Tag Archives: The Beatles

winter 2016-2017 on last.fm

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2016 on last.fm

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fall 2016 on last.fm

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summer 2016 on last.fm

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one band of four Brits, four American soloists.
seven men, one woman.
six white, two black.
all blues. Continue reading

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half of what i say is meaningless

three more days of work. less than three weeks until New York.

then: more than half a year of walking.

now? every moment a melding of dream and reality.

my lover lies at my side sleeping. i am in her bed, our bed… in her house, my house. we are not married nor engaged, and yet i have never felt such strong conviction in my love. if possible, it is deeper or more all-encompassing than conviction. it is decision, resolution, revelation.

the past few days, i have been moving so many boxes. boxes of records, boxes of clothes, boxes of bullshit. so many goddamn boxes. the modern age is all about acquiring things and putting them in boxes. in fact, we adore boxes so much that we live in boxes ourselves. and yet we wonder why cats care so much about boxes.

after leaving the office today, i boarded a railbound box headed downtown and immediately recognized a pretty little lady sitting near the window. she smiled at me and i smiled back almost laughing, wondering whether she would come over for a chat.

“Julia?”

“wow, you remember my name.”

“ronny.”

“oh man i was gonna say ‘ron!'”

this simple dialogue is a big deal for me. i can remember names. Julia’s a girl from Ohio who’d recently moved to San Francisco. i learned this when, a couple months ago, i caught her eyeing me on the same muni train after work. when i asked what was up, she confessed her admiration for my reading Charles Darwin’s “Origin of Species,” almost word-for-word in the way that other girl once talked to me on muni about my reading Einstein. in any case, Julia and i talked about a bunch of things that first time, including how i should listen to Lauren O’Connell and read Aldo Leopold’s “Sand County Almanac.”

in today’s encounter, things went even deeper. in less than ten minutes, we went from Emily Dickinson poetry (because of the book in my hand) to feminism. we talked about how women in business try to speak in lower voices so men take them seriously and we talked about why guys don’t wear dresses. and we talked about how those things ultimately represent the next great hurdle in gender equality. so far gender equality has been about bringing women to the same level as men… but… what if that’s incredibly short-sighted? what if true equality requires a complete rethinking and restructuring of the way the world functions, from business to culture to art? perhaps we shall never know harmony until we understand and appreciate the beauty in both femininity and masculinity and how to entwine the two, instead of just focusing on granting masculine powers to feminine beings.

Julia wrote her mailing address on a post-it note so i could send her postcards from the walk. i predict she will be a beautiful, wondrous friend for the future. i hope!

last night, four whole nights after discussing the nature of lucid dreams w friends, i traversed a vivid dream world. the beginning, or what i recall as the beginning, took on the tone of a gory bloodbath from a Blizzard game. except i, sword in hand, experienced the grotesque, poisonous attacks of mutalisks in the first-person. what seemed like an era later, i found myself at the very same site of that battle as it appeared at a later, more peaceful date. it was now a mansion surrounded on all sides by walls of junk. i wandered among the dusty corridors a warrior still, and attempted to scale the junkyard with a trusted German Shepherd at my side (who in the dream i called Kaiser though he looked more American than my dad’s dog).

in the morning, i awoke to birds chirping “Goodbye Blue Sky” from their digital prison in my smartphone. Continue reading

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flâneur

in which the Tunnel decides to sell Dorothy. Continue reading

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i breathe music

The boy stared at the record. It was Bob Dylan’s second album—he wanted it. For four dollars and fifty cents, the brand new vinyl was his. And it would provide him with years of countless enjoyment. Thousand of miles away, a girl also received a record. Led Zeppelin’s fourth album was given to her from a good friend. This record would also be overplayed. About 15 years later, these two people would have a child. The child, a boy, would grow up to be more obsessed with music (everything from Bob Dylan to Rhapsody in Blue) than both of his parents combined. I am that boy, and this is why I love music.

My love for music is rooted in my parents’ love for music. They were lucky enough to follow music as it through different types of technology. From the * to the record player to the cassette player to the CD player (and even to this day) to the mp3 player—my dad invested in each one. Though they do not purchase music as often these days, hundreds of records and CDs are still scattered about the house from when they did.

So, as one can infer, I listened to all of their music. On the fifteen minute drive to my elementary school, my mom would play oldies on 99.7 KFRC. I still love The Supremes. Or on Saturday mornings, while my mom was cooking breakfast, my dad would play some “Thriller” or “Billie Jean.” I wish I could still remember the first time I heard those brilliant pop songs.

As the years went on, an even more significant factor began to influence me: my older brother, Billy. Billy was a lot like teenagers in the 90s. He loved alternative rock or grunge, you know, the rebellious stuff purposely made to irritate your parents. Nirvana or Green Day would spill out of the speakers as he and his friends played air guitar; sometimes, I was even let in on the fun. So, approaching the huge milestone of ten-years old, I had already grown a fondness for catchy lyrics, ripping guitars, and smashing drums.

In fact, around age 7, I began begging for a drum set; be it Christmas or my birthday, that was what I wanted. My parents finally granted me my wish about five years later. Also, my older brother received an electric guitar (complete with amplifier) and my younger brother received a keyboard. In addition, we would all receive lessons. After six weeks, while my brothers, beginning to favor rap over rock, had gotten bored of their instruments, I was still going strong; I continued my drum lessons for about a year, joined band at school, and actually used my instrument. I tried learning songs I had been listening to for years and even played with my cousins sometimes. Though there would be a long period of time where the drums simply collected dust, like the guitar and keyboard had, it would be used extensively once again, just a few years later. My cousins and I shared very similar tastes in music, and formed bands based on those interests. I am still in a band, Wronger, with my older cousin, Chris.

This is where I am now. I love music. Just a few months ago, I dug up all of my parents’ old vinyl and took everything I liked: The Beatles, Bob Dylan, etc. The records sit in my bookcase, next to CDs and tapes alike, not collecting dust—I play them all the time. The record player is under my bed. The CD changer is on my dresser. My headphones, portable CD player, portable tape player, and iPod are all situated on my bookcase. Ridiculous amounts of music are stored in my computer. My weekends revolve around shopping for music or going to concerts or just plain sitting and listening to music. My love for music evolved past a simple enjoyment of it, like my parents had. Music is what I dream about. Music is not just what I hear, but what I see, taste, smell, and feel too. I breathe music. Continue reading

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Arrival at Elmira

in which the Hero goes to Oregon! Continue reading

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disexual

as it turns out, they wrote quite a few songs about saying goodbye. it’s like we just vomit this shit, it’s all natural. even if we’re fumbling in the dark, lost and confused, there’s little doubt that we’re doing what … Continue reading

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you don’t know you’re having a good time

just because bourbon’s bubbling out of your tumblers under the Bay Bridge… and she chose the drink.

or just because donuts and deadly volcanoes make for a high volume kind of ding-dong night.

or just because the first dinner seriously features seriously barbecued pork ribs, the first breakfast ends with bacon potato pie, the second dinner boasts internally bleeding tri-tip, the second breakfast is as good as the first, and the last supper sure the fuck isn’t. but it is.

or just because of the “beach.”

or just because a seraph wakes you from your happily postlapsarian sleep by whispering into your ear, “you just made me come without even touching me.”

or just because you—without an ace of regret—can lose a century of dollars on blackjack, a game you haven’t done better at in almost 21 years.

or just because a sweet Colombiana quien se llama Tatiana gives you more than the time of day as the two of you ride the chrome bay slugs, slowly, smiling.

or just because the firecracker’s turning on its heels (lord knows it burns good to the end).

or just because femmes like your face.

or just because your blood is on top of the world, reclining in the sweet, juicy, dripping, award-winning pleasure of skipping stones.

no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, you know you’re having a good time because you have bloody Whiplash:

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