aligning concepts.
looking towards a figurative route from point A to B.,,,
Monday, September 29, 2008
LaJo
Still working on them films.
aligning concepts.
looking towards a figurative route from point A to B.,,,
aligning concepts.
looking towards a figurative route from point A to B.,,,
Friday, September 26, 2008
..border
1972:
and there are those who pretend like they care. there are those who do care.
those who do something. those who think about doing something.
those who want to do something and don't.
those who want to do something and break the rules.
but mostly there are people doing their own thing. and if they aren't affected, they don't care.
to do something you need to throw yourself in headfirst.
so when it hurts you hurt. and it becomes part of you.
biosp
i want to be working and producing. and making things with my mind as well as my hands,
i really like when each day floods and when it is over, i know that i made use of my soul.
i see such potential in everything, and i just want to bring things closer to being. like these film shots. they just sort of manifest before me, and i see some crazy sort of codes, and a language fully embedded in them. i;m just trying to formulate and string symbols together so that me and others will be able to read and see as well.
and then there are patterns and forms, these are usually drawings, but i know there is more to them than paper. they are forms, and i am learning to use space, to work it. to manipulate, to organize.
i want to take this too to the next level. i want to take the chunks off the paper, and make them shelter from the storm, and make them fun and educational, and very clean.
I want to take thoughts and ideas, wring the concepts out, and articulate them. again, very smooth. Clean, and all in different forms.
i need a place that is clean and conducive to these activities. Alabama could be the place. UCSD has served me well. People and friends have been good and useful, but never fully engaged. I am ready to be clean and feel wind whipping, and that vacuum at the back of my skull when i ride head down on my bicycle.
i really like when each day floods and when it is over, i know that i made use of my soul.
i see such potential in everything, and i just want to bring things closer to being. like these film shots. they just sort of manifest before me, and i see some crazy sort of codes, and a language fully embedded in them. i;m just trying to formulate and string symbols together so that me and others will be able to read and see as well.
and then there are patterns and forms, these are usually drawings, but i know there is more to them than paper. they are forms, and i am learning to use space, to work it. to manipulate, to organize.
i want to take this too to the next level. i want to take the chunks off the paper, and make them shelter from the storm, and make them fun and educational, and very clean.
I want to take thoughts and ideas, wring the concepts out, and articulate them. again, very smooth. Clean, and all in different forms.
i need a place that is clean and conducive to these activities. Alabama could be the place. UCSD has served me well. People and friends have been good and useful, but never fully engaged. I am ready to be clean and feel wind whipping, and that vacuum at the back of my skull when i ride head down on my bicycle.
incomplete
ok, or rather to find today, that it was in fact, incomplete, and not up to par, not what was expected of me. I was supposed to finalize something. and in the end, it was rather less than possible.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
wrinkle
in answer to the above question..
sometimes yea, sometimes no.
i think the impression i want to make on people depends on the person.
and a lot of times i fall into that weird place where the impression i make does not really matching up with 'who i am'... who i think i am.
sometimes you meet people and you don't feel like you need to do anything. you just kinda talk and an impression is made.
so maybe if you have to think about the impression you're making on someone...and try...it isn't so good. or maybe it's more interesting.
but i think that question moves in a direction away from the distant political world referred to in that martial law video and the 700 billion dollars and all that..and into the personal political world. the politics of ourselves. and what sorts of technologies work on us daily, carving us up, spitting us on to the table for a nice inspection. surveillance. public/private. ritual?
but i think both types of politics are important. but what about (in reference to the martial law video) the way institutions and groups like the police and whoever else are molding us, keeping us in check...changing our relationships to ourselves and people close to us. how do these things operate and what can we do to resist, etc?
must delve into this later.
today i scrape and stain a coffee table, drink coffee, play piano, work in the garden, swim and get dinner with grandparents.
mr david winer made me realize a few things about some of us humans last night. if i could take a picture of him in a suade jacket, no shirt underneath and sweat pants i would. but it's over. hairy chest.
wrinkles in his eyes from coughing up a lung with tobacco dripping from his mouth, snot from his nose.
sometimes yea, sometimes no.
i think the impression i want to make on people depends on the person.
and a lot of times i fall into that weird place where the impression i make does not really matching up with 'who i am'... who i think i am.
sometimes you meet people and you don't feel like you need to do anything. you just kinda talk and an impression is made.
so maybe if you have to think about the impression you're making on someone...and try...it isn't so good. or maybe it's more interesting.
but i think that question moves in a direction away from the distant political world referred to in that martial law video and the 700 billion dollars and all that..and into the personal political world. the politics of ourselves. and what sorts of technologies work on us daily, carving us up, spitting us on to the table for a nice inspection. surveillance. public/private. ritual?
but i think both types of politics are important. but what about (in reference to the martial law video) the way institutions and groups like the police and whoever else are molding us, keeping us in check...changing our relationships to ourselves and people close to us. how do these things operate and what can we do to resist, etc?
must delve into this later.
today i scrape and stain a coffee table, drink coffee, play piano, work in the garden, swim and get dinner with grandparents.
mr david winer made me realize a few things about some of us humans last night. if i could take a picture of him in a suade jacket, no shirt underneath and sweat pants i would. but it's over. hairy chest.
wrinkles in his eyes from coughing up a lung with tobacco dripping from his mouth, snot from his nose.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
suburban farmer
i can
paint it.
i can
clean it.
i can
mow it.
i was born
in the suburbs,
i was raised
in the suburbs,
i was harvested
in the suburbs.
now i farm the suburbs
for cash.
now i wake up the morning
with the sun.
some world this turned
out to be; anything
happens in twos:
your dream,
this world.
paint it.
i can
clean it.
i can
mow it.
i was born
in the suburbs,
i was raised
in the suburbs,
i was harvested
in the suburbs.
now i farm the suburbs
for cash.
now i wake up the morning
with the sun.
some world this turned
out to be; anything
happens in twos:
your dream,
this world.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
the economy
'the dream is over
what can i say'
i was thinking
i should buy a gun soon.
who knows how long before
people need to start stealing
what the greenbacks won't.
it's not so easy to watch your country fall apart.
you mostly want to reject
the notion that anything bad
can happen in paradise,
especially in your paradise.
the thing is, it was
right in front of our faces the whole time.
so we blogged about it
and complained and the most
radical amongst us
went to protests or followed
ron paul like a prophet.
still the billions were spent everyday,
the billions we can't even imagine and
the war we can't overstand
were bought by all of us
in our failure to act as any mass of
enraged citizens should. we were
given outlets to plug inlets into
and that was all we could really ask for
being so horribly desperate.
don't worry
nothing will taste as sweet during the storm
as the water trickling
down the vines of the rubble
that was our reality.
what can i say'
i was thinking
i should buy a gun soon.
who knows how long before
people need to start stealing
what the greenbacks won't.
it's not so easy to watch your country fall apart.
you mostly want to reject
the notion that anything bad
can happen in paradise,
especially in your paradise.
the thing is, it was
right in front of our faces the whole time.
so we blogged about it
and complained and the most
radical amongst us
went to protests or followed
ron paul like a prophet.
still the billions were spent everyday,
the billions we can't even imagine and
the war we can't overstand
were bought by all of us
in our failure to act as any mass of
enraged citizens should. we were
given outlets to plug inlets into
and that was all we could really ask for
being so horribly desperate.
don't worry
nothing will taste as sweet during the storm
as the water trickling
down the vines of the rubble
that was our reality.
last day(s)
the return trip was an airport and man buried in a laptop playing piano with the ASDFTGHYJUIKOIL;' buttons on his computer. i made good tunes and realized some things about song construction, then hopped on a plane and read straight through the flight while two Spaniards watched different episodes of entourage next to me, nudging each other when women with big tits skipped across the screen or blew kisses at them.
my mother and i discussed the Future over sushi, spending money on raw fish while privilege nibbled at our toes. and i didn't stop drinking my sapporo.
played piano a lot and accessed lennon in the white keys while a friend showed me the side of dylan and kept himself in the dark.
performed at engagement party and drank much, receiving 100$ for not to big a deal. had fun doing it. similar to open mic performance in seattle but less drunk (whiskey was 2$ for a shot, 2$ for a beer so i took a dive). i made many mistakes but nobody listened to me and i had whiskey dripping out of my veins. then i ate two large hot dogs and talked to a girl about tattoos while the birthday girl smoked cigarettes with her boyfriend and wore her blue beanie sideways with a grin and a future headache.
breakfast with parents, more future talk.
not coming back for a bit.
charging up the batteries.
working on new stuff.
family time too.
the grandparents are coming and i dont' know when they (or me) are gonna die.
mango picked my grapefruit.
i sleep well these days
my mother and i discussed the Future over sushi, spending money on raw fish while privilege nibbled at our toes. and i didn't stop drinking my sapporo.
played piano a lot and accessed lennon in the white keys while a friend showed me the side of dylan and kept himself in the dark.
performed at engagement party and drank much, receiving 100$ for not to big a deal. had fun doing it. similar to open mic performance in seattle but less drunk (whiskey was 2$ for a shot, 2$ for a beer so i took a dive). i made many mistakes but nobody listened to me and i had whiskey dripping out of my veins. then i ate two large hot dogs and talked to a girl about tattoos while the birthday girl smoked cigarettes with her boyfriend and wore her blue beanie sideways with a grin and a future headache.
breakfast with parents, more future talk.
not coming back for a bit.
charging up the batteries.
working on new stuff.
family time too.
the grandparents are coming and i dont' know when they (or me) are gonna die.
mango picked my grapefruit.
i sleep well these days
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Day seven: poster
You are awake and clean, and in your own place, and very happy to have come home. The alternative would have been sticky, and you would have less energy and a heavier heart.
You eat granola because you need sugar and nutrition energy to make your mind work well on such little sleep.
You are to continue work on a poster you started just yesterday and you will finish by noon.
When you finish you are happy and it works well. The coming presentation of this poster will go as planned and okay.
When you finish though you are alone, and eat a burrito with fish. You go swimming, and swim hard. Racing yourself ten times over, and keeping the pace. You then leave, and at home you want to take a nap and rest, but intercourse is more critical, and you can do little else.
People come over later, and they are guests, and you stay up talking, listening to music. You go to sleep on the floor.
Home again.
You eat granola because you need sugar and nutrition energy to make your mind work well on such little sleep.
You are to continue work on a poster you started just yesterday and you will finish by noon.
When you finish you are happy and it works well. The coming presentation of this poster will go as planned and okay.
When you finish though you are alone, and eat a burrito with fish. You go swimming, and swim hard. Racing yourself ten times over, and keeping the pace. You then leave, and at home you want to take a nap and rest, but intercourse is more critical, and you can do little else.
People come over later, and they are guests, and you stay up talking, listening to music. You go to sleep on the floor.
Home again.
Sun Ra Art
Claiming that he was of the "Angel Race" and not from Earth, but from Saturn, Sun Ra developed a complex persona of "cosmic" philosophies and lyrical poetry that made him a pioneer of afrofuturism as he preached awareness and peace above all.
Friday, September 19, 2008
fuck blogs
it's all bullshit.
go smoke some salvia and
tell me your life is more
than an ice-cream cone melting,
watching globs of you fall off and
splatter against the floor
leaving what's left of you
alienated from the rest of you.
now,
now i understand,
the feeling of being alone in the woods,
it's all a bunch of rotten eggs and shit
being some twenty year old some-
thing driven to be written by
poverty, sex, hunger or some other
form of oppression only
experienced by
the privileged.
go smoke some salvia and
tell me your life is more
than an ice-cream cone melting,
watching globs of you fall off and
splatter against the floor
leaving what's left of you
alienated from the rest of you.
now,
now i understand,
the feeling of being alone in the woods,
it's all a bunch of rotten eggs and shit
being some twenty year old some-
thing driven to be written by
poverty, sex, hunger or some other
form of oppression only
experienced by
the privileged.
day six
Today, in the night, speeding through along that empty freeway, you remember how much more speed is apparent when you are alone. the car is empty and light and you are speeding as you race along that smooth oil and rock asphalt.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
day 2 seattle
this morning (it is 8:51) is cold, damp and white as sheets. I can't figure out how to work the shower but i need to take one. I put on radiohead's 'my iron lung' to give me some power. i will return to it in a moment. then im off to the city to explore for the day. i should have brought a sweatshirt with me on this trip.
yesterday on top of the hill at gasworks park there were people running up to the top throughout the day gasping for air. their exercise bothered me for some reason, though i sort of craved it myself. exercise for self-improvement seems sort of rotten. but for other reasons...
at a bar last night i saw a madman play the xylophone and there was a guy who kept going to the bathroom - i was sitting in a large black chair sipping a beer near the door - and he'd walk by with the right foot sinking into the ground at a 45 degree angle, then springing up like a slinky being thrown down stairs. his left leg would swing around like he was trying to catch something. he had a cane. all in all this man's walk was different...it was cool...
got back and exchanged words with a mango and fell into a deep world, perhaps traversed the territory of benjamin, but said fuck it and woke up with a boner.
tonight i go to a whiskey bar. --alabama
(song)
yesterday on top of the hill at gasworks park there were people running up to the top throughout the day gasping for air. their exercise bothered me for some reason, though i sort of craved it myself. exercise for self-improvement seems sort of rotten. but for other reasons...
at a bar last night i saw a madman play the xylophone and there was a guy who kept going to the bathroom - i was sitting in a large black chair sipping a beer near the door - and he'd walk by with the right foot sinking into the ground at a 45 degree angle, then springing up like a slinky being thrown down stairs. his left leg would swing around like he was trying to catch something. he had a cane. all in all this man's walk was different...it was cool...
got back and exchanged words with a mango and fell into a deep world, perhaps traversed the territory of benjamin, but said fuck it and woke up with a boner.
tonight i go to a whiskey bar. --alabama
(song)
day five
you are alone when you wake up.
and if you could explain that dream you could surely capture hearts and things. For it was a succinct and closed narrative system of events and notions. It was closed as those ring things, or potter.
at the end there were beautiful photographs, and they made people cry and they mattered. So i suppose i can take that from them.
i took many things out of a vehicle and brought them inside the space i pay for. Eventually i made a lunch egg, and then began to read.
The book is called The Road, and it won The Pulitzer prize. it is bad. Although there is that thing where you cannot stop because you want badly to fit the world together. You dont want to be in the world though, only to know how it works. So you make that sort of sacrifice, to poison yourself with the words of McCarthy in exchange for his world design plans.
Bad idea.
When your other comes home from work the sun is in a good position, and you can sit across from each other in the yellow light, and have that window open and enjoy the breeze.
later you are underwater, and reminded how much you like the contrast between the black night and the under-lit blue waters of large swimming pools, and how when you swim you float and fly, and explore notions of buoyancy.
Go get your bike from that other place.
discover a new mode of salad.
contradict decidedly vegetarian agendas, with pasta.
recognize that Research is the new history.
and if you could explain that dream you could surely capture hearts and things. For it was a succinct and closed narrative system of events and notions. It was closed as those ring things, or potter.
at the end there were beautiful photographs, and they made people cry and they mattered. So i suppose i can take that from them.
i took many things out of a vehicle and brought them inside the space i pay for. Eventually i made a lunch egg, and then began to read.
The book is called The Road, and it won The Pulitzer prize. it is bad. Although there is that thing where you cannot stop because you want badly to fit the world together. You dont want to be in the world though, only to know how it works. So you make that sort of sacrifice, to poison yourself with the words of McCarthy in exchange for his world design plans.
Bad idea.
When your other comes home from work the sun is in a good position, and you can sit across from each other in the yellow light, and have that window open and enjoy the breeze.
later you are underwater, and reminded how much you like the contrast between the black night and the under-lit blue waters of large swimming pools, and how when you swim you float and fly, and explore notions of buoyancy.
Go get your bike from that other place.
discover a new mode of salad.
contradict decidedly vegetarian agendas, with pasta.
recognize that Research is the new history.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Piece of eggpoop goes to seattle
Me arrives and scours the airport for cigarettes. Now, this man sits close to me on a bench. Strong accent. I bum a cigarette off him. The airport sells only marbolo lights and newports – I don’t want either. He says “opportunity rolls the carpet your way” and offers one from a pack of blue american spirits, the kind I want anyways. I sit close and he talks fervently with a woman who asks if I need a light (no, I have a red lighter which security didn’t catch).
i hear him...“everybody in this life strives to be somebody. But it’s the opposite that you should do. You are nobody! Everything is symbolic. It’s a world of symbols. You are a dream. It’s all symbols. You worship the symbols. But you don’t even know the meaning of them, really… Yup, it’s very beautiful.”
He speaks in a language I cannot recognize every few sentences. A phrase here and there.
“we will get to all this later” he says.
We get back and sit on the porch for a while, drinking beers and chatting, then we play cutthroat at a nearby bar, drinking cheap beer and laughing. My sleep penetrates the mattress and I wake up and leave quickly, walking over the freeway, contemplating the possibility of the oncoming trolly veering off course and crushing me. How long would it take them to identify me; how my body would like and if they’d discover things most people don’t know; if people would laugh…
Then to a museum after some dark, strong coffee, finishing a book and those hips of solitude wrapping around me as I lay in an empty shell room with a big cut in the ceiling. The sky pours through and I wonder about being alone. The good and bad parts. That desire to share things with others and then the parts which sink into your blood and swim around and become the you under the surface. The secret bubbling beneath the skin. The soul, solo.
now, again, off to hike to Gasworks park.
i hear him...“everybody in this life strives to be somebody. But it’s the opposite that you should do. You are nobody! Everything is symbolic. It’s a world of symbols. You are a dream. It’s all symbols. You worship the symbols. But you don’t even know the meaning of them, really… Yup, it’s very beautiful.”
He speaks in a language I cannot recognize every few sentences. A phrase here and there.
“we will get to all this later” he says.
We get back and sit on the porch for a while, drinking beers and chatting, then we play cutthroat at a nearby bar, drinking cheap beer and laughing. My sleep penetrates the mattress and I wake up and leave quickly, walking over the freeway, contemplating the possibility of the oncoming trolly veering off course and crushing me. How long would it take them to identify me; how my body would like and if they’d discover things most people don’t know; if people would laugh…
Then to a museum after some dark, strong coffee, finishing a book and those hips of solitude wrapping around me as I lay in an empty shell room with a big cut in the ceiling. The sky pours through and I wonder about being alone. The good and bad parts. That desire to share things with others and then the parts which sink into your blood and swim around and become the you under the surface. The secret bubbling beneath the skin. The soul, solo.
now, again, off to hike to Gasworks park.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
.asdad
Day 3:
Confusion, coffee. Little sleep. Drive back with goosebumps and i offer my arm to jade on my right. Communication, bubbles.
Ally chews tea tree oil toothpicks and smokes cigarettes. Ben discusses many things. I mostly listen. Somebody buys sour patch kids. Later an italian feast, pinot noir, some laughs.
Dinner with parents, many stories and no appetite but more wine, red – a chianti for the last glass. Slightly drunk (or more), the two of us, then a tour of the malchicoff residence and more wine over the Risk game (cheese and crackers and apple pie as well).
Late slumber but new territory and pounding heart, heavy breathing, warm skin. Coffee morning with bagels and the sendoff
Confusion, coffee. Little sleep. Drive back with goosebumps and i offer my arm to jade on my right. Communication, bubbles.
Ally chews tea tree oil toothpicks and smokes cigarettes. Ben discusses many things. I mostly listen. Somebody buys sour patch kids. Later an italian feast, pinot noir, some laughs.
Dinner with parents, many stories and no appetite but more wine, red – a chianti for the last glass. Slightly drunk (or more), the two of us, then a tour of the malchicoff residence and more wine over the Risk game (cheese and crackers and apple pie as well).
Late slumber but new territory and pounding heart, heavy breathing, warm skin. Coffee morning with bagels and the sendoff
oh;rambleon!
Day 2:
Swap meet. Old junk smashed together into a mammoth parking lot sold for a couple bucks here and there. Nothing special. I meet a guy selling 12-string guitars who runs a yoga retreat center in east san diego somewhere. Then there’s the guy who has wood carvings from some island i can’t remember. They’re very beautiful and one day i’d like to own similar things.
(---I’m currently writing and recalling in an airport, heading to seattle to see a friend and a new city. A woman just asked me for the time. I said it wasn’t mine to give--)
The day reminded me of dragging a heavy rug across the floor. But it left its marks and things were raw. A museum exhibit with egg carton chairs and a lounge room with lots of information. Main inspirations came from books with Tijuana-San Diego border discussion/art. One: “Erre.” The four of us separating and then moving between and around each other. Good interactions overall – basketball giving shani and Ally space to interact and discuss things, Ben and i shooting the ball around like madmen, with Kaya.
The night brought tapas for dinner and two of us ate voraciously discussing possible paths of the future, notions of comfort and the relationship to life's bizarre conditioning. What you know and what you’re accustomed to. and then a life in a hut on an island near a beach with a spear and a stomach and a longing and no car or internet. But maybe some love. And eventually death.
then crafts. Which fell from our highs. Decoupage with lighters and laptops. Sitting silent with others enjoying good music and focusing on simple tasks, drawing out great enjoyment and soothing one’s mind and body.
up til morning again. talks with the night and another body, same happening in the room next door with the other two.
shared solitudes, together.
marvel
Swap meet. Old junk smashed together into a mammoth parking lot sold for a couple bucks here and there. Nothing special. I meet a guy selling 12-string guitars who runs a yoga retreat center in east san diego somewhere. Then there’s the guy who has wood carvings from some island i can’t remember. They’re very beautiful and one day i’d like to own similar things.
(---I’m currently writing and recalling in an airport, heading to seattle to see a friend and a new city. A woman just asked me for the time. I said it wasn’t mine to give--)
The day reminded me of dragging a heavy rug across the floor. But it left its marks and things were raw. A museum exhibit with egg carton chairs and a lounge room with lots of information. Main inspirations came from books with Tijuana-San Diego border discussion/art. One: “Erre.” The four of us separating and then moving between and around each other. Good interactions overall – basketball giving shani and Ally space to interact and discuss things, Ben and i shooting the ball around like madmen, with Kaya.
The night brought tapas for dinner and two of us ate voraciously discussing possible paths of the future, notions of comfort and the relationship to life's bizarre conditioning. What you know and what you’re accustomed to. and then a life in a hut on an island near a beach with a spear and a stomach and a longing and no car or internet. But maybe some love. And eventually death.
then crafts. Which fell from our highs. Decoupage with lighters and laptops. Sitting silent with others enjoying good music and focusing on simple tasks, drawing out great enjoyment and soothing one’s mind and body.
up til morning again. talks with the night and another body, same happening in the room next door with the other two.
shared solitudes, together.
marvel
oh;start!
Day 1:
Warm wake up beside good jade with sun streaks and a wash away stoned night. Pull two stragglers and old friend to meet Alan Wong – Landlord and Father of 1 smiley faced boy.
The Alabama place is ours and the day walks into afternoon with huevos rancheros, sprinkles of talk, a ukulele player on the street, news of nearby open mic night (Wednesday) and a sweaty nap with no dreams no sleep and movement (digging into the futton and elsewhere trying to find something).
Our utensils are random and lacking in a charming way. we scoop up small simple moments and feel a wet comfort. Four of us share things and sit on the floor with art supplies and books and guitars scattered.
The night goes til morning with a 5am shower and a few cigarettes. And Ben knocks on the door without showing his face.
Warm wake up beside good jade with sun streaks and a wash away stoned night. Pull two stragglers and old friend to meet Alan Wong – Landlord and Father of 1 smiley faced boy.
The Alabama place is ours and the day walks into afternoon with huevos rancheros, sprinkles of talk, a ukulele player on the street, news of nearby open mic night (Wednesday) and a sweaty nap with no dreams no sleep and movement (digging into the futton and elsewhere trying to find something).
Our utensils are random and lacking in a charming way. we scoop up small simple moments and feel a wet comfort. Four of us share things and sit on the floor with art supplies and books and guitars scattered.
The night goes til morning with a 5am shower and a few cigarettes. And Ben knocks on the door without showing his face.
day three: gatorade
Drove in car with xandre. ally. Went to father's restaurant in LA, Italian. Got lots. And espresso. good work. though i will explode. Listen to music. Go over to other's house in LA to pick up a car. people smoke and talk about Gatorade. Mixing purple and orange and getting a large Hundreds of gallons of brown. and pouring it out into the sewers. which end in ocean. So much sugar that creatures eat it. and more. they release bad things. So the city makes gatorade pay. Which actually means that Quaker Oats pays. WHich actually means PepsiCo Pays, because they own all of the said stuff.... which means some people at the top pay, who probably control a lot more than we could ever know on paper. Ok, so that is the state of things.
Also at the gatorade company there is a machine. You throw a bottle of gatorade in and it explodes and shreds the whole bottle.
Also at the gatorade company there is a machine. You throw a bottle of gatorade in and it explodes and shreds the whole bottle.
westlake
will talk to my parents tomorrow. got home tonight. coming back to san diego tomorrow night. might need slight help carrying things from car to apartment. only two things that arn't heavy only a bit awkward. you need to come over for espresso anyway, neighbor.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
DayTwo
Wake up and your lover is here with you on the floor. Wake up, get up and eat granola. You bought it the night before. Scooped from a barrel at henry's Which is close by. You eat it out of a small metal pot, for lack of bowl.
You transfer the lemonade made the evening before from a large pasta pot next to the sink, into a bottle. You made lots of lemonade, and you all drank it with a small spoon as a ladle.
You eat a piece of cake. the cake was vanilla and chocolate, this also was made yesterday, on day one.
You fuck. And when the rest get up you go to the swap meet at the sports arena. It is one Dollar to go in, and it is sunday.
After the swap meet you go over to down town, and see how few people are around in the business district. Things are closed but you find a restaurant to get coffee and a half a sandwich. You leave and go to the Museum, this is why you came here. Addmission is paid by qualcomm. They are a large company. they make computer chips for cell phones. Thank you for gifting me this ticket, though frankly i do not want you funding my cultures, and would rather have you pay more taxes to cover this.
Everything is good. There is a film you would have made yourself should they have sent you to mexico yourself.
You transfer the lemonade made the evening before from a large pasta pot next to the sink, into a bottle. You made lots of lemonade, and you all drank it with a small spoon as a ladle.
You eat a piece of cake. the cake was vanilla and chocolate, this also was made yesterday, on day one.
You fuck. And when the rest get up you go to the swap meet at the sports arena. It is one Dollar to go in, and it is sunday.
After the swap meet you go over to down town, and see how few people are around in the business district. Things are closed but you find a restaurant to get coffee and a half a sandwich. You leave and go to the Museum, this is why you came here. Addmission is paid by qualcomm. They are a large company. they make computer chips for cell phones. Thank you for gifting me this ticket, though frankly i do not want you funding my cultures, and would rather have you pay more taxes to cover this.
Everything is good. There is a film you would have made yourself should they have sent you to mexico yourself.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
day one. The alabama days.
Today is move in day. We sign the lease, cut a bank check, and get the keys. Today is saturday. Down the street is a yard sale, and we do it. we buy a small wooden table and i get a small dresser/end table for five dollars. We go out for breakfast nearby. I get two Dollar-Fish-tacos. They are god. Or good.
Walk with kaya to look at an apartment. She is looking for a place to live with her Alex. We walk for 30 minutes down the street. The Apartment is on El Cajon and 35th. It is a three bedroom for 900 Dollars a month. The further you go up el cajon the lower the rent. The more grates you see over windows. Its like that. The opposite direction from alabama its the opposite. Walk 30 minutes in the opposite direction and you have 20 Dollar Entrees, American Apparel, and 1500 Dollar one bedroom rentals.
I am on alabama street, and its somewhere in the middle. We have a 2 bedroom with light and ventilation. Street views. A single parking spot off the street. 8 other apartments in the building occupied by good people. We joke with them, smoking outside. We pay 1100 Dollars.
When i look at the place with kaya, she likes it and is happy to live in that area. It's close to a dance studio she likes, she says.
The lease is for 4 months. Taking over for a young man named eric. he's got to be out in two weeks because he is off to Afghanistan to fight for us, or in our name. We are at war, and this man is needed to do things. The thought of kaya moving in here, smelling and feeling his presence.
Perhaps Eric will be blown to bits while she is sleeping in his room.
Walking back there are basketball courts we pass. Good we say. lets go there and play.
Welcome home. Tonight you will have a beer, and spend some time on the guitar. Sitting on the floor. New carpet, no furniture. You live with alexandre.
Walk with kaya to look at an apartment. She is looking for a place to live with her Alex. We walk for 30 minutes down the street. The Apartment is on El Cajon and 35th. It is a three bedroom for 900 Dollars a month. The further you go up el cajon the lower the rent. The more grates you see over windows. Its like that. The opposite direction from alabama its the opposite. Walk 30 minutes in the opposite direction and you have 20 Dollar Entrees, American Apparel, and 1500 Dollar one bedroom rentals.
I am on alabama street, and its somewhere in the middle. We have a 2 bedroom with light and ventilation. Street views. A single parking spot off the street. 8 other apartments in the building occupied by good people. We joke with them, smoking outside. We pay 1100 Dollars.
When i look at the place with kaya, she likes it and is happy to live in that area. It's close to a dance studio she likes, she says.
The lease is for 4 months. Taking over for a young man named eric. he's got to be out in two weeks because he is off to Afghanistan to fight for us, or in our name. We are at war, and this man is needed to do things. The thought of kaya moving in here, smelling and feeling his presence.
Perhaps Eric will be blown to bits while she is sleeping in his room.
Walking back there are basketball courts we pass. Good we say. lets go there and play.
Welcome home. Tonight you will have a beer, and spend some time on the guitar. Sitting on the floor. New carpet, no furniture. You live with alexandre.
Friday, September 12, 2008
The jade kiss.
xandre has recorded music to go along with the Kiss Video. and others.... bone and champ were also working on some stuff, but i just wait for the final recordings.... these collaborations are a start...
Thursday, September 11, 2008
the new month view.
Xandre and i moved into a place in la jolla for a month till we move into our new place.
see you driving by.
learning things from a balcony view. how it is to be here. the effects of the path of least resistance.
more to say about this.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Suicide Torry Pines. remains
Last night i went for a walk to Torry Pines Glider port area. When i got there. there were many trucks. Someone had driven their car off the cliff. commotion. the difference between those that off themselves in such dramatic fashion and those who without a trace. The effort to get his car up from the beach.... I took a bunch of footage, of the trucks mostly. It was very dark but i think i can put something together. These are film stills.
Guitar effects=video effects
an early sketch of something that could be expanded and worked out more thoroughly in the future.
footage.
t'were taking some of that good video over here in la jolla. found some "private" space. note the plastic covered wooden box. you will be seeing some more of that...
the bounds between public and private will have to be questioned. Dees development machines are profitable. and profane.
the bounds between public and private will have to be questioned. Dees development machines are profitable. and profane.
Monday, September 1, 2008
addictions
it's possible
everything is an addiction.
forced to dance like leaves
in the wind. even writing
this is my addiction. even
you reading
this is an addiction
to syntax and nonsense
that in some way makes you
feel o.k. about the fact that you have
control over nothing.
it's not easy for me to accept
but whose to say i am entitled
to live a life better
than a child forgotten by the world
in some distant land. the commercials
and the media will try to convince
you other than wise.
oh but what great burden is lifted
and replaced by one unbearably light
when even 'you know too soon
there is no sense in trying' is
something very capable of dying.
everything is an addiction.
forced to dance like leaves
in the wind. even writing
this is my addiction. even
you reading
this is an addiction
to syntax and nonsense
that in some way makes you
feel o.k. about the fact that you have
control over nothing.
it's not easy for me to accept
but whose to say i am entitled
to live a life better
than a child forgotten by the world
in some distant land. the commercials
and the media will try to convince
you other than wise.
oh but what great burden is lifted
and replaced by one unbearably light
when even 'you know too soon
there is no sense in trying' is
something very capable of dying.
new perspectives
Set up multiple cameras and filmed, these are screenshots. but i sort of like them more as photographs. Idea to use multiple cams, and sync the shutters to get multiple angles, then think of some good way to show them all together. (grid?)
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