last night, i shaved my head. because it's what people liked the most about me. i have a mohawk now. dad won't look at me. he and mom are worried that i'm going to do something stupid like cut off my penis or hold up a bank. they specifically mentioned both of those things, too. it's really getting to them, i wish it didn't affect them so.
i hate christmas.
Wednesday, December 24, 2003
Tuesday, December 23, 2003
see, this is what life is all about; the love, the drugs, the friends, the good times and the copper taste of marijuana. walking in the cold with good people, smoking slowly and savoring the french toast. remember, it's not about caring, it's about not letting it affect you. i'm doing pretty good, now. a little wiser for the wear, p'raps. just a little.
friday colby, taylor, and i got stoned. good times. saturday, trip to lexington. i stayed at bekki's. great times, great times. 9 a.m. sunday morning, a walk in the freezing cold with bekki and josie to denny's for breakfast. getting along famously. a military man telling war stories next to us. talked to jade on the phone. will see her next week. then back to cincinnati. monday: bought another drum kit for $50 worth of pedals. more grass, and girls came. patrick, taylor, nancy, steph, and me. a run to chili time. being very stoned, and wanting to lean against someone but not.
last night had a long talk about boys with olivia. she cracks me up. she's a good kid, though. good kid.
song stuck in my head: System of a Down - Sugar
oh yeah. new S/N on AIM: post punk monk
friday colby, taylor, and i got stoned. good times. saturday, trip to lexington. i stayed at bekki's. great times, great times. 9 a.m. sunday morning, a walk in the freezing cold with bekki and josie to denny's for breakfast. getting along famously. a military man telling war stories next to us. talked to jade on the phone. will see her next week. then back to cincinnati. monday: bought another drum kit for $50 worth of pedals. more grass, and girls came. patrick, taylor, nancy, steph, and me. a run to chili time. being very stoned, and wanting to lean against someone but not.
last night had a long talk about boys with olivia. she cracks me up. she's a good kid, though. good kid.
song stuck in my head: System of a Down - Sugar
oh yeah. new S/N on AIM: post punk monk
Sunday, December 14, 2003
last night i got home at six am. i'd been at brittany's. the snow was still coming down, it was at about two inches - i drove for an hour at 25 down highway fifty. i got home, and made some coffee, and fixed some pancakes. mom and dad woke up, and they ate breakfast with me, and then i went to bed. i slept till about two, and then i don't remember what i did. i think it was laundry. watched "the pianist." quite enjoyable.
tomorrow, or rather, later today, i'm going to st. louis with nikki. not that nikki. the other nikki. yeah. day trip. it's gonna be fun.
sometimes i get the feeling that i'm not *cough* spinning my wheels, it's just that...i don't know. d'you remember how in "the graduate," benjamin braddock is talking to his parents, and he says that that year is his year to drift? this is my period of drifting, just aimlessness. i'm supposing i'm resigned to it, and so am trying to enjoy it. but there's a part of me that doesn't like it, i've never been one for standing still. i'd like to just cut out completely, but it'd hurt mom and dad too much. oh well... heh. i just remembered, ania's got my copy of the Graduate. i went looking for the exact quote in the book, couldn't find the book.
snow makes me want to smoke. and to not be alone. it's not even sexual frustration, that loneliness. couple nights ago i was between laurie's legs and i forgot what to do, my instinct was to hold, not hump. and i've quit girls, anyway. resignation in more than one way.
miss you all.
tomorrow, or rather, later today, i'm going to st. louis with nikki. not that nikki. the other nikki. yeah. day trip. it's gonna be fun.
sometimes i get the feeling that i'm not *cough* spinning my wheels, it's just that...i don't know. d'you remember how in "the graduate," benjamin braddock is talking to his parents, and he says that that year is his year to drift? this is my period of drifting, just aimlessness. i'm supposing i'm resigned to it, and so am trying to enjoy it. but there's a part of me that doesn't like it, i've never been one for standing still. i'd like to just cut out completely, but it'd hurt mom and dad too much. oh well... heh. i just remembered, ania's got my copy of the Graduate. i went looking for the exact quote in the book, couldn't find the book.
snow makes me want to smoke. and to not be alone. it's not even sexual frustration, that loneliness. couple nights ago i was between laurie's legs and i forgot what to do, my instinct was to hold, not hump. and i've quit girls, anyway. resignation in more than one way.
miss you all.
Wednesday, December 3, 2003
the more i hear, the less i care
been sick the last few days. not cool, cause we have show today, and one of the other bands cancelled so we'll have to make it up. fuck life, fuck life. the doc. said it was the flu. whatever it is, it's rough. felt like i was gonna die yesterday. i feel somewhat better today, but as of yesterday, i couldn't even walk straight. the walls were distorting, my head felt like it was going to split open, and i had no energy at all. i also had a fever. funny what goes through your head at that point. but today i can at least walk. so i'm playing the show. rock n roll, rock n roll. this has officially been the worst week ever.
summthin' funny. megan the anti-pagan has been trying to talk to me again, and i have not been responsive, so today i get a letter with a printed address and no return address. it was from her of course. i don't wanna even think about her unless she's gotten off the whole jesus kick and aged a couple of years. god eats my women.
it's fuckin' snowing. again. fuck life.
i'm looking for a job. no one that isn't "food services" isn't hiring. fuck that. i guess i'm back to being unemployed for the near future. tomorrow i gotta go in and pick up my paycheck if it's not at least $500 i'm gonna rip shit up. 78 hours at $7.50 an hour.
i think i'm gonna go back to sleeping.
been sick the last few days. not cool, cause we have show today, and one of the other bands cancelled so we'll have to make it up. fuck life, fuck life. the doc. said it was the flu. whatever it is, it's rough. felt like i was gonna die yesterday. i feel somewhat better today, but as of yesterday, i couldn't even walk straight. the walls were distorting, my head felt like it was going to split open, and i had no energy at all. i also had a fever. funny what goes through your head at that point. but today i can at least walk. so i'm playing the show. rock n roll, rock n roll. this has officially been the worst week ever.
summthin' funny. megan the anti-pagan has been trying to talk to me again, and i have not been responsive, so today i get a letter with a printed address and no return address. it was from her of course. i don't wanna even think about her unless she's gotten off the whole jesus kick and aged a couple of years. god eats my women.
it's fuckin' snowing. again. fuck life.
i'm looking for a job. no one that isn't "food services" isn't hiring. fuck that. i guess i'm back to being unemployed for the near future. tomorrow i gotta go in and pick up my paycheck if it's not at least $500 i'm gonna rip shit up. 78 hours at $7.50 an hour.
i think i'm gonna go back to sleeping.
Saturday, November 29, 2003
hello, ladies and gentlemen, friends and lovers. it's been awhile, but much has happened.
monday: niki gets back from retreat. former atheist, said niki, finds jesus at said retreat. friends of said niki says she is now a freak. actual quote "i can only have a relationship with god right now." i find it disturbing/hilarious. dickie is now going to make me a shirt that says "god eats my women." i am not running a good streak, here. taylor said "the irony is written all over your right hand." clue: i had anna written across the knuckles of my left, and niki across the knuckles of my right. melody and rhythm. past and future. no one understood the logic.
thursday:
patrick and dickie come over for thanksgiving, along with the lexington family (aunt, uncle, gramma, and cousins), thomas, fiona, iseult, and marcelo. tamales, ham, turkey, rice w/ shroom sauce, corn pudding, casserole. beer and watching pink floyd's the Wall. best thanksgiving ever, by count of all involved.
friday:
sXe kid who works with me has been making death threats. you fuckin' non-straightedge kid. he's also tight with the remaining manager (the two that hired me have quit). so i'm 20 minutes late. the first time i'm late. power outage or something, alarm didn't go off. i am reported as being 2 hours late.
after selling $24,000 worth of stuff that day (no that is not a typo, $24,000) working an eleven hour shift from 6 am to 5 pm, i am told i am being fired. YAY! so i hear from bekki. i want to go very badly, but parentals nix. no driving on freeway alone that far. que puteria. to the buzz. i end up giving linda/ally/danielle/ronnie/ronnie's friend a ride home. the two guys live in KY, and it's sleeting. it takes me about an hour and a half to drop everyone off. therefore i am an hour and a half late. whereupon mum and dad are pissed with me. i called, but the phone was busy. they don't believe.whatever.
oh, and i have an ounce of vanilla tobacco for the pipe. but no pipe.and no cigarettes. yes, i started smoking again.
monday: niki gets back from retreat. former atheist, said niki, finds jesus at said retreat. friends of said niki says she is now a freak. actual quote "i can only have a relationship with god right now." i find it disturbing/hilarious. dickie is now going to make me a shirt that says "god eats my women." i am not running a good streak, here. taylor said "the irony is written all over your right hand." clue: i had anna written across the knuckles of my left, and niki across the knuckles of my right. melody and rhythm. past and future. no one understood the logic.
thursday:
patrick and dickie come over for thanksgiving, along with the lexington family (aunt, uncle, gramma, and cousins), thomas, fiona, iseult, and marcelo. tamales, ham, turkey, rice w/ shroom sauce, corn pudding, casserole. beer and watching pink floyd's the Wall. best thanksgiving ever, by count of all involved.
friday:
sXe kid who works with me has been making death threats. you fuckin' non-straightedge kid. he's also tight with the remaining manager (the two that hired me have quit). so i'm 20 minutes late. the first time i'm late. power outage or something, alarm didn't go off. i am reported as being 2 hours late.
after selling $24,000 worth of stuff that day (no that is not a typo, $24,000) working an eleven hour shift from 6 am to 5 pm, i am told i am being fired. YAY! so i hear from bekki. i want to go very badly, but parentals nix. no driving on freeway alone that far. que puteria. to the buzz. i end up giving linda/ally/danielle/ronnie/ronnie's friend a ride home. the two guys live in KY, and it's sleeting. it takes me about an hour and a half to drop everyone off. therefore i am an hour and a half late. whereupon mum and dad are pissed with me. i called, but the phone was busy. they don't believe.whatever.
oh, and i have an ounce of vanilla tobacco for the pipe. but no pipe.and no cigarettes. yes, i started smoking again.
Saturday, November 15, 2003
Wednesday, November 12, 2003
at work:
work is a routine. i find comfort in routine. as long as i'm gaining something from it. i want to run, though. i always say that, though. what's not to like? good job, nice girl, rock n roll band. i'm eighteen. is this my life? if this is it, i'm gonna slit my writsts when you do.
poema:
besos
que me tocan
como los rayos
del sol
todas esas mujeres
esos cigarros
y este alcol
work is a routine. i find comfort in routine. as long as i'm gaining something from it. i want to run, though. i always say that, though. what's not to like? good job, nice girl, rock n roll band. i'm eighteen. is this my life? if this is it, i'm gonna slit my writsts when you do.
poema:
besos
que me tocan
como los rayos
del sol
todas esas mujeres
esos cigarros
y este alcol
Monday, November 10, 2003
weekend, weekend.
friday: party. anna's. she's cool, her dad isn't. he made us stay outside. 30 degrees, homies. the whole party ended up in the loft of the barn: vodka (you'd be proud, dear), guitars, and lots of singing and carrying on. good times. we kept warm. not shy? hah.
saturday: to the univeristy surplus sale. i got a scanner. and then practice. rock n roll, rock n roll. the night spent at taylors, playing bass and killing giant bugs. yay teenage boyhood.
sunday: work! i learn fast? or so i'm told. nametag? check. time key? check. "trainee" button? check. it's all good. figuring out how to work the registers there. and then lost-ness getting to niki's, but we ended up at the buzz. and then taylor's. with the radio. (gimme my radio, gimme my ra-di-OH!)
radiohead - life in a glass house.
friday: party. anna's. she's cool, her dad isn't. he made us stay outside. 30 degrees, homies. the whole party ended up in the loft of the barn: vodka (you'd be proud, dear), guitars, and lots of singing and carrying on. good times. we kept warm. not shy? hah.
saturday: to the univeristy surplus sale. i got a scanner. and then practice. rock n roll, rock n roll. the night spent at taylors, playing bass and killing giant bugs. yay teenage boyhood.
sunday: work! i learn fast? or so i'm told. nametag? check. time key? check. "trainee" button? check. it's all good. figuring out how to work the registers there. and then lost-ness getting to niki's, but we ended up at the buzz. and then taylor's. with the radio. (gimme my radio, gimme my ra-di-OH!)
radiohead - life in a glass house.
Wednesday, November 5, 2003
the hearing was today, the magistrate was a very beautiful woman, a big black woman, full of caring and wisdom. she brought my dad to tears.
she looked at me and said, "honey, your parents care for you. you have a future, you have a good life. you're exceptional. there's nothing you can't have."
i looked her in the eye, and said nothing, but the whole time, i wanted to say in my growly cigarette soaked voice "you forget about hope..."
she looked at me and said, "honey, your parents care for you. you have a future, you have a good life. you're exceptional. there's nothing you can't have."
i looked her in the eye, and said nothing, but the whole time, i wanted to say in my growly cigarette soaked voice "you forget about hope..."
Saturday, November 1, 2003
ker-razy night.
insomnia at taylors. poor boy is zonked out. i can't sleep. like i said, insomnia.
silliness with the parentals (lecture on not hating the police), but in the end "you're almost 18, you decide what you want. just think of us."
went to taylors, he dressed as Alex of a clockwork orange, i went cheap and went as a mexican - cotton pants and collarless shirt, sombrero, serape, a painted droopy mustache, and really, really huge bad teeth (with a gold front tooth). it was a hit.
went with spencer and aiden to the party at niki's. in KY. people were there; i got to meet emily, finally. and of course, niki. ben was there (remember ben?), good times had by all. met jeremy for the first time. good kid. i like him. fun and games (with wrasslin') till 11:30, then we scrambled for the car, ending up at the esquire, with me in drag. woohoo! niki sat with/on me, and we happened to sit next to christian (remember christian?) fun times. i am no longer a rocky horror virgin...
and after food at chili time, we ended up at taylors, and he's asleep. he wasn't feeling well, poor guy. and it's 6 am, and the city is still sleeping in on a post-holiday weekend morning...
oh yeah. and i got my temps. and drove on an actual street in an actual car without killing anyone OR getting arrested...which is something i can't usually manage just on foot, as kate said...but yes. i have my temps. two weeks, i will have my LICENSE!!! heh. and i drive like an old lady.
insomnia at taylors. poor boy is zonked out. i can't sleep. like i said, insomnia.
silliness with the parentals (lecture on not hating the police), but in the end "you're almost 18, you decide what you want. just think of us."
went to taylors, he dressed as Alex of a clockwork orange, i went cheap and went as a mexican - cotton pants and collarless shirt, sombrero, serape, a painted droopy mustache, and really, really huge bad teeth (with a gold front tooth). it was a hit.
went with spencer and aiden to the party at niki's. in KY. people were there; i got to meet emily, finally. and of course, niki. ben was there (remember ben?), good times had by all. met jeremy for the first time. good kid. i like him. fun and games (with wrasslin') till 11:30, then we scrambled for the car, ending up at the esquire, with me in drag. woohoo! niki sat with/on me, and we happened to sit next to christian (remember christian?) fun times. i am no longer a rocky horror virgin...
and after food at chili time, we ended up at taylors, and he's asleep. he wasn't feeling well, poor guy. and it's 6 am, and the city is still sleeping in on a post-holiday weekend morning...
oh yeah. and i got my temps. and drove on an actual street in an actual car without killing anyone OR getting arrested...which is something i can't usually manage just on foot, as kate said...but yes. i have my temps. two weeks, i will have my LICENSE!!! heh. and i drive like an old lady.
Thursday, October 30, 2003
metallica - black album
doesn't albini call himself a "recordist" or something? i'm not sure. everyone should go download Shellac - Prayer to God.
band stuff is going well. patrick and taylor are getting along famously, i'm glad it's working out. since we've been practicing intensely, we're really getting tight, and are writing more stuff than ever. it's nice to just play bass sometimes, and not have to write all the songs, and just throw in little angles. w
yesterday i went to take my written driving test. a textbook example of bureaucracy followed. dad and i drive 30 minutes to the testing center. after much next-dooring (oh, we don't do that here, you'll have to go next door), i waited in line until my number was called. whereupon i'm informed that i need to buy a temps package before i can take the written. the whole point of waiting till i was 18 was to avoid having to get the temps. fuck that. and of course, for the temps package i have to have all those documents that i didn't bring...and of course, they close in ten minutes. at least i got to spend time with my old man. we listened to the radio, and we talked about things that had happened to us. he's a cool guy.
doesn't albini call himself a "recordist" or something? i'm not sure. everyone should go download Shellac - Prayer to God.
band stuff is going well. patrick and taylor are getting along famously, i'm glad it's working out. since we've been practicing intensely, we're really getting tight, and are writing more stuff than ever. it's nice to just play bass sometimes, and not have to write all the songs, and just throw in little angles. w
yesterday i went to take my written driving test. a textbook example of bureaucracy followed. dad and i drive 30 minutes to the testing center. after much next-dooring (oh, we don't do that here, you'll have to go next door), i waited in line until my number was called. whereupon i'm informed that i need to buy a temps package before i can take the written. the whole point of waiting till i was 18 was to avoid having to get the temps. fuck that. and of course, for the temps package i have to have all those documents that i didn't bring...and of course, they close in ten minutes. at least i got to spend time with my old man. we listened to the radio, and we talked about things that had happened to us. he's a cool guy.
Monday, October 20, 2003
NP: Bad Brains - Pay To Cum
so much bullshit.
if it wasn't for the band i'd have left a long time ago. tell me, friends and lovers, is this a good thing?
i s'pose if i was truly together, a post-punk warrior-monk, if i was at zen with myself, then i wouldn't have to ask.
word i haven't seen/heard/used in a while: grok. heinlein, baby. ol' bobby h.
i'm slowly experiencing the shift to exploitive animal. be nice because some day you may need to crash on their couch...hate them with all you have, but smile and give 'em a hug, talk 'em out of it. i don't there are but three people i genuinely like because they're good people and not because i owe it to them.
NP: Bad Brains - Don't Bother Me
goodbye.
so much bullshit.
if it wasn't for the band i'd have left a long time ago. tell me, friends and lovers, is this a good thing?
i s'pose if i was truly together, a post-punk warrior-monk, if i was at zen with myself, then i wouldn't have to ask.
word i haven't seen/heard/used in a while: grok. heinlein, baby. ol' bobby h.
i'm slowly experiencing the shift to exploitive animal. be nice because some day you may need to crash on their couch...hate them with all you have, but smile and give 'em a hug, talk 'em out of it. i don't there are but three people i genuinely like because they're good people and not because i owe it to them.
NP: Bad Brains - Don't Bother Me
goodbye.
Friday, October 17, 2003
jared shook his head, smiled and said to me "you can do better, rafe...a lot better."
he's right. jesus on a stick, boys and girls, he's right.
he thinks i should take out a personal: failed musician and struggling writer seeks art school dropout, proficient at bass, french. glasses a plus.
i'm hanging out with him soon.
sure i'm charles buster kane, but you gotta love me...
he's right. jesus on a stick, boys and girls, he's right.
he thinks i should take out a personal: failed musician and struggling writer seeks art school dropout, proficient at bass, french. glasses a plus.
i'm hanging out with him soon.
sure i'm charles buster kane, but you gotta love me...
Wednesday, October 8, 2003
Monday, October 6, 2003
Saturday, October 4, 2003
now playing: Body Count - Cop Killer
me: today something funny happened. i got arrested again. this time for something worthwhile.
ania: oh god
ania: why?
me: public indeceny!
ania: hahahah
ania: do tell
me: not even ten seconds
ania: oh dear god rafe
me: but the cop was turned the corner
ania: haha
me: and i said to myself
me: "fuck, a car. at least it's not a cop"
me: and then the spot came on
ania: hahaa
me: and i was like "MOTHERFUCKER!"
me: the funny part, the ironic part, is
ania: haha
ania: oh?
me: they had to call in backup
me: cause
me: i'm so hardcore
ania: back up?
me: yeah. it takes two police to handle rafe davis and his urinary device
second offense in as many weeks.
f tha po-po
me: today something funny happened. i got arrested again. this time for something worthwhile.
ania: oh god
ania: why?
me: public indeceny!
ania: hahahah
ania: do tell
me: not even ten seconds
ania: oh dear god rafe
me: but the cop was turned the corner
ania: haha
me: and i said to myself
me: "fuck, a car. at least it's not a cop"
me: and then the spot came on
ania: hahaa
me: and i was like "MOTHERFUCKER!"
me: the funny part, the ironic part, is
ania: haha
ania: oh?
me: they had to call in backup
me: cause
me: i'm so hardcore
ania: back up?
me: yeah. it takes two police to handle rafe davis and his urinary device
second offense in as many weeks.
f tha po-po
Friday, October 3, 2003
subtlety.
live by it, right? right.
buddha: 8 fold path. speech, action, livelihood. exertion, awareness, concentration. aspiration, understanding. moderate in all, follow the middle way.
-----
hemingway and i have something in common: neither of us like anarchists.
-----
it's been a hell of a week.
33's first show was thursday. wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible. people showed up. didn't leave and didn't get bored. afterwards the whole crew ended up at the buzz, and i pissed off taylor because i did what i always do and assumed too much. i should only deal with certaintys from now on. but i betcha i won't.
patrick saw the show, and want's to join the band. gonna try him out tomorrow. things look good. it's gonna be hard to solve out what's gonna happen with dave. i'm thinking that since we have three amps now, we can have him play some keyboards.
the girls are also coming over tomorrow.
i listened to the stooges today, mostly. and then belted along to weezer's blue. worked on the guitars, and housework. went for a bike ride around 8 - it was dark, and just rained, cold and clear, and you could see. stopped by ally's and said hi to mrs. bronnert. thought about smoking a cig. and thought about who cared. and didn't.
-----
so long and thanks for all the goats.
-----
i have no idea why i'm saying goodbye.
live by it, right? right.
buddha: 8 fold path. speech, action, livelihood. exertion, awareness, concentration. aspiration, understanding. moderate in all, follow the middle way.
-----
hemingway and i have something in common: neither of us like anarchists.
-----
it's been a hell of a week.
33's first show was thursday. wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible. people showed up. didn't leave and didn't get bored. afterwards the whole crew ended up at the buzz, and i pissed off taylor because i did what i always do and assumed too much. i should only deal with certaintys from now on. but i betcha i won't.
patrick saw the show, and want's to join the band. gonna try him out tomorrow. things look good. it's gonna be hard to solve out what's gonna happen with dave. i'm thinking that since we have three amps now, we can have him play some keyboards.
the girls are also coming over tomorrow.
i listened to the stooges today, mostly. and then belted along to weezer's blue. worked on the guitars, and housework. went for a bike ride around 8 - it was dark, and just rained, cold and clear, and you could see. stopped by ally's and said hi to mrs. bronnert. thought about smoking a cig. and thought about who cared. and didn't.
-----
so long and thanks for all the goats.
-----
i have no idea why i'm saying goodbye.
Monday, September 29, 2003
Sunday, September 28, 2003
my horoscope, according to the onion:
Scorpio: (Oct. 24—Nov. 21)
It's not true that your best days are behind you. It's true that almost all of your days are behind you, but the best ones are yet to come.
i'm going to the buzz tomorrow. and i'm gonna smoke some cigarettes and work on some lyrics. i wanna die alone and unloved. so far i'm on the right track.
Scorpio: (Oct. 24—Nov. 21)
It's not true that your best days are behind you. It's true that almost all of your days are behind you, but the best ones are yet to come.
i'm going to the buzz tomorrow. and i'm gonna smoke some cigarettes and work on some lyrics. i wanna die alone and unloved. so far i'm on the right track.
Friday, September 26, 2003
Now Playing: radiohead - how to disappear completely
dad gave me his backing to drop out of school, and do the rock n roll thing 100%. so i'm going to. megs was right (bless her). things are pretty good. now when i'm filling out paperwork, i can put "musician" as employment. i'll probably end up going back to school at some point. but hey, i'm halfway through, so i'll only be half as much in debt when i have to pay for it.
last night i was with a girl, sitting on the concrete steps of the apartment building, looking up, she laying against me, my face against her neck and my arms around her. she smelled of dried lemons and incense, and the nautical smell of a caravel (the wood and tar and the salt and hot metal in the sun). the air was warm close to the concrete steps, but it was clear and the stars were starting to come out, just barely outshining the glow of the city lights. i was still alone, but less lonely. i hope she was too.
dad gave me his backing to drop out of school, and do the rock n roll thing 100%. so i'm going to. megs was right (bless her). things are pretty good. now when i'm filling out paperwork, i can put "musician" as employment. i'll probably end up going back to school at some point. but hey, i'm halfway through, so i'll only be half as much in debt when i have to pay for it.
last night i was with a girl, sitting on the concrete steps of the apartment building, looking up, she laying against me, my face against her neck and my arms around her. she smelled of dried lemons and incense, and the nautical smell of a caravel (the wood and tar and the salt and hot metal in the sun). the air was warm close to the concrete steps, but it was clear and the stars were starting to come out, just barely outshining the glow of the city lights. i was still alone, but less lonely. i hope she was too.
Wednesday, September 24, 2003
The cuffs were not sharp but they had edges that bit into my skin, not tight but ratcheted and locked, solid and unbreakable.
The policeman took me by the arm and listened as Mrs. Mary and Mr. Kauser and the intern Stephanie discussed whether they could get to the squad car in the loading dock bay from the security office. Mr. Kauser was the head of security for the bookstore, and though he hadn't taken it easy on me, he hadn't been mean to me. As I was being led out, I said "I'd shake your hand, but circumstances don't permit," and thanked him with a shrug. He chuckled and shook his head, looking away and straightening some papers on his desk. Through the stockroom we went, Stephanie first – pierced lip and a nose ring , dressed in black, purple knit purse hanging at her hip – she'd been ready to get off work. Irony, I'd had a class with her long ago. Then the policeman – tall and broad in his charcoal uniform, he was getting old: grey showed in his hair and in his mustache, and behind his glasses, his eyes were steely and tired. His face was long, and seemed somewhat melted. His name was Bradley Davidson. I was led past the tall steel shelves overflowing with books and paper, with folders and pens, brown cardboard boxes everywhere, brown cardboard sheets on the floor. The Mexicans working at the loading dock looked at me with a look of mute disinterested curiosity on their faces, nodding appreciatively at what was happening. my bag, my jacket, and the stolen goods went into the trunk of the squad car. I was surprised at how dexterous Officer Davidson was, moving one handed. Stephanie took her seat up front, and Officer Davidson buckled my seatbelt, in the rear passenger seat. He had some trouble finding the buckle receptacle, because the backs of squad cars are rather small, so I held it for him with one cuffed hand, leaning back so he could snap the seatbelt into place. He thanked me, and I him.
"Well, let's see," he said to stephanie after taking his place behind the wheel, and pulling out of the loading bay. "We need to pick up Bagly at the turn around, and then to the JJC. are we we going to have to take him to the station? I think they have a 4427 athe the JJC."
Stephanie nodded, and said "Yeah, I think they should…"
We glided along in that silent short way that police cars move, between the buildings, through gaggles of students. All the while, sun poured in through the windows. The clouds of the morning had broken after my arrest.
The car pulled to a stop, and another officer opened up the rear drivers side door and got in next to me, crouching to get in, and putting his campaign hat in the rear shelf.
"Hi Brad! how's it going?" he said through the plexiglass divider (halfway open).
"Ah, I'm doing fine," Officer Davidson replied.
"Hello, Prisoner," this other policeman said to me. "How's the Prisoner today?"
"Oh," I said with a rueful smile, "I'm doing ok. and you?"
"Doing well."
His name tag, silver on his left breast pocket, said M. Bagly. He was short and stocky, in the same charcoal grey uniform, with brown hair and a neat brown mustache. He had an intelligent look about him, he looked like the sort of person who would wear a sweater and read Hemingway with a cat.
Officer Davidson spoke up.
"Hey Mike, do you know if JJC has the 4427's, or do we need to go down to the station?"
"Yeh, yeah, they have them." Officer Bagly spoke rapidly, but clearly. "Stephanie, you can just go up front, and sign the affadavit. We'll just take the prisoner around back."
We were now in a residential area, pretty close to downtown…a brick building, looking like a hospital: brown brick with cream stone trim, big mirrored windows, and a full parking lot. The car stopped up front, and let Stephanie out. It was the last time I saw her.
Officer Bagly leaned forward.
"Have you been here since they remodeled, Brad?"
"Nah…what's it like?"
"You'll see…just pull around here."
We pulled up to a large steel door, set into the basement level wall, a large steel door painted blue, and hinged. The words "POLICE ENTRANCE" were stenciled across the door. There was a call box.
"OK," said Officer Bagly, "Just push the button, like over at the SSC."
"Hello – this is Davidson bringing the 550 from the University bookstore."
A sonorous female negro voice came back, snappy and happy: "Why, hello Brad! just come on in!"
The door slowly collapsed inward, and we pulled forward.
Officer Davidson laughed, and said "This is pretty cool." Officer Bagly just beamed.
coming next: the stay at juvie.
as you can gather, i was arrested today. for shoplifting a text book. i didn't want to ask my parents for money, even though i know they could give it to me. they're good people, but i don't want to take from them, any more.
when i got out they wanted to know why. i told them because text books were over priced, because i didn't want to ask them for money, and i didn't want to go to school in the first place.
"don't you want to get a college degree?" they say. "don't you know what you want in your future?"
so i nod and say yes for their benefit. but i have a hard enough time justifying staying alive.
i don't know i don't know.
The policeman took me by the arm and listened as Mrs. Mary and Mr. Kauser and the intern Stephanie discussed whether they could get to the squad car in the loading dock bay from the security office. Mr. Kauser was the head of security for the bookstore, and though he hadn't taken it easy on me, he hadn't been mean to me. As I was being led out, I said "I'd shake your hand, but circumstances don't permit," and thanked him with a shrug. He chuckled and shook his head, looking away and straightening some papers on his desk. Through the stockroom we went, Stephanie first – pierced lip and a nose ring , dressed in black, purple knit purse hanging at her hip – she'd been ready to get off work. Irony, I'd had a class with her long ago. Then the policeman – tall and broad in his charcoal uniform, he was getting old: grey showed in his hair and in his mustache, and behind his glasses, his eyes were steely and tired. His face was long, and seemed somewhat melted. His name was Bradley Davidson. I was led past the tall steel shelves overflowing with books and paper, with folders and pens, brown cardboard boxes everywhere, brown cardboard sheets on the floor. The Mexicans working at the loading dock looked at me with a look of mute disinterested curiosity on their faces, nodding appreciatively at what was happening. my bag, my jacket, and the stolen goods went into the trunk of the squad car. I was surprised at how dexterous Officer Davidson was, moving one handed. Stephanie took her seat up front, and Officer Davidson buckled my seatbelt, in the rear passenger seat. He had some trouble finding the buckle receptacle, because the backs of squad cars are rather small, so I held it for him with one cuffed hand, leaning back so he could snap the seatbelt into place. He thanked me, and I him.
"Well, let's see," he said to stephanie after taking his place behind the wheel, and pulling out of the loading bay. "We need to pick up Bagly at the turn around, and then to the JJC. are we we going to have to take him to the station? I think they have a 4427 athe the JJC."
Stephanie nodded, and said "Yeah, I think they should…"
We glided along in that silent short way that police cars move, between the buildings, through gaggles of students. All the while, sun poured in through the windows. The clouds of the morning had broken after my arrest.
The car pulled to a stop, and another officer opened up the rear drivers side door and got in next to me, crouching to get in, and putting his campaign hat in the rear shelf.
"Hi Brad! how's it going?" he said through the plexiglass divider (halfway open).
"Ah, I'm doing fine," Officer Davidson replied.
"Hello, Prisoner," this other policeman said to me. "How's the Prisoner today?"
"Oh," I said with a rueful smile, "I'm doing ok. and you?"
"Doing well."
His name tag, silver on his left breast pocket, said M. Bagly. He was short and stocky, in the same charcoal grey uniform, with brown hair and a neat brown mustache. He had an intelligent look about him, he looked like the sort of person who would wear a sweater and read Hemingway with a cat.
Officer Davidson spoke up.
"Hey Mike, do you know if JJC has the 4427's, or do we need to go down to the station?"
"Yeh, yeah, they have them." Officer Bagly spoke rapidly, but clearly. "Stephanie, you can just go up front, and sign the affadavit. We'll just take the prisoner around back."
We were now in a residential area, pretty close to downtown…a brick building, looking like a hospital: brown brick with cream stone trim, big mirrored windows, and a full parking lot. The car stopped up front, and let Stephanie out. It was the last time I saw her.
Officer Bagly leaned forward.
"Have you been here since they remodeled, Brad?"
"Nah…what's it like?"
"You'll see…just pull around here."
We pulled up to a large steel door, set into the basement level wall, a large steel door painted blue, and hinged. The words "POLICE ENTRANCE" were stenciled across the door. There was a call box.
"OK," said Officer Bagly, "Just push the button, like over at the SSC."
"Hello – this is Davidson bringing the 550 from the University bookstore."
A sonorous female negro voice came back, snappy and happy: "Why, hello Brad! just come on in!"
The door slowly collapsed inward, and we pulled forward.
Officer Davidson laughed, and said "This is pretty cool." Officer Bagly just beamed.
coming next: the stay at juvie.
as you can gather, i was arrested today. for shoplifting a text book. i didn't want to ask my parents for money, even though i know they could give it to me. they're good people, but i don't want to take from them, any more.
when i got out they wanted to know why. i told them because text books were over priced, because i didn't want to ask them for money, and i didn't want to go to school in the first place.
"don't you want to get a college degree?" they say. "don't you know what you want in your future?"
so i nod and say yes for their benefit. but i have a hard enough time justifying staying alive.
i don't know i don't know.
Sunday, September 21, 2003
Now Playing: Metallica - the Unforgiven
the weekend was momentous.
i "broke up" with dave, i suppose. we're still friends and all, and we didn't have a fight or anything, it's just that we're no longer best friends. it's kind of sad, he's given up on trying to be anything more than a good old boy from ohio, and he's become just another guy. he's joining the air force when he graduates (in the spring). he's been really nice about the band thing, though, he's gonna keep drumming for us until we find another drummer.
the show last night sucked, only some of dave's stupid middleclass moron friends showed up. they kept saying "Jack the Ripper." so we turned up our amps as loud as we could, and made as much grating, high pitched noise as possible. i fucking hate them. taylor's girlfriend called during the sound check to tell him that she was leaving him. rather abrupt. not pleasant.
taylor and i went out after the show, i was so pissed off. i took the .38 out with me, but i couldn't find any shells. i wanted to blow something away. i think it was a good thing i didn't find any bullets. i don't think i would have hurt anyone, though.
after a while we ended up at the festival at the park. taylor wanted something to drink, but we spotted two lovely young ladies. a dilemma i posed to mr. meizlish (taylor's last name): "girls or soda?" he hummed and hawed, and said "girls." turned out to be a wise choice. very nice, very interesting, very attractive girls: linda and allie. we walked together for a bit, and decided to play scrabble the next day. course, after church (taylor, out of the goodness of his jewish heart, was subbing for a friend in the Lutheran(!) church's band), we ended up spending the whole day with the girls. we played scrabble in the cemetary, went to the buzz, saw a portion of a kickass movie named Spun, and engaging in rather shocking behavior. this is the stuff of blackmail, dear readers.
and at the bottom of THIS page, you can see two of our most recent fliers (visible all over clifton and ludlow). collect 'em all kids.
the weekend was momentous.
i "broke up" with dave, i suppose. we're still friends and all, and we didn't have a fight or anything, it's just that we're no longer best friends. it's kind of sad, he's given up on trying to be anything more than a good old boy from ohio, and he's become just another guy. he's joining the air force when he graduates (in the spring). he's been really nice about the band thing, though, he's gonna keep drumming for us until we find another drummer.
the show last night sucked, only some of dave's stupid middleclass moron friends showed up. they kept saying "Jack the Ripper." so we turned up our amps as loud as we could, and made as much grating, high pitched noise as possible. i fucking hate them. taylor's girlfriend called during the sound check to tell him that she was leaving him. rather abrupt. not pleasant.
taylor and i went out after the show, i was so pissed off. i took the .38 out with me, but i couldn't find any shells. i wanted to blow something away. i think it was a good thing i didn't find any bullets. i don't think i would have hurt anyone, though.
after a while we ended up at the festival at the park. taylor wanted something to drink, but we spotted two lovely young ladies. a dilemma i posed to mr. meizlish (taylor's last name): "girls or soda?" he hummed and hawed, and said "girls." turned out to be a wise choice. very nice, very interesting, very attractive girls: linda and allie. we walked together for a bit, and decided to play scrabble the next day. course, after church (taylor, out of the goodness of his jewish heart, was subbing for a friend in the Lutheran(!) church's band), we ended up spending the whole day with the girls. we played scrabble in the cemetary, went to the buzz, saw a portion of a kickass movie named Spun, and engaging in rather shocking behavior. this is the stuff of blackmail, dear readers.
and at the bottom of THIS page, you can see two of our most recent fliers (visible all over clifton and ludlow). collect 'em all kids.
Monday, September 15, 2003
tuesday
when the sun shines
and every little person
decides to keep a hold of their mind
i'm murky and still behind mirrored lenses
and white clapboard fences
the end.
-----
when i was a little boy, i'd sit on the swing in the back yard with my grandmother, and eat cheesecake and drink iced tea. the dog would sit on the picnic table, and look at me, ears up and alert and wanting but not having. the breeze would blow, and the sun would brown the grass, but we were fine, because we were in the shade, swinging back and forth, listening to the wind rasp the leaves, and rush the waves of grass in the fields.
the dog still wants but does not get. my grandmother lost her mind, she's wasted away and will die soon. and as for me, i grew up and did things that i would never imagine doing as a boy.
-----
i'm losing my sense of humour. and i have lost courage to say the things that kill. i'm telling you i'm sorry. i wish i'd known. i'm telling you, you that made me, i miss you. i think if i had you i would never want us to wake up again, but stay unconcious and quiet, breathing silently and together warm.
-----
confessions come like orgasms, and i watch, the way she blushes and leans forward to share, glowing that she can tell this secret that she's carried tied up inside, twisting it like a rubber band inside, and i bet she even feels a warm mush in her stomach spreading through her. and i keep a face that is careful and i'm drinking my coffee and the light is orange orange orange she had a breakdown later in the car, crying, and i had my arm around her.
she'd gloat if she saw me now. godless pagan that i always was and now she doesn't have love to hold her feelings back.
when the sun shines
and every little person
decides to keep a hold of their mind
i'm murky and still behind mirrored lenses
and white clapboard fences
the end.
-----
when i was a little boy, i'd sit on the swing in the back yard with my grandmother, and eat cheesecake and drink iced tea. the dog would sit on the picnic table, and look at me, ears up and alert and wanting but not having. the breeze would blow, and the sun would brown the grass, but we were fine, because we were in the shade, swinging back and forth, listening to the wind rasp the leaves, and rush the waves of grass in the fields.
the dog still wants but does not get. my grandmother lost her mind, she's wasted away and will die soon. and as for me, i grew up and did things that i would never imagine doing as a boy.
-----
i'm losing my sense of humour. and i have lost courage to say the things that kill. i'm telling you i'm sorry. i wish i'd known. i'm telling you, you that made me, i miss you. i think if i had you i would never want us to wake up again, but stay unconcious and quiet, breathing silently and together warm.
-----
confessions come like orgasms, and i watch, the way she blushes and leans forward to share, glowing that she can tell this secret that she's carried tied up inside, twisting it like a rubber band inside, and i bet she even feels a warm mush in her stomach spreading through her. and i keep a face that is careful and i'm drinking my coffee and the light is orange orange orange she had a breakdown later in the car, crying, and i had my arm around her.
she'd gloat if she saw me now. godless pagan that i always was and now she doesn't have love to hold her feelings back.
Sunday, September 14, 2003
consider this:
bullets, no socks.
-----
d-r-u-g-s spells "saturday."
but not in reality, because really, nothing happened.
nicotine affects me still, and alcohol, i love you. it's my corner to curl up in and see to the sound and fury, to be alone (but i never am), and to laugh a laugh of a bulletproof cupid. simplicity. and i'm all about waking up heavy. girls and i go together like razors and warm water. perfect recipe for slitting yr wrists.
-----
this weekend was a busy one, i didn't learn much, except that taylor claims that i don't know how to smoke a joint. ker-razy, buddy. and i drove again...for the first time in three years. first in the cemetary, where i got back into the hang of it. and then into the deserted sam's parking lot - with cones and taylor - for the maneuverability test. which i got after my fourth try.
-----
go
little rekkid
go
-----
once upon a time
she said
that it was like something
that she would have written
-----
bullets, no socks.
-----
d-r-u-g-s spells "saturday."
but not in reality, because really, nothing happened.
nicotine affects me still, and alcohol, i love you. it's my corner to curl up in and see to the sound and fury, to be alone (but i never am), and to laugh a laugh of a bulletproof cupid. simplicity. and i'm all about waking up heavy. girls and i go together like razors and warm water. perfect recipe for slitting yr wrists.
-----
this weekend was a busy one, i didn't learn much, except that taylor claims that i don't know how to smoke a joint. ker-razy, buddy. and i drove again...for the first time in three years. first in the cemetary, where i got back into the hang of it. and then into the deserted sam's parking lot - with cones and taylor - for the maneuverability test. which i got after my fourth try.
-----
go
little rekkid
go
-----
once upon a time
she said
that it was like something
that she would have written
-----
Monday, September 8, 2003
bless-ed kate. she's putting up with me while i'm drunk. drunk for artistry's sake, y'know - i'm only doing it so i can write. i sense the wry-ness-ness of you, dear anna T. aha, you say, and proceed to deliniate the reasons (modus operandi) of why (the explanations, dearest) my writings make no sense and do not appeal to your sense of written art, of written perfection, of written brilliance! they don't, in short, because they are the products of a chemically altered conciousness. the likes of which has not been seen around here since last month. and that was cause bekki was here and i was wracked of nerves.
love.
you better believe me when i say it, punk...
oh yeah. NY Dolls. Pills...
except in my case it's
al-kee-hall.
love.
you better believe me when i say it, punk...
oh yeah. NY Dolls. Pills...
except in my case it's
al-kee-hall.
Saturday, September 6, 2003
now i see why people get addicted. the show's over, everyone's gone home. and it's so fucking quiet. i'm tired, so tired, but i want to keep playing. i want a woman, and a cigarette, and some alcohol. on the top of a warehouse, like i was telling her.
summer's over.
bekki called, we talked. things are good.
some people showed up for the show tonight, not as many as last time, but everyone was into it, and no one was yelling "Freebird!" or "jack the ripper." played the new guitar today for the first time.
taylor had a migraine, and dave had allergies. but they played anyway. they rule. i'm lucky to have them as friends. they bear with me, through all the stupid stuff i do.
summer's over.
bekki called, we talked. things are good.
some people showed up for the show tonight, not as many as last time, but everyone was into it, and no one was yelling "Freebird!" or "jack the ripper." played the new guitar today for the first time.
taylor had a migraine, and dave had allergies. but they played anyway. they rule. i'm lucky to have them as friends. they bear with me, through all the stupid stuff i do.
Thursday, September 4, 2003
i've been gearing up for the show saturday, and getting over the weekend. things were tense with dave and me, but we solved it monday. sunday night, taylor and i went down to the fireworks on the kentucky side of the river. we were to meet cathy (taylor's girl) and her friend (my "date"). turns out cathy brough eight of her friends, so i smoked and explored. did make an impression eventually, with a parasol and the theft of an orange traffic cone.
after the fireworks, cathy and her crew left rather abruptly, and it depressed taylor. we talked for a long time, and went to white castle. we hit a bar, and i got us a beer. we drank it in the alley behind a bar, smoking cigarettes, too. these two girls came down with this young kid, who was piss drunk. we made fun of him. the girls were fifteen. one was pilled up. we invited them to share our u-haul blanket. the drunk kid wandered off. this woman who we thought was a stripper kept walking by, and me, feeling in need of some disturbance, asked her if she was a stripper. turns out she owned the building, and kicked us out of her alley. the girls asked us to go with them, but then their boyfriends showed up, shooting us sharp glances and telling their girls that we were going to rape them. taylor and i then walked all the way back to fountain square, taking the bridge across the river. dad picked us up and gave us a ride to taylor's, where we played guitar, and then napped for two hours, before getting up to caddy.
yesterday i got my Ibanez Talman paid off, and took it home. it's damn sexy. pix are coming soon - it's black, with creme moto pickguard. also picked up a DS-1 from travis for $5. gonna mod it. today i played it for about seven hours. it's probably one of the nicest guitars i've ever played.
bekki called today. that made me happy. we talked for half an hour, and used up her phone card. so she didn't call her mum (On her birthday even!). but to bekki's cred, she talked to her mum the day before. i went for a walk, listening to the white stripes on the 'phones. sun was going down, it smelt of fat and fish - the smell of ivory soap (99 and 77/100 % pure), and it was cool, for the first time in months. autumn is so near. it's my favourite season, i s'pose.
i'm working on a new song. it involves pills, alleys, and crossing the street. heartpounding, dare i say? and the new story, it's about lots of things. i'm not sure how it ends. but on the good ones, i'm never sure.
i think that's it. but yes. party/show at my house. saturday. 8 pm. be there.
after the fireworks, cathy and her crew left rather abruptly, and it depressed taylor. we talked for a long time, and went to white castle. we hit a bar, and i got us a beer. we drank it in the alley behind a bar, smoking cigarettes, too. these two girls came down with this young kid, who was piss drunk. we made fun of him. the girls were fifteen. one was pilled up. we invited them to share our u-haul blanket. the drunk kid wandered off. this woman who we thought was a stripper kept walking by, and me, feeling in need of some disturbance, asked her if she was a stripper. turns out she owned the building, and kicked us out of her alley. the girls asked us to go with them, but then their boyfriends showed up, shooting us sharp glances and telling their girls that we were going to rape them. taylor and i then walked all the way back to fountain square, taking the bridge across the river. dad picked us up and gave us a ride to taylor's, where we played guitar, and then napped for two hours, before getting up to caddy.
yesterday i got my Ibanez Talman paid off, and took it home. it's damn sexy. pix are coming soon - it's black, with creme moto pickguard. also picked up a DS-1 from travis for $5. gonna mod it. today i played it for about seven hours. it's probably one of the nicest guitars i've ever played.
bekki called today. that made me happy. we talked for half an hour, and used up her phone card. so she didn't call her mum (On her birthday even!). but to bekki's cred, she talked to her mum the day before. i went for a walk, listening to the white stripes on the 'phones. sun was going down, it smelt of fat and fish - the smell of ivory soap (99 and 77/100 % pure), and it was cool, for the first time in months. autumn is so near. it's my favourite season, i s'pose.
i'm working on a new song. it involves pills, alleys, and crossing the street. heartpounding, dare i say? and the new story, it's about lots of things. i'm not sure how it ends. but on the good ones, i'm never sure.
i think that's it. but yes. party/show at my house. saturday. 8 pm. be there.
Thursday, August 28, 2003
everyone's going to hell, and i don't care anymore. fuck you all. dave's gonna join the marines and ania's gonna starve herself to death. allison's tuning herself out. and the rest are alcoholics and/or nervous wrecks. not to sound self-absorbed or selfish or whatever, but d'you stupid fuckers ever think what this is doing to me?
so when you're all forty and keeping the bottle of sherry behind the muffin mix in the cupboard or dead, i'm going to know what you were, and what you've lost.
maybe then i'll have words for what i feel now.
so when you're all forty and keeping the bottle of sherry behind the muffin mix in the cupboard or dead, i'm going to know what you were, and what you've lost.
maybe then i'll have words for what i feel now.
Sunday, August 24, 2003
yeah, well, friday night abou fifteen people showed up - all friends of dave's and taylor's, no one i knew showed up. we were planning on playing an hour (starting at six thirty), taking a two hour break, and then playing for another hour or so. however, we soundchecked at 5:30, and from there, we played till 10:30 WITHOUT BREAKS. we played every song we knew, and some we didn't. shortly after, a friends band (a nirvana cover band named "KC and the sunshine band") took the stage, and i sang for them, for another hour. it was truly great. i could do that every night. well, maybe not for five hours, but yeah.
i caddied yesterday and today, and i will caddy every day this week (if you don't see me online much, it's probably cause i'm sleeping, trying to make up for having to get up at 5 am). last night i watched the maltese falcon. i love that movie so much. it's possibly the best movie of all time. the directors cut of Bladerunner comes in a medium distant second, with "The Big Sleep" tying. i love film noir.
tonight taylor and i are going to go down to the buzz. i need the company, i've been spending too much time alone with a typewriter as the only person to talk to. i don't even play guitar that much anymore.
yeah. that's it for now.
"we'll always have paris."
i caddied yesterday and today, and i will caddy every day this week (if you don't see me online much, it's probably cause i'm sleeping, trying to make up for having to get up at 5 am). last night i watched the maltese falcon. i love that movie so much. it's possibly the best movie of all time. the directors cut of Bladerunner comes in a medium distant second, with "The Big Sleep" tying. i love film noir.
tonight taylor and i are going to go down to the buzz. i need the company, i've been spending too much time alone with a typewriter as the only person to talk to. i don't even play guitar that much anymore.
yeah. that's it for now.
"we'll always have paris."
Thursday, August 21, 2003
the people i know, the stories i could tell...of dickie and taylor and bekkah, of anna, of my grandad's best friend who walked all the way from the boot of italy to paris in 1944, carrying a 100 mm cannon. of me, and paris, the man with the rotten leg, the man with the rotten mind, the cheat, the lush, the girls who cut and don't know what else to do, the girls who drink and drive and get beaten by their boyfriends, and the boys who drive cars shiny japanese ones, and get girls pregnant in the back seats, boys who are 19 and have a daughter and no future, and men who have lived and let die, who have seen the himalayas, who have spent their time sleeping in the communal mens hut of the natives of papua new guinea, like my grandad, who was a sailor and had four wives, and sang "the streets of laredo" and "the ballad of frankie and johnny" and "st. james infirmary," who wrote books on a smith corona, like me. my gramma who lost her mind, my dad, who had to be a man at fifteen cause his dad died, my dad who built a house, who made something of himself, and my mom, who grew up in the jungles of mexico, my sister who is going to be famous, a dancer, and me, the historian, writing this all down...my cousin who's seventy ran rum from chicago to kentucky in a black chrysler with his best bud and his best bud's girlfriend in 1941...and joe, old joe quiros who was on a B-52 and was told to bomb russia and end the world, joe quiros, a mexican kid whos dad couldn't read (like my gramma). the people i know, the stories i could tell...
Tuesday, August 19, 2003
Sunday, August 17, 2003
yeah, so i'm sure you want to know what's going on in my life other than artistic output.
well, as you can see, it's 5:17 in the morning, and i just got up. usually if i'm awake at this time it means that i was recording, or writing, or something and went the whole night through, but see, reality is starting to sink into my life at the usual age of 18. i got a job now (maybe i told you, maybe i didn't), but dave got me a job caddying saturdays and sundays (yes, i caddied yesterday). the money's not bad (i made $25 yesterday, and will do so hopefully today), and i'm done around noon, leaving the rest of the day free...(to recuperate). though, today, i think i'm gonna go see allison after work. i'm doing it to pay off my guitar, the ibanez. it'll be worth it. just four or five weeks.
radiohead is playing (big fish eat the little ones), and it's very dark for morning. i woke up on my own before the alarm went off, which is always strange, so i'm here writing - then i'll eat, and dave will roar up, and we'll zoom through the dark streets and mist and end up at the Maketewah Country Club. where mister Heeley (the caddymaster) will meet us in the caddyshack, and he will be impressed with me (i earned a quite good mark and tip on my review card) as he was unsure about me - no prior experience, not much golf knowledge. it'll be interesting....
well, i'm off...
well, as you can see, it's 5:17 in the morning, and i just got up. usually if i'm awake at this time it means that i was recording, or writing, or something and went the whole night through, but see, reality is starting to sink into my life at the usual age of 18. i got a job now (maybe i told you, maybe i didn't), but dave got me a job caddying saturdays and sundays (yes, i caddied yesterday). the money's not bad (i made $25 yesterday, and will do so hopefully today), and i'm done around noon, leaving the rest of the day free...(to recuperate). though, today, i think i'm gonna go see allison after work. i'm doing it to pay off my guitar, the ibanez. it'll be worth it. just four or five weeks.
radiohead is playing (big fish eat the little ones), and it's very dark for morning. i woke up on my own before the alarm went off, which is always strange, so i'm here writing - then i'll eat, and dave will roar up, and we'll zoom through the dark streets and mist and end up at the Maketewah Country Club. where mister Heeley (the caddymaster) will meet us in the caddyshack, and he will be impressed with me (i earned a quite good mark and tip on my review card) as he was unsure about me - no prior experience, not much golf knowledge. it'll be interesting....
well, i'm off...
Friday, August 15, 2003
this is my present for kate...
A Note To Myself (and others)
The night! The night, the night I have spent. Awake and absorbing, the wash of radio-music playing over me, showered and slim, shadow on my chin. My cutoffs hang on my hips, the belt keeps them barely up. I made them last summer, out of a pair of jeans, jeans that were my father's, jeans that were his when he was seventeen and slim, a shadow only on his chin, a shadow then - but he's got a beard now, and it's grey. He's already outlived his own father, but yet he's in the midst of his prime.
And me, I am the young writer, goaded on be Kerouac and women and the blue light that is a particular of the night, the mist in the mornings of summer, the mist that turns the sky to peached hues of gold - gold, i tell you, believe me for I am the young writer, and all I see, I see for the first - the only - the perfect time! There is no touch like the first touch of a woman's lips to your cheek, there is no sight like the glimpse of your lover lolling naked in the shadowed light of a clouded January day. There is no feel, none at all, whatsoever, nothing can compare to the night, and the road, and the car, headlights pinioning the corners of treees and rusted cyclone fence, the wind, the moon silvered blue and beautiful, everything moving, motion, vibrant and alive, damn it, alive, d'you hear? Young for I am the first to be and the first to see, and the first to describe.
The world is but mine to write! To see, to be, the exuberance that you, my middle age-ed friend, and me, my future self, p'raps have lost, and p'raps, need to be reminded of!
The egg, the skillet, the sizzle and the rounded peaked green smell of olive oil sizzling, the hiss of the pancaKe batter on the skillet (iron and black, older than the hands that hold it gingerly, hot as it is). The insinuated rumble, the kitchen kitten grumble-roar of the coffee pot boiling. Barefoot! Barefoot! Barechested, I am a young man, practicioner of the ancient and arcane art of cookery, and soon, soon indeed, I will have the revelent revelatory roll of the mash of pancake and the sticky tar of molasses, the cleansing silk of the milk, cold from the fridge, cold and condensing the air on the glass. And then, and then! The comforting bitter sharp comfortable swirl of coffee (black, no sugar) from my blue mug (the mug my sister gave me when she was four and I, I was eight). My shirt, tight and old, my hat black and from a love I knew not of, and the door: open! Open to the morning, and down the steps I go, the caffeine moving into my system, the tightening of my stomach, the clenching of the veins in my head (I can feel them tense), the roll of coffee in my mouth, the swallow, the warmth spreading like a kiss on the back of my neck, the rool of pavement beneath my feet, the sun is smooth in it's projection, no beatings, not yet, but the insinuations of a hot day are ahead...
The rumble and roar of trucks and buses busy in the early hours on the thoroughfare a block away, the birds singing, and the hare, nervous behind the bush, hiding from me.
Remember this, old man, that you were young once, and once, you saw the morning with young eyes, and once, you saw everything for the first time...
A Note To Myself (and others)
The night! The night, the night I have spent. Awake and absorbing, the wash of radio-music playing over me, showered and slim, shadow on my chin. My cutoffs hang on my hips, the belt keeps them barely up. I made them last summer, out of a pair of jeans, jeans that were my father's, jeans that were his when he was seventeen and slim, a shadow only on his chin, a shadow then - but he's got a beard now, and it's grey. He's already outlived his own father, but yet he's in the midst of his prime.
And me, I am the young writer, goaded on be Kerouac and women and the blue light that is a particular of the night, the mist in the mornings of summer, the mist that turns the sky to peached hues of gold - gold, i tell you, believe me for I am the young writer, and all I see, I see for the first - the only - the perfect time! There is no touch like the first touch of a woman's lips to your cheek, there is no sight like the glimpse of your lover lolling naked in the shadowed light of a clouded January day. There is no feel, none at all, whatsoever, nothing can compare to the night, and the road, and the car, headlights pinioning the corners of treees and rusted cyclone fence, the wind, the moon silvered blue and beautiful, everything moving, motion, vibrant and alive, damn it, alive, d'you hear? Young for I am the first to be and the first to see, and the first to describe.
The world is but mine to write! To see, to be, the exuberance that you, my middle age-ed friend, and me, my future self, p'raps have lost, and p'raps, need to be reminded of!
The egg, the skillet, the sizzle and the rounded peaked green smell of olive oil sizzling, the hiss of the pancaKe batter on the skillet (iron and black, older than the hands that hold it gingerly, hot as it is). The insinuated rumble, the kitchen kitten grumble-roar of the coffee pot boiling. Barefoot! Barefoot! Barechested, I am a young man, practicioner of the ancient and arcane art of cookery, and soon, soon indeed, I will have the revelent revelatory roll of the mash of pancake and the sticky tar of molasses, the cleansing silk of the milk, cold from the fridge, cold and condensing the air on the glass. And then, and then! The comforting bitter sharp comfortable swirl of coffee (black, no sugar) from my blue mug (the mug my sister gave me when she was four and I, I was eight). My shirt, tight and old, my hat black and from a love I knew not of, and the door: open! Open to the morning, and down the steps I go, the caffeine moving into my system, the tightening of my stomach, the clenching of the veins in my head (I can feel them tense), the roll of coffee in my mouth, the swallow, the warmth spreading like a kiss on the back of my neck, the rool of pavement beneath my feet, the sun is smooth in it's projection, no beatings, not yet, but the insinuations of a hot day are ahead...
The rumble and roar of trucks and buses busy in the early hours on the thoroughfare a block away, the birds singing, and the hare, nervous behind the bush, hiding from me.
Remember this, old man, that you were young once, and once, you saw the morning with young eyes, and once, you saw everything for the first time...
Thursday, August 14, 2003
this is one half of a story i'm doing called:
M LEE + ANN D
Once upon a time in a country not too far from here (but colder in the winter) there lived a girl. She was older and wiser than the writer of this story, and more beautiful by far. P'raps she is wiser and more beautiful than you, p'raps....
She came to me with a cry of "alone and in love at last!," with that cry, dear children, and the stringing strangle-straggle of the three young poets, nay, artists, that were her retinue. With a hue and smile she came to me, this sweet M Lee. A kiss to me she gave, once upon a time, and with her once I rested my head, with me she'd toy endlessly, kiss and breath and the glimpse of (velvet in the rain) her tongue in flashes. For the smell of comfort to her did I cling, blind and mewing, nibbling her fingers with milk teeth that were mine.
The artists, the writer, the singer, and the lush, the artists they gathered around us, but to them and their love of loss, we were oblivious. Alcohol for blood had I, she the match and means to set me alight.
The street beneath our feet was no nearer than the night and it's lights, fissioning and fusing like young bloods are apt to do. To the wall, through the light and the shadow, I ran. The rest, the artists, lost in philosopher's talk. To the wall, warm of a sun since set, to me seemed more dear than my mother's touch. To me I held it close, and breathed into it's ear "to me do cleave, the night will end, the sun will come to warm your thighs once more...but now the night is here, in blues and blacks, for your heat, I thank you dear, and adieu, forever adieu..."
Away from the wall I ran, the artists had passed me by, M Lee was no longer by my side. Ground beneath my tread, tread over ground, swift and fleet, to the light and M Lee beneath. In the car, the front seat, close to me was she. The night, the city, the world was ours, youths of the blue light. To home were we headed, to home! A warm place to lie, a place to close the eyes, a place to listen to a lover's sigh...
M LEE + ANN D
Once upon a time in a country not too far from here (but colder in the winter) there lived a girl. She was older and wiser than the writer of this story, and more beautiful by far. P'raps she is wiser and more beautiful than you, p'raps....
She came to me with a cry of "alone and in love at last!," with that cry, dear children, and the stringing strangle-straggle of the three young poets, nay, artists, that were her retinue. With a hue and smile she came to me, this sweet M Lee. A kiss to me she gave, once upon a time, and with her once I rested my head, with me she'd toy endlessly, kiss and breath and the glimpse of (velvet in the rain) her tongue in flashes. For the smell of comfort to her did I cling, blind and mewing, nibbling her fingers with milk teeth that were mine.
The artists, the writer, the singer, and the lush, the artists they gathered around us, but to them and their love of loss, we were oblivious. Alcohol for blood had I, she the match and means to set me alight.
The street beneath our feet was no nearer than the night and it's lights, fissioning and fusing like young bloods are apt to do. To the wall, through the light and the shadow, I ran. The rest, the artists, lost in philosopher's talk. To the wall, warm of a sun since set, to me seemed more dear than my mother's touch. To me I held it close, and breathed into it's ear "to me do cleave, the night will end, the sun will come to warm your thighs once more...but now the night is here, in blues and blacks, for your heat, I thank you dear, and adieu, forever adieu..."
Away from the wall I ran, the artists had passed me by, M Lee was no longer by my side. Ground beneath my tread, tread over ground, swift and fleet, to the light and M Lee beneath. In the car, the front seat, close to me was she. The night, the city, the world was ours, youths of the blue light. To home were we headed, to home! A warm place to lie, a place to close the eyes, a place to listen to a lover's sigh...
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
wish i could write like katie.
i'd tell stories of the apocalypse in a new york diner (owned by the lebanese), and watching the glow of green light (the green light of new york street lights, the lights near madison square garden) fade away and an orange wash turn everything glowing bright and somehow softer (even the black asphalt would be comfortable and warm). i'd be smoking a cig, coffee on the table, with my notebook (blue pen, my sex-obsessed handwriting on graph paper) on the formica (light blue faded crosses inked on).
and then with the sun up and the shadows shortening, i'd drain the last from the coffee (cold, it's been sitting there for hours as i scribble), push my hat back, drop a bill on the table. "thanks," i'd say, as i went out the door, hunching up under my leather jacket, pockets filled with hands, notebook balanced between my wrist and hip. i'd push out the door, it would creak shut, and the lights would be on, green and clashing with the sun, mist rising from the grates, i'd push out the door, and walk down the street into a lo-fidelity morning.
i'd tell stories of the apocalypse in a new york diner (owned by the lebanese), and watching the glow of green light (the green light of new york street lights, the lights near madison square garden) fade away and an orange wash turn everything glowing bright and somehow softer (even the black asphalt would be comfortable and warm). i'd be smoking a cig, coffee on the table, with my notebook (blue pen, my sex-obsessed handwriting on graph paper) on the formica (light blue faded crosses inked on).
and then with the sun up and the shadows shortening, i'd drain the last from the coffee (cold, it's been sitting there for hours as i scribble), push my hat back, drop a bill on the table. "thanks," i'd say, as i went out the door, hunching up under my leather jacket, pockets filled with hands, notebook balanced between my wrist and hip. i'd push out the door, it would creak shut, and the lights would be on, green and clashing with the sun, mist rising from the grates, i'd push out the door, and walk down the street into a lo-fidelity morning.
Monday, August 4, 2003
saturday dad and i put the piano in my room, and bekki came. i showed her around st. bernard. we came down to the buzz around six: taylor, sean, and erin were there. saw adam briefly, too. taylor told bekki stories about her exceptional luck (good or bad). we left the buzz and took the long way to the university, to dad's office to call home. about nine. we watched moulin rouge with my sister when we got back. i had a six pack of weidemann, we went out back to the third garage, and drank it. mom came out around 2:30 walking the dog. disaster was averted. back to my room (drunk) where we listened to simon and garfunkel and lou reed, and we watched each other and wrote. what i wrote will soon be published. and then i lay down on the bed with bekki(my mom had changed my sheets to flower/butterfly print for bekki), she talked to me, and i told her something i should have told her a long time ago, that she's beautiful. i wrote some more. put on jeff buckley, and we had sex. drawn out and orange. we lay together for a long time after that, but i had to go downstairs to sleep. the parentals. four am, by then.
and then sunday, around noon, i was awake. i made pancakes for olivia and bekki and myself, with some batter i'd made friday. bekki and i went to the riverfront (caught the bus), pretended to be french tourists; holding hands and rambling. we saw a fish get caught, and i confused a panhandler greatly by saying to him "je ne pas parles l'anglais." went to a brueggers bagels, met a guy who's new there, he's from chicago. we returned and lolled about with olivia. callie came (after calls) to get bekki around 8 pm, brought lacey with her. bekki and callie were kind of tense, but it was ok. we went to Cody's cafe for the open mic, i was gonna do some songs. my guitar playing was good, but my singing sucked. however, the mic was broken and didn't get replaced till after i'd finished my set. so no one heard my bad singing. erin just randomly stopped by, which was good. she moved to toledo and i never see her anymore. i was complimented on my guitarwork. bekki left soon after, she was trying hard not to cry, and i was sad. she's so great. bekki's leaving for college in florida, see, so i'm not going to see her very much anymore. i hung around with erin and brad until 11 or so, and called home. i slept for 16 hours last night, and here i am. i'm not sure what's going on, i need to think.
and then sunday, around noon, i was awake. i made pancakes for olivia and bekki and myself, with some batter i'd made friday. bekki and i went to the riverfront (caught the bus), pretended to be french tourists; holding hands and rambling. we saw a fish get caught, and i confused a panhandler greatly by saying to him "je ne pas parles l'anglais." went to a brueggers bagels, met a guy who's new there, he's from chicago. we returned and lolled about with olivia. callie came (after calls) to get bekki around 8 pm, brought lacey with her. bekki and callie were kind of tense, but it was ok. we went to Cody's cafe for the open mic, i was gonna do some songs. my guitar playing was good, but my singing sucked. however, the mic was broken and didn't get replaced till after i'd finished my set. so no one heard my bad singing. erin just randomly stopped by, which was good. she moved to toledo and i never see her anymore. i was complimented on my guitarwork. bekki left soon after, she was trying hard not to cry, and i was sad. she's so great. bekki's leaving for college in florida, see, so i'm not going to see her very much anymore. i hung around with erin and brad until 11 or so, and called home. i slept for 16 hours last night, and here i am. i'm not sure what's going on, i need to think.
Friday, August 1, 2003
oh yeah. you should probably check out these sites:
http://www.cryptrecords.com/
http://spicnic.com/
http://www.noirfilm.com/
http://www.cryptrecords.com/
http://spicnic.com/
http://www.noirfilm.com/
the other day, i found a PA head in someones trash. i sold it at mikes music, got $50. i used the cash to buy a vintage stereo (a technics SA 80) and vintage Sony speakers at this stolen goods place on vine street. also scored a couple of rekkids from moles: Elvis Costello and the Attractions - Imperial Bedroom and the Cars - Panorama. both on vinyl.
tomorrow bekki is coming. she's going to spend the night, and maybe i will go back with her to lexington. if i do, it'll be till tuesday. good times.
tomorrow bekki is coming. she's going to spend the night, and maybe i will go back with her to lexington. if i do, it'll be till tuesday. good times.
Tuesday, July 29, 2003
things to do:
call dave
call dude from Chapt. 11
get some alcohol
work on story
my life as it is.
today was pretty much wasted - supposed to practice today, but i overslept. much to my chagrin. at least dave had cancelled. i called emily at two, supposedly so we could get together, but no contact. so i was aimless for a couple of hours until mom took me to UC, so i could burn some CDs, and then went to the buzz.
and then my day counted, because i wrote. eight more pages to Seven Virgins, i'm 3/4 of the way through the first draft. (it's the morning after, and Eliza M. has the gun. Snooker is smiling and smoking a cig).
taylor is to try out as singer for the band thursday. look forward to that. she and i are also attempting to get together an X-ray Spex tribute band. sean said he'd do sax if we couldn't find anyone else. all we need is a drummer.
bekki is coming this weekend. shall be fun. and maybe i'll get together with allison, too. she and i went thrifting yesterday, and i got a cordouroy jacket, and a smith corona typewriter in perfect condition (a total of $6). she got some purple shorts and a turntable. good times.
call dave
call dude from Chapt. 11
get some alcohol
work on story
my life as it is.
today was pretty much wasted - supposed to practice today, but i overslept. much to my chagrin. at least dave had cancelled. i called emily at two, supposedly so we could get together, but no contact. so i was aimless for a couple of hours until mom took me to UC, so i could burn some CDs, and then went to the buzz.
and then my day counted, because i wrote. eight more pages to Seven Virgins, i'm 3/4 of the way through the first draft. (it's the morning after, and Eliza M. has the gun. Snooker is smiling and smoking a cig).
taylor is to try out as singer for the band thursday. look forward to that. she and i are also attempting to get together an X-ray Spex tribute band. sean said he'd do sax if we couldn't find anyone else. all we need is a drummer.
bekki is coming this weekend. shall be fun. and maybe i'll get together with allison, too. she and i went thrifting yesterday, and i got a cordouroy jacket, and a smith corona typewriter in perfect condition (a total of $6). she got some purple shorts and a turntable. good times.
Saturday, July 26, 2003
yesterday was olivia's and mom's birthday (olivia:14, mom:46). olivia asked her best friend (and dave's girlfriend) emmy to spend the night, and around 11:30 as i was going to go to bed, olivia pokes her head in and says "raaaaaaaaaafe? we need someone to play hearts with us." so eight hours later we're walking through the park, we've not slept all night, and olivia does her first illegal thing of her veritable teenage-hood: i helped her trespass (emmy waited) onto the roof of the high-school's pump building to watch the sun rise over the Procter and Gamble factories...and then i'm cooking - "vou voudrais un omlette du fromage?" to emmy - olivia wants cofffe and me, i'm for egg on toast with some sausage and black (blackest) coffee. and the cinnamon rolls that we made. and then we sat on the side porch and talked. they mocked my voice, which gets very low in the mornings. good times, good times.
Wednesday, July 23, 2003
i'm dedicating my life to writing short stories and making lo-fi depression music. and that way i'll never have to leave my room. i can just stay in here, and slide the manuscripts under the door. once a week someone can come and leave some food and cigarettes and alcohol. and every so often, typewriter ribbons and guitar strings.
you know that feeling you get when you realize there's a pretty good chance you fucked up your life? i've been like that for a week. i can't pinpoint what. or maybe i can and i don't want to say. ever think of that, sweetheart?
something that feels like love: benadryl. blurs your vision, makes you woozy, and you feel like your floating.
the irony.
you know that feeling you get when you realize there's a pretty good chance you fucked up your life? i've been like that for a week. i can't pinpoint what. or maybe i can and i don't want to say. ever think of that, sweetheart?
something that feels like love: benadryl. blurs your vision, makes you woozy, and you feel like your floating.
the irony.
Tuesday, July 15, 2003
for you, dear. i know you're reading.
Gemini: (May 21—June 21)
Venus is descending in your sign this week, but you're better off not knowing exactly what that means.
From The Onion. if you don't know about it, www.theonion.com.
Gemini: (May 21—June 21)
Venus is descending in your sign this week, but you're better off not knowing exactly what that means.
From The Onion. if you don't know about it, www.theonion.com.
Sunday, July 13, 2003
today was good. taylor came over, and we we recorded some stuff. it was a total loss, but it was good experience.
after taylor went home i recorded Emily again. it came out nicely - i need to re-record the vocals though. they got fuzzy cause i was singing so loud. i can sing in key now, at least. i may sound like billy corgan, but at least i'm in fuckin' key.
gearing up for the party wednesday. cause tuesday is band practice, and i will have no free time. allison is coming over to play violin for us. it'll be fun.
the party is at bekki's, and the theme is euro-trash. i'm going dolled up in my tightest jeans, a turtleneck, and ray bans. a ponytail, of course. ania is dressing up as well, quite shocking, i hear. i'm looking forward to it. she can do the ubersexy shimmy on the dance floor as i spin eurosnob musica. the perfect picture of post-yuppy bliss, that.
rock my socks. all. the. way. off.
after taylor went home i recorded Emily again. it came out nicely - i need to re-record the vocals though. they got fuzzy cause i was singing so loud. i can sing in key now, at least. i may sound like billy corgan, but at least i'm in fuckin' key.
gearing up for the party wednesday. cause tuesday is band practice, and i will have no free time. allison is coming over to play violin for us. it'll be fun.
the party is at bekki's, and the theme is euro-trash. i'm going dolled up in my tightest jeans, a turtleneck, and ray bans. a ponytail, of course. ania is dressing up as well, quite shocking, i hear. i'm looking forward to it. she can do the ubersexy shimmy on the dance floor as i spin eurosnob musica. the perfect picture of post-yuppy bliss, that.
rock my socks. all. the. way. off.
Saturday, July 12, 2003
what the fuck am i doing wrong? ania fucking ruins my day.
aaa.
today i got a mic for the four track, set it up, etc.
went out with allison and tim and daniel. we met up with todd, and he drove us down to french Park, where we went to the train tracks and got drunk in an abandoned caboose (except for todd cause he was driving). it wasn't bad. i wasn't intending to get drunk, but i didn't wait long enough between shots.
a train went by as i was standing by the tracks with tim and allison, and it was amazing, seeing it flash by at sixty miles an hour four feet away.
there was a backhoe on a flatbed car next to the caboose, and i took an abandoned hammer and knocked out the front windshield and then i went inside and kicked out all the other windows. it felt good being active. i cut my left hand but didn't feel it until the alcohol wore off.
we went back to tim's and hung out after that. the alcohol wore off eventually.
it was fun, even though i didn't intend on getting drunk and don't normally like it. i guess it's just the fact that all the other times it's been late and night and i've been depressed.
i need a cigarette.
aaa.
today i got a mic for the four track, set it up, etc.
went out with allison and tim and daniel. we met up with todd, and he drove us down to french Park, where we went to the train tracks and got drunk in an abandoned caboose (except for todd cause he was driving). it wasn't bad. i wasn't intending to get drunk, but i didn't wait long enough between shots.
a train went by as i was standing by the tracks with tim and allison, and it was amazing, seeing it flash by at sixty miles an hour four feet away.
there was a backhoe on a flatbed car next to the caboose, and i took an abandoned hammer and knocked out the front windshield and then i went inside and kicked out all the other windows. it felt good being active. i cut my left hand but didn't feel it until the alcohol wore off.
we went back to tim's and hung out after that. the alcohol wore off eventually.
it was fun, even though i didn't intend on getting drunk and don't normally like it. i guess it's just the fact that all the other times it's been late and night and i've been depressed.
i need a cigarette.
Thursday, July 10, 2003
so, dave's disappeared...we (being me and taylor) couldn't find him anywhere. went to his house, and no one was there, jackie (the dog) wasn't in the kennel (she's supposed to be put up when the house is empty), the beds were unmade, the door was unlocked. hope nothing happened to that.
taylor and i jammed without dave (he's never late, too)...we co-wrote a new song that really rocks. the more time i hang out with taylor, the more i like him. he's a good kid.
i went to the buzz an, allison, emily, liz, and tim were there. emily was toying with me: physical stuff. i played with it, kept telling myself i wasn't serious. but i still felt guilty afterwards. "my girlfriend wouldn't approve," i said to her, head on her stomach. she wouldn't, i don't think. i miss ania.
friday night, i'm supposed to go to a show with katie b. should be fun. saturday night, i'm going drinking with allison and tim, which means i'll have a couple of shots, and they'll get tanked and do the bad thing while i wander around semi-depressed. hah, but it'll be fun.
that's it for now.
taylor and i jammed without dave (he's never late, too)...we co-wrote a new song that really rocks. the more time i hang out with taylor, the more i like him. he's a good kid.
i went to the buzz an, allison, emily, liz, and tim were there. emily was toying with me: physical stuff. i played with it, kept telling myself i wasn't serious. but i still felt guilty afterwards. "my girlfriend wouldn't approve," i said to her, head on her stomach. she wouldn't, i don't think. i miss ania.
friday night, i'm supposed to go to a show with katie b. should be fun. saturday night, i'm going drinking with allison and tim, which means i'll have a couple of shots, and they'll get tanked and do the bad thing while i wander around semi-depressed. hah, but it'll be fun.
that's it for now.
Wednesday, July 9, 2003
it rained and rained and rained today.
it's dark, has been all day.
gramma, she's kind of addled, and she took a nap around four, and when she woke up, she kept asking us if it was 7:30 in the morning, or at night. she asked mom first, but she doesn't trust mom, so she asked her again, and then she asked me.
i don't think i looked up from my cards, just sort of flicked my eyes up and across to mom, and then i turned my head but kept my eyes on my hand, and said, "at night, gramma."
"oh," she said, and hugged herself tighter. she's so small, she's wasting away. she's four foot ten, even olivia is taller than her now. olivia and dad had gone to the movies, and mom and i were playing cards on a rainy day.
mom and i kept playing rummy, there in the dining room. gramma just sat there in the doorway to the kitchen, and then she shuffled off in her lime green (worn thin) gown and put some frozen waffles in the toaster.
i keep telling everyone i'm building the next ark, but no one believes me.
it's dark, has been all day.
gramma, she's kind of addled, and she took a nap around four, and when she woke up, she kept asking us if it was 7:30 in the morning, or at night. she asked mom first, but she doesn't trust mom, so she asked her again, and then she asked me.
i don't think i looked up from my cards, just sort of flicked my eyes up and across to mom, and then i turned my head but kept my eyes on my hand, and said, "at night, gramma."
"oh," she said, and hugged herself tighter. she's so small, she's wasting away. she's four foot ten, even olivia is taller than her now. olivia and dad had gone to the movies, and mom and i were playing cards on a rainy day.
mom and i kept playing rummy, there in the dining room. gramma just sat there in the doorway to the kitchen, and then she shuffled off in her lime green (worn thin) gown and put some frozen waffles in the toaster.
i keep telling everyone i'm building the next ark, but no one believes me.
Monday, July 7, 2003
things are great.
i had a wonderful day, rock n roll and then chess and then i talked to the woman i love.
yeah, i know i'm a sap...
the band (the one i'm in with dave) might possibly have a permanent bassist. his names taylor, he seems like a good kid. he's a good bassist and guitarist, and he's got a kickass 'fro... i mean, do we even have a choice? he's in the band. i'm happy.
the only thing that could have made it better would be if i had her to come home to.
my song, not just my favorite or whatever, but my song is the clash - the card cheat.
i had a wonderful day, rock n roll and then chess and then i talked to the woman i love.
yeah, i know i'm a sap...
the band (the one i'm in with dave) might possibly have a permanent bassist. his names taylor, he seems like a good kid. he's a good bassist and guitarist, and he's got a kickass 'fro... i mean, do we even have a choice? he's in the band. i'm happy.
the only thing that could have made it better would be if i had her to come home to.
my song, not just my favorite or whatever, but my song is the clash - the card cheat.
Thursday, July 3, 2003
so katie says to me: "the way you lead your life makes it interesting; you should get to do the talking once in a while."
and what do i say?
"my life. in of itself. isn't that interesting: suburban kid goes to school, to the hangout, plays guitar, chases girls. pretty typical.
it's just the people i know, they're way more interesting than i am. it just so happens that i'm yr gateway, yr peephole, into these other peoples lives
and that's why people think they find me interesting."
so blow me away, sweetheart.
***
in an unrelated incident, things went relatively well at the color test tryouts. they seem like a good bunch of guys and i think i made a good impression. even if they are ten years older than me. i'll find out tomorrow or so if i made it in or not.
i think that even if i don't get the job, i'll be doing something with/for them. and my ears are still ringing, i love my job. rock n roll, kids. rock n fuckin' roll.
***
i'm in love, dammit; i'm in love but it feels like a loss.
she's got me reading ee cummings now. not too bad, that old man, i write dead on like him, prose wise. my poetry will never be that good.
saturday. i see ania for the first time in six months. this is going to be the second fucking coming, or it's gonna be the end of the fucking world. either way i'm gonna end up with a nice girl. oh yeah, the life of motherfucking riley.
note that i'm regaining my taste for the adjectives "fucking" and "motherfucker!" good to have you back, guys.
tomorrow i go to dayton with dad to see L'Auberge Espagnol, just him and me and the road. it's been a while, i think since november or so when we went to the Rock n Roll hall of fame. good ol' dad. he's a good kid. not as naieve as he acts.
love you all, even you fashion fascists. you make life interesting, bitches.
and what do i say?
"my life. in of itself. isn't that interesting: suburban kid goes to school, to the hangout, plays guitar, chases girls. pretty typical.
it's just the people i know, they're way more interesting than i am. it just so happens that i'm yr gateway, yr peephole, into these other peoples lives
and that's why people think they find me interesting."
so blow me away, sweetheart.
***
in an unrelated incident, things went relatively well at the color test tryouts. they seem like a good bunch of guys and i think i made a good impression. even if they are ten years older than me. i'll find out tomorrow or so if i made it in or not.
i think that even if i don't get the job, i'll be doing something with/for them. and my ears are still ringing, i love my job. rock n roll, kids. rock n fuckin' roll.
***
i'm in love, dammit; i'm in love but it feels like a loss.
she's got me reading ee cummings now. not too bad, that old man, i write dead on like him, prose wise. my poetry will never be that good.
saturday. i see ania for the first time in six months. this is going to be the second fucking coming, or it's gonna be the end of the fucking world. either way i'm gonna end up with a nice girl. oh yeah, the life of motherfucking riley.
note that i'm regaining my taste for the adjectives "fucking" and "motherfucker!" good to have you back, guys.
tomorrow i go to dayton with dad to see L'Auberge Espagnol, just him and me and the road. it's been a while, i think since november or so when we went to the Rock n Roll hall of fame. good ol' dad. he's a good kid. not as naieve as he acts.
love you all, even you fashion fascists. you make life interesting, bitches.
Monday, June 30, 2003
today was strange. i was at the buzz, and andi came over and took dictation. i've got a crush on her, i think. and then, i was asked to walk her to her car so she could change clothes. in the car. we talked for about two hours, in front of the buzz, watched some kids sit on scott's car. i taught her to waltz.
*sigh*
damn hormones.
i'm not single anymore, i'm glad of that, but i'm having a hard time adjusting.
i started a new story. it's called Seven Virgins. it's going to be fun, but it's slow going, as i'm actually having to make it up. as opposed to the other story, where i was just writing down stuff that happened...and changing the names. and inserting clever stylisms.
i read a bit of it aloud to joel, and realized it sucked, so i kind of started trailing off. he said "look, you got to read it like you mean it. speak like you have a pair." joel rocks. except then it was sort of embarassing. especially considering the fashion core trio was there, and they hate me. joel can get along with anyone he wants to. he's got an attitude, but can pull it off. i want to be like him when i grow up.
but as i told andi. i probably won't.
i talked to ania. it was silly nothingness for the most part. i feel somewhat doomed. i have clever things to say, but i say them without really meaning them. aaa. this is not good, not good. i hope i see her soon.
*sigh*
damn hormones.
i'm not single anymore, i'm glad of that, but i'm having a hard time adjusting.
i started a new story. it's called Seven Virgins. it's going to be fun, but it's slow going, as i'm actually having to make it up. as opposed to the other story, where i was just writing down stuff that happened...and changing the names. and inserting clever stylisms.
i read a bit of it aloud to joel, and realized it sucked, so i kind of started trailing off. he said "look, you got to read it like you mean it. speak like you have a pair." joel rocks. except then it was sort of embarassing. especially considering the fashion core trio was there, and they hate me. joel can get along with anyone he wants to. he's got an attitude, but can pull it off. i want to be like him when i grow up.
but as i told andi. i probably won't.
i talked to ania. it was silly nothingness for the most part. i feel somewhat doomed. i have clever things to say, but i say them without really meaning them. aaa. this is not good, not good. i hope i see her soon.
Tuesday, June 24, 2003
Ok, so this review has been a long time coming. I first heard the Gas Giants at the age of fourteen...august 7th, 2000, actually. it was my first concert ever, and from that day i on i knew i wanted to be in rock n roll. the show was great, the band put on a very tight performance.
Here's some history about the band...after MTV darlings the Gin Blossoms broke up in 1997, their singer/guitarist Robin Wilson went to Arizona with the intent of forming a new band. After recruiting Daniel Kenzerling on additional guitar and Phillip Rhodes on drums, Wilson formed the Gas Giants. Two bassists were featured on the album: John Hampton and Chris Wildmer, but Mickey Ferrel was the bassist who toured with the band.
From Beyond the Back Burner is a very solid rock n roll album...the pace slows only occasionally (such as "Who's Side are you On?"), but it is a controlled emotional cool-down...not the great dragging epic muddles the Gin Blossoms were prone to (mind you, the Gin Blossoms had seven people in it). The Gin Blossoms were also sometimes considered as emotionally one dimensional, that dimension being depressed...not so with the Gas Giants. They have their depressive moments ,"Letter" being an example. however, most songs on the album deal with serious themes without coming off as pompous or cliche (like "I hope my kids like Marilyn Manson" and the rabble rousing: "Circus of Stars.") Wilson has always been a good lyricist, and he really shines on this album.
This album is a great example of what mainstream rock n roll tries to be, but fails so miserably at. True, From Beyond doesn't break much new ground, but it manages not to be too cliche, too arrogant, or too stupid. The guitar solos are not too long, they actually have guitar solos, and they have good harmonies and pop production. They're loud and heavy enough (not so jangly as the Blossoms) to appease the rocker in you, but not so extreme that someone with more mainstream taste can't enjoy it too.
The Gas Giants - From Beyond the Back Burner
Grade: B+
Label: Mayberry Defense Dynamics, AP0002-2
See Also: http://www.geocities.com/gasgiantsbetweentwoworlds/gasgiantshome.html and www.allmusic.com
Here's some history about the band...after MTV darlings the Gin Blossoms broke up in 1997, their singer/guitarist Robin Wilson went to Arizona with the intent of forming a new band. After recruiting Daniel Kenzerling on additional guitar and Phillip Rhodes on drums, Wilson formed the Gas Giants. Two bassists were featured on the album: John Hampton and Chris Wildmer, but Mickey Ferrel was the bassist who toured with the band.
From Beyond the Back Burner is a very solid rock n roll album...the pace slows only occasionally (such as "Who's Side are you On?"), but it is a controlled emotional cool-down...not the great dragging epic muddles the Gin Blossoms were prone to (mind you, the Gin Blossoms had seven people in it). The Gin Blossoms were also sometimes considered as emotionally one dimensional, that dimension being depressed...not so with the Gas Giants. They have their depressive moments ,"Letter" being an example. however, most songs on the album deal with serious themes without coming off as pompous or cliche (like "I hope my kids like Marilyn Manson" and the rabble rousing: "Circus of Stars.") Wilson has always been a good lyricist, and he really shines on this album.
This album is a great example of what mainstream rock n roll tries to be, but fails so miserably at. True, From Beyond doesn't break much new ground, but it manages not to be too cliche, too arrogant, or too stupid. The guitar solos are not too long, they actually have guitar solos, and they have good harmonies and pop production. They're loud and heavy enough (not so jangly as the Blossoms) to appease the rocker in you, but not so extreme that someone with more mainstream taste can't enjoy it too.
The Gas Giants - From Beyond the Back Burner
Grade: B+
Label: Mayberry Defense Dynamics, AP0002-2
See Also: http://www.geocities.com/gasgiantsbetweentwoworlds/gasgiantshome.html and www.allmusic.com
Saturday, June 21, 2003
so yeah, i'm a total complete moron. i told emily i'd call her from the buzz around 10:30. and then at a quarter till eight that the sonic youth show was tonight...at 8:30! so i called her back, but no answer...no message, either. bummer. so i went to the show, and it was great. quixotic opened, not too bad...they're on to something, i'll give them that.
Sonic Youth. this show i've been looking forward to for years. SY is my favorite band that's still together. they were so together and massive and beautiful. i got all teary-eyed when they started up...a new song called Peace Attack. they played some new stuff, but also played Catholic Block, Bull in the Heather, and Disconnection Notice... it was perfect. thurston was so great, like a little kid. kim was a godess. she gets better looking as she ages. lee was super cool. too cool for words. steve was pounding away, exuberant as ever. and jim was doing a good job keeping up with everyone. he fits in well. the only problem with the show was that they played no songs from Dirty or Washing Machine...but that's ok. they're sonic youth, and they're the best band ever.
Sonic Youth. this show i've been looking forward to for years. SY is my favorite band that's still together. they were so together and massive and beautiful. i got all teary-eyed when they started up...a new song called Peace Attack. they played some new stuff, but also played Catholic Block, Bull in the Heather, and Disconnection Notice... it was perfect. thurston was so great, like a little kid. kim was a godess. she gets better looking as she ages. lee was super cool. too cool for words. steve was pounding away, exuberant as ever. and jim was doing a good job keeping up with everyone. he fits in well. the only problem with the show was that they played no songs from Dirty or Washing Machine...but that's ok. they're sonic youth, and they're the best band ever.
Tuesday, June 17, 2003
i owe too many people too much. and i think i fucked things up with laura.
on the other hand, things are going ok. band #2 has a gig. she wants me back. etc.
i was supposed to be this girl's summer fling...i feel kind of bad i can't oblige. if this was last year...when i was oh-so-young and carefree.
good luck, everybody. i love you all.
on the other hand, things are going ok. band #2 has a gig. she wants me back. etc.
i was supposed to be this girl's summer fling...i feel kind of bad i can't oblige. if this was last year...when i was oh-so-young and carefree.
good luck, everybody. i love you all.
Monday, June 9, 2003
saturday night. around midnight. i was laying in bed with a girl. we were naked and blue from the light from the window, and i was reciting the words to a sonic youth song. i finished and brushed the hair from her cheek, and she said "you do that a lot. you must've done it ten times tonight."
"yeah," says i. "i've always got a song going through my head."
later that night we were sharing a rootbeer in the kitchen, and she took a sip and kissed me. "fizzy?" she asked.
i was just sitting on the linoleum, back against the wall, and i just smiled at her.
"yeah," says i. "i've always got a song going through my head."
later that night we were sharing a rootbeer in the kitchen, and she took a sip and kissed me. "fizzy?" she asked.
i was just sitting on the linoleum, back against the wall, and i just smiled at her.
Thursday, June 5, 2003
NP: The Jesus and Mary Chain - Head On
yeah. i love that song. and the pixies cover of it rules.
i heard the first half of the new Radiohead album over at NME.com . it's quite excellent.
my amp tried to kill me today, when i was jamming with dave. it electrocuted me a couple of times, the most memorable attempt being three hundred volts running up my left hand (guitar hand) through my arm, through my head, and out my lower lip to the mic. the right side of my face feels kind weird, still. and my kidneys hurt. and my arthritis in my right hand is acting up. but that's just the rain.
i wish the weather would change. it's about forty degrees out. and it's been grey. everyone's going away, to florida or LA. i guess i'm going to lexington for better weather.
Agent Deth Fuzz (the hardcore project) session #1 got rescheduled to sunday, due to patrick wanting in on it, and my amp having a psychotic episode.
i went to the buzz. ian and andi were giving each other hickeys. which is funny. they were literally trying to do this. for no apparent reason. they're not even really that interested in each other, and they only really met day before yesterday. they crack me up. andi and i were reading, albeit slowly, the french Iggy Pop book i got in paris. good times.
i dug out my mudhoney Superfuzz Bigmuff tape...rawk. i love this band so much, it's not even funny. mark arm is pretty much responsible for my first three years of musical output.
yeah. i love that song. and the pixies cover of it rules.
i heard the first half of the new Radiohead album over at NME.com . it's quite excellent.
my amp tried to kill me today, when i was jamming with dave. it electrocuted me a couple of times, the most memorable attempt being three hundred volts running up my left hand (guitar hand) through my arm, through my head, and out my lower lip to the mic. the right side of my face feels kind weird, still. and my kidneys hurt. and my arthritis in my right hand is acting up. but that's just the rain.
i wish the weather would change. it's about forty degrees out. and it's been grey. everyone's going away, to florida or LA. i guess i'm going to lexington for better weather.
Agent Deth Fuzz (the hardcore project) session #1 got rescheduled to sunday, due to patrick wanting in on it, and my amp having a psychotic episode.
i went to the buzz. ian and andi were giving each other hickeys. which is funny. they were literally trying to do this. for no apparent reason. they're not even really that interested in each other, and they only really met day before yesterday. they crack me up. andi and i were reading, albeit slowly, the french Iggy Pop book i got in paris. good times.
i dug out my mudhoney Superfuzz Bigmuff tape...rawk. i love this band so much, it's not even funny. mark arm is pretty much responsible for my first three years of musical output.
Monday, June 2, 2003
Wednesday, May 28, 2003
the band thing is looking good. patrick was really happy to hear from me, made me happy. i saw jim down at Mole's, and he was eager to get in on the hardcore project (tentatively titled Agent Deth Fuzz. in my mind, anyway). ian is gonna be doing the screaming. and i'd be really happy if kate would able to join in on the non-hardcore project. i need to talk to her about it.
things are looking up. for once.
i'm happy. i can drum along to the whole of the Ramones Rocket To Russia...it took me a bit to get the break on Needles and Pins, but i got it. maybe i should talk to mike and see if he wants to play some ramones covers, just so i can get the practice.
i spend too much time on rocknroll. it's my life, and it's my wife. heheh, no women, no school, no job. nothing yet. but not for terribly long. i have to make this work.
yesterday i pissed off one of the guys who works at the buzz. i don't know his name. i was giving him a hard time, and he told me that i was being an overbearing bitch. i thought about it all the way back on the bus, and i realized he was right. i need to relax and not open my mouth all the time. i need to apologize and thank him next time i see him. another important life lesson learned at the buzz.
things are looking up. for once.
i'm happy. i can drum along to the whole of the Ramones Rocket To Russia...it took me a bit to get the break on Needles and Pins, but i got it. maybe i should talk to mike and see if he wants to play some ramones covers, just so i can get the practice.
i spend too much time on rocknroll. it's my life, and it's my wife. heheh, no women, no school, no job. nothing yet. but not for terribly long. i have to make this work.
yesterday i pissed off one of the guys who works at the buzz. i don't know his name. i was giving him a hard time, and he told me that i was being an overbearing bitch. i thought about it all the way back on the bus, and i realized he was right. i need to relax and not open my mouth all the time. i need to apologize and thank him next time i see him. another important life lesson learned at the buzz.
Sunday, May 25, 2003
coming back, the ohio sky was still stuck in winter. and the people are still stuck in 1845. i don't like this place very much. on the other hand, i got to to the buzz. it was fun. i met these people, half of them are called jared, the other half are called kate. or Pi. depending on who's side your on. they came to my house and we listened to rekkids, and i talked to much about nothing anyone was really interested in, just like i usually do. they seemed to take it in good stride though. i was impressed. went for a walk, and jared did things i usually do. i was suprised later when i realized this.
the poem below, it's a bit i wrote a while back. before we left. but i forgot about it. i kind of like it.
tonight i'm gonna go bug dave to go with me to get my gear from niesen's. and then to call patrick. planning planning planning. i just wanna make some rock n roll.
the poem below, it's a bit i wrote a while back. before we left. but i forgot about it. i kind of like it.
tonight i'm gonna go bug dave to go with me to get my gear from niesen's. and then to call patrick. planning planning planning. i just wanna make some rock n roll.
Friday, May 23, 2003
Sunday, May 18, 2003
the smog show was pretty cool, smog was good, kinda boring during some bits, but picked up later. wasn´t at all what i´d expected, they reminded me of the silver jews. the opening act was this guy called Matt Elliot. he came out with a guitar and a friend on cello, and using tape loops (an akai headrush) and some drum machines, put on a very good preformance. check him out if you can - he´s an english bloke. very innovative, very etheral, very cool.
this is the AMG page of his old band:
click Here
this is the AMG page of his old band:
click Here
Friday, May 16, 2003
today is my last day in barcelona...then three days in madrid, and then newark.
i found this killer rekkid shop called Edison´s, and i dug up some hep discs: Pixies - Bossanova (mint condition vinyl. and its the pixies), The Animals - Tracking the Hits (a late 60s greatest hits on vinyl), Birth Control - Hoodoo Man (this really awesome scandinavian proto stoner heavy-ass blues...with organ and lemmy-like vocals.all in 1969 (vinyl)), Teenage Riot (a compilation on vinyl of really scuzzy R&B stuff from the late 50s about juvenile delinquients), and the Flaming Groovies - Shake some Action (mick jagger said this band was better than the stones. and this disc is proof. its got some live stuff, more or less a best of. great great stuff. check them out if you haven't).
i´m gonna go see Smog tonight...should be a good show. its like lo-fi depression music. like dashboard confessional without all the whining. or an acoustic joy division. good stuff;i´m really looking foward to it.
music. at least i´m not an alcoholic.
i found this killer rekkid shop called Edison´s, and i dug up some hep discs: Pixies - Bossanova (mint condition vinyl. and its the pixies), The Animals - Tracking the Hits (a late 60s greatest hits on vinyl), Birth Control - Hoodoo Man (this really awesome scandinavian proto stoner heavy-ass blues...with organ and lemmy-like vocals.all in 1969 (vinyl)), Teenage Riot (a compilation on vinyl of really scuzzy R&B stuff from the late 50s about juvenile delinquients), and the Flaming Groovies - Shake some Action (mick jagger said this band was better than the stones. and this disc is proof. its got some live stuff, more or less a best of. great great stuff. check them out if you haven't).
i´m gonna go see Smog tonight...should be a good show. its like lo-fi depression music. like dashboard confessional without all the whining. or an acoustic joy division. good stuff;i´m really looking foward to it.
music. at least i´m not an alcoholic.
Tuesday, May 13, 2003
barcelona -
it feels like home, spain. man, i didn´t realize how much i missed it until i got back. i don´t wanna go back to cincinnati. don´t really have any reason to, either.
on the plus side, some stuff i forgot to mention - i got a couple of rekkids in france: the Stranglers ¨always the sun¨ single, and Lou Reeds ¨Berlin,¨ both in good condition and both on vinyl. score. you can check out the rest of my somewhat meager collection Here
if you trade mix tapes or would like to do a trade for copy of anything i have, send me an e-mail ( rafewdavis@hotmail.com ) or talk to me on AIM (gloing blu orb). im looking for stuff by the Standells, Sam the Sham and the Pharohs, mission of burma, the miracle workers, Tracer, the lotus eaters, husker du bootlegs, and/or The Swinging Medallions. and Le Six.
sorry about that, i got sidetracked.
barcelona...it´s very nice. it´s about the size of cincinnati, but a million times more cultured. which shows. i´m putting my money on the fact that cincinnati hasn´t been around for the last several hundred years...i feel like i should say something deep but i can´t. i´ll say something cliche instead: i like barecleona more than paris, because even though it has the same general architectural style and cultural melange, people´s balconies here in barcelona betray a lot more personality than the stark wrought iron barricades the parisians call balconies. you´ll see plants or bicycles or stuffed animals or flags or anti-war banners here, but never in paris. if you think that´s a cheap shallow reason to not like paris that much, well fine. but i think that it says something about the people - they´re trying to be more involved in their environment, and kitsch, i guess, is the most common way to try to shape things on a very basic level - but they also do more one a greater level (voting, for instance). maybe this is why americans
like kitsch so much - it makes them feel like their in control.
this is agent deth fuzz signing out...
it feels like home, spain. man, i didn´t realize how much i missed it until i got back. i don´t wanna go back to cincinnati. don´t really have any reason to, either.
on the plus side, some stuff i forgot to mention - i got a couple of rekkids in france: the Stranglers ¨always the sun¨ single, and Lou Reeds ¨Berlin,¨ both in good condition and both on vinyl. score. you can check out the rest of my somewhat meager collection Here
if you trade mix tapes or would like to do a trade for copy of anything i have, send me an e-mail ( rafewdavis@hotmail.com ) or talk to me on AIM (gloing blu orb). im looking for stuff by the Standells, Sam the Sham and the Pharohs, mission of burma, the miracle workers, Tracer, the lotus eaters, husker du bootlegs, and/or The Swinging Medallions. and Le Six.
sorry about that, i got sidetracked.
barcelona...it´s very nice. it´s about the size of cincinnati, but a million times more cultured. which shows. i´m putting my money on the fact that cincinnati hasn´t been around for the last several hundred years...i feel like i should say something deep but i can´t. i´ll say something cliche instead: i like barecleona more than paris, because even though it has the same general architectural style and cultural melange, people´s balconies here in barcelona betray a lot more personality than the stark wrought iron barricades the parisians call balconies. you´ll see plants or bicycles or stuffed animals or flags or anti-war banners here, but never in paris. if you think that´s a cheap shallow reason to not like paris that much, well fine. but i think that it says something about the people - they´re trying to be more involved in their environment, and kitsch, i guess, is the most common way to try to shape things on a very basic level - but they also do more one a greater level (voting, for instance). maybe this is why americans
like kitsch so much - it makes them feel like their in control.
this is agent deth fuzz signing out...
Saturday, May 10, 2003
montpelier. next up is barcelona. im looking foward to being back in spain. i like france, but spain feels like home. or something like it. um. some of you have gifts coming.
ive got a ton of french bands that i need to list for a certain party, but thats to come later.
i have some lyrics and random bits, mostly written on trains. lots and lots of sketches. some will be scannned.
also a story is in the works, im taking notes, about my running away experience. its going with the first one in a collection to be titled I was a Teenage Cannibal. get the bit about assimilating yr evirons and yr peers and living off of them? you did? good, heres a cookie.
words:
------------
(this a song ive written. ive written about fifteen. with lyrics)
she sang a song called fucking
wearing her fathers tie
a silver silken belt
between two breasts so light
benjamin braddock
was stuttering away
in the corner
of my
eye
she sang a song called fucking
wearing her fathers tie
------------
give them thirty years
and that many pills
and its all neo tokyo after that
---------
you see a sullen little man
you see him slouch away
you think thats the last youve seen of him
well
yes
it is.
-------
thats all for now people. two weeks ill be home. and then you get to see my beautiful chickenscratch drawings....until then...
ive got a ton of french bands that i need to list for a certain party, but thats to come later.
i have some lyrics and random bits, mostly written on trains. lots and lots of sketches. some will be scannned.
also a story is in the works, im taking notes, about my running away experience. its going with the first one in a collection to be titled I was a Teenage Cannibal. get the bit about assimilating yr evirons and yr peers and living off of them? you did? good, heres a cookie.
words:
------------
(this a song ive written. ive written about fifteen. with lyrics)
she sang a song called fucking
wearing her fathers tie
a silver silken belt
between two breasts so light
benjamin braddock
was stuttering away
in the corner
of my
eye
she sang a song called fucking
wearing her fathers tie
------------
give them thirty years
and that many pills
and its all neo tokyo after that
---------
you see a sullen little man
you see him slouch away
you think thats the last youve seen of him
well
yes
it is.
-------
thats all for now people. two weeks ill be home. and then you get to see my beautiful chickenscratch drawings....until then...
Wednesday, April 30, 2003
Are you damned?
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey
You're coming back! And if you are a Hindu you are going to have very specific characteristics:
"The slayer of a woman and the destroyer of embryos becomes a savage full of diseases; who commits illicit intercourse, a eunuch; who goes with his teacher’s wife, disease-skinned. The eater of flesh becomes very red; the drinker of intoxicants, one with discolored teeth...." (Garuda Purana)
i also have a uterii obsession. iggy pop + uterii + obsessive compulsiveness = my hangups. woo. thanks to meg for the test thing. her blog is http://www.betterthingstodo.blogspot.com/ . check it out.
Saturday, April 19, 2003
i'm writing this in paris at an internet cafe...i'm doing fine. everyones great here...i think it's the fact that i don't try to speak english, but use instead my (minimal) french or my spanish...and the fact that i don't like americans much either...
so yeah, i'm doing ok, i guess. i don't really think about the last seven months that much (they're in a corner somewhere). it only comes out at night usually around two thirty or so when the coffee is wearing out and all.
i like spain more than paris - andalucia is fuçking beautiful. i mean sunburst in the morning over green moors, green (snowcapped) mountains in the back, vinyards and villas with treeeeeeees. i wrote a poem about it on the train:
if i don't die in the city
if i survive the metropolitan life
the heroin and fistfights
if i don't die in the city
i'll be laid to rest
by the family - the relatives - in their sunday best
the mommas will cry
and my brothers will light my last cigarette
speaking of vices, i've been descending into a vaguley hedonistic (if sadomasochism is yr thing) binge of alcohol and substances. i don't have anyone to watch myself for so i'm going back to my fuçk-it-all punk rocker phase...there was an episode in villarobledo (a small spanish village of 5,000 or so) of heavy metal mayhem where i was assimilated into the local music scene and temporarily joined a rock n roll band. i've found that marijuana increases my capacity for improv jamming. weed does odd things to me. being stoned feels like the moment after orgasm where you're aware of every little bit of yourself. i rather enjoy it. i've also developed a taste for liqour, rum especially. i still don't like getting drunk though. cigarettes. boy oh boy. it's really hard for me not to turn into a pack a day chain smoker. i like it a whole lot. and even with the minimal smoking i do, too (two in the last month).
with that in mind, don't worry about me. i can take care of myself. france, spain, western europe in general is a lot safer than the US.
not feeling anything has it's advantages. you know the story...so why do you want me to love you anyway? if the draft was instituted, i'd leave the country. it's not worth dying for.
friday i saw the Mars Volta. best show i've ever been to, topping the Deftones and the Arrivals.
i'm really enjoying being exposed to all these european exposed bands, too, like las planetas and Holly...
yeah! oh i'm so punk rock again. i got a cell so the parentals can track me when i'm kidnapped ad sold into slavery, so i'm allowed out now by myself. woo! i'd forgotten how much freedom rocks. people here are great, by the way. its nice to be in a civilized country.
i wrote a song, here are the lyrics:
she sang a song called fucking
wearing her fathers tie
a silver silken belt
between breasts so ripe
benjamin braddock
was stuttering away
in the corner
of my
eye
she sang a song called fucking
wearing her fathers tie
----------------
i do have a real smokers hack now (as opposed to my fake one. that was my sinuses). thats two joints for ya.
the weather here has been fucking beautiful. like, 80 and sunny. mmm. yesterday i went out and sunned my increadably sexy body on the champ du mars. i missed the sun.
i got almost as big a thrill hanging out in the rembrandt room at the louvre.
check out klezmer. jewish swing. good stuff. any of the jewish radio stuff from the 20s-40s is good stuff, too. i heard klezmer years ago at a party, and i started studying the theory behind it. its awesome stuff. think clarinet solos at 200 bpm. rawk.
ok. this is the end of this rather odd little message. the n key and the c key don't always work (plus it's a european keyboard) so i have to look for typos (yes i'm an obsessive compulsive freak).
ok. that's all for now.
so yeah, i'm doing ok, i guess. i don't really think about the last seven months that much (they're in a corner somewhere). it only comes out at night usually around two thirty or so when the coffee is wearing out and all.
i like spain more than paris - andalucia is fuçking beautiful. i mean sunburst in the morning over green moors, green (snowcapped) mountains in the back, vinyards and villas with treeeeeeees. i wrote a poem about it on the train:
if i don't die in the city
if i survive the metropolitan life
the heroin and fistfights
if i don't die in the city
i'll be laid to rest
by the family - the relatives - in their sunday best
the mommas will cry
and my brothers will light my last cigarette
speaking of vices, i've been descending into a vaguley hedonistic (if sadomasochism is yr thing) binge of alcohol and substances. i don't have anyone to watch myself for so i'm going back to my fuçk-it-all punk rocker phase...there was an episode in villarobledo (a small spanish village of 5,000 or so) of heavy metal mayhem where i was assimilated into the local music scene and temporarily joined a rock n roll band. i've found that marijuana increases my capacity for improv jamming. weed does odd things to me. being stoned feels like the moment after orgasm where you're aware of every little bit of yourself. i rather enjoy it. i've also developed a taste for liqour, rum especially. i still don't like getting drunk though. cigarettes. boy oh boy. it's really hard for me not to turn into a pack a day chain smoker. i like it a whole lot. and even with the minimal smoking i do, too (two in the last month).
with that in mind, don't worry about me. i can take care of myself. france, spain, western europe in general is a lot safer than the US.
not feeling anything has it's advantages. you know the story...so why do you want me to love you anyway? if the draft was instituted, i'd leave the country. it's not worth dying for.
friday i saw the Mars Volta. best show i've ever been to, topping the Deftones and the Arrivals.
i'm really enjoying being exposed to all these european exposed bands, too, like las planetas and Holly...
yeah! oh i'm so punk rock again. i got a cell so the parentals can track me when i'm kidnapped ad sold into slavery, so i'm allowed out now by myself. woo! i'd forgotten how much freedom rocks. people here are great, by the way. its nice to be in a civilized country.
i wrote a song, here are the lyrics:
she sang a song called fucking
wearing her fathers tie
a silver silken belt
between breasts so ripe
benjamin braddock
was stuttering away
in the corner
of my
eye
she sang a song called fucking
wearing her fathers tie
----------------
i do have a real smokers hack now (as opposed to my fake one. that was my sinuses). thats two joints for ya.
the weather here has been fucking beautiful. like, 80 and sunny. mmm. yesterday i went out and sunned my increadably sexy body on the champ du mars. i missed the sun.
i got almost as big a thrill hanging out in the rembrandt room at the louvre.
check out klezmer. jewish swing. good stuff. any of the jewish radio stuff from the 20s-40s is good stuff, too. i heard klezmer years ago at a party, and i started studying the theory behind it. its awesome stuff. think clarinet solos at 200 bpm. rawk.
ok. this is the end of this rather odd little message. the n key and the c key don't always work (plus it's a european keyboard) so i have to look for typos (yes i'm an obsessive compulsive freak).
ok. that's all for now.
Friday, March 28, 2003
granada. small internet type joint right out of a bad neo-tokyo anime ripoff. yay! i feel vaguely at home. i got some stuff to tell, like heavy metal mayhem whilst stoned with a bunch of kids in an (semi) abandoned warehouse containing a couple of amps, a drum kit, and a lot of garbage. yeah.
postcards are coming, creeps.
Thursday, March 13, 2003
i'm quitting school. i was only staying in so i would have something to offer her. bye bye school. everyone there says i'll be back. i don't think so.
a friend of a friend scored a case of guinness so we're having a get-together.
i was supposed to get stoned with ellen tonight but we ended up deciding to do the thing tomorrow with richie. i wanted to get stoned i've never done it before and it's something i was supposed to do with her (yes, ania, not ellen).
i made a mistake and read ania's letters last night.
and i walked into the Buzz, and When I'm Sixty-Four was on. i almost cried.
Sunday, March 9, 2003
Wednesday, February 12, 2003
i went to a show last night, saw some bands.
The Witnesses ( here's their website ), they're a kickass rock band from New York of whom i had never heard before, were first on the bill, a sort of retro 70's low down riff rock. I definently recommend watching this band, looking out for their new Selftitled EP, and keeping an eye on them. A truly great rock and roll band.
rooney and the Donna's played too. the crowd never stopped moving. oh yeah, the venue (bogart's, capacity 1,500) was sold out.
The Witnesses ( here's their website ), they're a kickass rock band from New York of whom i had never heard before, were first on the bill, a sort of retro 70's low down riff rock. I definently recommend watching this band, looking out for their new Selftitled EP, and keeping an eye on them. A truly great rock and roll band.
rooney and the Donna's played too. the crowd never stopped moving. oh yeah, the venue (bogart's, capacity 1,500) was sold out.
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