Monday, June 29, 2009


i have finally been organizing my photos, thought I'd share some I liked. I seem to be sensing a theme for my photography. hopefully it remains abstract.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

the dump that reached for the moon

Oft doesnt sense shot one please just please whether tomorrow fuck now no yes sip sip mas NO just let it happen. Just let it happen. What do you want. Just let it happen. If you want it, do it. Just let it happen. It's not meant to be a strife. Just let it happen. Tea turns to whiskey turns to a brightly lit cigarette turns to words on a paper about how much control I have lost/sacrificed. But what if the words are good? Is it worth it? Let me work it. What do you want. Young and impetuous. Full of folly. Do not forget your folly. Take it with you. Wrap your head in it, cover your eyes with it, plug your ears. This is life. Life is meant for us. Us stupid little creatures that occasionally eat our own shit. Walk around with bad breath and wonder why no one wants to kiss us...

I'll kiss you! I'll be imperfect with you! We can run across the coals together! In opposite directions, of course, but we will do it together! This is OUR fire, this is OUR fight. On opposite sides, of course, but this is our battle! I honor you and the life that is in you. I honor your honor - your decision to risk it all to play your part in this. I will play my part and you can play yours. When we are done we can switch. I know it will be hard to push the blade through my chest. I wish I could make it easier for you. But that is your responsibility, so buck up! We are doing this together, remember? This is exactly how it has to be.

I saw a fly today. It must have been hurt, because he/she let me get very close. Shiny and green, blue, dull and black, brown, transparent, wiry, hairy, smooth, tongue moving in and out ever so slightly. Beautiful is too trite a word to describe the presence and presence of this small manifestation of God. I tried to be affectionate to him/her and he/she was not having it. Stupid fucking fly.

I cried this morning. Not a manly tear falling down my face, but an embarrassing, retching, trembling sob. My face was distorted into that sad ugly face you only let your mother see and not because you have a choice, but because sometimes you need to be held when you get that face. Thank God I was alone, because I had no intention of masking it. And what was it that I was crying over? A piano solo. A piano solo. A solo piano solo, a fucking solo piano piece. What the fuck?! Who am I? Who pulls this shit? Is this acceptable behaviour from a fully formed, practically incarnate American man? Maybe "man" is too strong a word... how about "26 year old male". "26 Year Old Male Lacks Ability To Keep It Together" "Practically Incarnate Man-Child Sobs Helplessly At Computer Screen Whilst Watching Five Year Old Performance Taped From A Radio Show" "15o Pound Lump Of Pink Skin Fails To Realize What He Should Be Crying About As He Breaks Down During Piano Performance, Yet Stares Stoically At News Of Crime, Torture, And Death"

Oh. Or more specifically - "Oohh ." Pure grace - called Chef Ito. Grace that accepts my humanity in a hug upon meeting. Radiant human being completely absent from the stainless steel trap of braising, boiling, grilling, baking, steaming, microwaving, blanching, roasting, frying, poaching, and speaking. Sunbeams shot from his finger tips. Sunbeams and dried mushroom powder. Sonic booms hailed from his silent lips. Health and wealth follow in his wake. Quite a feat, you know. This type of person makes change want to happen. Dollars turn into dimes. What ever he's got, I want a piece. And you know what? I bet he'd give it to me, too.

But who's counting? There's the this and the that. There's the "wait until later" and the "never again". Not to mention the "how did that happen in the first place" and the "I can't imagine". Well. I can imagine. I can imagine a lot of shit. It happens all the time, really. I don't wait until later all the time. Now is now is now. Seize the day at the expense of the week! Take my word for it! I exclaim, it must be true! But it's okay, because I've already proved myself to be a valuable asset to the world. I recycle. That's right! I recycle! No, no, not everything, that would make me a fanatic and the world hates a fanatic... And I'm vegan! That's right, vegan! Mother Earth fuckin' loves my ass! Sometimes, I even ride my bike! Eat it, gas guzzlers! Eat it, fat fucking Southern BBQ rib munchers! You're going to hell! You're creating it as we speak! Be more like me you bastards! Save the planet with me, one fucking recycled can at a time! If ONLY you would be more like me. More like me. More me than me. More human than human.

Full I feel full I feel fullI feelfullI feelfullIfeelfullIfeelafullIfeelafull I feelafull I feel awful I fell. It is nighttime. I don't even feel particularly angsty, but I feel nighttime. The spirits are in me. Not the Holy spirit, the other one. The I'm-awake-while-the-rest-of-the-world-sleeps spirit. It gets lonely at the top of the universe. The gash will be closed up by morning, but who can sleep at a time like this? There's blood running through my veins, God Damn It!! There is an entire scope of being that wants - NEEDS - to be made manifest! I feel the soul of this realm in me! I am the enacter, the enabler, the puppet to be moved by forces eternal and dark. Not dark as the evil of books and Fox News, but dark as the starry night in Montana, dark as the not-at-all-shameful truth you hold close to your breast and hide from prying eyes, dark as the Bone Machine or the Tropic of Cancer. Real, tangible, edible, smokeable. Fuckable. It's a sinful smile, but sinful as New Orleans in 1918, sinful as that good shit, the brothel jazz, the cigarettes that stretched across the Mississippi, the oompah and the Papa. The Baby Dodds and the Zutty Singleton. The gage, the tea, the viper room. The brownies that you don't give to your grandparents. It ain't misbehavin', it's just exercising a different set of muscles.

You are here, though. It isn't just me at the top of the world. In speaking, I imagine your listening. Furrowed brows like me, a smile anticipating the end of the... I won't give it to you, though. No closure. I'll keep changing my trajectory so that you will never know where I'm going next. You'll never bore of me. I will go crazy staying exciting, but I'll fucking do it! Never stopping, never slowing, even. No time for breathing, no time. Even when I'm listening I'm talking. You will feel my gesture. I will be pressed up against you always. Head to toe. I will make our parts interlock that every cell is touching in an embrace you cannot fucking fathom. You will have to breathe through me and see through me. We will drop talking and use telepathy instead. Thought, feeling, emotion dripping from my brain to yours and back. Running along electrical tracks at the speed of...

On and on. And on and on. Over and over. Everything is everything. Everything is everything is something is everything is nothing is something is everything. What you do for enjoyment I do for addiction. Addict or just a dick. It's not one thing, it's not another. It's everything over and over. Ouvre. Click click. A little self-loathing goes a long way. A little self love goes along away. Eat it and weep. I'm full. No room left. No room at the inn. Get in. We'll make room. There's always room. Tip topera. Drip dropera. Why can't we be friends? Why can't we just get along? In the song I sing, everything is everything.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

from the cocoon

freed from the cocoon
i can
feel my wings
built over my entire life

freed from the cage
of doubt
judgement and fear
built over my entire life

its the sun, that freed me
it is this star, one of millions that
on its longest day, pushed me out
on its strongest wave, a scream a shout

waking me up from encrusted dream

had something put me to sleep?

to be angry, resentful?

to be thankful, joyful

series of infinitesimal moments
gather together, break apart
only WE decide to organize them
it is in THIS series of moments I allow myself

free reign

express my life
with all i do
without the demons

voices that judge
presence that lingers

no need to quiet them
i will choose to ignore them
they are the residue of mucus that used to bind me

and if there is but a film left on my skin
i will glance at it and remember
how it used to
surround me

laughing at its growing insignificance.

In th e mi ddl e of t he des e rt

It's hard to say. No, I don't know. Really, it has more to do with... well, I guess it is true that it has been, hmm... three? Four months? No, wait. Six months?! Jesus Christ. Well, no wonder I have been so on edge. Sort of reminds me of when they stick the poor sucker in the phone booth with all the cash flying around. If only there was one bill, he'd nail it, but with the possibility of so much -- it's impossible. Like Papa always says, "a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush". Yeah, right? In England they refer to women as birds. At least in the pictures they do. I never understood the sexual undertones of that bit o' wisdom. I still don't.

You can't really miss it, though. It's as big as a house - that same brick wall that you keep banging your head against. Gall darn it. God damn it!! Feels like the first time, but really, it's about the five thousand, four hundred, and sixty-first time. Feels like the first time, though. Awkward. Wawkward. Awawakward. For some reason, a killer whale comes to mind. Can't say why, though. Well, I guess I could, but I really don't want to.

Wish against wish. Mine against yours. You show me yours and... It wasn't what you thought it was. I was really there - I mean THERE. All there. Lucid as a goose-id. Or a goose-Id. They say three's company, but really I could go for some company. These three make me feel lonely as hell. I'm still going home to the same twin bed. I guess it's for the better since it isn't very big. Quite conducive to neck cramps, etc. Backache... When you're filled with the spirit, though, it isn't such a big deal. Filled with the spirits. Either way.

Nothing could be further from the truth. I have summarily refused to toe or tow the line. I don't like lines or queues, although I do like to say "queue". They'll tell you how wonderful you are and how much they love you over the tele. There's no getting at them over the tele, though, if you know what I mean. One will call to wish you a good morining, one at midday and then another before bed. "I'm tired now, good night!" Good night and good luck. At two hours behind the meridian, "good night" becomes long lonely evening. It's enough to drive a drunk to drink. Or a skunk to stink. In my case both. (Going on week three with the lovely pink top.)

But after all the "well then's" and "heretofor's" it is still time to decide. You are old enough to know what you want and young enough to f-f-f-f-fucking do it! It's a beautiful thing if you're into that sort of thing. What's to become of the kingdom? Fife? On point. Get to the. end. Not yet! It is not a second to early and somehow still seems too late. But it isn't - not yet.

I once did try. I drank and drank. Droplet at a time. Sept 15, 2003. A day to live in infamy! The first day of the rest of my life. I will do something that is worth remembering! Even if all I do is remembering! Backward forward backward forward. Backward. Forward. There's no telling why it happens that way. There's no telling if it happens that way. There's no telling what will happen that way. It may happen. that way. It may. something happened.

It's beautiful, really. Sassafras on a starlit night. Of course the goddam lights block the stars, but there are people who will vouch for their existence. I'm willing to take most people's word for it. My moon is in Capricorn. My Aries is in Saggitarious. Saggytarrymous. Supposedly a match made in heaven - high time to reavaluate what I think about heaven. Though there are plenty of Saggies in the sea. In fact, I know most of them and they are very good people. I wouldn't want to be intimate with as many as I have, but a learning experience none the less... Okay, I'd do it all again in a heartbeat, who am I kidding. Sweet sweet imbalance of lifE! Sweet mysterious craziness! Zany zany half-a-brainy! Always falling forward and aft! Crazy bastards that we are, think we can handle crazy bitches! It's all for a lark. A stark raving lark. Wouldn't have it any other wayyyyyyy!

There really isn't any other way. Just up up up. Up UP UP!!! What could possilbly fillbly mybly tumbly? Another dagger through the throat? Another attempt at subverting my own fifth chakra? Ultimately, I will subvert itself. Myself. Herself. Her shelf. All the knick knacks. All the weight in those pieces of trash (shit). All the depth in the two dimensions on the wall. "Throw them out or throw me out!!" She said she threw them out, but I have my suspicions. They weren't half bad.

I'm just glad I got my shirt back. Its companion is gone forever, but at least we are back together. Bay to Breakers. You and me, pinky. I'll go to high heaven before I let another woman come between us. Granted, you must be greatful for your adventures. I know I am. But let us not forget each other and let us chance not a permanent separation. When St. Paul is ready for one of us we shall depart, but not until. I hate everyone named Paul. So does mister Brainerd (in this situation, I must speak on his behalf, whether the point is valid or no). It sounds like this. EEEdeiei OiJOIje AgRHISHV dgjsj vsw4^%W% tvoit StatsiU S jgDGd if;oifgf;hoai aASia gi;io dsfjGg fgjlgj zdfdf gSD do is gsdog 'gSGigsggi 1!!!! i hosi g;iw @u09r1~ tpo 90 ew9tq q9gu v!! ei driog s - you know, like a solo saxophone piece by Vandermark. One of the grittier ones. He must hate Pauls, too. I feel it. I'm intuitive, you know.

But what about now? That was then, this is now! Vodka and wine for a real good time, if you want advice, just follow a rhyme; it doesn't matter if it's right, it only matters if it's tight; so drink it up until you're spent, and borrow more from the government! Harrah! Hooray!

Sometimes I cannot help but wonder if it is all for naught. Then I cannot help but wonder if they are all terribly bad choices. then I canno thelp but won deri fit doe sent mttr bec aus e it wi llll alll lll happ ppp en the same whey regardels.s. Now I wander if it shouldn'tt have been this waf from the gat go. Of course, it would all sound more eloquent in French, no doubt.

Oh, girl! I'd be in trouble if you left me now! I don't know somethin something something. I just don't know how!! Ooooh, Girl!

Ultimately it falls into someone's hands. We could all say yay or nay. Just not to the questions we want. Oh, sagittarians. Oh. I will be stuck with you mother fuckers forever. You imbalanced fucks. You daughters of bitches. I will never escape your evil fucking wrath, gad damn you! AHHHHAHAHAHAAAHHHH!! Okay, so to be honest, I really like you guys. Nay, I love you. LOVE! You think I say that shit to anyone?!?! Jesus! I will be dumped on forever. I fucking love it, okay, but I must say it can get a bit tiresome. DUMP ON ME YOU SAGITTARIAN FUCKS!! I FUCKING LOVE IT!!!

What's left is what's always been left. The left. The right. The wrong. The middle. The Little Debbie Snack Cake. Caffeine free for you Seventh Day Adventists! Full of a bunch of fucking chemicals that make the chocolate less present! Not that I mean to go on a tangent. This is straight line stuff. To the point. Let's get to the -

Happiness is. I could spill out my lungs for it, but it wouldn't do a lick of good. If you close your mouth, it comes through the nose and when it comes through the nose, it stings, so you may as well just squeeze your mummy's hand and let it happen. I know, I know, I've seen it all before. You just want it to be over with, but let me tell YOU - this is the best part. Every orifice will be oozing presence. Anything could trigger it, Lauryn Hill, Gene Kelly, Brad Mehldau, a bleeding heart, a sunrise, the sudden realization that you are about to make vegan enchiladas for your father and step-mother... just go with it, let it happen. It is only natural that you want to laugh and cry at the same time. It is your soul purging. it is cataclysmic. it is probably the best thing that could be happening to you at any moment. it is bliss.

Monday, June 15, 2009


Today I realized that I have adopted several behaviours based on no other reason than I feel my intuition compelling me. I would be interested to know if you have similar experiences. My current list includes eating with my hands - I do not think I have used a metal utensil except for two times with soup and cereal; wearing the same clothes every day - I have a pink shirt and blue jeans that I take off at night and put on every day, I have been changing my socks, but along with this I have stopped wearing underwear and I believe it has been about a week and a half since I have worn anything else; and I have been eating more and more - I dare say "mostly"? - raw food for about two or three weeks. There are probably even more habits that have escaped attention, but these are a little more obvious. I have no intention of doing any of them for the rest of my life, but it makes sense now and I imagine I will continue until I see a reason to stop...

Monday, June 8, 2009

today alone...

today I ran into a guy I used to work with in Madison. I also managed to run into a guy that attended our first potluck in this house in Chicago. It was several months ago, I never expected to see him again and these were totally different circumstances and different people. Then later that night I met a guy that had worked at Tomato Head (his name is Chis Hoose, he remembers Courtenay). Three people in one day that represented the three last places I have lived in... Weird, huh?

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

an excerpt from Martin Buber's "I and Thou" (my italics)

The world is twofold for man in accordance with his twofold attitude.

He perceives the being that surrounds him, plain things and beings as things; he perceives what happens around him, plain processes and actions as processes, things that consist of qualities and processes that consist of moments, things recorded in terms of spatial coordinates and processes recorded in terms of temporal coordinates, things and processes that are bounded by other things and processes and capable of being measured against and compared with those others -- an ordered world, a detached world. This world is somewhat reliable; it has density and duration; its articulation can be surveyed; one can get it out again and again; one recounts it with one's eyes closed and then checks with one's eyes open. There is stands -- right next to your skin if you think of it that way, or nestled in you soul if you prefer that: it is your object and remains that according to your pleasure -- and remains primally alien both outside and inside you. You perceive it and take it for your "truth"; it permits itself to be taken by you, but it does not give itself to you. It is only about it that you can come to an understanding with others; although it takes a somewhat different form for everybody, it is prepared to be a common object for you; but you cannot encounter others in it. Without it you cannot remain alive; its reliability preserves you; but if you were to die into it, then you would be buried in nothingness.

Or man encounters being and becoming as what confronts him -- always only one being and every thing only as a being. What is there reveals itself to him in the occurrence, and what occurs there happens to him as being. Nothing else is present but this one, but this one cosmically. Measure and comparison have fled. It is up to you how much of the immeasurable becomes reality for you. The encounters do not order themselves to become a world, but each is for you a sign of the world order. They have no association with each other, but every one guarantees your association with the world. The world that appears to you in this way is unreliable, for it appears always new to you, and you cannot take it by its word. It lacks density, for everything in it permeates everything else. It lacks duration, for it comes even when not called and vanishes even when you cling to it. It cannot be surveyed: if you try to make it surveyable, you lose it. It comes -- comes to fetch you -- and if it does not reach you or encounter you it vanishes, but it comes again, transformed. It does not stand outside you, it touches your ground; and if you say "soul of my soul" you have not said too much. But beware of trying to transpose it into your soul -- that way you destroy it. It is your present; you have a present only insofar as you have it; and you can make it into an object for you and experience and use it -- you must do that again and again -- and then you have no present any more. Between you and it there is a reciporcity of giving: you say You to it and give youself to it; it says You to you and gives itself to you. You cannot come to an undertstanding about it with others; you are lonely with it; but it teaches you to encounter others and to stand your ground in such encounters; and through the grace of its advents and the melancholy of it departures it leads you to that You in which the lines of relation, though parallel, intersect. It does not help you to survive; it only helps you to have intimations of eternity.

The It-world hangs together in space and time.

The You-world does not hang together in space and time.

The individual You must become and It when the event of relation has run its course.

The individual It
can become a You by entering into the event of relation.

These are the two basic previleges of the It-world. They induce man to consider the It-world as the world in which one has to live and also can live comfortably -- and that even offers us all sorts of stimulations and excitements, activites and knowledge. In this firm and wholesome chronicle the You-moments appear as queer lyric-dramatic episodes. Their spell may be seductive, but they pull us dangerously to extremes, loosening the well-tried structure, leaving behind more doubt than satisfaction, shaking up our security -- altogether uncanny, altogether indispensable. Since one must after all return into "the world," why not stay in it in the first place? Why not call to order that which confronts us and send it home into objectivity? And when one cannot get around saying You, perhaps to one's father, wife, companion -- why not say You and mean It? After all, producing the sound "You" with one's vocal cords does not by any means entail speaking the uncanny basic word. Even whispering an amorous You with one's soul is hardly dangerous as long as in all seriouness one means nothing but experiencing and using.

One cannot live in the pure present: it would consume us if care were not taken that it is overcome quickly and thoroughly. But in the pure past one can live; in fact, only there can a life be arranged. One only has to fill every moment with experiencing and using, and it ceases to burn.

And in all seriousness of truth, listen: without It a human being cannot live. But whoever lives only with that is not human.