late Ramadan

i just scarfed down a whole cookie sheet of green chile cheese nachos. that is to say, a can of green chile, a large chunk of mild cheddar cheese, and half a bag of tortilla chips was my dinner. am i vegetarian yet?

i’ve been back home for nearly two weeks and it would already feel like i’d never been gone, except for the fact that my return from Europe marks a turning point in lifestyle. whether temporary or permanent, only Allah/Yahweh knows.

for one, as i’ve been hinting, i’m not eating meat. to be specific, i’m trying to avoid meat as best i can. that means i skipped the free meat tacos at lunch today… but i ate somebody’s leftover corn dog last night. it means the pastas i make are meatless… but i ate somebody’s salad full of bacon bits. it means i ordered a green pizza (asparagus, artichokes, etc.) at 21st Amendment the other night… but i ate a steak for dinner at my parent’s house two days later.

basically, there are two key circumstances in which i will eat meat. first, if somebody is throwing away perfectly good food, i will eat it no matter what. if there’s anything i despise more than climate change, tortured animals, and extreme wealth, it’s wasted food. besides, the animal has died; let it not be in vain. secondly, if somebody has gone through trouble to gift me a meal (as my mother did the other night), i will not spurn the gift. i will rejoice in it! and may i always. that said, maybe i should start advertising more that i’m not eating meat so as to limit the chances that people make it for me. (already, my beautiful girlfriend chef lover friend has put together an excellent eggplant sandwich and a roasted vegetable pasta. she’s an expert.)

so i’m not buying it. i’m not cooking it. and i’m not ordering it. that’s a start, right?

besides the meat thing, i’m also trying to not drink alcohol. i last tried to do this a year ago and ended up averaging out to about a drink per day for an entire month. this time around, i’m doing about the same. last night, celebrating Lexi and laughter, i drank a total of one margarita, one shot of Jameson, and one tall PBR over the course of over six hours. not bad, i’d say!

besides the meat and alcohol things… well, there’s one other thing. but it’s quite private.

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introducing ronny the bad vegetarian

i ate a hot dog today.

yesterday i ate a cup of noodles with three or four teeny tiny shrimp in it.

bloody thursday i ate a slice of bacon and some quail.

wednesday evening i ate a couple slices of prosciutto and a 1.5 pound Lassen trout.

tuesday evening i ate a handful of mini hot dogs.

in the past week, at least 10 animals had to die to keep me alive.

isn’t that funny?

that’s funny.

death is funny.

death is funny when it’s not happening to you.

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notes from my phone

can a person be a laxative?

can a person with exceedingly attractive breasts be a laxative?

legit, those are some notes on my phone from the weekend.

i was standing on a sunny San Francisco rooftop–high ass fuck–listening to my friend, who happens to have exceedingly large and attractive breasts, rant about so and such and etc and ya. some dude i didn’t know was nodding to her stream of sounds and meaning, and i was nodding too. but i wasn’t really comprehending or even computing in the least degree. on the contrary, i was nodding while wondering whether a person’s voice and the things they say could incite a man to need to take a shit.

luckily, i managed to hold it in.

here’s something much less disgusting:

thighs two pack
carrots
celery
mushrooms packet
three onions
bottle of wine
box of chicken broth

that’s Amanda’s list of ingredients for this weird wine-y soup that’s actually incredible delicious. well, depending on who you ask.

she once gave me some to try. a week later, i remembered it existed, reheated it, and found it quite delectable. so i decided to make it myself. in fact, i roped Natalie into making it too. we drove to the Alemany Farmers Market (late as usual), picked up the essential ingredients, and returned to my kitchen to attempt the soup.

now, Natalie is a cook. and i’m a poet. or musician. or wizard. or some shit. in any case, earlier in the soup-crafting process, we started to butt heads about some crucial decisions. Amanda was unavailable, so we couldn’t consult her about the exact process and finer points of putting this soup together, so we were left to our own devices. Natalie wanted to use her cool cooking skillz to add a bunch of spices and use less wine and all this shit. i was like, no, no spices. just wine. wine. it. up.

so we made separate soups. at the same time. a soup-off.

how did it go? fucking amazing, obviously. i had soup for days.

so many notes on my phone, so little time. here’s one from the Tool concert this year:

old life new life
Lateralus
body mind

tool is inside black hole

astonishment at walkijg inside of a cave

yeah, what? let’s see if i can retrace my steps.

see, Tool makes pretty strange music. they have strange visuals to match the strange music. when your sensory devices meet with these strange musicks and strange visuals, your brain begins to brew strange thoughts. for example, i stopped taking for granted the concert experience and instead begin to marvel at the strangeness, if you will, of it all. Bill Graham Civic Auditorium, the name we bestowed upon this large (for humans) man-made cave, filled to the brim with swaying apes captivated by the rumbling thunder of lights and astonishing lightning of sound emanating from the four apes on the raised platform. imagine an alien being, like Mozart, stepping into this cave. or imagine a caveman. would he be jealous of our cave? imagine a being from another planet or another universe? what would they think? would they be unimpressed? would they think fondly of memories from their own life? that’s the “astonishment at walkijg inside of a cave.”

so i was stoned at a Tool concert and thinking about aliens, this is true. i can’t just blame Tool, space has been consuming my mind more than usual. so for some reason i started thinking that maybe Tool is what you get when you go inside of a black hole. actually, no, i don’t remember what this was about at all. i’m sure it was epically profound though, stoned ronny of the past.

one of the show highlights were these words Maynard spoke between songs:

INSERT MAYNARD’S LINES HERE

oh man, here’s a golden one:

the way a beautiful girl can just ruin your night

i’m not giving any context on that one except that it’s from 201301102151. maybe i’ll just remember something for once.

this is kind of clever, from 201301181153:

sometimes i don’t actually feel like i truly truly lived in the moment i loved because if i did i would still be there.

once i heard a beautiful song with Japanese lyrics that sounded like…

it’s some tsunami

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possible reasons i got an ocular migraine today

Woods
too much computer?
hungry?
biking too much?
walnuts
quit drinking
few peanut M&Ms
few ritz crackers
few cheesy popcorn
oreo
fish
potato salad
beans & rice
salad
english muffin with jam

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possible reasons i got an ocular migraine today

bright light in Rich’s room
glass of merlot
real sliced potato salt + vinegar kettle chips
olive oil, red onion, and garlic (possibly burned [isn’t that cancerous?])
leftover recooked (in above possibly burned items) corn noodles
stoned
Robert Frost poetry
bad house mixing
green chile burger
worrying about finding a roommate, Liz

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Stephen Dedalus’ “Villanelle of the Temptress”

Are you not weary of ardent ways,
Lure of the fallen seraphim?
Tell no more of enchanted days.

Your eyes have set man’s heart ablaze
And you have had your will of him.
Are you not weary of ardent ways?

Above the flame the smoke of praise
Goes up from ocean rim to rim.
Tell no more of enchanted days.

Our broken cries and mournful lays
Rise in one eucharistic hymn.
Are you not weary of ardent ways?

While sacrificing hands upraise
The chalice flowing to the brim,
Tell no more of enchanted days.

And still you hold our longing gaze
With languorous look and lavish limb!
Are you not weary of ardent ways?
Tell no more of enchanted days.

a beautiful poem from James Joyce’s “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.” specifically, it’s a “villanelle,” which the dictionary confusingly though thoroughly describes as “a nineteen-line poem with two rhymes throughout, consisting of five tercets and a quatrain, with the first and third lines of the opening tercet recurring alternately at the end of the other tercets and with both repeated at the close of the concluding quatrain.” it’s easier to just read it.

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i me mine i me mine

i’m drunk right now.

i just wrote a poem. when was the last time i wrote a poem? if ronblog is my only indication, then the last time i wrote a poem was nearly three months ago. how sad. and what a bad poem that was. hopefully the latest is better. i believe it is. i hugged one of my loves recently, one of the greatest poets alive, aerienne. how could i not be infused with poetic sensibilities with her presence? also: i just finished reading A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce. how could i not be infused with poetic sensibilities through his presence? i do not know.

i don’t know much at the moment except that i’ve had one too few PBRs and two too many gin martinis.

i do know that i despise any author that begins more than two paragraphs in a row with the same word, particularly if that word happens to be the word used by a speaker to refer to himself or herself. i me mine i me mine.

i’m in a band. did i ever tell you that? who the fuck are you anyway and why do i tell you so many things about myself? perhaps you’re nobody, so i can trust you. i’ll trust myself and keep talking. i play bass in a band that has no name. the band–bassist, guitarist/singer/keyboardist, guitarist/singer, and drummer–met today, and we spent 50% of our time working through band names. the other 50% of the time we spent playing music. i wish we spent 0% of our time picking band names and 120% of our time becoming incredible magicians of rhythm. alas.

i almost died today. i cut into the freeway on my bike–there was a bike lane but i was stupid not to look first–and a car flew past me at 50 MPH… just a feet or two away. i reevaluated my life decisions. i still love my girlfriend.

my girlfriend is the most beautiful girl in the world. she’s also the most beautiful woman in the world. she’s also the most beautiful lady in the world. her hair smells so nice. her eyes are big and bright and dark like diamonds like black holes like perfection. when i look into her eyes i want to cry but instead i kiss her. i want to make her happy. i want to wash her feet. i want to kiss her feet and then wash them and then kiss them and then wash them and then. i love her neck and sometimes i grab it. sometimes i scratch her scalp. she cooks ambrosia. the gods are dead and yet ambrosia lives–in our mouths. that’s not all. she is a medium, of sorts. she smirks. she giggles. do not fuck with her; you will be fucked. when i wonder, i am in her heart. when i love, i am of her heart. when i think, i am her brain cells dripping like a chocolate waterfall of the crust. pie is her sky mind as am i.

where does love live?

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a portrait of Sisyphus as a young fog

black diamond fog peers over Twin Peaks,
bringing along its wet and chill hymn:
reverie for the weary mind that leaks.

the crashing note of sinister antiques
like Sisyphus’ boulder barreling so grim,
black diamond fog peers over Twin Peaks.

endless mystery, mother sans critiques,
the Pacific wind that falls on a whim,
reverie for the weary mind that leaks.

feeling, desiring, she blindly seeks
to pour over the natural city brim,
black diamond fog peers over Twin Peaks.

an unrequited love hidden in her cheeks
dies numb and silent, meek and dim,
reverie for the weary mind that leaks.

gliding airless via senseless techniques,
i recite the mantra of my phantom limb:
black diamond fog peers over Twin Peaks,
reverie for the weary mind that leaks.

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NGC 3590

eso1416a

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hi, I

i did a very strange thing yesterday.

feeling a bit overloaded and scatterbrained in the afternoon office, i decided to go for a walk. that wasn’t the strange thing. i went walking along the pier, thinking that i should do so more since i recently read that all the great geniuses claimed that their daily walks were essential to sparking creativity and re-energizing the mind. but i also shouldn’t go walk for that reason. i should just walk.

walking along the baseball park to the pier, i happened to scroll through my contacts to see if there was anybody i could call. i looked under names that started “Hi” since that was all i really wanted to say to the person on the receiving end. there wasn’t anybody i wouldn’t feel completely crazy calling…

so i pulled back a little. i decided to text my only three friends whose names started with the letter “I.” here’s what they’re up to.

I1

I1 i’ve known the longest. we went to middle school together, though we were never really great friends. in high school, however, i became great friends with one her girls. to this day, this other girl remains my strongest connection to I1. in fact, this is so truly the case, that it took an incredible effort for us not to mention this girl in our 20-text conversation.

once i established who i was (I1 got a new phone a while ago), she sent smiles and many exclamation marks!!! it was silly. then i learned that she had been in Chicago since last summer, studying physical therapy at Northwestern for a graduate degree. seems like everyone my age is taking care of grad school. pretty smart kids.

I2

I2 i’ve known the second-longest. we went to college together, though we were never really great friends. that said, in contrast to what was the case with I1, i actually had a strangely strong personal relationship with I2. i loved experimenting and playing around and she more than dabbled in darkness, so we would kick the night off with a beer or two, and then wander around the campus until the early morning, chatting about whatever or not. there were a couple times where she crashed in my bed, but–if we even cuddled–nothing romantic even hinted at happening. at least once we cruised to denny’s too late, too early. we had a hell of a lot of dumb, numb fun.

like I1, she’s in school too. except, because she dabbled too much in darkness pre-2010, she was now doing it all over. but she’s healthier and happier now, bless her. our conversation was only 9 texts long, but i don’t care. she just finished finals, she’s planning on graduating next year, and i’m proud.

I3

compared to the other two, i just met I3. really, i’ve known him for a couple years, but the most time i’ve ever spent with him 1:1 happened the first time i ever met him. we were both going to Tahoe with a group of mutual friends, i needed a ride, he was driving up alone, it worked out perfectly. because our mutual friends were such awesome people (the drunk, merry, singing, theatrical types) we had zero problem having a great time on the drive up. plus, he had good taste in music.

we’ve only seen each other in specks and spot since that blast of a weekend… and now he’s “very married,” in his words. funnily enough, while this text conversation was the shortest of all, it was also the only one with an action item: “Lets grab a beer or 7 sometime soon.” love it.

what ghosts from your past have you spoken to lately?

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