . . . .or sparkling dye.

(remote)

(odd)

brass clasp cinching small of back
winding embroidered cords, shimmering neck

glass/porcelain/sage

 

framed viscous underbrush -- honeyed

with spongy green bellies

october 20, 2002

better you should smoke it
than let it gather dust

celebrated the 21st birthday of a friend last night -- took it easy on him, since i'd already done my damage to his liver two years ago at the opening night party for the seattle international film festival -- contributed to his delinquency by plying him with redbull & vodka all night.

strolled away from the bar at about 12:30, and as i walked down the streets i could hear the vibrant strains of salsa music punching up the air. it was so inviting, i crossed the street and walked up the cavernous flight of stairs leading to the ballroom -- stepping into the frenzied environment was deliciously surreal.

fabulous: these moments in life when you take a step in the direction of the unexpected -- and, oh, how incredibly rejuvenating.

 

october 16, 2002

it's funny because i guess it all works out in the wash, and i have to remind myself of that fairly often. whenever i get angry, or frustrated with someone, it will dawn on me to let it go, that passion doesn't always have to translate into bottled emotion -- and, eventually, the separation of ways. i can stay open to all of it -- to the changes people go through, and how rarely maliciousness is at the root of any of it.

i've even been thinking that maybe i'll reach out to my father again. there was a part of me that wanted to punish him for something with my silence -- for what, i'm not exactly sure. i don't harbor any real resentment or anger toward him anymore -- in fact, i hardly ponder the relationship at all these days. sure, he pops into my mind all the time, for one reason or another, but it's never really accompanied with any pain or anger. the frustration is gone -- time has passed and i guess i've just learned how to deal with it.

i do love him, and miss him sometimes, and know that, as idiosyncratic as he may be, he is my father and i would hate to have any regret later in life for not keeping up with him.

perhaps i'll give him a call. ask him out to dinner.

october 13, 2002

"gotta read between the lines, in case i need it when i'm older"

transcribed the following for my love this evening, and felt the need to record it here -- for posterity, perhaps, but really to remind myself in a few months to throw this song into the stereo on repeat and dance around the room in the dark for awhile. ooooooooo yeah. & some red wine? yeah -- maybe.

foreigner. if you promise not to laugh, i shall share with you one of my most potent childhood memories. do i have your word? hrm. okay, then. here it is: circa 1985/1986, watching, most illicitly, a friday night episode of miami vice, in which don johnson's character loses his wife or lover at the hands of those nasty hispanic drug dealers so properly vilified by the television show's writers. the detective is walking into his utterly posh abode (seriously, what cops lived so richly without siphoning in something on the side??), up the lighted glass stairs, walls of frosted blocks, dim mood lighting as he stares at his ravaged face in the mirror -- his reflection detailing the horrors he's witnessed, the love he's lost -- and all the while, playing atmospherically in the background, is foreigner's butt-rocking-love-song-classic i want to know what love is. every time i hear this song, i think of that. of houses that look like office buildings, of palm trees and orchids, of the heady warmth vibrating off the lighted foliage. transports me to some peculiar place, in which i'm wasted with the toil of a never ending war on drugs, wherein i lose everything and can't even look at myself in the mirror without wondering why i even bother to shave -- but i don't, because i'm don johnson and i look good with a bit of a 9 o'clock shadow setting off my peach t-shirt and white blazer. um, yeah. hey -- i said no laughing! as strange as it may sound, it's kind of comforting. it actually reminds me of a time in my life when i had nothing but hope -- too young to understand that all the space between myself and the rest of the world would inevitably come to blows -- bending beneath the weight of an unsatisfied hunger.

nostalgia: mmmm mmmm good.

october 13, 2002

irrigation

sure, i know why i do most things. for the last few years, i've been talking myself into maintaining this particular profession in order to pay off some bills. sometimes i attempt to comfort myself with the idea that i'm actually enjoying what i do, or that i'm learning some wonderful new skills, but when it gets down to it, i know that everything i'm learning is rooted in the void of money. it's depressing to think i have become so focused on the nothing.

i have been reading, over the past several months, a quite indispensable volume: howard zinn's a people's history of the united states. i put it down every so often, yet return and read the rather brutal prose, detailing how incredibly efficient our forefathers were at clearing up the human obstacles of expansion. it reminds me that there has rarely been elegance in history, save for that which presents itself in nostalgia.

it sorrows me to read of the bombings in bali -- of the volatility and the senselessness. bali always felt like such a far-fetched point of reality, as if one could truly escape the coarseness and disappear from the face of human history, buried in bleached sand. most probably why that location was chosen: to remind that safety is never assured, no matter how far from the harshness of reality you think you are.

puts in perspective how tiny all of this shit i deal with every day actually is. i had the fortune to speak with juba the other day -- it is always so wonderful to hear from him -- he often reminds me how important self discovery is -- and that connecting to people is really the end all/be all. i do find some mild satisfaction in what i do each day, but only when i actually help someone in some way -- and, definitely, helping someone just get by in the bullshit, when we're all so incredibly more talented and creative than we are given credit, is beginning to wear on me. it would be nice to contribute to someone else's self-improvement, instead of tutoring them in how to bear it all in silence, keep "perspective", and laugh off the million of tiny disrespects we wade through every day.

yes, there is something to be said for "acceptance." but i won't say it -- not today.

october 6, 2002

lunar module

imagination seeping in, thankfully, i have been writing more often. not in here, however --not much to record of the non-fictional world, perhaps. everything seems to be maintaining rather easily, such moments of latitude almost have me believing that i don't actually have to work that hard at satisfaction.

reading material has centered around refreshing my memory on the finer points of new orleans, as i have a jaunt planned at the end of november. i always forget the delicious complexity of its history, studying it again is very much like beginning the journey, two months out.

speakeasy has been incredibly busy as of late, it feels like we're all running on empty -- but in that manic sort of way, in which there is way too much to do soyou just keep diving in and wading through and you look back and can't believe how much you've achieved in such a short amount of time and then you look forward and see how much there's still left to do. it feels like we're all working through a crystal meth addiction: highs, lows, frenzies, snappishness -- everyone alternating between genius and prepubescent brats. crazy, but infectiously fun in a heady sort of way.

segue to introspection. . . .

as i have oft referenced in the past, i've always felt such pressure to be more than i am. it's the constant battle i wage daily -- redefining my self-expectation so that i don't always feel so incredibly unaccomplished. it's difficult to reduce my expectations, however, because deep down inside i feel this intoxicating drive to be this other person -- or, maybe it's not a different person, it's just a more well-adjusted individual than i am now. it's difficult to explain, but i'm sure anyone reading this can absolutely relate.

that is at the base of my frustration with individuals who have a well-wrought definition of me, one that i seem unable to surpass or contradict, in their opinion. some of my most memorable moments have been nailed to my mind's wall by someone's offhand comment that cut through to the bone -- providing a pointed revelation that they have put the shutters down & now there's nothing more i can do to be considered for anything different. it hurts to be treated to someone else's underestimation, especially when i so often abuse myself with my own.

flip through the snapshots of my life in this journal, i would say that the most important skill i have been learning over these past few years is how to be absolutely honest with myself -- and to share that honesty with those that i care about. oh, and i've been getting better with not taking myself so damn seriously -- the transcription of this website aside, of course.

october 5, 2002

october, and the trees are stripped bare from all they wear -- do i care?
october, and kingdoms rise and kingdoms fall -- but you go on and on

(look out for it) (you'll find it)

october 3, 2002

fresh from america's heartland

october 2, 2002

bold = caption = emphasis = headline

a morning like any other, birds chattering on the wire, pirate cats stealing into the house looking for miss lu's chow, yawns and stretches and the subtle whir of modernity providing the bass note of quiet. tap tap tapping on the keyboard.

except, it's autumn.

i cannot accurately express how much i adore autumn when el niño is in town. so crisp, you can smell the cold -- it cuts into everything in just the right equation, you feel infinitely more connected to the suddenly well-defined edges of spacial reality (perhaps only because it is significantly more brisk.)

each morning as i walk to work, i revel in the richness of the dropping temperatures. soon, rain will come and dampen all the corners -- all of it blending together again, akin to the heat of the summer.

i have been in a radiohead space. add to that mr. tom waits and you know that i've been drinking in the sane.

um (save to disk)
dois (play with, often)
três (suckling, etc.)

gjett hva?