THE CITY OF ROSES
-you stuff peanut butter m&ms into your plain old donut because you've been inspired by a hole in the wall on third ave
-youre creeped out by rich kids who live on haight but tease their hair to look like a punk-hippie hybrid bum.
-other west coasters call you a granola kid. AND, you take it as a compliment.
-austin fucking texas is a joke. they dont have the roxy, or their cheesy fries.
JOE MCARTHY RICHARD NIXAN STUDEBAKER TELEVISION NORTH KOREA SOUTH KOREA MARILYN MONROE
RYAN STARTED THE FIRE!!!
Monday, March 29, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
from my womb to my tomb
Guess ill always be a child
I dont want anyone to read this. for the time being. I suppose this little disclaimer is for the off chance someone stumbles upon it and puts two and two together (really shouldnt be hard, always equals four). I just dont think I have anything to say, but much more to learn. So if i collect my thoughts and memories, guess ill have something to go back and read.
Spring Break 10 carries on. I laugh at the children who will waste it at a bar in Cabo. I Laugh at myself for getting back on a plane to the east coast. Very torn between Bard and anywhere else, which is funny because I didnt know I liked Bard all that much. But being in the California sun, closer home and the love that dwells there, closer to self assurance and my known identity, is beyond tempting. Mouth watering. Like a big bone I just had to come back and lick.
We went to the cliff overlooking Ocean Beach. The sutra baths were to the right, meeting the sandy beach. We took a left, passed the ornamented deer, and through the scattered trees. There was the first view, with tiny specks playing in the sand, with the road stretching down the best coast, with the stand still windmill in the distance. We hopped over the guard rail, to find carved stone steps. They were narrow, and somehow winding down the cliff. After a few steps, we climbed over some rocks, into the most perfect perch. A big red chair, the kind that swallows you up, fit into the cave. Whoever dared put it there wouldnt of risked their life for us strangers, but we appreciated it. We could see the corgi dogs running on the beach, their asses stretching higher into the air (and closer to us) than their heads. We could see the rocks where the gulls nested, the sun beat down on us, and we smoked a cigarette. Beautiful.
Devendra Banhart played that night. We walked through the tenderloin, surely lost, until a block later the mysterious SF spat us back out in the nicer part of town. The venue was similar to the crystal ballroom, but embroidered with the regalities Portland lacks. The crowd was a jar of buttons: dorks, hipsters, hippies, raving midgits... different sizes, different eyes, different intoxicants, different drinks.
Banhart had chopped all his hair off. Unmistakably, a slut for attention. But as a San Francisco native, the crowd of natives loved him. Vetiver covers, spliffs and joints lighting up faces in the crowd, the enjoyment that transcended over all us buttons.
Shaun went and meditated. I searched for william, but instead found a face from Bard. Devendra took his shirt off.
Quite the spring break.
Id rather see the desperate faux-hippie slut Devendra shirtless than a desperate Cabo-tanned set of tits.
I dont want anyone to read this. for the time being. I suppose this little disclaimer is for the off chance someone stumbles upon it and puts two and two together (really shouldnt be hard, always equals four). I just dont think I have anything to say, but much more to learn. So if i collect my thoughts and memories, guess ill have something to go back and read.
Spring Break 10 carries on. I laugh at the children who will waste it at a bar in Cabo. I Laugh at myself for getting back on a plane to the east coast. Very torn between Bard and anywhere else, which is funny because I didnt know I liked Bard all that much. But being in the California sun, closer home and the love that dwells there, closer to self assurance and my known identity, is beyond tempting. Mouth watering. Like a big bone I just had to come back and lick.
We went to the cliff overlooking Ocean Beach. The sutra baths were to the right, meeting the sandy beach. We took a left, passed the ornamented deer, and through the scattered trees. There was the first view, with tiny specks playing in the sand, with the road stretching down the best coast, with the stand still windmill in the distance. We hopped over the guard rail, to find carved stone steps. They were narrow, and somehow winding down the cliff. After a few steps, we climbed over some rocks, into the most perfect perch. A big red chair, the kind that swallows you up, fit into the cave. Whoever dared put it there wouldnt of risked their life for us strangers, but we appreciated it. We could see the corgi dogs running on the beach, their asses stretching higher into the air (and closer to us) than their heads. We could see the rocks where the gulls nested, the sun beat down on us, and we smoked a cigarette. Beautiful.
Devendra Banhart played that night. We walked through the tenderloin, surely lost, until a block later the mysterious SF spat us back out in the nicer part of town. The venue was similar to the crystal ballroom, but embroidered with the regalities Portland lacks. The crowd was a jar of buttons: dorks, hipsters, hippies, raving midgits... different sizes, different eyes, different intoxicants, different drinks.
Banhart had chopped all his hair off. Unmistakably, a slut for attention. But as a San Francisco native, the crowd of natives loved him. Vetiver covers, spliffs and joints lighting up faces in the crowd, the enjoyment that transcended over all us buttons.
Shaun went and meditated. I searched for william, but instead found a face from Bard. Devendra took his shirt off.
Quite the spring break.
Id rather see the desperate faux-hippie slut Devendra shirtless than a desperate Cabo-tanned set of tits.
Monday, March 22, 2010
wear flowers in your hair
Laid out in golden gate park. Had our own adventures of rabbit holes and crazy individuals. noticed the wonders of the west coast. Kinda like coming to the surface for a breath of fresh air. I cant swim forever in the sea of the East. The san fran sun beats down, and the beach-cool air is refreshing.
Took my glasses off, and let the blurriness turn things into shapes and faces. As fluffy as a cloud, I could make my own details. Vision might be the one thing promising different perspectives on the world. One great reason for human difference.
Going to see Alice in Wonderland today.
This is a wonderful bay.
Took my glasses off, and let the blurriness turn things into shapes and faces. As fluffy as a cloud, I could make my own details. Vision might be the one thing promising different perspectives on the world. One great reason for human difference.
Going to see Alice in Wonderland today.
This is a wonderful bay.
halves and holes
caught myself forgetting what its like.
i cant believe ive grown to have such a complement. Like Plato's rolly men, i can feel when im ripped in half like a chips ahoy cookie.And what sucks, is forgetting what it feels like to be whole. To have someone i can be a sheer idiot in front of. I wonder what itll feel to have that at bard?
She is about to throw it away. And i dont know what advice to give... it just seems like you shouldnt risk it. or waste it. or try as hard as you can to hold onto it.
tom robbins made a lot of sense when he talked about love being magic.
tons to do tomorrow
i cant believe ive grown to have such a complement. Like Plato's rolly men, i can feel when im ripped in half like a chips ahoy cookie.And what sucks, is forgetting what it feels like to be whole. To have someone i can be a sheer idiot in front of. I wonder what itll feel to have that at bard?
She is about to throw it away. And i dont know what advice to give... it just seems like you shouldnt risk it. or waste it. or try as hard as you can to hold onto it.
tom robbins made a lot of sense when he talked about love being magic.
tons to do tomorrow
It was no dream...
As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a monstrous vermin.
Ive never been able to think twice about dreams, for usually im too tired to question, or to wake up and write it all down. It's irritating how you remember dreams most when youre still asleep, Your half conscious brain relives and analyzes without your body stirring. As soon as youre awake, facing the light of the day, you roommate's bed lamp, or your computer screen, the words are lost and a puzzle is formed, with missing pieces and many holes.
What is perhaps even more curious, is what one seems to remember best from a dream, and why.Or, what we unknowingly fabricate, as we secretly jam a self-made piece that originally didnt fit. Then you become a story teller.
We were out. I remember I was with #10, Ogie, and three fictional girls. Funny enough, they all resembled annoyances from high school, and were all from Seattle. In this way, they were made relatable, and thus detestable. We were meant to be somewhere on campus, looking for a place to smoke, walking into a house which doesnt exist. Perhaps some type of party, the setting wasn't that of a fraternity or drunk college kids, but almost as a dinner party, where we were allowed to stay, and mostly unnoticed. The girls were really getting on my nerves. The cute blond wouldnt stop flirting with one of my boys, and all her friends wouldnt stop talking to me about it. What a sophomoric experience... Then came the altercation. The asian girl said something to me, along the lines of "arent they cute,' and playfully grabbed my side. In m altered state, i hit her back in the breast, and ended up being scratched along both arms. At one point I remember waking up and checking to see if the bloody marks were really there, or if i had simply been dreaming.
There was definitely a discussion about impending apocalypse. Probably inspired by table talk today, making light of the early 2010 trend of earthquake per month, tsunami off hawaii, and of course, the zombie apocalypse. I left the party at one point, and saw the heating unit near what i can only guess to have been a pipe releasing gas. I gathered my friends, obnoxious girls included, and we ran outside, off to our next stop. Losing my phone today, in my dream I was separated from #10, and couldnt call him, so went about the every-day routine of waiting around the breezeway.
As in writing, the line between the conscious and unconscious is often blurred. The hardest part of tonight to explain is how I kept waking up, and being convinced it was all real. I remember checking my right arm for blood, and finding none. I also remember thinking i had checked my clothing, and saw i was wearing the same bra as in the dream (which for some reason was important). Or talking to #10 at my desk, trying to explain my confusion.
DMT must be one hell of a trip.
Ive never been able to think twice about dreams, for usually im too tired to question, or to wake up and write it all down. It's irritating how you remember dreams most when youre still asleep, Your half conscious brain relives and analyzes without your body stirring. As soon as youre awake, facing the light of the day, you roommate's bed lamp, or your computer screen, the words are lost and a puzzle is formed, with missing pieces and many holes.
What is perhaps even more curious, is what one seems to remember best from a dream, and why.Or, what we unknowingly fabricate, as we secretly jam a self-made piece that originally didnt fit. Then you become a story teller.
We were out. I remember I was with #10, Ogie, and three fictional girls. Funny enough, they all resembled annoyances from high school, and were all from Seattle. In this way, they were made relatable, and thus detestable. We were meant to be somewhere on campus, looking for a place to smoke, walking into a house which doesnt exist. Perhaps some type of party, the setting wasn't that of a fraternity or drunk college kids, but almost as a dinner party, where we were allowed to stay, and mostly unnoticed. The girls were really getting on my nerves. The cute blond wouldnt stop flirting with one of my boys, and all her friends wouldnt stop talking to me about it. What a sophomoric experience... Then came the altercation. The asian girl said something to me, along the lines of "arent they cute,' and playfully grabbed my side. In m altered state, i hit her back in the breast, and ended up being scratched along both arms. At one point I remember waking up and checking to see if the bloody marks were really there, or if i had simply been dreaming.
There was definitely a discussion about impending apocalypse. Probably inspired by table talk today, making light of the early 2010 trend of earthquake per month, tsunami off hawaii, and of course, the zombie apocalypse. I left the party at one point, and saw the heating unit near what i can only guess to have been a pipe releasing gas. I gathered my friends, obnoxious girls included, and we ran outside, off to our next stop. Losing my phone today, in my dream I was separated from #10, and couldnt call him, so went about the every-day routine of waiting around the breezeway.
As in writing, the line between the conscious and unconscious is often blurred. The hardest part of tonight to explain is how I kept waking up, and being convinced it was all real. I remember checking my right arm for blood, and finding none. I also remember thinking i had checked my clothing, and saw i was wearing the same bra as in the dream (which for some reason was important). Or talking to #10 at my desk, trying to explain my confusion.
DMT must be one hell of a trip.
Brain Puddles
College is some type of big deal. I've realized I've spent so much of my life merely going through the motions. After enough experience of time, we understand the imminent patterns. So now, for whatever reason, I want to question everything. Not yet an adult, I need to grasp each moment of my youth and explore them before they too grow old or mundane.
She stood on the bed, legs shaking to grasp the solidity of ground. She looked down at us, in a new perspective, and declared the brain puddles.
Have you ever grown so tired of being in your head, you realize the reason for speaking out loud to yourself? I might as well use that time to learn something.
Lesson learned out here is the meaning of seasons. Feel like ive endured the longest winter of my life, and as i lay out in the sun today, cant help but notice the piles of snow protected by the shadows.
It's obviously the first weekend of spring. "Sun's out, guns out." Blithewood looks like a cross between Versailles and Central Park... the sun beating down on a couple in the gardens, and further blankets litter the field. Bikes are parked, and serve as an anchor for colorful balloons.We sat out on the quad. I came outside, intending to read Marx, when I saw them. They were laying out with towels across the pathway, couldnt miss them. The sun, finally a light relit, makes us gather and simply enjoy. Bohemian was decidedly the word of the day, whether we like it or not. I find beauty in this undeniable fact. Marx lay forgotten, and instead i smoked a cigarette and drank from my jar of coffee. We smoked and discussed the lesson of the seasons. Listened to Dandy Warhols (of course, bohemian like you), and i updated everyone of each vapor trail painting the sky. Matt's cigar further reminded me of home, the sun and the sweet smell took me back to Sauvies. A stranger sat down with us and shared her girl scout cookies. We have never appreciated a spring day more.
Not everyone can relate, to what you and i appreciate
She stood on the bed, legs shaking to grasp the solidity of ground. She looked down at us, in a new perspective, and declared the brain puddles.
Have you ever grown so tired of being in your head, you realize the reason for speaking out loud to yourself? I might as well use that time to learn something.
Lesson learned out here is the meaning of seasons. Feel like ive endured the longest winter of my life, and as i lay out in the sun today, cant help but notice the piles of snow protected by the shadows.
It's obviously the first weekend of spring. "Sun's out, guns out." Blithewood looks like a cross between Versailles and Central Park... the sun beating down on a couple in the gardens, and further blankets litter the field. Bikes are parked, and serve as an anchor for colorful balloons.We sat out on the quad. I came outside, intending to read Marx, when I saw them. They were laying out with towels across the pathway, couldnt miss them. The sun, finally a light relit, makes us gather and simply enjoy. Bohemian was decidedly the word of the day, whether we like it or not. I find beauty in this undeniable fact. Marx lay forgotten, and instead i smoked a cigarette and drank from my jar of coffee. We smoked and discussed the lesson of the seasons. Listened to Dandy Warhols (of course, bohemian like you), and i updated everyone of each vapor trail painting the sky. Matt's cigar further reminded me of home, the sun and the sweet smell took me back to Sauvies. A stranger sat down with us and shared her girl scout cookies. We have never appreciated a spring day more.
Not everyone can relate, to what you and i appreciate
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