Monthly Archives: May 2012

45s and 33s for 24s and 21s

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terminal felicity

morphine menstruation racks my head like a hundred stupid nail-shaped sperm that don’t know which is the way to logic. it’s ill-advised to dip into bloody hell for even a few moments, yet there are some among us who delve into those dark, impossible depths for days, sometimes weeks at a time.

they are crazy and i love them.

some of them are lost friends who wander the woods more than 360 days a year, sparing just a few to grace your greenless meadow. black, sheer, and stupendous, they tiptoe around your life like young prisms unaware of how their beautifully blinding spinning eternally refracts your love.

some of them are geniuses uncomfortable. they fumble with glass robots and silicon sound, obsessed with the details but so far from letting go. they oblige you with constant, true, lipless smiles.

some of them defy deification only through their bruises, tornado bangs, and shrink-wrapped afflictions. but other than that, they are paradise: i only lie on the leafy heap and they come gliding in the deep of the dawn, fawning over my imaginary, mental wounds with a grace dripping wet with maple syrup, egg yolk, and me. they are to be treasured like the tiniest of oysters, dull and lustrous living breathing fiends, fuck! the greatest of friends suck you dry of all devices, neurological or not, and then they clean up the battlefield lay waste on your belly. and then they dig the trenches deeper.

some of them, no matter how much you press for puppies, give you kittens. and you’re happy regardless. when pussy abounds, nobody frowns.

some of them just fucking rock as much on the Atlantic as the Pacific, and they are so impressive to both your lower as to your upper half that you sometimes wonder whether you are their twin. tricycle’s a low frequency, long legs’ a must, eggy bagels’ never excessive, you trust.

some of them are hippies, there’s really no way around it. as if you were looking for one. as if you aren’t one. as if you don’t drink too much and don’t get too excited and don’t wear birkenstocks and don’t fail to say goodbye when it’s far too early to say goodbye, but California’s a fine place to say hi again anyway.

some of them seem more nervous than they are, or are more nervous than they seem. you’ll never be able to tell. fire skulls, tempered mind, mad with sanity, they give you their home for all time whether you need it or not.

some of them are pure femme joy, even when they’ve got their backs turned to you. Continue reading

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about a city

everyone has their thing

the girth
the liquor store shine
the teething
the boundless rhythm
the Jesus
the nonstop rainbow reggae radio and you’ve picked your thing

in the do what you do metropolis. Continue reading

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Facebook fun

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The term is generally applied to alcohol, barbiturates, amphetamines, THC, PCP, cocaine, and heroin but also includes caffeine in coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee

why yes, i did just let a man stick a needle in my eyelid and inject steroids. why, you ask? oh, because i trust him.

now, with a swollen lower right lid, i barely sit up—almost lie—in my bed, watching the curtains blow wild and green over my turntables like big ship sails, listening to the Who belt out covers of blues songs that could pass for hardcore sonic pornography, chewing on week-old pistachios, sipping on plastic water, and typing up a vacuous storm. it’s monday and i’m blogging.

i went to a baseball game last week and saw a pitcher end an inning. innings end about 17 or 18 times per baseball game, and pitchers are often the reason for those endings, seeing as how they throw the balls that cause strikes and home runs. anyway, this particular time, the pitcher walked off the mound with a little cross on his face and a little point to the heavens, as if he were thanking the Greek deities for their graciousness in allowing him to end that very inning. what a crock of shit! i don’t end every single paragraph i write with a prayer to Allah. i don’t even do so after each blog post is published! although, Christ, maybe i should…

what other things have i done lately? what other thoughts have i had? after all, what is a blog post but a description of sights and sounds, as mundane, murky, magical, or obsolescent they may be.

today, i went to a television studio. i don’t really have much more to say about that except that i saw lots of monitors and a pretty girl (or two) and important people.

i’ve had two amazing weekends back to back and—coincidentally—my girlfriend has been sober for two whole weekends. this most recent one was spent doing and eating and feeling many things, but it started with my limbs actually assembling a delicious spinach mushroom pasta for Chelsea and myself, followed by the spectacle of spectacles, ballet:

all the critics seem to love the San Francisco Ballet’s 2012 closing-production of Don Quixote and, this time around, i’m not one to disagree with critics. not only did i take my beautiful girl to a beautiful ballet, but i finally closed the loop on something i should have done almost two years ago: mixed marijuana and high art! yup yup yup, during the intermissions, Chelsea and i slipped to the City Hall-facing balcony—the very same one where i was offered a smoke so long ago—and took a toke from my own magic flute. and, as if the universe wasn’t content with closing a single loop, it sent an old man wandering to our balcony, who awkwardly conversed with us until i killed the awkwardness by offering him a smoke. his response: “far out!” i love ballet, i love San Francisco.

i also love girls.

these are the girls that are the waitresses that are the angels at It’s Tops Coffee Shop that i love that i yes that i love more coffee more smiles more eyes bright wide-opened white cream in my coffee, the girls that i love, the coffee that i love, the ballet spins music into my misty ears. coffee.

the rest of the weekend was spent sleeping in super late, loving friends, drinking beers, eating wings, eating omelettes, eating trout, eating salmon, celebrating Rachel, and hating my disgusting eye. oh well, there are worse things, i suppose.

do you ever read a blog post and think to yourself, “i wonder if this blogger stopped mid-post to take a gigantic shit.” not all who wonder are lost.

the weekend prior was just as—if not more—outstanding. if you assume that thursday and the first seventeen and a half hours of friday are not the weekend, that is. but if you somehow take thursday night to be part of the weekend, well then, good reader, i’ll have you know that just about the only good thing that happened to me that night was a small cup of tomato basil soup, a bit of grilled cheese, and a portion of water. the rest was hell and teeth-grating, dreaming of my sweetness pinned down of her own volition, writhing, unsmiling, drowning. and i knew not of her freedom until friday evening, when i threw all care to the wind and descended into Daly City, the land of beer and music.

everything will be okay in the end. if things aren’t okay, then it’s not the end. Continue reading

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