Tag Archives: walk

selections from Of Walking in Ice by Werner Herzog

Our Eisner mustn’t die, she will not die, I won’t permit it. She is not dying now because she isn’t dying. Not now, no, she is not allowed to. My steps are firm. And now the earth trembles. When I move, a buffalo moves. When I rest, a mountain reposes. She wouldn’t dare! She mustn’t. She won’t. When I’m in Paris she will be alive. She must not die. Later, perhaps, when we allow it. Continue reading

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shitty roller disco

yesterday i stepped in dog shit. i realize this isn’t the most uncommon experience in the world. and being a San Francisco resident, i should have appreciated that it was shit of the canine variety, at least, as opposed to … Continue reading

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possible reasons i got an ocular migraine today

staring at computer screen all day
Ritz crackers
pint of Will’s beer
dehydrated? (not really though)
walked 3.3 miles from work
two chocolate macadamia cookies
mango + salt
salad (mixed greens, beets, avocado, mushrooms, etc.)
apple + peanut butter
walked 1.5 miles to work Continue reading

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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

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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 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 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.


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. Continue reading

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ladies first

it’s Mother’s Day, and everything from breakfast in the city to wine in the country to dinner back at home was actually going amazingly swimmingly… until i blew up at my dad for calling michelle obama ugly.


“that’s such a fucked up thing to say,” i said.

i could feel my nerves twanging as i (barely successfully) picked up everyone’s dirty dishes and ran away to the kitchen to wash away my anger.

it wasn’t just the statement itself. everyone’s entitled to feel attracted (or not) to whomever they want. it was the fact that he’d rattled over a few minutes why obama (the president) sucked so much compared to bush and clinton and every other president ever for so blatantly catering to the money in silicon valley etc etc etc. as for michelle? she sucks cause she’s ugly, obviously.

it wasn’t even just that.

it’s also hearing about a couple kids casually referring to their neighbor as a “whore.” it’s also the fact that hundreds of teenage girls just got robbed of their lives for a few bucks and an eternity of perversion. it’s the fact that some people think there’s nothing we can do about that. it’s India and its fucked up culture of rape. it’s conservative Islamic courts and the same. it’s the U.S. and our outrage at seeing Janet Jackson’s boob or Miley twerking, but our love and pride when the hypersexuality is controlled. the Bechdel test has broken my mind.

i don’t even know what i’m talking about anymore. i read too much. i stare at too many scrolling tweets and see too much media. i know that men are largely judged on their works and actions, women on how good they look while they’re doing things. i know it’s not just them. i know it’s not just my dad or my brothers or my mom… i know it’s me.

i am the rapist living scot-free in Delhi. i am the judge that set him free. i am the wealthy, white American quietly cursing both the judge and the rapist from halfway across the world. i am the wealthy, white American wondering whether it’s her fault for dressing a certain way. or perhaps even wondering whether she liked it. i am the knife, slashing my own fat belly at a perfect right angle.

from whence all this passion? woman i am not.

no matter. i am afflicted with a sickness. why else would exile sound so sweet? sleeping under the freezing stars, surviving on trail mix and water, months and months and months on the run—vacation. thankfully, i’ll have a companion: woman i am not and, without woman, i am nothing. Continue reading

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why i want to go on a walk

I would rather be ashes than dust!

I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.

I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.

The function of man is to live, not to exist.

I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.

I shall use my time. Continue reading

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Grove of Titans


i really want to walk.

i really want to walk a great distance, like to work in the morning or across the United States or around the world over and over again until my last breath escapes me.

i walked over six miles on sunday. just my lover and me, walking through the redwoods. i want to walk north with my lover. i want to hold her hand when we step into the secret Grove of Titans, breathe the ancient air.

i walked almost three miles today. easy. pie. nothing. i walked to the end of the BART station and hopped on the last car. i walked from car to car to car… until a woman stopped me. a good woman. i sat down to speak w her. we talked about electronic music. when she hopped off the train, i thought about writing about how i want to walk. and how she stopped me. Continue reading

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Dolores del pie [archive]

i did such a “silly” thing today,
or so my father said:
i walked from Daly City fog
to San Francisco’s bed.
i swear i didn’t have a way,
i hardly had a will,
but i read the words of many signs
and smelled a daffodil.
the taquerias smelled so good
they almost sucked me in,
but my empty wallet refused to pay
my stomach’s dividend.
why walk the 8.8 whole miles?
for solitude and cloud?
you hardly wonder just as much
at Amaranta’s shroud!
let me be, leave me in peace,
i’m just a little poet.
the hour is nearly dead happy
and mimosas seek my throat.

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i’ll trade you my walk for your ocean,
the deal is fine with me.
sidewalks, stoplights, cars, take it all,
i’ll be splashing in the sea.
miles and miles and miles, you’ll go,
the scenery may change,
but unless you dip your toes in salt,
your bargain’s quite deranged.
diving with dolphins, swimming in rays,
the beach is magical!
to the universe of sublime dear water,
a walk’s a particle.
so try your walk and try make gay
with what your feet can do,
while i, misty-mind and soaked,
float free and think of you. Continue reading

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