Tag Archives: halloween

sex with me… sex with me… sex with me…

the drive
six-dollar garbage
L. A.
Micah’s little lab
dropping by Federal
sunset cruise to Santa Monica
sir, this is valet only
the motel, Steve, Thai curry, the cockroach

Vator Splash
walk for oil
chillin w Tram
goodbye Santa Monica
bang

sunrise to LAX
the literati
trader joes shopping
shower?
gal palace
aerienne’s curry
rise of the jack o lanterns
staples center
the pantry
sex with me, sex with me
film shoot
martinis at Clifton

sweating, parking
Meryl the blonde tart
Clara the effortlessly beautiful
Travis the sexy handyman
back at the chicken shack
raw silk
maximum laughter, minimal consequence
scene queen
80s club (wreck 86?) speakeasy
overpass popup
gig rig piss
spurned the hip hop breeze
hot dog, malt liquor, blow

shit
ramen
dishes
video chat w love
shower
high as fuck w Fitzcarraldo

~rain~

piece of shit
part one of Anna Karenina
the Ivy
over the garden wall
finished Fitzcarraldo

fragment of shit
cacao coffee
shower
barneys beanery
smokin
little dieter needs to fly

bagels n coffee
work, work
laundry out
car wash
seat belt ticket
laundry home
yoga nap
chicken kebab election
1642
bye aerienne

moving the car asleep
cafe 50s
el matador
shower and jojoba
long lyft
a novel Thai feast
funkmosphere
double double rye, straight
bye Meryl
bye Virgil
hello j
from sleep

early morning car move again
waiting for the call
toilet call
pack fast and peace
selected ambient drive
mcds
peter gabriel
fresh fruit
bridge
SF
surprise! Continue reading

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Live!

what happens when you are the input and the output

what happens when you only have two states: drunk and hungover

what happens when you refuse to sip on anything but top-shelf lit

the obvious cognitive dissonance in selling your words but not your music while knowing full well that rhythm is rhythm

what happens when you decide to quit

what happens when the people you love think that’s a great idea

what happens when you think the people you love are a great idea

what happens when a work of fiction is not real fiction

what happens when the fruits of your entire consciousness are simply the back page scribbles of someone else’s story

a single glass of four-day-old $4 wine

what happens when you only dance and cuddle, no no fuck

what happens when wave

what happens when you want to be the pacifist shark in the tank

a dark, long-haired man kissing Israel, hugging Palestine

what happens when you crack an egg over bibimbop pizza

“this is happening,” concluded the stubbly subway sound engineer

what happens in the city does not stay in the city. Continue reading

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on the eve of all hallows’ evening, hate

in the past two weeks, two friends have called me a “curmudgeon” and “lame.” i care because i think they’re right.

exhibit a: i don’t like dressing up at prescribed events and times

tomorrow is that spooky holiday where i either have to come up with some “clever” costume or go to work in plainclothes ready to suffer the slings and arrows of my oh-so-spirited coworker. though she’ll be the most vocal, she won’t be the only judging me for preferring jeans and a shirt to a costume. this very same thing was (truly) the only thing giving me anxiety leading up to my first Burning Man. luckily, my love of loves convinced me that it didn’t matter, and that i should bring whatever clothes i wanted, and so i did, and so i mostly just wore boxers and long hair and had the time of my life. i love that girl.

exhibit b: i’m so particular about music

not one… not two… but at least three different friends all insisted in a 24-hour period that i absolutely must listen to the reflektors because oh my god it kind of sounds like disco. it does. it really does. i don’t care. i really don’t. resistance was futile, however, because today a coworker played the album on our office speakers, which made me cringe a bit underneath the skin. first of all, you should know that i’m a contrarian (thanks, Shannon) asshole that will never like something if it’s forced upon me. if you want me to like something, let me discover it on my own. second of all, for the love of god, for my first listen, let me hear the album in full and on a decent soundsystem. not randomly cutting in and out, paused and skipped, plucked and muted in an office setting on a shitty sonos speaker. you’re just asking for me to hate it. these feelings only surfaced a tiny bit, and even the fraction was enough to make another one of my coworkers grimace. “you guys just don’t understand!” cried the audiophile… or did i mean adolescent?

exhibit c: i’m so. goddamn. particular. about music.

yesterday, a friend invited me to go see the Flaming Lips’ Halloween show. it costs $50 and i’ve seen ’em before, sorry, but no thanks. then he proceeded to invite me to see an lcd soundsystem cover band. pay for a cover band? sorry, but no thanks. then he proceeded to invite me to see a new order cover band. dude, sorry, but no thanks! then he asked me if i’d listened to aforementioned reflektors album good god i don’t like the goddamn arcade fire, no, thanks. NO NO NO NO since when was i the most negative person on the planet? i suddenly felt compelled to travel as the crow flies to Natalie or the ocean or the sun so i could just speak in the affirmative for a few minutes. it’s like the music festivals and the street fairs. it’s basically something i have to deal with every summer at this point when festival season rolls around. “are you going to coachella?” no. “are you going to outside lands?” no. “are you going to treasure island?” no. no. no. no. no. no. i don’t like paying a shitton of money to add a bunch of bands to the list of bands i’ve seen. i like to do that one at a time, thank you very much. why? because it sounds way fucking better, they get more time and creative license, and because it sounds way fucking better.

exhibit d: fuck street fairs

this is kind of related to the above but that paragraph was getting way too big and sometimes i become attached to style choices that make no sense. but seriously, i do not give a shit about street fairs. folsom, howard, haight, market, mission, i don’t give a fuck where you’re throwing it, it sucks. same drunkass people, same (granted, delicious) street vendors, and–most important to me–same shitty sound. howweird confirmed this for me: they had like eight stages within one block of each other. guys, that doesn’t sound good. dirtybird + happy house + New Orleans brass… sounds like the sonic equivalent of vomit. it actually gives me a headache. it gives me Burning Man flashbacks. it reminds me how many egos exist. i do not like street fairs, i do not.

exhibit e: this blog post

i’m going to go write about stuff i love. Continue reading

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Silversexual Halloween

Silversexual Halloween_600 Continue reading

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Arrival at Elmira

in which the Hero goes to Oregon! Continue reading

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