A fleeting pleasure though it may be,

I check up on the statistics of your visits obsesivoly.

Vegan Sandwich

Talking Vagina

Hello’s,

I was just doing some emailing, and your persona popped into my head, so I thought I’d say hello. How is you doing? As for me, I am slowly and surely kicking ass. I never thought I would be in the position where I could say: “such and such changed my life,” but you know what? A bicycle changed my life. I hardly ever drive anymore. I could go on and on about the virtues of two wheels, but I won’t. In other news, I got a job at the Pasadena library. It is the first job I’ve ever had that I haven’t hated. Also, it makes it so that I can eat food and pay rent, which is nice. Another thing that I should have been paying attention to a long time ago. I remember when I was trying to get a job at the Berkeley library; I didn’t realize what a god fit it is for me. Had I, I might have tried a bit harder to actually find a position there. In related news, I have been reading a lot of good books lately. Lets see if I can remember. Journey to the end of the night, A portrait of the artist as a young man, The Odyssey, Ulysses, among others. Ulysses is challenging, and I don’t pretend to understand it, but the language is beautiful even if I don’t have any idea what’s going on at times. In other news, music is treating me well. I get to play every week at a local dive called Mr. T’s Bowl. It isn’t named after B.A. Baracus, but the owner, Joe T. Also, there is no bowling. It is a wonderful place, and I thoroughly enjoy playing there. I wish you could see it. In other news, my recording projects have taken on a new bit of life. I’ve got three songs on the iTunes music store that are worth checking out. They are a bit old, though, so I think I’ll send you a new one. Hopefully your email program will accept an mp3-sized attachment. I wonder about your philosophy and if you have managed to articulate some magical things. As for me, I believe I have managed to implement a philosophy of action that requires very little in the way of confusion and self abuse, (which I seem to have a weakness for.) I sometimes remember your compliment/advice about my powerful brain and the importance of tempering it. I won’t pretend that I have completed this task, but I can assure you that much progress has been made, and I am beginning to think that the job may have been done a long time ago. I bought some Mala beads; a good tool for my meditations. I carry a coin in my pocket. It helps me to make my decisions. Well then. Signing off until next time.

-mjk

get on aim, bitch

before i slap you

an internet slap

a digital beat down

I will never be a rapper

One of the first music albums I ever had was a compilation of rap music that my sister gave me. It had groups on it like The Fat Boys and Run-DMC. I still remember one of my favorite verses:

Your mouth is big / Size extra Large / And when you open it / It's like my garage

I want to be a rapper. Rappers have bravado and style. Rappers have big personalities. Unfortunately, I do not have style, I rarely have bravado, and my personality is probably around a medium. So, until something really crazy happens, I will continue to hang out by myself and write stupid rock songs.

Thank you.

A Quick Reminder

There is no such thing as a "War Against Terror"

I think it is safe to say that I am of above average intelligence. That is to say, my thinking capacity is fairly well developed. I know a thing or two about a lot of things, and I know a lot about one or two things. However, I have a habit of intentionally remaining ignorant about certain things. Post-Modernism is one of those things. I don't know what it means when someone says something is "postmodern," and I don't care because I figure anyone who uses that term is just bullshitting. When I think of postmodernism I think of people I have known in school who were able to write papers about things they knew nothing about and get away with it. These are the kinds of people who remain in school and eventually get paid to blather on about things they don't understand, except that by the time they reach that point they have a lot invested in believing that they actually understand the subject at hand when they are still, as always, completely full of shit. I was listening to a radio interview the other day, and for the sake of the discussion, somebody offered up a passing definition of postmodernism. The concise nature of this definition made it stick with me. It made me think of that guy. Jackson Pollock and his splatter paintings.

Postmodernism: Process before Product.

I had to realize. A lot of the art I do kind of falls under this definition. Certainly the freestyle jam thing. I pick up a guitar and I let the spirit move me as it will, and if it felt good while I did it I call it art and if it didn't feel good - well then I can it for a while and maybe come back to it later to see if it was good after all.

I don't like to hold Process over Product when I have a choice. I think it is incredible that Mozart wrote his music without any hesitation, as if it was channeled through his pen directly from on high. It is an interesting process to contemplate. However, I think Beethoven's music is more beautiful. I don't care how he made it.

Unfortunately, I don't have the requisite distance from my own work to positively differentiate how I feel about a given work and how I feel about the process that went into making it. I was drinking all day Friday. I went a little crazy. I recorded a song. Then I recorded some percussion for it while I was naked. I videotaped that. It was fun.

Fist Fuck a Fourteen-year-old Fire Hydrant in the back of a Ford Truck. Just like that. Dirt is everywhere. That is one thing we have in common, for sure. Underneath your feet, or underneath your house, or way, way down underneath your building somewhere, there is dirt. The point, of course, is that dust gets swirled around with water until it becomes smart and then it becomes dust again. My question is: Where does the smartness go?

I want an Oscar.

I don't care about the award.

I just want the statue.

I want to shove it up my ass.

Can't really sleep right now. Today is my father's birthday. Sunday is my birthday. I will be six-hundred and thirty-eight years old. I don't feel that old.

For a long time now I have been having dreams about being in or around a marching band of some kind or another. When I was little I had a recurring dream about a leprechaun in a church. The leprechaun was locking people in the bathroom and only my friends fat mom could get them out. I remember wondering, why people keep going in the bathroom when this leprechaun is pretty obviously locking people in there. I guess I'm a bit more wise now. When you gotta go, you gotta go.

One wish I have is for a band. A rock band or something like that. I'm not sure what I would do if I found one, but I'd like one. Every time in my life where I've been in the position to assemble a band I have failed miserably. I guess I'm just the solitary type. Oh well, since I'm up I guess I'll go to the ATM machine. I've got to put some money in so that I don't get an overdraft charge.

Text

This is text. This is text. This is text. This is text. This is text. This is text. This is text. This is text. This is text. This is text. This is text. This is text. This is text. This is text. This is text. This is text.

I am writing here now because I feel that I should, rather than because I feel that I can. Therefore, this particular bit of writing will be terrible. However, as presents are exchanged then gifts become more apparent and musings become more musical.

It’s hot here now. The people in my neighborhood sit outside in the evenings. The living rooms of the unairconditioned masses have moved out onto the streets and sidewalks.

I sit and wait for inspiration to strike so that I might have an excuse to pour another glass. It’s late and the people in my neighborhood have moved back inside because they’ve run out of things to talk about. Tomorrow it will be hot again.