the holy hour[s]

Wayne Memmer of Vacation put together another tasty tribute compilation through Universal Electricity, THE HOLY HOUR, a tribute to the Cure. He was kind enough to include my cover of 'A Night Like This,' which you can listen to below.

The whole compilation can be listened to here and//or downloaded here for free.

You can also hear other things that I make on bandcamp and soundcloud. There will undoubtedly be more to come, as I'm recording a new album now, and as sad love songs are sometimes the only way to make sense of winter months.

Okay that's it. 

I hope your windshields and hearts are all frost-free.

SUNDAY TAROT // free shit edition

If you're like me, and you've constructed all sorts of intricate interior channels through which to protect yourself against personal failures and (even worse) minor* triumphs, you spend a considerable amount of time chalking up the more significant events // epiphanies // shortcomings of your life to external processes, astrological patterns, and other standard-grade bullshit. This can take many forms, all of which ultimately boil down to the relinquishing of control and accountability for your actions to metaterrestrial patterns like weather, moons, God?, or your period. A pretty handy habit! especially if your life is prone to disaster and sadness.

Since I'm pretty deeply invested as of late in Universal Semiotics™ I essentially exist in a constant state of palms open, eyes peeled, and transference engaged; and luckily for all of us, this edition of SUNDAY TAROT is soaked with meaning, inspired quite literally by a cardboard box of 'FREE' VHS tapes my neighbor put on his front steps. I think you will join me in concluding that this collection of garbage (listed completely below) couldn't possibly be anything other than a direct message to yours truly, because as we will presently unpack, there is always plenty of meaning amongst the piles of stained, unwanted, culturally obsolete shit.

ALIEN TRILOGY BOX SET (INCLUDING BOX)
As you may well be aware, most free sidewalk shit is quite literally not worth taking home, considering taking home, or even touching. So finding a considerately maintained package of three arguably totally-fucking-badass movies is already a good sign. However, it must be said that the films were arranged in the box 'out of order' from left to right -- this could be symbolic of the true chaotic nature of the universe, the inherent danger in simplifying multi-faceted things with dualistic characteristics, or the gorgeous imperfection of human beings. Also, when we consider that the box set -- comprised of Ridley Scott's Alien, James Cameron's Aliens, and David Fincher's Alien 3 -- is an outstanding example of artistic collaboration, creative variation on a single unified theme, and ultimately an attempt to analyze a culturally significant fascination by incorporating and respecting differing, high-grossing points-of-view, we can conclude that we are working with multiple symbolic layers with respect to this meaning-laden yet discarded item.

Extracted personal reading: The Universe clearly wants to reward you in some form or another; it isn't every day that you happen upon such a blockbusting treasure, out-of-date format or no. Receive your gifts with an open heart and mind, knowing that everything carries its own set of flaws and limitations (after all, you don't even know if this is a solid copy or if the tracking is gonna be all fucked up, remember that?). Also, re-connect with the idea of artistic collaboration amongst your friends and lovers. Also also, maybe examine why you felt an undeniable need to re-arrange the VHS titles 'in order' -- perfect doesn't exist, idiot, are you a human being or what?


BLADE
If you haven't seen this movie, I'll spare you being all "OMG WTFFFF" because if you weren't kinda into it when you were 12 then you missed your window and it doesn't even matter anymore so forget it. Wesley Snipes is a vampire killer or something with a leather duster and Steven Dorff is involved and so is techno music in a serious way. Point being: sometimes the astral-etherians send you reminders of your past so you can gauge your personal growth and truly accept your history as a vital piece of yourself and your unique path. When I saw this I was reminded of the borderline-white-trash childhood my brother and I shared, and was forced to acknowledge the fact that deep down, and non-ironically, I think this movie is pretty fucking sweet. And in the face of any personal tragedies or temporary karmic comas, being reminded of how there are other humans in the world who know how you spent money renting this video and then watched it while shit-faced on Surge and candy bars and then kinda wanted to learn how to do cool ninja tricks because of it and who still love you anyway, well, it's just about the most beautiful reminder of trans-human interconnectivity and training your heart to be an unconditional organ of acceptance there is.

Extracted personal reading: Complete and compassionate acceptance of your own spotty past is essential to human evolution, emotional health and personal development & enlightenment, plus it makes you a more interesting person! Existential optimism will allow you to cast a more positive light on your experiences, even if they are mistakes, and to extract lessons from events that could otherwise be considered complete failures. Be gracious in love and energy to the siblings and family members who helped raise you despite the 90s being a never-ending media garbage dump of Bad Decisions You Got Caught Up In (excluding Tommy Boy and Billy Madison). Above all, as you accept your own imperfections, work to cultivate your ability to forgive others for their mistakes as well, i.e., forgiving Wesley Snipes for participating in something that he must consider to be sort of a stain upon his career, even though he did make leather dusters cool before The Matrix even came out.


BLADE II
Totally different story. I never saw it because I kinda have this thing against sequels? And also way back in 2002 I sort of knew that vampires were over. However, there was something mystifying about the inclusion of the (much less popular) sequel in the free box as well -- maybe symbolic of the need for acknowledgement or pride in the entirety of your existence // creative output (or, in this case, film franchise) despite negative reviews. I left this in the box for someone else, which is in itself a me-created fortune about free will, a refusal to acquiesce to metaphysical victimhood, and the need to comb through and select inputs to your life like you select avocados at the grocery store (CAREFULLY).

Extracted personal reading: You have the power to pick and choose the people, events, and objects with which to populate your existential landscape, so choose well. You don't have to, and really shouldn't, shoulder the burden of keeping Blade II in your video collection if you aren't that psyched about it in the first place (neither was Stephen Dorff, apparently). However, be careful to curb your judgement regarding things you know nothing about: like maybe the sequel is super rad, plus I'm pretty sure that's how wars and stuff get started.


THE EYES OF THE DRAGON by Stephen King (Hardcover novel)
Forget all that shit I just said about judgment and acceptance. Sometimes the Universe puts garbage in your way, just to test you. Sure, maybe you could take the high road here and give it a shot, but you should also be wary of mass market bullshit that will probably make you dumber in the process of its consumption. Sometimes social alienation feels yucky, but sometimes it's to your benefit that you can't relate to anyone w/r/t their personal relationship with (you assume) not-so-great paperback novels.

Extracted personal reading: It's lonely at the top.


WILLOW
Here we go. Seeing this as an offering in the upturned palm of the universal currents is a true sign that you are, in fact, currently and totally scoring. If you've seen the film (starring a phenomenally babely late-80s Val Kilmer and a bunch of lil' p30ple) you know that it has the very and truly magical qualities of something like Labyrinth, because in contemporary Hollywood it would absolutely never get made and also because after a certain age it's impossible to watch it without thinking, "seriously, what the fuck is this?" It's very presence in a cardboard box, just half a block away from where you sometimes sleep, is like a compendium of all the nostalgic self-consciousness that afore-said vampire hunting movies tend to induce, plus an extra gift of knowing that the astrological forces of this plane sometimes just want to make you plainly and blissfully happy. But have you watched it past the age of 14? Because if you haven't, and you retain memories of it being totally awesome from your childhood, consider just leaving it in its untouched time capsule of adolescent magic ('cause, like Labyrinth, it's better in theory than practice).

Extracted personal reading: Learning to recognize incredible opportunities is almost as crucial as acting on them; be willing and able to act quickly when offered something mindblowing (like Willow on VHS), and keep yourself continuously available to receiving and accepting these gifts. The Universe is completely enraptured with your existence and current life path, otherwise you never would have received such a blessing. However, it's up to you whether or not to re-watch the film or to simply keep it on your shelf for nostalgic purposes. Either way, you learn crucial lessons about the importance of era-specific emotion and memory, and what happens when you disrupt or reconsider these emotions. Still, this is the best kind of cairn, especially because you can conceivably masturbate to it [The Universe thinks masturbation is totally acceptable].


THE GRADUATE (NO BOX)
Why, I could ask, was this VHS tape, arguably the most artistic or 'film'-y of anything else found in the FREE box, included in a collection that would otherwise be pretty solidly labeled as pertaining to a mainstream action // sci-fi esthetic? Why was it the only item to be visibly stained, and incomplete in its lack of jacket? Why, also, upon a second inspection of the FREE box this morning, was it the only item remaining, occupying a lonely corner space in the cardboard porch box, waiting for someone to take it home and enjoy it? Is this a recognition of a commonly-held belief that most people in Eureka are tasteless pieces of shit that wouldn't recognize art unless it was something you could smoke in a glass pipe? Is it a meditation on the relationship between media and audience? Is it destiny that it should remain, pathetic and forlorn, until I should personally liberate it and take it home and watch it and take from it a very specific and personalized meaning as to the nature of my current and unique existence and life path and emotional state? The answers are, undeniably, yes and no.

Extracted personal reading: You probably need to get the fuck out of this shit-hole, because no one here cares about cinema or art or anything really, besides weed. However, the Universe understands your current plight, which is not at all unlike Dustin Hoffman's; so figure it out in whichever way you can, which is likely to be messy, but that's okay. Sometimes things happen that offer you no answers but only an obscene amount of questions, many of which can never be answered. Let these questions inspire you to growth and imagination, but do not let them consume you, and do not take the not-knowing seriously. Consider the signs carefully, but with a light heart. After all, you really don't know shit. Also, you should really consider buying a VHS player. That copy of BLADE ain't gonna watch itself.





*see?

GEMS & DIVINATIONS at mud luscious online

J.A. Tyler's amazing baby, Mud Luscious Press, has graciously published my work in Issue #18 of their online magazine.

Palmed hands at heart, in concentrated laser form, to every beautiful person at MLP.

You can read "Raw Amethyst, Rose Quartz, Bismuth" and check out other lovely prose-treasures here.

They are meditations on love, travel, the silt of heart and language. I don't know what they are.

Allen Ginsberg, sobbing, says everything is holy.

Scraping the surfaces of big things with the almost-right words.

DIG

This morning the sun makes glitter out of everything that's been left out to freeze overnight.

I microwave yesterday's coffee and sit on the cold porch and watch my breath bloom out as proof.

This day is something constructed to make me excavate memories.

It's like going through a wet garbage pile.

Or maybe, my lungs will fit my chest again,

Maybe everyone is doing the best they can.

GIFTS

+ Trying to locate yourself in the month of December is like putting a stethoscope up against a moving freight train to find out if anyone inside is still alive.

+ I haven't learned anything new in a long time, and most everything just reinforces old beliefs, like:

+ Everything seems dumber than it should be, and:

+ Someone has to be holding back truly great technological innovation (economically accessible laser guns, etc)

+ I got really stoned and thought about guns and shooting guns and freaked out. If a dude shot someone in my defense though -- BONER.

+ Being home is hard because my parents still believe in things like Social Security, and anyone on TV telling you anything solely for your own benefit. They believe these things outloud.

+ I don't have enough energy to tell old people how crazy their beliefs are anymore.

+ Is it possible to maintain steady love velocity? (V = ma)


+DUH.

+ Someone has also got to be holding back huge department stores from replacing ~75% of their employees with self-check-out kiosks and robots.

+ I need to do a better job pre-gaming for existence.

+ Life is never an actual struggle unless you don't realize that the struggle is the only fun part of life.

+ I miss basketball.

+ I miss drug use, or figuring things out, or people with different thought patterns, I dunno.

+ There have to be more options beyond fear and love.

+ I don't know if I know anything for sure, but I'm not sure, I'm just loud.

THE DAY THE INTERNET DIED

For the past two months I've been living and working in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and stars and quiet, with no internet connection and rarely any cell reception (sorry, (former?) friends). My man and I have our own cabin we go back to every night to do sun salutations and read before falling asleep to the sound of a diesel generator outside. It's admittedly extreme-dreamy status, and despite the exhausting tendency of the dormant, under-used, and non-stimulated mind to wear footpaths into every dark corner of your psyche (seriously, STOP MAKING ME CONSIDER MY PERSONAL SHORTCOMINGS), the work and life out in the mountains is a welcome respite from the gigantic pitch-black prostitution marketing feel-bad corporate pyramid scheme that Los Angeles can sometimes be (no offense).

However, I do, at times, find myself really missing the internet. Not because of Facebook (two years of sobriety yaaalllzzz), or tumblr (seriously, can we abolish all 15-year-old humans?), or all the super 'clever' graphic designers that constantly use their powers for 'meh' by preemptively designing Mad Men promotional posters or something, but because I think of it as a source of collective experience and knowledge, and more basically a link to the outside world --- for example, I only read about the Occupy Wall Street protests after all major media outlets had made up their minds about it being stupid, pointless, and justifiably punishable by law. For two months I looked forward to poring over everything in my Reader and, goddess help me, reading something interesting about our increasingly zany world. But when I finally re-connected with the webz at long last, you know what I found out? We're all still talking about, looking at, and contributing to the same boring-ass heap of cultural lameness, and I think everybody should just stop it right now. In short: The Internet Is Over. For why?

CONTINUED DISCUSSION OF " "HIPSTERS" "

It's been analyzed, re-analyzed, and re-re-analyzed by everyone from your best friend with an intentional haircut to your dumb mom, and every time I hear someone's theory on the demographic I feel like, "wait, who are you talking about?"A whole bunch of idiots have built popular single-topic blogs around them, one huge idiot has built a clothing empire perpetuating their myth, and in general most people seem to have something negative to say about their existence, despite the fact that the definition of a 'hipster' is loose at best. And after the whole Adbusters business, I felt like we could finally close that whole boring book. But apparently, nothing shrieks "buzzworthy" (read: Mainstream-appealing) like some infographic touting them as silly-looking consumer whores. Even Radiohead's performance on The Colbert Report was tainted by a 3-year-late cultural critique of the Hipster as sickly, sardonic, and TCFS. WHO FUCKING CARES. We live in a police state and your grandchildren will be born into indentured servitude; let's talk about something else.

BACON

I'm not denying that bacon isn't totally yums, but I am saying that this shit is over-er than Red Velvet cupcakes and The xx COMBINED. I'm not sure who even decided that this was like a geeky internet thing in the first place, but I'm pretty sure it should have been eliminated from internet meme-ry after that Denny's Baconalia!™fiasco (and.. what?) and the creation of the 235346345134566th bacon-themed foodtruck in the contiguous United States. We all eat it and love it and we'll all die from heart attacks caused by it so just stop making wacky appetizers with it so you can be on Geekologie, plz. It's done. Although making stove-top popcorn in bacon grease instead of oil is srsly so delicious you guys OK THAT'S IT IT'S OVER.

ANGRY BIRDS

Just.. never.

STAR WARS

I get the feeling that Star Wars is the glue holding the internet together in more ways than one -- mainly, that to see the movies (the ORIGINALS, lames, I have no interest in NatPo + shitty computer graphics, that was just a bad call) is to love and//or appreciate them, so I guess it's cool that we can all come together to geek out in a positive manner. Additionally though, I can't spend fifteen minutes dickin' around on the nets without running into some SW-themed design project // object to purchase // comic // memorabilia // cake decoration. It's cool I guess, but at a certain point I have to resent people still feeding this fire, if only because I'm bored of looking at all of it, but also because I feel like the easiest way for a design firm to get 'exposure' involves putting some vintage font over a re-imagined war-era Boba Fett drawing. Boring. Plus nothing will ever surpass the greatness of Harrison Ford in his 30s anyway.

FACEBOOK PRIVACY RANTS

I actually like seeing more and more attention given to rumors about who owns what information and where it's being sent to and the generation of stress regarding all those pictures you (shouldn't have) posted and how Mark Zuckerberg owns them and maybe it's a CIA database and blah blah blah. CAUSE IT'S ALL TRUE. What sucks about them is that everybody who whines about how scary and terrible Facebook is still has one. Quitting that shit is like dropping fifteen pounds of pure time-wasting and bad awkward feelings, plus then you can read blog posts about how icky the new format updates are and think, "Holy shit, I am superior to everyone else on the planet."

CELEBRITY GOSSIP

I don't want to live on this planet anymore // we've become our bored, exhausted parents. This is what the chewing gum area of the grocery store is for, and why would you fuck with 2,000 years of tradition? On the flip side though, unwarranted attention is the only thing keeping Lindsay Lohan and the Kardashian family alive at this point, so I guess vote with your dollars.

IPHONE ANYTHING, EVER

I have a MacBook and I like it. It's a computer and it does computer-y things and maybe there's subconsciously some sort of upper-class stigmatic pride attached to it in my brainhole but I don't really think so (yeah right). Most things about Apple are weird, like the rabid frenzy that attends their product unveilings, or how they made it popular for consumers to go into debt over personal electronics they can't actually afford. The popularity of iPhones blows my mind because I feel like paying $120+/month to have Yelp and Twitter in my pocket seems kinda ridiculous. And why the presumption that I have one via updates on apps, accessories, and Angry Birds? (see above). And why do we have to perpetuate an exclusive environment that makes buying an iPhone a rite of passage // social necessity // existential justification // invitation to participate in the discussion? And why do people need a really expensive glorified GameBoy in their purse all the time? And seriously, over 200 million pounds of e-waste every year, America? Just download a bacon app or whatever and stop clogging my internet sites with how the release of the 4S instead of the 5 personally affected and//or surprised you.

IPAD ANYTHING, EVER

Dumb.

SOMETHING ARTSY SPONSORED BY COCA-COLA // CONOCOPHILLIPS // THE US ARMY

Who let them in here?!?!?

ADVERTISEMENTS, ESP TAILORED TO MY DEMOGRAPHIC (?)

I remember giggling with my friends about the Google ads that popped up in the sidebar each time we sent each other e-correspondence back in the day -- like, it was a super good email if I was being pitched to by sites for tantric philosophy, at-home beer-making, and suicide prevention. Now, of course, Google has stockpiled enough personal info of mine to keep it simple and tell me where I can meditate // booze. But I keep feeling like as I round the corner on the second half of my twenties, I'm running into all this propaganda about having babies and finding foreclosure deals and just generally buying a bunch of shit that will somehow represent my still-totally-individual but 'maturing' self. This can be seen most obviously as the insertion of pseudo-indie, pseudo-hippie types into car and insurance and McDonald's commercials. Also there is a special circle in non-Hell designated for people who make you watch 30-second commercials before a 4-minute music video.

CHARLIE SHEEN

Just kidding! Nobody cares about that guy anymore.

BFF SERIES, vol. 1

This is a picture of my friend Kelly, taken in Detroit last fall, about 48 hours after she was involved in an alcohol-related bike accident. Our birthdays are 15 days apart and we will soon have matching constellation tattoos. Once, she let me sleep on her couch for like two months and we ate avocado sandwiches and smoked weed and painted pictures of dinosaurs with watercolors. She was the manager of my high school folk "band" and my family still refers to her as 'that really drunk girl' they met at the river one time. She is one of the most gorgeous humans I know, and now that she lives in Mexico City I miss her terribly like alllll the time. As such, I made her a mix to show the depth of my love, and decided to start a BFF MIXTAPE SERIES for everyone else to enjoy too [even though you could never love her as much as I do, ever].

Track listing below, and download the whole thing for free here.

1. Los Angeles - Gene Clark
2. Weeds - The New Mary Jane
3. Glitter - No Age
4. Harvest Moon - Teen Daze
5. Hello Sunshine - Damien Jurado & Richard Swift
6. Crushin' (feat. Cherub) - Police Academy 6
7. Magic vs. The Machine - The Next Door Neighbors
8. Maple Leaves - Jens Lekman
9. Horses - High Highs
10. I Wanna Be Yr Boyfriend - Woven Bones
11. Blackberry Song - Kurt Vile
12. Sunlight - Swimsuit
13. Rory Rides Me Raw (Live on KEXP) - The Vaselines
14. Wires - The Moles
15. Somehow To Keep it Going - Cotton Jones
16. He Would Have Laughed - Deerhunter

GOOD JOB EXISTING! Stay tuned for other digital collections celebrating ballin' humans who for some reason like to hang out with me.

<3

LA HAIKU

a movie, and then

something else [better], and then

i can move back home.

i want to give up,

but then i think of my dog

and my car payment.

i'm just trying to

find work, stay busy, network,

figure some things out.

someone on craigslist

is gonna do my website

for free!  [an "intern"]

it's just amazing,

the parallels between

acting and pilates.

i don't recycle.

there are too many homeless

people who need jobs.

my band will open

for any band, any night

(we play rock and roll)

i can't even stand 

coke anymore, but it's a 

great networking tool

floating on a sea

of money in my big-ass

corporate-sponsored boat

please just stop talking

about how hard you're working

on your web series

without your twitter

you are nothing. without your

facebook, you are free.

saturday, los angeles california

the woman on the second floor called down

about a sink leak, and something else entirely.

that number five was keeping her up, she said,

the increased need for solitude as one ages.

at the kitchen table i ate grapes and read on.

the danger, she was able to determine,

is in your frequent disappointment,

your knowledge of the divine interior.

i followed the stained carpet back home.

everything was asleep.

i kept on waiting.

SPIRIT//MATERIAL

national holidays are for lovers [and ass-shakin]

Happy Memorial Day Lovelies! Although I think most of us will only recognize this day as an extra day to drink beer during the daytime, I guess it's worth remembering that regardless of what or why or where the fight is, many people still have to fight it. Specifically, Mercury's retrograde and the transition of springtime have really done a number on the psyches of several close bros and broads. So even if it's a fight to maintain your individual wilderness, your long-distance friendships, your creative fertility, or, you know, the ability to drink beer during the daytime, we could all stand to remember that the fight is continuous and difficult and well worth it. And who better to remind us of the Supreme Divinity and Ballin'-ness of Our Selves than maybe the most kickass pop-siren of our time?

[Fuck you. I know it's a tenuous connection but dammit, you should really watch these vids.]



Here we go. This is a great place to start. Not only does this shit actually suggest that inside every black-and-white-colored professional-type lady there's a bubbly neon vixen just screaming to get out, but MYGOD, that bubbly neon vixen is almost inspirationally hot. Even though her lyrical dissertation is something kinda like "I Kinda Wish I Had A Dude," she somehow manages to keep a smile on her face and an array of sweet-ass accessories all over her bod. Other inspiring things about this video include, but are not limited to: spandex jumpsuits, caribbean-deco earrings, leopard-print hair scarves, and confetti.



This song was #1 on the charts on the day I was born, NO BIG DEAL. [Spoiler alert: you'll never know, Whit, you'll never really know]. Now that you're riding the high of how fucking awesome this woman is, let's take a moment to not only appreciate her amazing Minnie-Mouse hair bow, but the high-concept radness of this video in general. Don't you kinda miss the days when divas could bounce their hair around a weird circus-y funhouse with a bunch of theatre people performing their little dancing hearts out all over the damn place and it would be considered a mainstream masterpiece? And holy shit, that bride//groom suit? Are we commenting on the ambiguity of gender & relationships, Whitney Houston? Or were the producers of this thing just as coked out as everybody else in 1986?



Let's bring it down a notch, because high-octane candy-colored pop gems can only take you so far in life. Human beans are emotional lil' creatures, that's for sure, and it's okay to embrace your feelings, especially if those feelings are directed toward Kevin Costner and if said display of feelings can and will pay your bar tab for the rest of your fucking life. That being said, listen to the words! :'(! Apparently most critics pee their pants over the fact that she has a 45-second solo vocal intro, which is whatevs. All I know is, if this doesn't elicit a thought of a potential shedding of a tiny tear from you, you're probably also the type of person who pokes small animals with sticks.



Yeah, fuck off, you haters. IT'S FRIGGING MEMORIAL DAY. After performing this at Super Bowl XXV in 1991 (while America was in the middle of the Gulf War), it became so ridiculously popular that the single reached the Top 20 on the charts, and girlfriend donated all the proceeds to the Red Cross. If you're not into national-pride-related nostalgia, however, you can settle for simply a deep appreciation of her jumpsuit.

And although her personal life kinda fell into turmoil down the line, I think it makes it even more bittersweet and bodacious to watch her completely own America in her day. So savor your youth, my sweeties, remember the neon-colored vixen inside each and every one of you, and just dance it out. Dance. It. Out.

i feel like this too, sometimes

[mY cAt RuLeZ]

may.

Like when the sun bottoms out over the valley and the air turns cold, drops thirty degrees within the span of an hour, no water or heaviness to the sky. I remember that I live in the desert, and it makes me feel better about being here somehow. I and the succulents, storing water and hunkering down. The cacti spin themselves spines and shells, grow where they can, bloom when they have anything else left to give.

tuesday, los angeles california

I. [clock-in]

The McCafé helicopter

is being broadcast in blips.

It sings to us.

We warm our hands

upon it.

II.

Good Morning! This is KTLA,

[and I am implicated somehow]

III.

There's a truck and it's ours,

wrapped in an advertisement 

for bottled water, and here

at our morning show slot

we are not saved.

IV.

We're gonna need

an iTouch, an iPad

or two.

[This ain't my first time

in LA]

V.

There are several pictures of actual people pretending to be different people in the water bottle advertisement that I drive around the city. They are mostly twenty-somethings, just like me. There is one man who is older, though, and kind of grizzled. He has a blue handkerchief tied around his wrist, and I think about Crips v. Bloods, 'Democrats' v. 'Republicans,' Biggie v. Tupac. Primary colors. The graying older man looks friendly to me. He's clean-shaven. He seems vaguely homosexual in a San Francisco-kind of way. Like an emotionally stable motorcyclist.

VI.

Kevin Nealon holds the hand

of his young son or grandson

And also a cup of coffee.

His forehead is wrinkled a little,

like: who is this girl on the steps.

Has 'security' 'cleared this.'

His young son or grandson

doesn't yet know

he is Kevin Nealon.

VII.

Thought: Maybe Starbucks exists

for this demographic alone --

[I need something

warm and sugary

to cling to]

VIII.

Celebrities

are fuckin

stupid.

IX.

"TV PERSONALITY"

X.

Say something about Twitter.

Quickly.

ROLLING.

XI.

I think: every mile I drive is furthering this cause.

I think: I am a body-shaped shovel, carrying coal to the furnace.

I think: the shame we bear, to afford our coffee and beer and magazines.

Maybe I'm being melodramatic.

Nobody else seems to mind.

XII.

Let's just get through one meal

without discussing

the Kardashians.

XIII.

At the Coca-Cola bottling HQ downtown our freebies are being doled out in the parking lot. I am sandwiched between a concrete wall and a gigantic plaster Coke bottle, being eyed by a scatter of bored security guards across the street. They smooch me, sixty feet away. I wonder how many sodas they get, say, if they wanted to take a break.

The reps are complaining that people are just taking the shirts because they're free [...not the demographic that's gonna buy our water at the grocery store...]. On the phone I am talking Hideous Men and the fate of humankind with my heart, 2000 miles away. Dimitri is around the corner holding the boom, waiting to tell me more about how hard it is to make it in this city, especially being just another good-looking Russian-born actor-slash-bassist.

The security guards palm fives with a couple newcomers in street clothes. I can hear their handshakes, and the laughs they give one another, even over the collective lament of the marketing team. Buscamos trabajo. Those in uniform gesture past me, toward a closed door.

XIX.

[the vision is attended to]

XX. [clock-out]

Single-serving plastic bottles,

half-finished,

constellate the ground.

I am falling asleep

on the bus ride home.

Understand me.

What that takes.

grown ocean, growing, oceans

Fleet Foxes - Grown Ocean from Fleet Foxes on Vimeo.


To most people I feel like Fleet Foxes have become a bit lost and irrelevant what with the current surge of noisy experimental tape music that most 19-year-olds are peddling these days, but I still feel grateful that Robin Pecknold et al managed to make folky sincerity cool again, and will always get excited when FF throw down some new media. This is a beautiful vid and I can't wait for the album.

Related: in my early 20's, metaphorically, I was destitute and had wheels.

This morning I sold my schoolbus to a beautiful hippie family from Ojai who I'm pretty sure I've met before.

Not sure how to feel. Meditating on freedoms, the length of life, my proximity to the Pacific Ocean.

Most dreams are kinda forever, dampened only temporarily with the loss of their physical manifestation // the signing of official documents for the Department of Motor Vehicles.

I AM BECOMING AN ALL-AROUND ASSHOLE

Driving a cupcake truck around LA is a pretty solid way to 'make ends meet' (err, keep the Bulleit stocked) for many reasons. Chiefly and most importantly, though: I can wear all the douchey muscle tees I want, I have complete control of the stereo, and constantly guzzling espresso is in the Top 2 of my on-the-job managerial duties. Plus, being strong-armed into navigating the city's shitstorm of freeways has gotten me comfortable with driving in a furious and entitled manner, just like everyone else here! And occasionally I'm reminded that the job constantly takes me to new and exciting places, to meet lovely and interesting people, and that I'm all the better for it.

Yesterday -- a day from which I'm still suffering an unrelenting hangover, via Cheesy Tots and multiple buckets of caffeine -- was no exception. I drove out to Pasadena to sling 'cakes with some other food trucks at some 'Walk for _____' event that I assumed would be benefiting a civilized organization//society. As it turns out, 'Walk for LIFE' no longer means that any walking will be done to benefit worldkind, or disease prevention, or existential fulfillment. It just means that in Pasadena, there are a whole lot of people who think your reproductive rights are undeserved, and they've got the picket signs to prove it.

Imagine my horror at watching the scene unfold before me as I load bakery trays full of cookies that will undoubtedly be consumed by people who think I am an asshole! Knowing that as I brew ten gajillion vats of medium roast on a drizzly day in Southern California, that the conservative hordes will be lining up by the dozens to get a hot drink and treat me like shit! Well, what actually transpired was nothing short of, yes, the horrible amalgamation of all previous concerns, but being on the other side of it now, let's just be adults about this shall we? Putting all my personal politico-moral beliefs to one side (of course), I've compiled a completely unbiased and not-mean report based on some incredibly fascinating observations and general 'notable shit' about the consumption patterns of pro-lifers I gleaned from this experience, which was worth it all in the end, which has undoubtedly made me stronger in character, which I wouldn't trade for the world, etc etc etc. Therefore, in no particular order: a list of the top-selling items of the day.

1. HOT CHOCOLATE. Wow! As a barista I can assure you, there's NOTHING I'd like more than to continuously pump out the weakest-ass drink imaginable, especially the part where I take all that extra time to stir the chocolate syrup into the hot milk so I don't see your ass back here in five minutes complaining that all the chocolate is on the bottom of the cup. For some reason (obvious), I jump to very startling and scathing conclusions about people who order hot chocolate, mostly because I feel like they could have stayed home with their Snuggies and hospital dramas and left me out of it. And what is it with hot chocolates that make people order them 7 at a time? With two that are not so hot, and three with non-fat milk? It's weird that this was by far the most popular drink of the day, but then again it's the exact beverage equivalent of the average person in that demographic -- FUCKING LAME.

2. CARAMEL MACCHIATO (...?): Here's the thing. Starbucks pulled this really huge dick-move (class action lawsuit pending by yours truly) where they took a regular ol' caramel latte and started calling it something that is traditionally served in a 3oz. brownware cup. Now, when people order a macchiato, I have to have a >30 second conversation with them to ascertain what it is they actually want to dump down their Planned-Parenthood-defunding gullets. Usually it involves a whole lot of syrup, prolific usage of words like 'grande' (shudder), and a lot of me being genuinely unable to disguise the hatred I feel for them in my voice.

3. CUPCAKES!!!!!!!1111!!!!: Remember that whole Bush//Kerry fiasco in '04, when you were like so totally convinced that there was no way that doucher could be re-elected, and then he was, and you realized how out of touch with America's Wants And Desires you actually were? Exactly. So when I say the cupcake fad has peaked, what I really mean is that the best cafes in OAK//PDX//SEA have pioneered new territory (see: tarts), but that all the middle-aged Grey's Anatomy fanatics in the Los Angeles suburbs are just now wrapping their manicured tentacles around that shit. Red Velvet cupcakes are so tracked out I'm starting to ride rocks, yallz.

4. SUGAR-FREE SYRUPS: Interesting that you would be so against the 'murdering of fetuses' when you ingest cancerous toxins on a thrice-daily basis!

5. NON-FAT MILK: As you might have guessed, my hands-down favorite part of working in coffee shops is harshly judging customers based on the drinks they order. It makes the whole prostitution of customer service a little easier to swallow, and simply can't be helped most of the time. I like to have a little private giggle, for instance, when people order something and preface it with 'skinny,' especially when that something is a 'skinny caramel mocha with whipped cream.' No offense, but YOUR'E FAT. And the 100 calories you saved could be better skimped without the four brownies you just chowed. But again, who am I to judge? For those humans whose life views collide so violently with my own, I like to slip them full-fat and just hope cholesterol takes care of the rest.

OMG, whatevs, etc. [March Edition]

Springtime is upon us, and throats and roots and belts are loosening themselves all around me in what sounds like a thunderous oncoming if you're listening for those sorts of things, which I am. Even if you don't have an immediate personal history of nearly 24 months of meta//physical wintertime blahhs (Humboldt County apparently being a Bermuda Triangle of general happiness), I think we can all hold hands around the campfire of generally agreeing that this is a good time of year to feel alive. And seeing as how I currently share space with an immodest army of some startlingly vacuous and yucky people, I will take the goodthings as they come, of which there are actually plenty (contrary to popular belief)(hint: they're buried under and amongst the freeways).

I moved to Los Angeles in a shortbus purchased with highly-illicit funds, so needless to say I hadn't planned on taking the area very seriously, beyond it being an ideal place to be warm in the wintertime and to be anonymous as a homeless person. And it was! December and January were largely spent enjoying 75-degree afternoons on the west side, with minimal interference from any law enforcement; we were one of hundreds, thousands of people who were living in vehicles in Los Angeles, and since Naet and I were both young and white and able-bodied and good-looking, we were given every benefit of every doubt. We showered at an unmanned gym bathroom in our neighborhood and lazed about the city until we finally got sick of lazing about.

Which we did. Craigslist blessed us with a job where we worked together and were paid cash under the table. Our bosses were chill, didn't question the exact deets of our personal histories or where we laid our heads at night. Eventually a late-night 'what-the-hell' job application turned into an interview to manage an apartment building, which we sure-why-notted into a comped room in a totally sweet yuppie neighborhood. I started a yoga teacher training course and money came in and went out, mostly to restaurants and bars and cigarettes.

This is my point: Los Angeles is a microcosm of the Universe, in that everyone here is so fascinated with their own personal journey within it that it's relatively easy to slip through the cracks of any watchful gaze and exist completely unfettered. There is an enormous ocean of money here, generated by the omnipresent and Jurassically shitty entertainment industry (or The Industry, as everyone here refers to it), which permeates almost every aspect of life and feeds the vast majority of people in the city. I've found that people are so worried about Bigger Things (i.e., their production stake in Sony's newest shitty movie, or paying their exorbitant rent) that they don't give a shit about a couple of kids who just want enough cash to survive, and maybe go to a show every now and then.

I spent a lot of time bewildered that we could so easily set ourselves up in about six weeks of arriving, being reluctant to attach myself to anything that I'd spent the majority of my years railing against. But the fact remains that my existence could be likened to a heavily buttered slip-n'-slide on which I am a willful and awed passenger. And so, despite my previous hesitations, I am now welcoming springtime with a sangria and a pair of shorts (they wear those here), trying only to keep my eyes and heart open for what else is on its way.

And yes, scandalous celebrity sightings have been fastidiously documented and are OH SO FORTHCOMING! Come for the cellulite rumors, stay for the expanded theses on America's self-deprecation via its fame complex.

Hearts and shit.

monday, los angeles california

please understand: it's been so long
since i could consider a handout
a compliment.

[but cannonball into my pool nonetheless]

that thinking, speaking, wanting
feeling? it's here to stay.

your arm around me in the dark,
which in the desert is darker
and colder.

[would feel _______________, but i don't know]

crunch.

Barry Graham is a nice person. He is including 'August' in the 2011 DOGZPLOT Flash Fiction Anthology, about which I am humbled and excited. Lots of talented writers are featured and I'm happy to be wedged between them somewhere.

I started writing music reviews for Sick of the Radio, which means I get to use the word FUCK and be building a published online portfolio at the same time. Cool beans, man.

I've reached a breaking point in my relationship with Los Angeles maybe, as in it's still warm here, and plus I discovered where all the kids with dirty hair and neck tatts are hiding.

My yoga teacher says it's totally cool to flip people off if they are truly assholes.

Just tryna keep my bodily pathways of energy open for further self-realization and shit.

I hope your respective lives are fruit-bearing, pacific, orange-hued things.

LETS GET THIS OVER WITH

+ Not that I believe in time, or human measurements of it, or 'newness' really, but the relief I feel at 2010 being over with could be likened to someone taking a soft-bristle toothbrush to the layer of residual bacon fat surrounding my heart and doing a pretty good job at it too

+ Cities are 360-degree projections of The Dream that people can hold onto in increasing numbers when the shit hits the fan, featuring the soundtrack of diesel trucks and other men and women talking loudly and beginning all their sentences with "I"

+ I's are towers to climb over in the mind, on paper too

+ I mean, things are awesome & fun & stuff, for sure

+ Being like the desert and holding onto nothing for very long, becoming the temperature around you as the night cools or the sun rises, growing a little, destroying a lot, keeping secret treasures a big secret

+ TRON is even more delicious than I hoped it would be (feat. Headband, Maker's Mark)

+ Sometimes it's more obvious to me that I live in a place where all I need to do is say something outloud until it becomes the thing itself, or I start living in a new place where I have to yell over a lot of other shit

+ The place you live is a 360-degree projection of where you think you're at in life, so I tend to notice things like espresso machines & old dresses & places where EBT is accepted

+ COOL HUH

+ On January 1st, 2011 the first thing I did was to follow a well-spoken Italian boy back to his housesitting-house so he could give us whiskey and show us his airstream and I thought something like, 2011 is being born into something comfortably surreal, and then through the window we heard those girls in the dresses say something about cocks in their mouths, so we took our booze away in a plastic cup and walked back home to be by ourselves

+ I will hold my own hand and I will be fulfilled then

+ I'm pretty sure there's some kind of homeless bro Turf War going down at the Santa Monica Public Library, which is understandable, since it's generally nice and warm in there, and there are only so many tables where you can play loud computer games and eat an old sandwich at the same time

+ Maybe being propagandized is affecting my ability to be patient

+ I must be the only white girl in the whole wide world without a smart phone :'(

+ There's nothing wrong with referring to other people as 'beings'

+ The Dream must be redefined, or remeasured, or revised, or reworked, or re-envisioned as something intrinsically beneficial, revisiting what benefits actually are (which I'm pretty sure have something to do with strong hugs, the amount of food being grown in your front yard)

+ I think people born in the wintertime are just gentle

+ 2011 is going to put brand new things into my brain & heart & body, maybe, but it might be too early to tell

LA KILLS

While the details of my whereabouts and general life motives are still forthcoming, I just wanted to shout it to the blogosphere that I have washed up in Los Angeles without sustaining any major injuries (incl. head trauma//heartbreak) and you can consider me your liaison to the innerworkings of one of the grossest, most fucked-up beehives of human activity this tender planet has seen yet. I say this with all due respect, considering that wherever I happen to be is within walking distance of "like, the best fucking taco truck I've ever been to," and also that I spent Christmas Eve shuffling my sandal'd feet around the strand at Venice Beach in 70-degree weather, having to turn down more than one 14-year-old boy selling cheap weed on his BMX bike. All in all, I can never really complain, and there are definitely things here that could make me change my mind about how Southern California is one sprawling, gigantic shithole of development (see aforementioned availability of Mexican food and pot). But yeah, I guess without wanting to jump to conclusions, it's a pretty weird place. Hush now my darlings, while I tell you strange and wonderful tales.

1. LA is BIG. And not like that gosh-wow, kinda-magical, gasping sense of BIG you get when you go to New York City for the first time and stand on the sidewalks craning your neck upward and spinning around in circles watching all the big buildings shine and maybe waiting for them to turn into Transformers (fuck you, I grew up in Eureka). I mean BIG like sprawling, like it takes 30 minutes to drive 1/4 of the way across the city, like we climbed to the top of a big hill and saw that it was 360 degrees of concrete, that the horizon faded before the billboards did. Despite living next to the ocean again, that amazing geographical reference, I find myself being turned around, lost, and confused nearly all the time. Although that could also be attributed to the constant barrage of marketing images and billboards (srsly) and the invisible flow of radio waves through my sweet spongy brain (prtty sure). Which brings me to my next point:

2. LA is FAKE. And I don't mean that the bajillion fucking WINDOW TINTING!!! businesses here are all cardboard-built Blazing Saddles-style. I mean that many people here seem to be obsessed with appearance, which is apparent in the Kardashian lookalikes juggling shopping bags down the Promenade and the fact that roughly half of every Craigslist job posting asks you to submit a photo "and/or" a resume when applying. From what I can gather, good-looking people get face-time here, and everybody else has to work for Target (but there are like 36537546 of those so it's cool). I guess I shouldn't look into any deeper meanings about how our society is organized based on this fact -- it is, after all, a city propped up almost solely by the entertainment industry, which gives THISMUCH of a fuck about your soul or marginal talent, and more about how much money your face can generate. Cynical? Yeah, you're right. Which brings me to my next point:

3. LA is MONEY. There's a lot of it here, even if you believe Hollywood is dead. I still hold out hope that I will dig so deep into the classifieds that I will find some organization who is willing to pay me for being intelligent, gentle, and "into" growing chard and journaling. But the sad reality is that most of the jobs down here revolve around sales. Marketing, real estate, PR, modeling, tele-fundraising -- everyone is selling something, or rather, forced to if they want to pay their rent. It seems like a dog chasing its tail to me, but then again I haven't the faintest idea how money works. I'm just looking to pour some coffee or maybe answer phones while I finish my yoga training, and hopefully in the meantime I can afford breakfast every so often. And since I'm not paying rent, and since I'm not looking to make a life here, and since I'd rather end on a glass-half-full kinda note, this brings me to my next point:

4. LA is BEAUTIFUL. Seriously. For Christmas I wore a sundress and my shoulders grew a couple more freckles walking barefoot down on the beach. At night the ferris wheel on the boardwalk lights up and there are children playing tag and the boys pedal up and down the strand selling baggies and there are palm trees everywhere and the kids are young and beautiful and one night feeling particularly sad and lost on the Eastbound 733, a girl got off a few stops ahead of us, ran to the side of the bus, and drew a heart into the raindrops with her fingertip, waving goodbye. I put that poem-moment in my pocket and will take it out again and again to remember that buried in the shit there must be some good, that even in a seeming wasteland, Capitalism's favorite nephew, there must still be people who want to experience something real and good. Here's hoping I can find some of them on this go-round, or at least eat my weight in tacos in the process.

thursday, northern california

everyone is playing

call of duty or whatever

i want to say something

to the effect of the war machine

is reaching its fingers into my drinking hour,

but there is a too-long list of things

i can ruin my mood over

already.

FOUR JPG POEMS FOR KANYE WEST

I.

II.a

II.b

III.

IV.

LUST

Got myself an audio converter, so the tiny lil' EP I've been working on lives here now.

Enjoy loves!

WARM GUNZ

Hello again O beauteous lovers of similarly-shaded spirits and hearts. It is November once more, the most gracious of all winter-ish months, if only because its primary focus seems to be keeping its participants mildly wasted and uncomfortably full, & in the arms of other warm bodies no less. Say what you will about pagan holidays or the NFL -- this month, in my mind, is all about embracing the oncoming stretch of hibernation and//or gnar-shreddage with soft dignity and a full liquor cabinet.

e.g., fifths of Jim Beam are on sale for $16.99 at CVS righ' now!!!

I'm happy to report from the dark and melancholy netherspaces of Humboldt County that my exodus from this shithole is nearly upon us all! EXCITEMENT. It's uncomfortable to hold any physical//metaphysical space when said space makes you wish you could sleep the rest of your near future away, but my persistent existence should be a testament to all you bitches that it can in fact be done, and not only that, but it can actually look fucking good.


e.g., I live in a shortbus, collect food stamps, and maybe we are going to India (?!)

It's pretty cool that human beings are capable of things like reinvention, self-rescue, bravery, and love. After being surrounded by ultra-conservative out-of-touch Boomers for nearly a year, I was almost conditioned to thinking that life was about resigning yourself to being unhappy, convincing yourself that you want what everyone else wants, and 'getting into politics.' Thankfully, the mysterious eddies of the Universe have landed me in a delicious whirlpool of illicit activity, endless daydreams, and a sense of Feeling On Top Of The World.

e.g., my family now consists of a man in wool overalls and the kitten we have yet to purchase.

Pictures and love letters to come.

I hope you can see the moon from wherever you are.