sigh. i don't know. i don't know.
i wish i could figure my life out right now.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
charles bukowski
"There's nothing to mourn about death any more than there is to mourn about the growing of a flower. What is terrible is not death but the lives people live or don't live up until their death. They don't honor their own lives, they piss on their lives. They shit them away. Dumb fuckers. They concentrate too much on fucking, movies, money, family, fucking. Their minds are full of cotton. They swallow God without thinking, they swallow country without thinking. Soon they forget how to think, they let others think for them. Their brains are stuffed with cotton. They look ugly, they talk ugly, they walk ugly. Play them the great music of the centuries and they can't hear it. Most people's deaths are a sham. There's nothing left to die."
dream journal 7/21/09
me and my brother-in-law, jason, start delving into this expansive, yet unnamed, series of fantasy novels. we then work together to produce an ambitious film project based on the novels. i don't remember too much of the details. i wake up.
Monday, July 20, 2009
dream journal 7/20/09
1) i'm with my cousin, on a sidewalk cafe in what looks like the nipomo, ca area. after a while of awkward small talk, he pulls out from nowhere this board game that resembles a cross between the game of life and a drinking game. we begin playing, with rolls of the dice, moves of little pieces, and shots of brandy. i'm fairly weary of this game. i don't even understand the rules. i wake up.
2) i'm in some sort of basement with a random assortment of people i know from various points in my life. someone hands me two pills of dubious origin and effect and is persistent in having me take them. somehow i'm coerced into taking them. everyone sits silently while i get really nervous about what's going to happen to me. i wake up for the final time.
2) i'm in some sort of basement with a random assortment of people i know from various points in my life. someone hands me two pills of dubious origin and effect and is persistent in having me take them. somehow i'm coerced into taking them. everyone sits silently while i get really nervous about what's going to happen to me. i wake up for the final time.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
you and i, we might be strangers
reading some good books.
making some wonderful new friends.
playing on the radio in a week and a half.
things are good right now. they really are. i'm so happy.
making some wonderful new friends.
playing on the radio in a week and a half.
things are good right now. they really are. i'm so happy.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
7/12/09
i'm still tripping out that i just opened for paul baribeau.
last night was a wonder of wonders.
last night was a wonder of wonders.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
autumn hands
your cold hands will become a home
to my dead murdering bones
these apparitions i would hold so close.
these patchwork lungs unfurl away
in distant corners, in tapestries
of golden oceans that would swallow us
and there's no need
or place for this.
heart chambers and hands hold it close
and i won't let it fall from me
your skin made of glass and wounded seas
held so close at your throat.
the fields are grey, as grey as the bones
of your autumn hands, burning out and burning fast.
our stories they unfold like paper maps.
and you are framed in fever dreams left too far
to ever reach. our spirits in the starry banks
left us here without a sound.
to my dead murdering bones
these apparitions i would hold so close.
these patchwork lungs unfurl away
in distant corners, in tapestries
of golden oceans that would swallow us
and there's no need
or place for this.
heart chambers and hands hold it close
and i won't let it fall from me
your skin made of glass and wounded seas
held so close at your throat.
the fields are grey, as grey as the bones
of your autumn hands, burning out and burning fast.
our stories they unfold like paper maps.
and you are framed in fever dreams left too far
to ever reach. our spirits in the starry banks
left us here without a sound.
july 11, 2009
people who die in the desert do not go to heaven, but go to the sea.
p.s. i'm opening for paul baribeau tonight, this is crazy
p.s. i'm opening for paul baribeau tonight, this is crazy
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
july 8, 2009
recently, i ditched "a promise" and am unceremoniously scrapping it for parts
the new song is called autumn hands and should be recorded soon, hopefully.
maybe tomorrow be quick and painless.
out
the new song is called autumn hands and should be recorded soon, hopefully.
maybe tomorrow be quick and painless.
out
jeff mangum & will cullen hart on conversation
W: Doesn't it all make sense now?
J: No!
W: Did you, did you find the sideburns in the puzzle?
J: No!
W: They're in the bottom, they're taped to the bottom. Can I use them? Can I please staple them on? That is the key
J: You can do whatever you want. What you don't understand is that I thought it was a flower. But it wasn't, ok? It was part of the rat on the treadmill and it was this dude's legs watching "The Price is Right". Ok? And it was part of the blender. And I - I convinced myself for so long that it was a flower, I mean I spent years and years and years convincing myself that these puzzle pieces added up to a flower when it wasn't at all and then once I woke up I realize: how do I trust other pieces? How do I take new pieces and put them together with this much you know, vigor as I once did? Because what if, what if they're not a flower either, they're just like -
W: They've got to be animal pieces, they might be animal pieces. Pieces of goats?
J: Well, that's what I was trying for! There was like, a rat and a goat in the whole thing and the goat just like didn't have any hands
W: And you bought this at Wal-Mart?
J: And that's all I wanted. That's all I wanted, I mean since I was a kid. Since I was a kid! And you know, and it was just -
W: So you never have gotten the puzzle together?
J: No . . .
W: Ever?
J: No . . . they're all these disjointed pieces that I convinced myself to be flowers
W: You have a serious problem, young man
J: I know I do. But I don't think I'm much different than anybody else. I bet everybody else has got a bunch of like, pseudo-flowers in their pockets that are really just pieces of this weird puzzle that aren't supposed to fit together
J: No!
W: Did you, did you find the sideburns in the puzzle?
J: No!
W: They're in the bottom, they're taped to the bottom. Can I use them? Can I please staple them on? That is the key
J: You can do whatever you want. What you don't understand is that I thought it was a flower. But it wasn't, ok? It was part of the rat on the treadmill and it was this dude's legs watching "The Price is Right". Ok? And it was part of the blender. And I - I convinced myself for so long that it was a flower, I mean I spent years and years and years convincing myself that these puzzle pieces added up to a flower when it wasn't at all and then once I woke up I realize: how do I trust other pieces? How do I take new pieces and put them together with this much you know, vigor as I once did? Because what if, what if they're not a flower either, they're just like -
W: They've got to be animal pieces, they might be animal pieces. Pieces of goats?
J: Well, that's what I was trying for! There was like, a rat and a goat in the whole thing and the goat just like didn't have any hands
W: And you bought this at Wal-Mart?
J: And that's all I wanted. That's all I wanted, I mean since I was a kid. Since I was a kid! And you know, and it was just -
W: So you never have gotten the puzzle together?
J: No . . .
W: Ever?
J: No . . . they're all these disjointed pieces that I convinced myself to be flowers
W: You have a serious problem, young man
J: I know I do. But I don't think I'm much different than anybody else. I bet everybody else has got a bunch of like, pseudo-flowers in their pockets that are really just pieces of this weird puzzle that aren't supposed to fit together
Saturday, July 4, 2009
independence day
http://www.songmeanings.net/songs/view/3530822107858671120/
okkervil river is pure poetry, the most perfect words i've ever read.
so, it's been a while since i wrote anything on this thing... uh...
my washing machine isn't working right and the water isn't draining... i had to put it on the rinse cycle probably three times to get the soap out. or maybe i just used too much soap. whatever. (why am i writing this what's the point?)
(maybe it's just something to do when i'm forced to stay up all night to do my laundry?)
i just picked up my acoustic guitar and just started strumming and singing something quietly and this random, improvised, nonsense "song" sounded so lovely to my sleep deprived mind. maybe i should write more songs at 2:54 am.
another sip of tea, what else is going on.
last two weeks have been probably the most interesting in years. i wonder what the next two will bring.
...god damn this washing machine!!!!!!
that is all
okkervil river is pure poetry, the most perfect words i've ever read.
so, it's been a while since i wrote anything on this thing... uh...
my washing machine isn't working right and the water isn't draining... i had to put it on the rinse cycle probably three times to get the soap out. or maybe i just used too much soap. whatever. (why am i writing this what's the point?)
(maybe it's just something to do when i'm forced to stay up all night to do my laundry?)
i just picked up my acoustic guitar and just started strumming and singing something quietly and this random, improvised, nonsense "song" sounded so lovely to my sleep deprived mind. maybe i should write more songs at 2:54 am.
another sip of tea, what else is going on.
last two weeks have been probably the most interesting in years. i wonder what the next two will bring.
...god damn this washing machine!!!!!!
that is all
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
lately
phenomenology, synesthesia, effects pedals, allen ginsberg, sylvia plath, dustin and the furniture, thrifting, art farmer - modern art lp, park shows, incense, mild weather, bicycles, having a job for once, polaroids, the butoh dance form, de stijl, pigeon-guided missle systems
7/1/09
to be honest, i'm a bit tired of doing endless local performances. i think it's time to trim that back and move on to something else, at least for a little while.
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