Lists & Plans

I've moved!

2010-02-03T21:27:00.000-08:00

To tumblr.

And I've acquired a partner. We write about music (and whatever else we fancy, but mostly music.)

Go read here; http://listsandplans.tumblr.com

Days, Weeks and Hours

2009-10-27T21:46:00.000-07:00

where people flow, Philadelphia, PA (2009)

In suburbia, one sneaks out of the familial house in order to find peace from the stoney silence of the bedrooms and hallways. Outside the air is crisp and autumn cool. Dogs bark, crickets chirp and the steady hum of traffic from the interstate half a mile down the road becomes a rhythmic lullaby.

I let myself lie down in the grass, too late to worry if my head was going to be inch high in dog shit. My jacket swallowed me and I felt myself sighing and yet with each deep exhale there was no release. I still feel pent up, pinned down, unable to locate any source of contentedness. The suburbs, this city, this whole experience feels like a cage.

Sunny Day Real Estate - How It Feels to Be Something On from the album How It Feels to Be Something On (Sub Pop, 1998)

the best things said to me by other people, pt. 1

2009-08-18T22:29:00.000-07:00

Li & Phill at International H20's, West Philly, July 2009

"He is studying,
His own,
Erogenous Zones." (Phill said this to me, once upon a time.)

Cibo Matto - Certain Words from Stereo*Type A (Warner Bros, 1999)

SQUAWKING

2009-08-15T00:09:00.000-07:00

northern liberties graffiti, (Philly), july 2009

Like a bird. Never understood that saying, "I've been eating like a bird." Birds eat disgusting shit and they don't do it slowly. Feed the pigeons in the park. They are gluttonous fiends. They may may pick at their meals, but there is nothing sedate or restrained in their actions.

So he says to me, "I've been eating like a bird," gives me a look as if that should illicit some sympathy and immediately I'm no longer interested. I start looking up at the clock on the wall, wondering how to politely excuse myself. I fucking hate birds. I suppose that's the real problem.

The bathroom. I tell him I am going to the bathroom and make my way through the bar. I enter a stall with the word "DAMES" stenciled, but peeling, on the door. How did I wind up in such a lame place with a bird-man? Now, when I think about him sitting there at the table, I picture a beak where his mouth should be. My stomach hurts.

My phone rings as I sit pissing on the toilet. I rummage through my bag knowing I'm going to miss the call. I find the phone, but the ringtone has stopped. The name on the screen makes me frown, but it's the excuse I've been looking for. I make my way back to the table. The bird-man coos dissapointedly when I tell him I need to go. I try not to make rude faces at him. I tell him he should eat better, more slowly. He looks at me funny. I don't care. I leave.

Outside the air hits me in sauna gusts. There are birds outside on the sidewalk. I kick an empty bottle discarded on the concrete at them and they flutter away, waving the stench of the city up my nostrils.

Felt - Birdmen from Crumbling the Antiseptic Beauty (Cherry Red, 1981)

.....

2009-08-09T03:01:00.000-07:00

Nails. Spa. Waxing. Dallas, TX (Lakewood). July 2009

There is something to do every night. I have a box of wine in my fridge with my name on it (literally, it's written in sharpie).

Blank Dogs - Blue Lights from Under & Under (In The Red, 2009)

2009-07-28T02:09:00.000-07:00

24 hour sketchbook, July 2009

something I dreamed up 6 years ago;

I told no one how he came to me and I touched his face and his cheeks felt as if they were burning. He had been outside in the sun, but he was wearing a jacket and a sweater. I whispered from my perch on the steps, "You're crazy, you know?"

And he had smiled at me and tried to bite my fussing hands, which were now concerned with ridding him of his clothing.

But he relented with the struggle and I had the jacket off and discarded down the steps. And the sweater pulled off over his head. I stopped as his face reappeared to me from under the wool. He had his arms up and for a moment we stared at one another before I climbed another step to make myself his height and pulled hard. The sweater ended up flying down the staircase, landing somewhere on the floor below.

As we climbed upwards we kissed. I felt for a moment I would stumble and fall, but his hands were holding me, reassuring safety.

It was an awkward dance in the bedroom. The fluttering and whilring of clothing. I, too, was dressed in layers. It was cold in the apartment. I could see the sun through the skylight when I was on my back. The glass looked to be sizzling but from where I lie, I shivered and closed my eyes.

On a boat. Alone. I moved from my bed and the ship stirred. Above, on the deck I could hear someone pacing and talking. I reached across the bed for a moment, feeling lost, but then I was dressed and coming up into the air.

"Good morning!" It wasn't him, but someone else. A friend. I grinned and waved against the blaring sun that glinted off the water.

"Who're you talking to this early?" I sat down on something wooden and slightly wet.

"Oh, you know...no one important. Are you going to see him today?"

And I grinned. "This is my secret."

"Well, If you *are* planning on going, I was planning on giving you a ride because I need to be in that area, anyway..."

And then there was a car and I was out of it and walking through tightly enclosed streets bustling with people. Like London in the summer, maybe. It was hot, but there was snow on the ground.

Back with him, we elbowed our way through the crowd together. Another girl followed us and we tried to lose her on numerous occasions. She made me take off my shoes upon entering a building and when I wasn't looking she threw them at me, hitting me square on the forehead with the heel of one of them. I felt dizzy, as if waking up.

But I only teetered on the edge of my dream, before he pulled me into a taxi to sit down and we were driving away from the crazy girl with my shoes in her hands again. She shouted after us, but the windows were up and her mouth just moved grotesquely wide, as if she were trapping flies.

There was a restaraunt with three levels and all the seats were against balconies. We sat on the top level and my view was of the men's bathroom. We shifted uncomfortably through dinner, through every flushing noise. We kept our eyes on one another and the food. The restaraunt was white and electric blue. There were waterfalls that dropped from an unseen source at the entrance. The water simply dropped off ....nothing. Children were allowed to discard their clothing for bathing suits and play in them. We watched for a moment before leaving and then walked away, kicking snow in new boots I had bought to replace my shoes.

And then I was...not with him. But he asked me to come over and I was there again. And I said, "I should get home by the afternoon or my mother will worry about me."

And he messed up my hair and said, "That's ok. It's not like you're really here, anyway."

And I nodded, "This is true, but this is enough for now."

"Quite. Quite."

And his face was still warm when I touched it.

2009-07-13T20:38:00.000-07:00

the green knight in the sideyard, July 2009

Helium - Medieval People from The Magic City (Matador, 1997)

2009-07-09T14:52:00.000-07:00

On my last night in Philadelphia, my friend Helene asked me to recount the best memories that I'd collected during my time on the east coast. My brain froze, wiped itself blank and I struggled for images. In my head, I flipped through blurry pictures, throwing them on the floor of my mind's bedroom...flip, flip, flip, "No, not that one.", flip.....

The clearest memory was bittersweet. Of all my time in the city, some of my best memories are tied to a person that barely even acknowledges my existence. As for myself, I am indifferent to the whole thing. It bothers me, but I push it aside and move on because that's life. I can't punish myself for the past forever, so I won't.

But, oh, that memory, it sang to me. I remembered that late night phone call and driving to the beach at 2am, parking on an empty street once we got there. I peed behind an empty vacation house and we sat up till the sun began to rub the sand out of its eye and open over the watery horizon. And then we walked down the beach until we got bored.

I don't even remember what we talked about. It seems unimportant. It plays out like a silent movie in my head.

I said this to a friend recently and I meant it, "You have to let the good memories stay good, even if the rest of the relationship was poisonous. No time is wasted if you can take away even a few good things."

I feel this way about my time in Philadelphia. A lot of my time spent there is a blur. I often felt the city was detrimental to my growth, something about it got to me and made me sick and wounded, but only because I often wallowed in such things...It's so very easy to steer blame away; you just have to point. But here I am, back in Texas for who knows how long and after a day's worth of rest and meditation I am still thinking about Helene's question, about all of my good memories, and I have no regrets. My time was not wasted.

Michael & Me, summer 2005(?) photo by Zach Sulat

Scott Walker - Rhymes of Goodbye from Scott 4 (Philips/Fontana, 1969)

my life in boxes

2009-07-03T10:13:00.000-07:00

they say re-use the box, July 2009

I'm moving to Dallas in 5 days and have a lot of packing to do, so updates will be sparse if even attempted. Enjoy the holiday, folks. Don't shoot your face off with any fireworks.

<3

2009-07-02T07:35:00.000-07:00

It doesn't really bother me so much until these hours hit, when I am up with nothing to do, no one to verbally talk to, just sitting in my bed with my back against the wall trying to ignore the ever-eternal-dripping of my sink. I'll read over a passage like this one in Chris Fuhrman's The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys;

"I remembered to breathe, concentrated on that for awhile.

And then the world expanded. Two kids with problems in a circle park weren't going to bring on the locusts or oceans of fire. They wouldn't even hold up traffic. Most of the anger breathed out of me, and my face, at least, grew used to it. I've never been able to stay angry. People think I'm understanding. I understand little. But I can hear almost anything, and that's nearly as good.

I'll read this and sit back, look around my room, the clothes on the floor and the bottle of water on the half moon table next to my bed, and I keep expecting to find some one here to share the sense of understanding and calmness that has just washed over me.

But the dripping echoes. There are no background noises except for those that I make myself. I have the blankets draped over my knees and mygod, I can feel that the town outside my window is full of ghosts that have better things to do besides haunt me.

All of that is over, done.

brown bag drawing. spring 2007

Country Teasers - I Don't Like People from Satan Is Real Again Or Feeling Good About Bad Thoughts (Crypt Records, 1996)

2009-06-29T20:27:00.000-07:00

work in progress, summer 2009

Modest Mouse - All Night Diner from the Interstate 8 EP (UP Records, 1996)

"No one has any ideas, damn."

I am tired of my dreams.

2009-06-26T00:30:00.000-07:00

Something I wrote 7yrs ago:

"The summer pavement hisses under wheels as I drive through these streets. I move along with the windows down until I can't take the heat hissing across my face. I wipe the sweat away in buckets. Each rivulet of perspiration counts for a second passed in the summer time.

Another few months till the fall. Another eon until the winter. I can make it, driving along. The time passes quickly when I want to savor it, slow when I want it to move into fast forward mode.

I've said this before, but there never seems to be a happy medium.

Tonight, I trekked up and down Hickory and Fry Street. I passed the van with it's assorted hemp items and the man on the curb in front of Treasure Aisles blasting music from his portable stereo. I bought cigarettes and the man at the counter muttered nonsense about France. I laughed.

I had no idea what he meant.

Someone outside my apartment is playing a digeridoo. There is a party next door. If I put my ear to my wall I can hear almost every conversation that is taking place outside. None of them are interesting, but it passes the time to lie in bed, pressed against the wall and listening. I am not worried about how ridiculous this seems. Insomnia can do that to a person.

Earlier, I was out again. Back to the streets. The pavement has cooled off since the night released its shadows to cover it. I trapsed up and down again, alone. I contemplated driving to every house I knew, knocking on doors....someone please spare me a conversation.

Instead I ended up drinking chai tea at Karma. I tried to remain incospicuous and anonymous but the boy next to me wanted conversation. I shortened whatever needed to be said with monosyllabic responses. I did not mean to be rude. I drank my tea and smoked my cigarettes in silence. I read for an hour. I smiled at the newly met stranger before I got up to leave. Now I am here and I want to leave again.....

I don't want to sleep. I am tired of my dreams."

self-portrait while pretending to sleep for posturing's sake

~~Ledbelly - Where Did You Sleep Last Night?~~

2009-06-24T19:13:00.000-07:00

Something I wrote 7 yrs ago;

"The other night I was sitting on a dark porch with a boy from Oklahoma City. The morning was close and it was that time of night that you can smell the sun burning the tail of the horizon, crisp while the crickets sang. We’d been sharing a joint, my first since March or April and I was hoping the high would give me ample reason to curl up and sleep, but it had done the opposite. I kept talking to keep him outside long enough for me to get drowsy. Midsentence, he scooted across the wood, closer to me. His hand rested in an awkward position next to mine on the porch, not quite touching me, but obviously reaching. He was wearing a hat and I couldn’t see his eyes. I kept talking, pretending to be oblivious. The sound of my voice carried. I could hear it echo at me from the street. Under the influence, I became highly fascinated with the way it lilted and cracked. The smoking is killing me, but it makes me sound pretty.

His pinky finger brushed against mine and I looked down and then back up to him. Under the hood of his hat, I could see him blushing.

He pulled back, oblivious to my disinterest, or ignoring it. He smiled. “You tell really amazing stories.”

I laughed and then stopped long enough to catch it echoing down the street. “Is that why you like me?” ...."

construction paper cherry blossoms

~~Jawbreaker - Into You Like A Train~~ from ETC. (Blackball, 2002)

"I want to be surprised."

2009-06-23T20:20:00.000-07:00

Something I wrote 6 years ago;

"My mother was digging through her purse while driving 45 MPH through the construction on Beltline Road heading from DeSoto to Cedar Hill. I tried to ignore this and I focused on my reflection in the side mirror but then I noticed a high school kid at the stop light and feeling silly I winked at him. His jaw kinda sagged in disbelief and I giggled. My mother continued her digging but looked over to me with a raised brow. I offered her a shrug and said, "Light's green!"

She hit the gas and kept digging. I waved to the kid and he waved back before scratching his head. I turned around in my seat to see my mom had found whatever she was looking for. Her purse was back to where it should have been the whole time she'd been driving, on the floor not being disturbed and close to her right foot.

We had burgers for lunch at this hole in the wall called Burgers N' More; 67, off Highway 67. Everything on the menu was fried if it wasn't cow and I wouldn't have been surprised it that could be fried too. I ate my burger quickly and immediately regretted it. Beef and I have never been friends.

Today was nice, but the humidity was making my hair stick to my head. I kept tucking it behind my ears before tilting the cup of tea I'd ordered to my mouth. I wish I'd brought something to hold it back, but this is the first time since sixth grade that I've needed to think about it. My hair feels weird being so long, touching places on my shoulders and back that it hasn't touched in years.

At the table my mother started talking about how little sleep I seemed to be getting. I detailed out things I am currently stressed out about, friends far away, having to re-arrange an already tight budget, feeling tired without explanation, and then the impending move to Philadelphia (only 22 more days) but I also kept things to myself as always and I nursed these thoughts quietly while I chewed absently on the onion rings that had come with my meal.

"But you were awake early this morning," Mom went on and I shrugged it off. I hadn't been up early, I'd been up all night. I'd just told my parents that I'd found myself awake at 5 am and unable to go back to sleep. When my mother entered my bedroom at 6 am to find me amongst a pile of files I'd dragged out from the garage I told her I'd been writing and that I'd put on a cup of coffee.

"That was a pleasant surprise..." And I thought she'd meant my writing, so I smiled, but she went on to say, "I didn't have to make coffee for your father this morning."

I kept my mouth shut and nodded. I shoved an onion ring into a plate of ranch dressing and ate it. The last bite made me feel sicker than the burger had.

The rest of the lunch passed quickly. We brought home two slices of buttermilk pie, one of which I ate only half. Food makes me feel sick when I eat it, but I like the motion my mouth makes when it chews and the feeling of things like carrots crunching against my molars. It's only later, when I am full, that I regret.

Speaking of regret, will I regret all of these choices that I am making 10 years from now? I have no answers and I have to be okay with that because having all the answers implies that I know exactly what the future holds for me.

To be honest, I want to be surprised."

Fisher Price Rollerskates, circa 1986

~~Smog - I Could Drive Forever~~ from the album Knock Knock (Drag City, 1999)

2009-06-22T12:21:00.000-07:00

wall graffiti in NYC. Summer 2009.

~~Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 - Star Trek~~ from the album Mother of All Saints (Matador, 1992)

...

2009-06-14T21:52:00.000-07:00

My feet at the Danger, Danger Gallery. Phila, PA. Summer 2008.

~~Beat Happening - Angel Gone~~ from Music to Climb the Apple Tree By (K Records)

..

2009-06-13T22:57:00.000-07:00

Nana's Kabuki doll. Dec. 2008

~~Kurt Vile & the Violators - Damn You~~ from the Hunchback E.P. (Richie Records/Testostertunes)

.

2009-06-13T07:18:00.000-07:00

Beach Comber's Van. Oahu, Hawaii

Waianae Coast. Oahu, Hawaii

Ocean Gallery on the Boardwalk. Ocean City, Maryland

My grandmother, Mele, in Honolulu. Oahu, Hawaii

~~Real Estate - Beach Combers~~

How can we have our eternal summer if we're stuck in perpetual spring?