Tag Archives: Meryl

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

Posted in dear diary | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

half pipe

this is the story of why there’s a fucking foot-and-a-half long half pipe of bamboo sitting on the mirror in my bathroom. Continue reading

Posted in dear diary | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Bookends

1

spent the night fueling. drinking water. cooked a salmon w Xanthe’s guidance, raw segments of flesh lining the thicker bits. soft orzo mixed in w onion, garlic, and mushrooms on the side. very filling. tons of water. whiskey. laughter, a shower, and confidence.

walked to BART. into the Mission. above to the streets.

the drugged and the homeless on their wayward trips. a few blocks to Public Works, and there i was, for the first time in a year, encircled by youth, liquor, and deeply throbbing bass. church.

i ordered a whiskey ginger, which i sipped while swaying to the sultry beats alongside Mark and Marie. Mark disappeared but Marie and i continued dancing; the music like a phoenix burned into grey ashes and rose again within moments to thumping New York City leftfield disco, fat w bass, happy w horns, alive w love. perfect. dance. music. so we danced.

then we stepped outside for a brief smoke, awaiting the arrival of our much beloved Norwegian prince, Todd Terje. when we went back in, “Delorean Dynamite.”

Mark and Marie edged into an unfortunate section so i ditched them for something more suitable, sonically speaking. as i pushed in from the back left corner of the crowd, a pretty girl nudged me and, when i turned, said, “you have the most incredible aura.”

and so i danced.

2

worked all day, dressed so sharp. same blue levi’s but the deer print tee has been replaced by a blue pinstripe button down. hair ain’t down, it’s all the way up. dreadbun.

Cab Calloway’s big band’s banging away in my headphones as i step onto the BART car, as the pretty girl sitting there eyes me and smiles. i smile back, standing near her. she glances up at me (or tries not to) one too many times, so i pull an earphone off and ask, “should i remember your name?”

“no.. i just like your energy.”

“ah.. i see. well, thanks, but shouldn’t you be up in the desert with all those other energy-reading folk?”

she laughs, then asks, “what are you listening to?”

i laugh too, and hand her the headphones. 1930s jazz strikes her eardrums, and from the very first moment she’s surprised, but i’m not.

“wasn’t expecting that,” she says.

“i know,” i laugh.

some silence.

“you know,” i say, “this is really funny because it’s the second time it’s happened to me in the past few days.”

i tell her something about the girl at Public Works. i proceed to pontificate about how i’m more freaked out about someone commenting on aura because it implies that they’re literally seeing colors in the air around my body like i’m the bloody virgin mary, but then i think about Meryl and realize that it might not be so farfetched. i say all of this, minus mentioning Meryl, plus all the added doubting and philosophy. i also, during this time, notice her hairy armpits.

and she never stops smiling. i got on at Montgomery, she bounces at Civic Center, and that’s that. Continue reading

Posted in dear diary | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

All Delighted People

patterns, coincidences, joy, and passion? now i’m just making shit up. Continue reading

Posted in dear diary, poetry of the universe | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Metro Area

i love when the time is 01:23. i love dancing to “Dancing Queen.” i love when people don’t steal your shit. i love how a couple robots could tell a band of perfect professionals to just keep walking along the … Continue reading

Posted in dear diary, poetry of the mind | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Crush on You

“sometimes you’re SO ANNOYING to talk to. it’s like having a conversation w Yoda.”

the best compliment i’ve received in awhile? maybe not.

yesterday i sat at my computer in the late morning, working on whatever, when my coworker Danielle walked up and handed me a brown paper bag. she said, “this is for ‘the guy w the luscious lock.'” she had a huge smile on her face and a cup of Philz coffee in her hand. inside the bag, i found a scone.

“dear god,” i said, “Torrey?” Danielle laughed in affirmation. christ… the girl had been working at the coffee shop for a long while, and we’d always been friendly, but this was too much! i have a girlfriend and she needs to know it right away. after freaking out for a bit, another coworker told me that he had already told her the all-important fact, so i could chill.

phew, sometimes compliments can be stressful.

earlier this week, i’d asked Meryl whether i was turning into a douchebag. my evidence basically came down to the every day increasing number of photos of me posing in sunglasses and next to disco balls, in addition to the fact that i now manage a facebook page 100% devoted to my dj persona. (christ, i almost feel like there’s a rule that anybody who uses the phrase “dj person” automatically qualifies as a douchebag.) in any case, Meryl assuaged my anxiety by saying that my very asking the question probably means that i’m okay.

this post perhaps argues otherwise.

after all, what’s more conceited than a ton of boasting immediately followed by self-deprecation? Continue reading

Posted in dear diary | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

facebook shooting coincidence

Screen Shot 2013-09-16 at 3.37.35 PM Continue reading

Posted in poetry of the universe | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

on futility and fire

i’m not afraid of creating things of inferior quality. just look at my “Burning Man” blog post.

sometimes it’s hard to express experiences through language. lots of people are really good at it, like this guy. i admire people who can write really well. i really admire people who can write well about the topic of how hard it is to write. same reason Federico Fellini is one of my favorite filmmakers.

one thing i love about Black Rock City, besides the fact that it is truly a city, is how it trains you to focus on basic survival needs. even before camping in the desert for a week, i loved bandannas. i carry one everywhere i go, just in case i forget to grab a napkin while eating greasy, messy hot dogs… or in case the bathroom only has those useless air dryers… or in case i’m sweating bullets in the club. in Black Rock City, when clouds of white dust would encircle me and my friends at a moment’s notice… those big pretty handkerchiefs let me breathe.

i almost feel like i wouldn’t be completely useless if our cities went Arab Spring.

i have reached a point in my life where i think that one of the greatest powers a human being can possess is the power of shining bright light from the forehead. rings and other jewelry do imbue magical abilities, but you will never understand those abilities in full.

why do i still write about Black Rock City? don’t i owe you Aristotle, Longinus, and Demetrius? why do i still dream about Black Rock City? do i really miss the red light glow of feces-infested portapotties? Continue reading

Posted in dear diary | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

songs

my hands smell like garlic. that’s what happens when you spend an entire evening writing a poem and the entire next evening editing.

i exaggerate. i’m a super freak. i’m problematic. i problem.

really, tonight i was much more productive than a poet might be expected to be. after biking home, i did a load of laundry, paid a bunch of bills, cleaned up a bit, rubbed the kitty, spun a bunch of disco, and got saucy with some onion, garlic, bell pepper, and mushroom. the new way to pay bills: write check, take hit, repeat. oh, and i also phoned w Adam for nearly an hour… talking Daft Punk, life, love, and Daft Punk. love that man.

just now clicking an email from american apparel to have it be marked as read made me wonder why the hell they were sending me emails anyway… and i remembered that i bought something from them recently: a dog hoodie for Meryl and Joel’s little Link. the only thing i’ve ever bought from them.

anyway, as monumental as was last month’s mountain range, this one will overflow with hardcore glamming champagne rock & roll. all love #nofilter all throughout. she makes me feel peace and poetry.

perfect alpine glow, red blood fountain flow. Continue reading

Posted in dear diary | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

montaña

the trip: https://maps.google.com/maps?saddr=San+Francisco,+CA&daddr=reno,+nv+to:Twin+Falls,+ID+to:bozeman,+mt+to:Livingston,+Mt+to:Yellowstone+National+Park,+Mammoth+Hot+Springs,+Park,+WY+to:Madison+Campground,+Yellowstone+National+Park,+Yellowstone+National+Park,+WY+to:Grand+Prismatic+Spring,+Grand+Loop+Rd,+Yellowstone+National+Park,+WY+to:Bridge+Bay+to:Black+Dragons+Caldron+to:Grand+Canyon+of+the+Yellowstone+to:Tower+Falls,+Yellowstone+National+Park,+Park,+WY+to:Yellowstone+National+Park,+Mammoth+Hot+Springs,+Park,+WY+to:Silver+Gate,+Cooke+City-Silver+Gate,+Mt+to:Lily+Lake,+wyoming+to:Red+Lodge,+Mt+to:East+Rosebud+Lake+to:Bozeman,+Mt+to:Salt+Lake+City,+UT+to:Cottonwood+Heights,+UT+to:San+Francisco,+CA&hl=en&ll=45.135555,-109.660034&spn=2.332783,4.927368&sll=44.085612,-111.346436&sspn=1.187668,2.463684&geocode=FVJmQAIdKAe0-CkhAGkAbZqFgDH_rXbwZxNQSg%3BFaEsWwIdVcnb-CmdoJKSrkCZgDGH9zh0zsXFQA%3BFZd1iQIdOXct-SmvbrLFpKOsVDGqwfgs7HfLJA%3BFQQTuQId_YBh-SkTiLpPTERFUzGqYDv3ZND1Yw%3BFeK8uAIdLP1o-SkjR6AnvhNFUzFMjIRaJjKWRQ%3BFWdJrgIdn9pm-SmTip7xDdRPUzEivO2MPaFCKg%3BFaw7qQIdLWRk-SHBkZCfc_PzXylp4V9GjMNRUzHBkZCfc_PzXw%3BFSlmpwId_b1k-SFEDigKVP2Vkyn1R8IPvOtRUzFEDigKVP2Vkw%3BFWGNpwIdhCNr-SkDg3iVAx1OUzEd4aKdP0elCw%3BFbrZqAIdaONq-Sk54oy7KB9OUzE57x-bctnMHg%3BFdX9rAIdtsxr-SmLJZWTozZOUzFW-0sS9T6UWA%3BFaAFrQIdAKBr-SnZG8ZgqDZOUzE6nzHh-HWx9Q%3BFWdJrgIdn9pm-SmTip7xDdRPUzEivO2MPaFCKg%3BFSTArgIdA7Fx-SnXSLRtWFROUzEXWfq8dJ9Jhw%3BFZnWrQIdkPB1-Sn7L_MIfPpOUzE4M1PUmK_Vrw%3BFfJ6sQIdmwZ9-Sn1_Eb3GSpPUzEL1yB19jWKtQ%3BFcGosQIdGvp2-SnBGDBmxRhPUzFD9bOX3UlzNA%3BFQQTuQId_YBh-SkTiLpPTERFUzGqYDv3ZND1Yw%3BFcv1bQIdma1U-SntMdGIlD1ShzHKMU1IoLdTWw%3BFUzJawIdm9FV-SknMety2mJShzFAIhqeYpUiBw%3BFVJmQAIdKAe0-CkhAGkAbZqFgDH_rXbwZxNQSg&oq=san+fr&t=h&mra=ls&z=8 Continue reading

Posted in dear diary | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments