dreams are free, motherfucker!!!

2007-01-25T10:10:00.000-08:00

This blog is over two years old now, and I am done with it.

Please make yourself at home, and don't hesitate to browse around some.

There are some nice things to be seen here.

2007-01-13T02:26:00.000-08:00

here i am helping you. we are helping eachother help other people because strongness is become us.

let's believe in ghosts and let us believe in aliens from another sphere. the benefits are innumerous and the minuses are rediculous.

am i the enemy or i am i the friend?

i try to be the friend, but even if i turn out to be the enemy, i know that the friends will win, and that's okay.

welcome to these words. these words try, but they also don't know, so don't trust them completely.

complete trust is dogma.

dogma isn't necessarily bad, it's just boring.

the world moves in more interesting ways when the storyline isn't pre-ordained.

don't trust the world, just know that it will always be here.

trust and knowledge are towns with different zip codes.

2007-01-12T11:10:00.000-08:00

I've never had heartburn before.
Yesterday I ate two and a half cans of beans.
Last night I had heartburn.
I kind of still do.

2007-01-11T17:22:00.000-08:00

Good Advice:

"Don't be faded."

-

2007-01-10T18:35:00.001-08:00

If you want to live long, then move to northern Africa. If you want to live well, then ignore me and go chase your own demons.

2007-01-07T00:00:00.000-08:00

-

I am very cool.

0

2007-01-06T13:37:00.000-08:00

I cannot walk away.

I want to tell you these things but we don't deserve it.

You are my baby blanket to wrap around and sleep.

Now is not the time for sleeping.

0

I trust that your lies will be short-lived. I should be angry, and I am, but it is quite hard to be angry at a computer monitor. The only thing you can do with a computer monitor is talk things out or masturbate, and right now that seems foolish. I should be depressed. Many good reasons for that recently, and a new one added this morning via email. And yet I go on with an eternal shrug; a smile, even. Jim Morrison said to embrace one's depression and learn from it. I do not imagine myself to be able to learn anything of such great weight. I trust you to love me, and for that I cut your heart out.

-

2007-01-04T19:38:00.000-08:00

"and the men laugh. their laughs are amazingly affectuous. a laugh like that can only be created in a place deep inside of oneself, so by the time it unravels and the tongue relaxes, it makes a noise that pleases god itself."

"I" run this blog, and "I" didn't write the above text. "I" stole it...or rather borrowed it; because "it" is beautiful.

1984

2007-01-02T21:37:00.000-08:00

It takes one generation for science fiction to come true.

-

2007-01-01T17:00:00.000-08:00

The full moon will always rise at sunset.

The final word on cosmology is as follows:

2006-12-31T03:24:00.000-08:00

The world is an elaborate piece of origami.

0

To believe otherwise is either foolishness or deliberate self-deception

0

2006-12-26T20:23:00.000-08:00

I feel that I am destined to be rich and famous.

However, I am reaonably happy as I am.

So instead I might try to remain poor and unknown.

-

2006-12-23T22:59:00.000-08:00

If you google "motherfucker," this blog is #34 on the list. I can't tell you how proud that makes me.

2006-12-22T22:47:00.000-08:00

The fact that the pattern keeps repeating is almost too obvious to mention. Repetition is what keeps the pattern from being just a random smattering of noise.

All I really hope for in this life is to have something interesting to say before I die; that, and for someone with a good memory to be around when I say it.

-

2006-12-21T23:58:00.000-08:00

There is a popular misconception that following national politics is somehow an important activity. It is not. Following national politics is no more "important" than following professional sports.

We can root for one team or another, (Red Team, Blue Team, or Some Other Team if you're the underdog type) and we can get really worked up about it, but no matter how much we yell and scream the outcome isn't really up to us. It's up to the players, and we pay their salaries.

Some people get satisfaction out of being cheerleaders, and others actually try to play the game. Personally, I would rather sit under the bleachers with some friends and drag my fingers through the soil.

2006-12-18T22:42:00.000-08:00

I've got a drink and I've got the lights low. I'm plugged in again so I'm writing from home. Downtown was clear today. When it's clear here, that means it's cold. If you're cold then you can't enjoy the clear blue skies. Got to remember to dress for the weather, and not to be fooled by a bright sun.

Been listening to sports on the radio lately. Thought about shutting this blog down for personal reasons, but that seems kind of rediculous. So long as the grid is up and I've got a terminal, I'll occasionally want somewhere to speak to nobody in particular when I'm in these honest-yet-not-too-revealing moods.

"Uncomfortable being comfortable" - an interesting phrase. I read it in a book. Something I see in myself at times.

For as long as I can remember I have been obsessed with making music. Many, many hours spent composing and writing and noodling about with an instrument of one kind or another. Lots of time spent with a computer. For whatever reason most of this work happened in a vaccum. And now it feels over. The end of an era. I am no longer comfortable with the mastubatory nature of my practice.

Whatever I do in the future will have to be communal in one sense or another.

2006-12-11T12:58:00.000-08:00

This blog is not about me. This blog is not about you. With the exception of this very post, it is not a message board. It is much simpler than you might think. It is words I feel like writing. The words don't mean anything. Don't try to interpret them because you will be wrong.

"Unexpected travel plans are like dancing lessons from the gods."

-

NOTICE OF RELEASE FROM PROBATION

2006-12-08T12:41:00.000-08:00

Dear Mr. _____

The purpose for this letter is to advise you that you are being released from probation and your employment with the City of ________ terminated as of the close of business on December 7, 2006.

As you know, the probationary period is a basis for determining the eligibility of an employee for regular status. However, an employee may be released from employment at any time without right of appeal (Manual of Personnel Rules, Practices & Procedures, Section 2.30, I.).

Please return any City equipment that was issued to you to your immediate supervisor before the close of business on December 13, 2006, and your final paycheck will thereafter be issued.

We regret having to take this action and wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.

Sincerely,

________ _____

"Are you going to ride off into the sunset now?"

"I suppose I would, but I believe that the sun has already set."

2006-12-01T12:04:00.000-08:00

A while back I read my horoscope. It said something like this: "The person you were three years ago is a douche-bag. You ought to punch him in the face if you meet him."

Three years ago. Almost exactly. I spent some time driving around the country aimlessly. L.A. to New Orleans to Florida to Boston to Arizona to San Diego. In S.D. I decided to expatriate, and now I am very close to doing just that.

Is that the guy I should punch?

Last Night I Ate an Entire Pizza. It Hurt.

2006-11-27T12:07:00.000-08:00

On a Greek acropolis on a hill. Ruined not by time but by the destructive nature of its inhabitants. The art of murder. A series of identical young women sitting directly in front of each other so that it looks like one person. A man approaches from behind and lowers a gun to the back of the head. Fires. The woman is fine and she peels away. The next is fine and she peels away. The next is fine and peels away, but she screams in horror. The next is dead and no longer has a face.

2006-11-26T16:36:00.000-08:00

MATEO CAT HEAD is the mysterious land where my friends can soup; there is also room for singing and jumping around.

2006-11-23T23:40:00.000-08:00

What would Jesus do?

Start a new religion, that's what Jesus would do.

2006-11-20T17:11:00.000-08:00

My bike got stolen today. It was locked up at a train station and when I came back it was gone from where I left it. There was no one around to talk to, so my reaction was internal. It went something like this: "Hmm, my bike is gone. Is it really gone? Yes. This is definitely where it was locked up, with that janky little lock of mine. My bike has been stolen. Why would somebody steal my bike? That is really mean. Now I definitely have to fix my ten-speed. Hmm. I'm hungry. I think I'll walk to the market."

2006-11-14T11:26:00.000-08:00

I don't know what it is, but the closer I get to being completely broke, the more money I spend. The rationale goes something like this:

"At some point very soon I will have no money at all, and it doesn't really matter to me exactly how soon that is, so I might as well go to Round Table to buy a bunch of pizza and beer and read Catch-22."

That's what I did last night. It cost me $12.50. I have $730.00 and a $695.00 rent check floating around out there waiting to be cashed at any moment. Life is fun.

2006-11-13T11:15:00.000-08:00

I sort of kind of remembered. The next morning I was watching television and the thought fell back into my attention. I could tell it was the same thought because I recognized its face. It felt the same. It felt like I had been out at a party where I met someone and we got along really well and ended up spending a great deal of time together. Then we part, and the next morning I see her at the supermarket or something and the memories are fuzzy but still there and there is a flood of hormones telling me that this is that same person that you don't really know but you just met for the first time. It felt like that. Once I reaquainted myself with the thought I wasn't quite so impressed with its profundity, and I realized that I was a bit stoned when I came up with it. It probably would have worked out great if I hadn't misplaced it before getting to the keyboard to document it when it was fresh, but alas here I am not discussing an idea but the forgetting and remembering of an idea and the fruits of documenting them when they are fresh.

fuck it all. i am still bored as hell, lonely as hell, and i have no idea what the fuck i am doing. fixing my video camera has not yet changed anything. mailing out the record to a distributor has not changed anything. nothing will change anything except things changing. that's catch-22, baby. "The greatest catch there is."

2006-11-12T20:06:00.000-08:00

I forgot what I was going to write about.

What I do know is that I thought of it while I was wathcing "Network." It was some kind of analogy to something I had thought before, and how the juxtaposition of those thoughts that displayed some kind of higher truth. Soon I will remember that idea, and I will iterate that here in a form that contains almost as much truth as this one here.

Logic

2006-11-02T11:39:00.000-08:00

If you are bored, then you are boring.

I am bored.

Therefore, I am boring.

2006-11-01T03:04:00.000-08:00

Whatever you do...

Don't read the news.

Don't watch TV with the volume up.

Don't listen to the radio for any more than five minutes.

If you must do anything at all...

Go to the ballot box on Tuesday,

and blow it up.

My Confession, Part Five

2006-10-31T16:23:00.000-08:00

And then I fell, and things got blurry. I woke up on the floor of a public bathroom. The tile was cold. I got up and waited to wash my hands while an older man washed his hands. It was a clean bathroom. When he was done, he reached for a paper towel and grabbed it. He used it to sop up the water that he had splashed on the sink. I remarked to him with a question, "wouldn't the world be a nice place if everyone cleaned up after themselves?"

He agreed as he shook the water off his hands, deposited his trash, and left so that I could use the sink.

My Confession, Part Four

2006-10-30T11:38:00.000-08:00

For those of you that don't know, getting into Stanford is really hard. You basically have to be able to fly or bend spoons with your mind or something like that. I'm getting better at it now, but back then I could barely conjugate farsi, let alone order dinner via esp. Instead of Stanford I went to Berkeley after I was done with city college, which was still quite an extraordinary achievement for Me the Slacker. I went to philosophy classes and studied until night time came around. Then I got high and played drums in the basement of my dorm until I got tired and went to sleep. That was basically my life. Every once in a while I would hang out with some of the people in my dorm who were gracious enough to befriend me, but I was too busy with getting things done to really let them in to my life. What with all the hubub about Me going to Smarty Pants University, I had forgotten that school is no more than a bad joke that one can benefit from knowing, but you can't take it seriously or you'll end up the fool. I had started out as a fool and it was therefore easy to see the joke for what it was, but I had let myself get tempted into trying to find something deeper in the absurdity, not realizing that in doing so I was having to run fasterfasterfaster just to keep from falling down - falling off.

My Confession, Part Three

2006-10-27T12:02:00.000-07:00

The thing about going to Stanford is that you've got to do a bunch of stuff for them to let you in, and being a slacker that barely graduated from high school is not really a part of that. I had made my goal, however, and seeing as it was at least theoretically possible I saw no reason to abandon it and so I went to city college; that noble institution of slackers, morons, and the generally confused. I resolved that this time I would execute my assignments to the best of my ability. I would take school seriously. I do not know why I wanted to do this. Looking back, I can only understand it as either a case of demonic posession, or as a long term performance art piece titled 'Irony.' I had not decided to take school seriously because I wanted a Career. Such a notion was entirely foreign to me. No, the line I used was about Education. If asked "Why do you want to go to Stanford?" My anwer was, "To get an education, which is valuable in and of itself."

Nonsense.

BUT - I was determined to achieve my goal. In my first term at city college I chose an introductory philosophy class and had my mind completely blown on the very first night. It was a three hour session. The professor was effective, to say the least. He would prove to be a very powerful influence on me for the next few years. After that first class I walked down the florescent hallway alone, and I could feel my brain swimming in my skull. The hallway was empty except for myself and two guys in green jumpsuits, one of whom had a piece of cardboard layed out. He was spinning on his head while his friend watched. There was no music other than the hum of hallway lighting. I walked by the breakdancers and down the stairs, through the campus and the parking lot to my car.

to be continued...

My Confession, Part Two

2006-10-26T11:43:00.000-07:00

I can't remember when exactly, but I think it was around sixth grade. That was when I decided that "Rock Star" was a better answer to The Question than "Cow." Coincidentally, that was when my grades started to slip. Until this time, I was one of the top five smarty-pants kids in a class of 30. At grade six, age 11, I began to spend less time doing homework and more time staring into space, listening to the stereo. At first it was quite embarassing. I was used to being a good student, and therefore I had trouble admitting to the teacher that I had not done my work. It would take years to develop the confidence necessary to look an authority figure straight in the eye and explain that their assignments meant absolutely nothing to me. Shortly after that I so mastered my contempt for the educational system that I was able to deflect the querries of scholastic authorities without even acknowledging their physical presence. As a senior in English class my teacher asked me, in front of everybody, "Do you even care if you graduate?"

Indeed, she had the power to ask this question. If I did not receive a passing grade from her, I would certainly not graduate. For me to reply 'No, I don't care,' would have been a challenge and would have acknowledged her power and revealed my weakness. And so I said in reply to her question, "That would be nice."

I was reading something at the time. I did not look up. She did not reply. Class went on as normal and I graduated in June. One day shortly before graduating, however, I made a little goal. For this particular term, I had managed to enroll in as many classes as possible that allowed me to do more or less as I pleased, which typically did not involve sitting in a chair in a row of other students. I was quite pleased with the order of things. While I was not particularly fond of school, I certainly did not hate it. I had come to see it as a big game that everybody had to participate in, but you didn't necessarily have to take it seriously. On this particular day, I was walking around the campus during classes, and so it was quiet. I passed by the Career Center, or College Center, or whatever it was called, and I noticed something that said "Stanford" on it. "Now that would be funny," I thought to myself, "if I went to Stanford...I think...I will go to Stanford."

To this day it shocks me how casually I made that decision.

to be continued...

My Confession, Part One

2006-10-25T12:38:00.000-07:00

"Welcome to the world of human beings. We are playing a game. The rules are rather intricate, but once you learn them you may be able to come up with better ones."

I fool myself. I constantly fool myself. Intentionally and constantly I fool myself. I have never been ambitious. When I was very small, around the classroom the children told the teacher what they would be if they grew up.

"Fireman," one would say.

"Doctor," comes from the small mouth of another.

When the querry reached my ears, my brain responded: "A cow. I will be a cow if I grow up."

As I grew and learned the rules a bit better, I realized that I could not hope to be a cow. People kept asking me this rediculous growing up question however, and I needed a reply that was at least theoretically possible.

"What do you want to be if you grow up, young Matthew?"

It was important that the answer was percieved as serious. People don't like to be mocked, espceially when they are taking interest in you. If I were directing myself in a play, I would say that this particular line must be delivered in a deadpan fashion - no irony, no sense of scale. The line must be delivered with the same spirit of one who wished to be a dentist or a truck driver.

"I want to be a rock star."

The problem with this, of course, is that there is no prescribed method, no technical school for rock stardom. The closest approximation to an instructional guide about this illustrious career is the folklore of popular music: Anectodal Accounts of How it's Been Done in the Past. And as we all now, such generalizations are nearly always useless to the specific case.

And so, I knew that this career path was a rediculous one, and what I knew in my heart but never let on was that I didn't hope to actually follow it. I never wanted to be anything other than what I was. The notion of growing up and 'becoming' some new thing was in my mind Nonsense. I expressed my contempt with the rockstar ambition.

to be continued...

I've Been Fucked Over #2

2006-10-24T16:11:00.000-07:00

I had a friend in wood shop. He was into cars, and I thought cars were okay so I got more into cars because we could talk about that. He lied a lot. I didn't really care that much because I thought it was interesting and I didn't really have anyone else to listen to, anyway. He played bass guitar and so did I and I was a better bass player than him, but I never really mentioned it. We had that in common, too. We started a band and I became the singer for some reason. Mike was in wood shop, too and he had a guitar, so he was the guitar player. We had no drummer but we practiced a lot anyway in Mike's garage. We covered Misfits songs and I remember one day this old guy was taking a walk by the garage. He started yelling at us, but he wasn't complaining. He was shouting "Turn it up! Turn it up." That was kind of strange, in a good way. I would get really into the songs. I don't have that lack of self consciousness anymore and I can't believe I did the things I did. I would throw myself around. I would land on the driveway in view of the whole neighborhood and scream. They called me g.g. because g.g. allin was this crazy singer guy that fucked himself up pretty bad when he performed. I wasn't as crazy as g.g., though...nowhere near as crazy as that guy. One day I showed Mike how to play this guitar solo he couldn't figure out and he punched me in the jaw. I guess I didn't do it in a humble enough manner. The band didn't play together after that. Later Jesse all of a sudden stopped being my friend and spread a bunch of lies about me at school. It was kind of a shock. I never did anything to the guy. I didn't let myself be sad that time.

I've Been Fucked Over #1

2006-10-23T16:02:00.000-07:00

I had some friends. They turned me onto punk rock back when punk rock was having its semi-revival/corruption. You know, when those flannel shirt wearing bands came around. Anyway, we hung out and did stuff. We even had a band. Daniel was the singer because he wrote crappy spoken word about his parents doing coke. I was the guitar player because I had a guitar. Matt played drums because he had drums. Leigh played bass. It was my bass. One day we were playing in my room and things were going poorly and I screamed really loud the words "Shut Up." After that, I fell on the ground and didn't say anything. They kind of milled around the room and then left. Leigh left last and by the time she left I had kind of gotten over it, and was able to get up off the floor. It was raining outside and we exchanged some words. Her boots were grey and so was the water she was standing in. She turned around and started to walk home. A little while after that, Daniel and Matt found a new friend who was probably a bit more interesting than me. They stole my notebook and made fun of the notes in there from this girl I knew. They decided that I was lame and they came over one day to throw things at me. It hurt a lot and I was sad, but I didn't really tell anyone about it. Who do you tell when your friends don't like you anymore?

2006-10-06T13:21:00.000-07:00

The summer was hot. Every day was the same hazy sweaty dream and the fan in my kitchen window was always, always on. But now it is cold in Los Angeles. I know that this is a relative coldness because I can still wear shorts if I want to, but the contrast is real. When the temperature drops in the basin the skies take on a crystal blue and the clouds a puffy white and one can't help but forget about the smog. Last night I crawled under my extra blanket - the one I usually sleep on top of, donned a tee shirt and some soft track pants. And it seemed to all happen just last night, as if Mother Nature decided we had had enough of this sun drenched misery and flipped the autumn switch to "On."

Some say our culture has no memory, or that if it does it only goes back about 10 days. I find this to be true in matters of politics, where most people cannot see behind the dusty clouds of that event which shall remain nameless here. I suppose it is my general disinterest in such matters that excepts me from this rule, as clouds for me are not quite so thick. The weather and the whims of nature, however, are events I have a most intimate relationship whith, and while I can indeed be objective about the cycles of the sun and rain when pressed, it feels as if the cold has always been here and will never end. In just the same way at the crest of the heat wave, I was hard pressed to remember a time when my body was not continually moist with sweat, and when a breeze of any kind was received like new love.

2006-09-26T12:14:00.000-07:00

I cut myself the other day when I was changing a brake-light on my car. A rusty piece of metal went fairly deep into my finger. I washed it with soap and water and held a paper towel soaked in vinegar on it until the bleeding stopped. I'm sure I haven't gotten a tetanus shot in the past ten years. I don't think I've even been to the dentist in 10 years. It has been four days, and my right jaw muscle kind of hurts if I try to open my mouth all the way. I've had a pain like this before in the same place, but slightly less so. Should I be worried. Hmm. I stopped by the hospital on my way home from work last night, but I didn't go in. I fucking can't stand hospitals.

2006-09-23T12:31:00.000-07:00

I work at a feverish pitch. The project is becoming clear and I can no longer see it as good or bad. It simply is. The only question that makes sense any more is "Can I stop now? Is it finished?"

2006-09-16T16:36:00.000-07:00

Just in case you didn't know, Mr. Bill Watererson is one of the greatest artists of all time. It just so happens that he works in a medium that is not taken very seriously by very many folks. Fortunately, he takes it just seriously enough.

2006-09-14T14:00:00.000-07:00

Good words are good for reading. I read good words frequently now that I am more lonely than before. I read good words before, too, but now I have more time to myself so I read good words more now than I did before I became lonely. I had a dream about being at work and making a movie. I work in a library. David Lynch was there and he thought my idea was good. It was a rip-off of one of his old ideas, but I don't think he noticed.

A long time ago I did a terrible thing. Up until that point I was pretty self-righteous, but I didn't put on airs, so that made me feel even more self-righteous. Then I did a terrible thing and I had to crawl in a hole for a while, and this nice lady helped me climb up out of it but then she went away. Now she is just a little voice in a box or some words on a screen. Almost like memories, but just a little bit more vivid.

She went away, and a lot of other people did, too. And I smoked some drugs and thought about things while I rode through traffic. Doing that terrible thing was pretty important because it destroyed my sense of self-righteousness. It made me wake up but I didn't realize what had happened because I was still kind of groggy. It usually takes me a while to get out of bed once I wake up in the morning. And I usually fall asleep and wake up a few times, too.

Now I know I woke up, but I think I went back to sleep and now I am dreaming. The hardest thing about waking up for me is staying that way and getting out of bed. I've done it before, though, so there's no reason why I can't do it again.

Unplugged Again

2006-08-22T16:59:00.000-07:00

My neighbor N. moved out and took the internet with him. Therefore, I am writing this at the library. All thats left is for D. and M. to leave and then the exodus will be over. What then, eh?

2006-08-16T22:08:00.000-07:00

Famous movie quote:

“If I grow up, I think I’m going to be an intense hippy from outer space.”

2006-08-15T02:12:00.000-07:00

lots of things leaving these days. bosses friends enemies others. an autumn is coming i think. i cant decide if its bad for good.

2006-08-14T00:00:00.000-07:00

Wat the gods say to the artsist is:

“how much are you willing to document?”

2006-08-12T19:45:00.000-07:00

Why did you have to push so hard? Did you really expect me to just go along with it? I'm sitting here wishing I would have gone with you, but you pushed too hard I couldn't help but wriggle out of it. It's like an automatic response. Now I am at home and my lame neighbor wants to "jam." I can't get any work done with him knocking on my door and I don't have anywhere to go. I even gave you a second chance. I flipped the fucking coin for you. You could have been happy and I could have been happy and Autumn could have been happy, and maybe the both of you are but I would guess and probably be right that you are still pouting and fucking up Autumn's birthday as if it wasn't fucked up enough already what with hospitals and bloody boyfriends and all that. Goddamnit. I guess that's why I get the feeling you don't know me as well as you think you do. I'm like Tetris. You think you've got my number but all of a sudden you realize I don't fucking care and I'm just a heartless game, and no matter how good you get at me I'll just keep moving faster and faster until you can't possibly keep up. Nobody wins in the end. Games don't win. Games are neutral. There are only losers if the game finishes you before you finish it.

Think Carefully, Now... Which is Worse?

2006-08-11T21:21:00.000-07:00

A) To be arrogant and conceited and keep it all to yourself?

or

B) To be arrogant and conceited and let everybody know it?

2006-08-10T23:25:00.000-07:00

For a long time I'vd Fantasized about having multiple Me's.

More to follow here on that thought...

2006-08-03T21:44:00.000-07:00

Adventure time belongs beneath bowling balls. I have learned to mix up my age. Reptiles engaging felines towards reconnaissance. 108 beads around a rope around my neck. Interconnected nerves don't know their interconnected. Sometimes I return to the text here and edit it.

2006-08-02T02:09:00.000-07:00

Tonight I met Jesus on the Red Line. He gave up his seat for her, and he whispered something in his ear about seeing the beauty in her soul and eternal life. He had nappy grey hear, some of which was still black. He looked young in a way that only middle-aged men can look. One could only nod and smile because of the drugs.

First Four of Pod

Some Beethoven Jazz

and then Something as yet Undiscovered

2006-08-01T02:43:00.000-07:00

Majoka is Dead

Long live Majoka

A fleeting pleasure though it may be,

2006-07-31T23:51:00.000-07:00

I check up on the statistics of your visits obsesivoly.

Vegan Sandwich

2006-07-30T00:12:00.001-07:00

Talking Vagina

2006-07-30T00:12:00.000-07:00

2006-07-29T00:00:00.000-07:00

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

2006-07-28T21:44:00.000-07:00

get on aim, bitch

before i slap you

an internet slap

a digital beat down

I will never be a rapper

2006-07-27T00:09:00.000-07:00

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

2006-07-26T14:19:00.000-07:00

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

2006-07-25T21:48:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-07-23T00:38:00.000-07:00

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?

2006-07-21T11:05:00.000-07:00

I want an Oscar.

I don't care about the award.

I just want the statue.

I want to shove it up my ass.

2006-07-20T01:50:00.000-07:00

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

2006-07-17T16:01:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-07-15T23:17:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-06-29T12:14:00.000-07:00

I am liberated. Let us indulge in libations. I got a job at the library. However, I am still poor. Moor poor than I have ever been, in fact...and therefore the cable that comes under my door no longer brings the Internet in anymore.

Also, alas, another - My website is down because my credit card is broken. I think today I will put five dollars in my bank account and let The They have it there. I like having a personal web index, and though it will reduce my personal fortune by 20%, I feel it to be worth the price.

And now the bright side:

Since my computer at home has been disconnected, my productivity at home in the Red House Studio has taken a new positive turn.

I have assembled 10 tracks to be released on physical compact disc as soon as I can fund the printing. They are all freestyle creations. The record is named: "Rock and Roll is Stupid." The songs sound like they were played by a band, so the record will be released as authored by the band "Bhap-Ghav," which stands for Boys Have A Penis, Girls Have A Vagina. You may remember this line from "kindergarten Cop." My name will only be attached to the project as Composer.

Furthermore, I have a number of other songs in various stages of development which are traditional compositions. I have never made music that sounds like this before. It is fun. I already have enough material to assemble an EP, but I am going to keep working until I cannot work anymore, and by that time it may be another ten song record. Who knows.

I do miss writing here a bit. My "creative" writing seems to have taken an uptick as of late, and it is almost as fun to write some good words as it is to do some good songs. Oh well. Shit. What the Fuck. Whatever.

2006-06-06T00:36:00.000-07:00

My bones are made of other people. The stars imploded once like the twin towers did and then they floated around and then they became a planet and then they fell in my fathers glands and my mothers food and then there was me. Fot those of you who think it hasn't been done before I hate to tell you...

The game I play is quite similar to hide and seek. Earthquakes and the earth run on geological time which is quite a bit shorter than the time my bones have been around. Blue skies made for men and women who disappeared when the big bang went boom.

Fourtenn virgins on a rock of aesthetaline. Screams are beautiful from them. Please appease my plea if you please.

Count your fortunes and turn the head down penny up so that the next person picking up will have your luck.

Choose again...

Geography

2006-06-04T00:42:00.000-07:00

I have friends that live far away from me. Islands in the pacific ocean covered with trees and sand. When I was learning about the dead men, I lived with two other geniuses and all I heard was lies because I was used to being lied to. In the clouds you can make faces of political leaders if you are laying on a bit of green grass. I moved in the direction I always move and so did they, and so now we are far even though I hate that we are. Maybe it is just the long walks every day.

Strike a match against a flint and it becomes a flame. Put it on your tongue and it goes away. Sounds create hallucinatory smells that are real but not but real but I really don't know. In India they have places where you can burn the dead and forget about their misery. My friends are somewhere else and I forget about their misery. Theirs is not real to me because I only remember the good times and I forget about what they stole because its gone.

Outside there is a homeless man crouched over on a bustop bench as if he is preparing for a water landing. It seems like an appropriate position as we are on the land of Los Angeles.

as above, so below

2006-05-27T19:56:00.000-07:00

the superior court, the legislature, and the president are analogous to my brain.

my body is analogous to a cell of muscle in my thigh.

the earth is analogous to the third electron of an atom of Neon.

2006-05-25T15:33:00.000-07:00

There was a pleasant telephone conversation had by Matthew with Suzanne from the University of California.

- I think, said Matthew, that I would rather be an artist than an attorney. I have been an artist for a short while now, and I see no reason why I should be stopping just yet.

- Well, Suzanne said handily, I am happy that you have come to a decision. Really, they are similar endeavors. Both begin very hard, and both finish very soft.

- Oh yes, said Matthew, that is true. Though, he was in fact thinking in his brain that he had never thought of that before. He was surprised at how congenial Suzanne was. He expected her to be a soul-sucking bureaucrat.

All punks meet in St. Louis on May 25th, 2006

2006-05-17T23:15:00.000-07:00

I saw this when I was checking out the rideshare ads on craigslist.

Then I did a quick search on google and found this.

Sounds interesting, no?

2006-05-16T01:21:00.000-07:00

Basically, I was born to do all this supid shit I do - Like post messages of text for nobody.

I run around and get stressed out and then I die and a couple of people see what I did and say:

"Hey that was kinda cool."

Fine.

goddamnit

2006-05-12T00:46:00.000-07:00

i have half a beer left and i really know i shouldn't finish it.

but i have to.

fuck fuck

2006-05-06T21:28:00.001-07:00

I used to have this car. It was old, and I drove it around when I was in high school. I got pulled over a lot. It was a black Chevrolet impala and it was loud and it attracted a lot of attention. I worked at a garage after school mopping floors, and after that I would work on my car or drive around with my best friend Carlos who jumped off a bridge once but survived. My friends had old Chevrolet cars, too, but mine was the best. Mine was big and black and looked scary. But I wasn't scary, so people liked me if they liked my car.

Some time after high school I went to college somewhere far away. I didn't bring my car there. It sat in my fathers driveway underneath a cover, and every once in a while my new best friend Gabe would drive it around to keep it from disintegrating. While I was far away from my car I walked a lot, and I got really scared because there were wars going on and it seemed like it was my fault because of all the gas I put in my car. I came home to my car and I was scared of it. I bought a different car and drove around the country for a while to try and stop being scared, but I just got more scared. My old car just sat there. When I finished driving around the country I came back home. I rented a little box and I stayed in there all day and night yelling and hitting things and marking down all my yelling and hitting with a small computer. I stayed in that box for three quarters of a year, and my car was still there, disintegrating.

It’s been a couple of years since then and I'm not quite so scared now as I was. I sold my old black Chevrolet last Monday for $2,800, to some kid from Arizona who was trying to make it as a dancer in Los Angeles. He gave up on dancing because he couldn't make ends meet and know he's going back to school. I'm not sure he should be buying a 40-year old car if he's having money problems, but that's his choice, not mine. That car was only 30 years old when I bought it. Now all I have is a thick wad of 50-dollar bills and a stupid tattoo.

In her eye

2006-04-29T21:45:00.000-07:00

"I AM GOING TO PUNCH THAT BITCH IN HER FUCKING EYE!"

she said. i never use condoms. i have A bunch of them. lady ....dogs dont get fed ppl food. even dogs like emma. he Hates dogs like emma, but would never wish any human food upon their bellies. do i want another beer...sure. its craCKED open. its small in comparison to the other beers ive been drinking this week. what? i have the words "wo" on my hand. they were purposely engraved on to the back of my hand b/c i needed to be reminded of something...i fucking dont remember. unfortunately ill have to blame it on my reckless behavior. im afraid ive been using just too many drugs. its probably the main reason why matthew finds me most disagreeable...disagreeable....quite a dostoveysky term...dont be so impressed..even "simpletons" like marylin monroe knew of well written novels...she memorized shakespeare.

I like the name

2006-04-20T22:51:00.000-07:00

Fern

Alcohol:

2006-04-17T23:24:00.000-07:00

It's like suicide, except you get to live.

Lucid Dream #2

2006-04-15T23:14:00.000-07:00

Before lucidity, I had some tripped-out dreams. Loading a suburban poorly. Having to go to grandma’s house. Refusing. My uncle taking over the driving chore. My sister pointing out my underwear, and the way I picked at it. After that there was some weird stunt man dream, Hanging out in an apartment. Some girl getting crushed. That’s what started the lucidity. It seemed to odd to be hanging out with stunt men, watching a girl get crushed. Oh yes, and I remember reading the paper, and it having video in it somehow. It was Hillary Clinton in an orgy. Good news for G.W.

Lucidity began as I was approaching the steps of an apartment building. I was following a number of young people like myself. I forget what the groups original intention was, but I quickly changed it to sex after seeing some of the young ladies. We sat down in against the wall in a medium sized room equipped with pillows. Group sex. Wherever there was a sexual organ, somebody found his or her way to it. A girl who was getting fucked was sucking me off. A girl with glistening ebony skin was lying next to me, so I fingered her pussy. We casually discussed how incredibly tight it was. In order to retain lucidity, I would occasionally mind my breath as in meditation. At some point, the orgy was over. People started getting up and leaving the room, and I followed them. There was an attractive young lady in the room next to me. We were alone and she gave herself to me, but I was impotent and that upset her. Some man came in and pinched me in the back,

“Get out of here, Music Man! You are in the wrong place!”

I faced him. He had the glowing aura of a god, and the impish smile of a friend of mine from high school. I knew he was right. He was giving me instructions on how I should use this power over lucidity. He told me I was not yet at their level to fully participate. Though I agreed, my libido pleaded with him, “Can’t everybody partake in this activity?”

“Yes,” he said, again with that same smile. “But you are not at our level yet, though your appetite is growing.”

I accepted his position and headed out the door. I hesitated a moment at seeing all the beautiful women on the balcony, but thought better. I took a running start and leapt into the air towards some massive purple trees. The sun had just set, and the sky was dark. I took a deep breath to maintain my lucidity, and then intentionally let it fade. I woke up.

2006-04-14T19:46:00.000-07:00

I was hanging out on a military base today. In a military hospital. In the waiting room. Don't ask me why. I was reading Journey to the End of the Night.

Coicidence?

- - -

I overheard some guy wearing camouflage talking to his superior on the phone.

"No, not yet, were still waiting for a urinalysis."

"Yeah, he's off suicide watch right now."

"Well uh, he's just . . . he's in a bad place, you know what I mean."

"Well, he goes back to post, under observation . . . you know, just give him a call every day, check in."

- - -

Fox News was babbling on the waiting room television. The anchor was talking about how there's an unusually high number of tornadoes in Iowa so far this year. He seems pretty upset about it. The weather girl totally agreed with him. "There's an annual average of 1200 spotted, and this year we're already at 400."

This is April.

- - -

On military bases, the houses have the name and rank of the occupant displayed prominently on a piece of blue plastic.

This is a journal entry

2006-04-13T14:42:00.000-07:00

Today I meditated for one hundred and eight breaths.

Then I waited for my neighbor to leave.

Then I worked on the same song I've been working on the same song I've been working on for nearly a year.

Two thoughts have been dominating my mind for the past week.

1) Daniel Johnston and his art

2) A horoscope which reads as follows:

"I had a dream about my three closest Leo friends. In the dream, I was observing them as they wriggled out of cocoons that were hanging from a large tree that resembled a dinosaur skeleton. They were covered with feathers and their arms had turned into wings, though they still had human faces. Once they were free of the cocoons, they soared away. As I watched their ascent, my own arms began to transform into feathered wings. I felt that I, too, would soon be able to fly. Here's how I interpret the dream: You Leos are ready to take off, and your flights will serve as inspiring examples to other people."

Interestingly enough, I don't remember this exact text at all. I just remembered a basic message, which I now see to not be there. "Don't do anything. It will all work out fine."

I am a terrorist

2006-04-11T21:22:00.000-07:00

I watched Fairenheit 9/11 last Saturday. Fuck that movie. It depressed the hell out of me. I hate George Bush's face and I hate those fucking towers in New York that aren't there anymore. I don't care about global consiracies and I don't care about the stupid games that rich people play.

Curiosity killed the cat and it killed my stupid soul.

I watched The Devil and Daniel Johnston a few days before that. It left me floating. On a cloud. Nothing could bring me down. The world was new.

So I thought...and now I'm doing the best I can to dig up out of it.

Things are going okay, really. Michael Moore, I loved Bowling for Columbine, Roger and Me, and all your tv stuff. But man...fuck you.

2006-04-05T22:51:00.000-07:00

I just ate a "Cup o' Noodles."

I am officially poor.

Man, that stuff is fucking terrible.

I would rather be hungry.

If anyone in the Los Angeles area wants three "Cup o' Noodles"...

Come and get them.

Pseudo-network

2006-03-21T23:21:00.000-08:00

This post is an address of the myspace phenomenon.

To begin I will admit that I have a myspace account. I got it because I like to look at peoples pictures, and in order to do so you need an account.

I dislike myspace because of something I call pseudo-networking. Many people send and accept friend requests simply because it gives them a higher number of friends. This is time that could be spent corresponding with actual friends, or possibly making new ones. Is this not retarded and hollow?

I also dislike myspace because it is owned by newscorp. I don't think I have to expand on this point.

One thing that I do like about myspace is the concept of an online identity. People have web pages dedicated to the simple fact that they exist!

I felt I could use an Internet identity, so I made one. It doesn't have any advertisements or anything, and I can make it look however I want given the constraints of my fluency in html. Here it is.

Nobody Likes Reruns

2006-03-11T11:03:00.000-08:00

They, who are ignorant of history, are compelled to repeat it.

They, who are informed of history, are also compelled to repeat it.

They, who are ignorant of history, probably have more fun.

2006-03-10T14:19:00.000-08:00

I'm very slow in coming to conclusions.

For example, it has taken me 22 years to figure out how many sheets of toilet paper I should use when I wipe my ass.

(Just in case you are curious, the answer is three.)

2006-03-08T00:39:00.000-08:00

Attention, all of you enjoying drugs? Just don't go to sleep. It's harder without the aid of chemicals than you might think. Likewise, it's a better trip without the aid of chemicals than you might think. Time drags on in new ways because the movements of the sun loose their meaning. The fluidity of thoughts reaches new degrees of significance because the tools for thought are practiced to the point at which they can no longer teach. They can only obey.

The truly important thing is to keep drinking. Whatever you do. This way, you might understand in a truly significant way that your happiness is just as coming and going as you desire to assault yourself with blades of samurai.

If I had an interview with God...

Imagine the possibilities, to ask any question of the one who knows all there is to know.

Ask Him...

"Sir, what would you like to do?"

Hopefully He will answer quick. And even more hopefully He will want to do something fun like ride on a rollercoaster. Even more hopefully his imagination will reach a bit further than mine. Maybe He'll just want to sit there with you, with me. How interesting that would be...to bask in the presence of God without wanting to know anything at all.

2006-02-26T00:27:00.000-08:00

For a long time this particular place has been bereft of color themes /

For the better /

But i just discovered that I can use these tools again /

And so I will /

Cunt is my favorite four letter word of them all.

Ellison

2006-02-23T21:47:00.000-08:00

2006-02-23T20:31:00.000-08:00

Last time here, I wrote about my challenging week. Tonight I shall discuss a new insight towards those events which at the time I chalked up to "the system" or some such nonsense. My new exlpanation rings much more of Hocus-Pocus than conspiracy theory.

I was raised in a Catholic home and went to a Catholic elementary school, though I am not a man of God. I never had a religious experience in that context and I was never very close to the man we call Jesus, though I was always fascinated by the stories of His life. Eventually, my Mother let me stay home on Sundays and I slowly graduated away from the Catholic Church. I now know god to be something much more than merely the patriarch of Christian folklore.

On the night of my crash, I spoke casually at the top of a hill with strangers. We spoke of joyous things and exchanged drinks or cigarettes or whatever we had at hand. At one point I found myself exclaiming in a most suprising and fluidly natural manner: "Praise be to god!" I have never said that and meant it in earnest, before that night. The only time before in my life when I have uttered that phrase was under my breath, as required, in response to certain cues by the priest during the Catholic Mass. Whatever it was that I was giving thanks to god for, I do not recall. Though at the time I remember thinking that what I said, while surprising, was not the least bit innappropriate. My new theory is that the god whom I called forth for praise is now testing me to see if I really am as joyful as I have made myself out to be.

So far I think I'm passing.

I think the system is trying to break me

2006-02-16T11:34:00.000-08:00

For the past week, I've been under assault by "The System." Thats the myth I'm going with. It started on Friday. I called Trader Joe's and they said they weren't interested in hiring me. Later, I got my rejection letter in the mail from the City of Pasadena. They don't want me to work in their library. I put some nice clothes on and went down there to force the issue. Not much luck. I got a business card with a name scribbled on it. "Leave a message with this guy."

Later that night, I went on a bike ride with 1,000 other people. Lots of drinking and smoking of drugs. Holding up traffic all throughout Los Angeles. Midnite Ridazz. Ended up on a hill overlooking Dodger Stadium. On my way home I crashed my bike. The guy behind me ran over my head. No major damage was done, and I got to enjoy a truly overwhelming release of adrenaline. Rolling with those punches rather well.

Next day. Saturday. In the morning I get pulled over with Angie. My registration is expired. Cop #1 was giving Cop #2 some ticket writing lessons so it took extra long. What really burns me up about it is that in retropsect, Cop #1 gave me an opportunity to talk my way out of it. I was too busy being cool to notice.

Angie buys me a nice breakfast in Hollywood. When we are done we see that my keys are locked in my car. So is my wallet. So is my phone. The restaurant people are nice, and let me wait on hold with triple AAA for 20 minutes.

Guitar Center offers me $60 for a guitar that I need to sell for $250.00. No deal.

Sunday night. I'm riding my bike to Mom's house for dinner. Its about an hour's ride, and at one point I decide to take a shortcut. Via the 210 freeway. Up one ramp and down the other. About halfway through I notice a car is pacing me. CHP. I contemplate making a break for it once we get off the freeway. It seems possible. Bikes can go where cars can't. Nerves make me decide against it. I get a ticket for disobeying a sign. I stare down the people looking at me from their cars.

Monday. I drive out to La Brea and the 10 freeway to sell my guitar for $225.00 On the way home I loose my water pump. AAA tows me to Mitch's Auto. This little setback drains the rest of my credit card. I am now pretty near penniless, but I can make rent.

Tuesday is Valentine's Day. I don't go much for holidays.

Wenseday I meet with Kevin from the City of Pasadena. He convinces me that I'm not getting the job I want, but I can apply for a shittier one thats opening up in March.

Angie made out with some girl on Sunday. At first it didn't bother me, but now I'm thinking this might be a good time to break it off.

Definition

2006-02-14T03:16:00.000-08:00

Art is what happens when nothings left over.

2006-02-11T02:48:00.000-08:00

If I have a child.

It is going to be a He.

And his name will be,

Alan

If he happens to be a She,

I suppose Allison will work just fine.

2006-02-11T02:44:00.000-08:00

I am going to start a new blog.

The subject matter will consist of the following:

Riding a bicycle (bike) in the city of Los Angeles.

It is a good subject.

Trust me.

2006-02-08T01:35:00.000-08:00

If everyone stopped paying attention to national politics and instead payed attention to local politics, maybe national politicians would start doing their job better.

2006-02-06T11:27:00.000-08:00

It's not too often I get mad, and even when I do there still isn't much in the way of fireworks. I jest get real focussed and impatient and do my best to calmly let people know that they are being needlessly retarded.

I am very poor right now. My bank account has -122.28 dollars in it, and I have $500 left on my credit card. Rent is due. Last night, however, I wanted to get thai food with my girlfriend. Oh, she is broke too, by the way. So I call the restaurant to make sure they take "Discover" brand credit cards, because a lot of people don't. The lady says "yeah", I say "cool". We go. The place is neat. I'd never been there before, and it had just been remodeled so it was kind of new to Angie, too. We got one big order of Tofu Pad-Thai and Angie got a fresh coconut, which I thought was cool but not very tasty. She drank/ate the whole thing herself.

So the bill comes around and I toss out my Discover Card. She comes back and asks for a visa or a mastercard or an atm card or something.

"Huh?"

We don't accept Discover.

"HUH?"

I immediately understand the gravity of the situation. That card that they don't accept is the only way we have to pay the bill, which was about ten dollars. Turns out the lady on the phone thought I had said Debit card. I did not say debit card. I would seriously bet my pinky finger that I said Discover, and I'm a musician. I really love my pinky.

It turns out that the source of the misunderstanding is a person on the other end of the phone who doesn't understand english very well. I am now angry. I do my best to explain that this little situation is not entirely my responsiblity. The waitress, instead of talking to her manager or god-forbid do something about it herself, she goes about cleaning up other tables and ignoring us completely. Are we supposed to run out now?

After much more bullshit, the woman who seemed to be in control is talking to me. She doesn't seem to be full of ideas, either. I tell her, "Lady, we can't pay you. We would like to, but your little phone person got us over here with a discover card, and now we want to leave, but we can't because you can't make up your mind." We had a camera on the table. She says "Leave the camera, go to an atm."

Bitch. On the way to the atm, Angie and I pretty much agree, that in that situation you let the people go. No charge. Good karma all around. It's just the way the restaurant business works. If you are the least bit at fault for something, the house takes the fall. Especially if its for a ten dollar meal at a local place that relies on local repeat customers. I really liked the food there. I totally would have come back tipping big (once I got a job) if they let us go.

So anyway, I call up Discover and figure out how to use their card as an atm card. I come back with a 20 dollar bill. They had started to close up, and the gate in front of the front door is chained up. The lady that had answered the phone came and opened the door. I was half expecting that she was just going to hand me my camera and say "Don't worry about it, sorry for the trouble." And to my surprise, she hands the camera through the gate. There wasn't anything but an awkward silence, though. I kind of studder, and she asks in an impatient tone, "Are you going to pay?" Keep in mind she is on the other side of a chained up gate. I say "No, because I don't think I should have to." I walked away. I felt really good about it.

2006-02-05T22:23:00.000-08:00

Are you here because you typed "motherfucker" into a search engine?

or

Are you here because you are looking for pictures of Ashley Blue?

2006-02-03T23:54:00.000-08:00

A name is a bridge.

The name of an object is a bridge to that object.

If you know the name of an object, then you can take things from it and leave things with it.

The name of a man is a bridge to that man.

If you know the name of a man, then you can take things from him and leave things with him.

Practical Activism

2006-01-28T15:30:00.000-08:00

I went to college around San Francisco. I didn’t ride a bike then. Actually, now that I think about it, I did ride a bike but it was a shitty BMX and Berkeley is more of a walking town, anyway. Point being…the bay area is not nearly as great a bike town as L.A. If you ride a bike in S.F. you’re just trying to get around faster. If you are on a bike fighting traffic in L.A. you are most likely the real F’ing deal.

So, point being…I went to college. In college there is a lot of Activism. “What the Eff is activism,” you ask? Well, activism is what happens when you give an opinionated person with good networking skills a little bit of information about a controversial issue. Next thing you know, people are wandering around carrying homemade signs (or god forbid, puppets) with stupid slogans on them, chanting stuff. Its kind of like remedial cheerleading for people that didn’t go to football games in high school. And it has about the same effect on how the game goes. (As it happens, I went to every football game because I was in the stupid Band, because my neighbor convinced me that it’s way better than having to do P.E., which in retrospect was completely and utterly Wrong.)

So, point being… activism is lame. “Go home and recycle or something,” is what I have to say to activists. Or even better! Ride your bike instead of driving a car. Did you know that driving a car is the number one cause of people you’ve never met getting killed in a place you’ll never ever be? Also, cars are the number one cause of evil motherfuckers in suits making lots and lots of money! Driving cars is also a major cause of people talking shit about L.A! (Which sucks, because I was born in L.A., and despite the fact that this place is really fucked, it’s my home. So Eff you, S.F.)

So, point being…I thought it was really F’ing weird when I realized that Bush is like my girlfriend’s pussy hairs and Dick is like my penis and Colon is like everybody’s butt-hole! And you know what else? George Bush’s son George kind of looks like a chimpanzee! But also, pointing it out doesn’t solve anything! In fact, if I felt like being logical I would try to convince you that it makes things worse! But I don’t.

So, point being…go ride your bike. That’s all you need to do. The world is guaranteed to be a better place for it and you don’t have to learn about politics, which is really F’ing hard, anyway.

2006-01-26T09:31:00.000-08:00

The aim of this letter is to relate the story of my academic career thus far, so that you might get an accurate impression of what kind of person I am. If my aim is true, I am sure you will have every reason to grant my admission to your school of law. To begin, I must reveal that I was a terrible student in high school. I did reasonably well in art and music classes, but for the most part I paid closer attention to my own thoughts than to the material presented in classes, and I hadn't the least bit of motivation to even begin my assignments, let alone complete them. Luckily, I tested well and the more observant among my teachers could guess that I wasn’t a complete idiot, and I managed to graduate with my class despite a lack of any serious involvement in academics. However, once I moved on to City College and left all the pep rallies and lunch periods and disciplinarians behind, I very quickly realized that it wasn’t the actual education part of school that I found distasteful. Still, being naturally skeptical of the system I had now chosen to take advantage of, I didn’t give much credence to the common aspirations of making money or becoming some kind of a big shot. My only desire was to cultivate an awareness of the world, and to gain a mastery over my talents and capacities for growth. Thus, I had found my motivation, and I rode it all the way through a successful junior year at Berkeley. Yet, as I learned more about the world and about myself, so did I come to be disturbed by them both. It was (and still is) a challenging time for a young person to be discovering the ways of the world. I began to see myself as like a cog in some diabolical Machine, and as I worked more efficiently, so did the machine come closer to achieving its own malicious ends. My motivation flagged, and my interests wandered to the arts and to the self-indulgent chaos of independent study. My academic work took a back seat, and I made no designs for post-graduate work or a suitable career. I simply took my diploma and returned home, confused and scared of what I had discovered.

A few months later I took the LSAT, not because I was especially interested in law, but because I needed to somehow satisfy my bruised ego after watching my academic work slip. For work I took a position with Environmental Landscape Services, Inc. (ELS); a construction firm based in my hometown. At this particular time, ELS was in a bit of trouble. The office was pretty much the same as it had been when Mr. Lefebvre founded the company in 1988, with nothing more than two trucks and a lot of determination. In the summer of 2003, however, ELS had expanded to 20 trucks, countless pieces of heavy equipment, and approximately 50 employees – and it showed no sign of slowing down. As you can probably tell, the construction end of the business was doing just fine. What they needed at this point was somebody they could trust to make sense out of the business end of the construction, and I, being a reasonably intelligent friend of the family, was that somebody. They handed me control of the office as I educated myself on the techniques of small business, and since that time gross income tripled while profitability doubled. Furthermore, in order to communicate what had to be done to make the business more efficient, I was forced to overcome my naturally reticent nature and become a more outspoken person, (one quality I had not developed as a student, and that I now look forward to applying in my future studies.) I presently see my success in this area as evidence for: 1) my ability to organize a large amount of new information in an efficient and practical manner, 2) my sense of initiative and adaptability, and most importantly, 3) my good-natured confidence, which inspires good faith. For, it required a great deal of faith in my character and abilities for the Lefebvre family to entrust me with the financial well being of their company and its employees, and I am proud to have satisfied that trust.

“The only thing necessary for evil to flourish is for good men to do nothing." (Sir Edmund Burke, attributed) During my time with ELS I never gave up my original goal, though I was now pursuing it independently of the academy. In this pursuit I eventually realized that the “Machine” which had frightened me so much was in fact an essential part of my world, and that it therefore deserved to be respected and understood as such. There had been a time when I believed that the more prominent a position one held in the Machine; (i.e. attorney, aristocrat, politician) the more synonymous one was with its maliciousness. However, I came to see that we all play an equally important part in this system, and that one’s position is not so important as what one does with that position.

“Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.” (Theodore Roosevelt)
It was no more than one week ago that I came to see what I can do, what I have, and where I am. That is, I can go to a school of law, I have the qualifications necessary to go to a quite good one, and I happen to be running right up against the application deadlines. The story I have related to you thus far is one of motivation, and how my particular motivations have brought my words here before you today. I have always known myself to be an honorable person with a deep understanding of language and an uncommon sensitivity for the truth in all its forms. Following from these facts, I have always known in the back of my mind that I would make a fine lawyer, though I never before had the clear motivation to become one. However, I can presently see that my motivations are leading me to take action; to jump headlong into the Machine and see what makes it work. In closing, I will step outside the metaphor to make my intentions clear. I want to study Constitutional Law and make a positive contribution to the system that affects our world. I believe I have been through these internal struggles in order to see with clarity and strength of mind that this is my destiny, and that I have a duty to live rightly by it.

2006-01-20T16:57:00.000-08:00

"Oh wow, man. That was fun."

"More fun than a barrel of cum?"

"Totally."

red hunter

2006-01-18T00:24:00.000-08:00

i make music and stuff

you know

this guy makes me want to quit all that

and find some other path

because he seems to be doing well enough there

click the title for a link

2006-01-12T21:20:00.000-08:00

smoking tobacco out of a marijuana pipe

drinking beer to get drunk

a controlled crash landing

pilots do it all the time

ive been having dreams lately where in the end i am sliding down a steep incline

it seems like im fucked on the way down, but i always land squarely on my feet

i know with all the certainty of a scholar that it means something

but what aspect of my life is the slippery slope?

there are oh, so many roads to hell

how could i pick just one?