Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

banana guitar flashlight

armor shiny tooth and nail eschatological sententiousness and the cloudy moose moon of the night and the wherewithal and the strings and elements and nightmares here and there and everywhere.

running through the bayou strumming on a guitar and making sense of the pretty cow town as the rainbows inching down streaming lines of destinutional reupenhancement concrudescenses.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Ghost ride da whip-new internet fad sweeping america

Apparently the latest fad is "ghost riding", where some foolish individual starts driving his car and then while it is still going, gets out of the seat, sits on the windshield, does a little dance, whatever, and then leaps back into the car at the last possible moment. Needless to say, there have been numerous crashes. They film the whole thing and upload it. Isn't it great we have these ridiculous pointless joie de vivre type fads going?
Most of the videos are set to to tune of the song that started it all: ghost ride da whip by e-40 or somebody.
So I'm going to try it with my bicycle.
More on the fad here

Saturday, August 19, 2006

jefferson park Posted by Picasa

 Posted by Picasa

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

beanery report

The Beanery was about the same as usual. I ordered the usual. Somebody was getting interviewed. Construction was continuing on the large building next door. The skinny guy with the goatee was there with his laptop. It was slightly humid and muggy.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

tupac dickinson

Poem from Emily Dickinson typed out while listening to Tupac.

There is a pain-so utter-
It swallows hollowpoint triplebeam up-
Then covers the Abyss with Trance-
So my 500 Benz can step
Around-across-upon it-
As one within a thug life-
Goes safely-where an open eye-
Would drop him-packing a Tec.

Who that cares much to know the history of man, and how the mysterious mixture behaves under the varying experiments of Time, has not dwelt, at least briefly, on the life of Saint Theresa, has not smiled with some gentleness at the thought of the little girl walking forth one morning hand-in-hand with her still smaller brother, to go and sek martyrdom in the country of the Moors? Out they toddled from rugged Avila, wide-eyed and helpless-looking as two fawns, but with human hearts, already beating to a national idea; until domestic relity met them in the shape of uncles, and turned them back from their great resolve. That child pilgrimage was a fit beginning. Theresa's passionate, ideal nature demanded an epic life: what were many-volumed romances of chivalry and the social conquests of a brilliant girl to her? Her flame quickly burned up that light fuel; and, fed from within, soared after some illimitable satisfaction, some object which would never justify weariness, which would reconcile self-despair with the rapturous consciousness of life beyond self. She found her epos in the reform of a religious order.
-george eliot, middlemarch

George Eliot was a great writer. One of the best.

The wind was blowing all over the place today and it looked as if it might rain almost after being kind of muggy and overcast in the afternoon.
I knew a guy who would sit downstairs in the lower level, studying architecture and snorting lines of speed intermittently, or so it was said. He was a bizarre looking character, but many of those people were kind of bizarre. Per and I were talking at one of the tables one night, and he told me that I seemed like the kind of person that would like speed, after he admitted that he and his friend were high on the stuff. Speed always seemed like something that would just speed you up, so why would I want to try that? ...or at least that's how my thinking went.
I remember strolling down Telegraph between Berkeley and Oakland, listening to Wake of the Flood on tape, really absorbing every note of that album, a really slow and sincere, beautiful album. I would walk the same route every time, turning at the same places. I remember I would pass an old black lady at the same time of day who was always sitting out on her porch, and she started to recognize me after a while, but she didn't wave or anything like that.
There were a lot of strange cults around, and bizarre religions, and normal religions. The north side of campus was known for several divinity schools that were based around there. I kind of at the time was interested in Buddhism and various eastern religions, (and still am), but was never one to be sucked into a cult. Of course, karate is somewhat of a cult, but not really, considering that it is basically just a physical discipline, and the philosophical aspects of it really aren't religious in nature.
I remember reading The Only Dance There Is by Ram Dass and thinking it was really great. He did write some good stuff, but he did some questionable stuff when he was at Harvard, like sleeping with his students, so you have to wonder about the guy. Still, he looks good compared to Timothy Leary. That guy was just a egocentric cynical manipulater. I guess I used to believe that psychedelics might lead to some kind of expanded consciousness, but I gave up that idea long ago. It seems to be that any spiritual achievement should be done within the normal consciousness. Shortcuts aren't going to work, and that's not even counting the possible negative effects: bad trips, etc.
What am I doing to make the world a better place? Not much. I volunteered at st
The second kitchen in Barrington, on the second floor, was the vegetarian kitchen, and I volunteered to do my workshift there, even though I had absolutely no idea of how to cook anything at that time. It seems to me like I really didn't learn much either. I remember slicing a bunch of broccoli and that is about it.
Mostly back then I ate slices of pizza and Ms. Field's cookies, which I snuck into the back of the Pacific Film Archive, because they didn't allow food in the auditorium.
I walked into a little ice cream shop on the North Side and there was a bum sitting in there, a homeless guy with blond hair and a red face, and I remember that there was a copy of the book "The Power to Preserve" by some hack science fiction writer on the shelf, with that picture of all those weird green people on the cover.