Friday, December 05, 2008

Los Angeles Central Library


I was at a bit of a loss when I really thought about it, "I've lived in Los Angeles for three years now and I've never crossed the threshold of the LA Central Library."

It boggles mind, non?

So on the occasion of on Ms. Kane's birthday I put a plan into action to rectify my strange bibliophile virginity (*ahem*). November had dipped back into summer time temperatures for several weeks. Blazing heat and sunlight all day and then warm t-shirt weather through the night. As Katherine's birthday neared the temperature began to relinquish and then dropped, in toto, to winter conditions in the sparked light between dusk and twilight. With the cool weather came Los Angeles' casual flirtation with rain. Though we have been much deprived this year, I still held out, hope against hope, that soon the sky would crack and the floodwaters would rush in and clean our fair city, ceiling to gutter.

The sky remained an intense grey as I slipped out to Van Nuys to pick up Ms. Kane. I retrieved her in a rush and we flew back into the city. While I pretended to finish my work day Ms. Kane busied herself with fantasies of tentacles and the lines only a woman possesses.

When the clock struck four, we rushed from the Taft Building and onto Hollywood Blvd. Since I was deemed concierge for a Brooklynite I considered it apropos to introduce her to the (mostly worthless, but still enticing) Los Angeles Subway. We breached the Earth's surface and followed the clicking stone stairs down into the bowels of the city. She marveled at the cleanliness, but reminded herself that in comparison, LA's underground had a century to catch up to New York's historical filth.

We were soon climbing toward the Nimbus ceiling again and emerged into a frigid but crowded Pershing Square. Though I keep an excellent sense of direction at hand, (possibly sub-consciously) I neglected to take a close look at our travel route from subway to Library. No bother, both of us quite like the idea of wandering around downtown LA on foot. Clearly, we are not natives...

Night had fallen in dark heavy sheets and as we turned the dead-end corner of Hope St. Ms. Kane buried her head in my shoulder and giggled. She knew exactly where I was taking her now.

The Central Library bursts majestically skyward from the dull asphalt of Hope St.'s end. We ascended the South staircases and resigned to have cigarette before losing ourselves in the stacks of human thought. Most people are unaware that a great deal of filming for movies, TV, et cetera, based in "New York" actually takes place in downtown Los Angeles. The cool air, glass and steel facades, and sparse vegetation screaming between the cracks of enormous and archaic stone, make the City of Angels New York's bastard sibling, left for dead, on the trail toward the 49'er rush. The stone work on the sides and eaves of the building are mesmerizing, spanning mythologies of ancient cultures and minor historical references to the 1920s.

We quietly slipped into the monolithic building and located a map. We both had several floors to visit and decided to divide and conquer. The enormous ceilings, glass walls on every level and the breathtaking main foyer containing the bulk of modern escalators were nearly unbearable visual stimuli. I found it difficult to concentrate on searching for books in the midst of this enthralling structure. I spent the majority of my time there looking up and around and missing the stacks of books altogether.

After three hours we called it quits and headed back into the night air. We swiftly arrived at, and dipped underneath Pershing Square to wait for a ride back to Hollywood. Owing to color confusion we ended up riding the wrong train to South Downtown. For the first time I witnessed MTA cops asking for tickets as people slowly walked up the stone stairs to the street. We got back on the train, headed in the right direction this time...and finally arrived back at Hollywood & Vine. Katherine felt dripping water as we walked up the stairs, but dismissed it as urban perspiration. When we hit street level we were both awash in a freak Los Angeles downpour. The whites, yellows, blues and reds of Hollywood traffic jams and storefronts danced on an endless glass surface. The pitch black of sidewalk and asphalt glowed with wet reflection and the famous intersection was alive with dancing color and rushing rainwater. Owing to my special brand of boyscout paranoia, I had an umbrella under my arm and we stepped out into the fray like professionals...dry professionals.


Los Angeles Central Library...

downpour in Hollywood...

somehow, I think it must have been my birthday as well.


Tuesday, November 18, 2008

don't like the outcome?

get your asses in the fucking streets and do something about it.

Right to Marry rally Nov 15 - audio montage
by no2h8 Sunday, Nov. 16, 2008 at 4:05 PM

Five minute audio montage - sounds from the Nov 15 rally in Los Angeles against prop 8 and for the rights of all to marry (4.7 MB)

Demonstrations continue across the country and around the world for the right of gays, lesbians and all Americans to marry. Here's an audio montage from the rally on November 15.

I talked to a lot of wonderful people at the rally. Listen to what they had to say.

Tuesday, November 04, 2008

سعيدة للغاية الرابع عشر سنوات لحبي لك

a very happy fourteenth birthday my dear Rene'. when i was turning fourteen (many moons ago) a decade best forgotten was coming to an end. politicians (as they are now) were scrambling to hide the malfeasance of the past administration and to pretend that the agony wrought by american hands was indeed a figment of some foreign imagination. today there stands an opportunity to speak with a single voice as a country. although i do not blindly support Obama, i do smile broadly at my fellow americans denouncing and pushing into the trash-bin, the last eight years of proto-fascist encroachment. i hope that the day you move past another fourteen years on this planet that this nation willhave moved past its ignorance and apathy and realized the great gift we share, a gift that has been taken away from us and must be taken back "by all means necessary."

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Year of the Depend Undergarment

My introduction to David Foster Wallace was similar to my introduction to Bret Easton Ellis...I read about their work (Infinite Jest and American Psycho, respectively) in TIME's book review section. Of course Ellis had me hook line and sinker as the 1980s TIME reviewer crowed that American Psycho was the most gruesome and disgusting tale ever penned (it wasn't, but it certainly deserves all the praise it's received). Wallace was a separate story. The review was flaccid and though it did the reader the service of *trying* to eek out a plot description, really all it did was fill copy space. The idea of a permanent form of "fun/relaxation" intrigued me. I admit soma was my favorite part of Brave New World. It stuck in my newly alcohol-drenched twenty-one year old brain as one of those books I'd add to the ever-growing (and rarely receding) TO-READ stack.

By kismet I ventured into a grocery store on 17th St. in Costa Mesa, Ca that had been converted into an enormous discount book store (complete with church-style folding tables and crumbling stacks of unordered and mostly unwanted literature). The first table I came to had Infinite Jest placed prominently at the top of a stack. With over 1000pp it was a brick, tantamount to the large cinderblock "security device" placed on gas station bathroom keys from coast to coast. I proudly planned my days and nights devouring this foreign and intriguing novel, I would blow through it of course(!), taking notes, ear-marking each occurence of brilliance for digestion again and again. I made it through one hundred pages. It is a dense tome, and I couldn't be bothered to sit still long enough (at that point in my life) to properly wade through the hundreds of subplots and subtle innuendo.

Five years later I pulled Infinite Jest from it's dusty hiding place and that time I couldn't stop...I kept going and going until I had masticated every sentence thoroughly. The book truly was an infinite entertainment, it can be read in pieces, as a whole, appendix first, without the appendix, et cetera ad infinitum. It was also particularly poignant because at the time I was finishing the final edits on my first novella and preparing to send the whole mess out into the world to hunt down a publisher. The quality of Wallace's writing and the unfathomable depth of his mind's eye made me work harder on my own writing.

The disappointing part of the story is that I have not read anything else by Wallace that I have enjoyed (I still have several more books/essays to read), certainly no where close to as much as I enjoyed Infinite Jest (hell I even tried to read his epic love story about the concept of Infinity (Everything and More...non-fiction)). I further wondered why this talented and exceptional writer had ended up as a teacher in Riverside (but I'm predjudiced against Riverside, I've lived in Southern California for too long...), seeming to hide away from such bright points as lunches and drinks in Manhattan with fellow scribes and MBA wankers. I didn't follow his career much after Infinite Jest but part of me wishes I had.

Wallace represents the first living author I've felt inspired by. Earlier in the year that Infinite Jest was released, William S. Burroughs died. Had I read his work prior, he certainly would have been my first. Thankfully, Wallace took my top slot and still drew breathe, it was the first time I could complete a book and look forward to MORE MORE MORE! It doesn't matter that he never put anything out that came anywhere close to Infinite Jest, it is still a crude and sudden pity that he decided to slip off stage for good.

Sunday, September 14, 2008

David Foster Wallace 1962 - 2008

"That perversely, it is often more fun to want something than to have it."

(32. Roughly, 'They Can Kill You, But the Legalities of Eating You Are Quite a Bit Dicier.'

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

travajo es stupido

coming back to work after nine days good, no bueno.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

the real INTERZONE

a fascinating post at


"The map is not the territory." - Alfred Korzybski

WARNING: if you are allergic to honesty move on.

Indeed, but maps contain points of interest, direction, and markers that represent progress. (or lack thereof) As most reading this know, I am an Atheist across the board, but as such I do not consider the philosophies of the human mind as wholly dismissible for their power to coordinate and make abstract concepts visual. I do not infer that these philosophies hold the power that they claim to, rather they are like a good story that reveals some truth to the reader that they are either refusing to recognize or not yet ready to admit. It is within the context of visualization that I relate the following:

THURSDAY - The Lovers / The Tower / Queen of Wands

The Lovers (doomed as it is) has, for years, been my trump card, and the main harbinger of my reoccurring reason for the change in life I am experiencing. The choice: engage in, or dissolve the potential for permanent "relationship/unity". Though I had made the decision, I was not facing it and had not faced it properly. I was still afraid of my decision, still in doubt that what I knew to be true would suffice, or if it was indeed necessary that I continue the facade and relinquish control to fear.

Sudden Change - Release - Redemption - the Tower brought to the fore the answer I was denying myself...let the bricks and mortar crumble to the ground, dig up the foundation and destroy, the space is needed for rebirth. I spent the day in a calamity of self-induced pain, I was refusing to recognize that I was moving into change, the familiar was holding on with it's powerful tentacles.

I attended a dear friend's reading, in the midst of which she experienced her own romantic let-down...on the very night in question...her pain further confused my process and slipped me into reminiscence and doubt. For her, prince charming is her desire, this eternal union, and I let her desires and disappointment influence my alcohol riddled mind. She represented the Queen for me, her reading empowered me as much as hindered me, i was OUT in a bar talking, flirting, feeling myself again, I walked between the pain of the Tower and the redemption of the Queen. Once alone at home the Tower took over again but the Queen never went away and she eventually won as the early morning hours arrived.


I received a flirtatious, "where the fuck have you been" email. CONCENTRATION and POWER...I immediately asked her to have drinks with me that night. She accepted. It was brilliant and though I didn't lay a hand on her, I didn't have to, we were mind-fucking all night and it was magnificent. You know that tension, sometimes in life we are disappointed by our three dimensions, but that tension never fails to entice. As I drove home at 4AM I felt solidified in course and empowered to carry on with the metamorphosis.


I woke and traveled into the City to have breakfast with my Dad. I felt, again, that free-spirit that potentiality of freedom. Nothing on my plate could hinder what was happening. It all became the flotsam and jetson, rather than speed-bumps and razor-wire fences. I made my way over to the new house with the last of my belongings and instead of just dropping things off, I spent two hours setting up my desk and unpacking (very odd, it typically takes me MONTHS to a YEAR before I unpack completely...this time I felt no need to wait, I wanted it and I wanted it NOW! I wanted to take control over my new environment, I have been waiting so long for that feeling that I could wait no longer).


And we arrive at today, Rebirth, Inner Calling, Absolution, and I put it all here in print so that I may remember that I am not a creature of habit, that I am not a creature of routine, and that if I am not aflame in destruction, that I must be rising from the ashes renewed.

Otherwise I am not myself, I am not ME, I am wandering and incomplete.

Friday, August 15, 2008

snippets from Exile

There will certainly be a time when all of this will make more sense. If there is not, he felt that his mind would no doubt construct one. For it is in deepest capitulation to the will that we forget ourselves. it is in deepest conspiracy that in search of solace we can reach only for solitude, misanthropy and reaction.

I tell you all of this because I believe he was right but lacked the courage to act until his dying day.

Being uninformed is perilous. It is the hallmark of our time and it is our albatross. The things you do not know can indeed hurt you and many find them useful for that very purpose. To lean blindly on stilted plains, treading just above the friction point and just below the self-righteous grip of gravity, is to balance and shift and stride, to participate, to indulge and finally to contribute. It is our way. A way that we have lost.

To struggle is anathema and to suffer is a mythology to our clan. Without the potency of progress and the trappings of advancement a large swath of our people would cease to exist. We would find our culture buried by its own necessary entropy point of apathy and sloth. What about the two hours I spend in the gym? What about the mile I run morning? Are you kidding -- I am on my feet all fucking day!

We wallow in our own perpetual vanity, none of us are immune to it, but it is not universally charming. Liam decided against riding his objective wave and decided to do something about his state.

This is the part Liam writes ... I have a credit card with 2000$ on it. If, at any time, you need to take a little...shall we say the word.

His Reply: I'm going to take you up on that 2000$ trip, how about Atlantic City? I can win back travel expenses. One catch though...I have to be home in time for the wedding.

Gaelin was marrying Erlyst and now Liam could feel that he had done everything a friend is supposed to do. He offered Scott an out --if-- his heart was not in the proper place.

Liam had flown out of town to attend the wedding, it was singular moment in time, a unique gathering of minds and emotion. Liam was inspired to say the least and as he checked his pockets for his lighter, he thought of his own redemptive right to be happy. It was never a question of when for Liam it was a question of why? In his mind everyone was asking the wrong question. They were presupposing a very questionable inherent truth. The co-mingling of humanity did not strike him as a given, nor did he consider it inevitable. As time passed he became less assured that it was even desirable, but that is no longer a unique phenomenon.

wmb - 0808

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

sometimes you get the octopus to chase the crab, sometimes it takes Katje instead...




Day started well, relaxed, no rushing really although I had much to do and to prepare. All chores complete, all packing complete I was able to enjoy some coffee and a bagel over google/news. I bade au revoir to the kitties and the extra kitties (the three boa constrictors) and locked the house behind me. They will be attended to by Mr. Smith but aside from that they are on their own for five whole days...good luck lads.

I made my way over to Corrie's place in Santa Monica. Traffic was ridiculous on 101 so I slipped off and cut an awkward path through surface streets. Once I crested the hill on Sepulveda I realized that the 405 was completely clear...moron...I continued on surface streets and was deep in Santa Monica in no time. I parked and carried my suitcase up to Corrie's. She got herself ready while I thumbed through her book collection for the millionth time. I picked out all of the books I need to read...let me fine-tune that statement...I picked all of the books I would need to take a year off of work to read. Work has always been my reading regiment's worst nightmare. I was looking forward to taking these 5 days off, finishing Ulysses, and possibly starting something else. I doubted that I’d get any writing done but I was sure to be swimming in inspiration. After all Athens has always been an inspiration to me. It even compelled me to write my first full-length novel.

LAX was the same as ever, b-r-u-t-a-l. I sat and read in the presence of thousands of frustrated and anxious humans, all clustered into tribes, waiting for our aluminum chariots and the destinations they promised to efficiently (albeit expensively) deliver. My flight left on time and sailed through the night toward Dallas, TX.

When I landed in Dallas, I had 8 text messages and 5 voice mails. Corrie’s flight, as well as mine had been delayed. I was staring down the barrel of a 3-hour layover...Corrie ended up waiting for SIX HOURS before leaving LA.


I made my way to the doors and choked down the first of five cigarettes. The humidity was absolutely oppressive and I balked at the thought of going any further South. Couldn’t I just go back to LA? But LA had been uncharacteristically muggy all the past week as well...damned if you leave, damned if you stay.

I located a terminal security entrance that for some reason was completely empty. A bit of kismet, no doubt. I treated myself to an icy and smooth (expertly poured) pint of Guinness and a large bacon cheeseburger. I felt like a king, in disguise, in order to gather an honest assessment of the kingdom. Falling in love with the simple pleasures and denouncing the pre-suppositions that often accompany burgeoning splendor (not that I would know...)


Day one: woke up to a call from mike, I passed him some bad info...nice start. More accurately, old info. DFW delayed all flights the day prior by an hour, in order to avoid making people miss their connector flights. It looked good on paper but in the end people like Corrie ended up having to spend the night in the Dallas Fort Worth airport spooning with stranger from Culver City that happened to sport a handle bar mustache and beard.

As a result I thought Corrie was coming in at 10AM or later. I told them that they should go on to Athens and Scott would come get us. Not true, unbeknownst to me they spoke at 6AM and Scott had arranged for them to pick us up because Corrie was coming in earlier at 930. I showered changed and we collected out front of the hotel. It was fucking great to see mike and Hillary. We loaded up into the car and then slipped onto the freeway and headed deep into the emerald Georgia canopy. It took forever to tell the truth, I was anxious. I kept busy on the text messaging. I finally began to recognize the area. We slipped down the beltway instead of gong down broad...c'est la vie, I’d have to wait for nostalgia until later. We dropped in on Milledge and after passing five points, we slipped between twin mansions of fraternity and providence and passed Scott and Corinne sitting on their porch waving..."where you dumb assholes going?" we turned around and pulled into the driveway.

It was really good to see Scott again and a pleasure to see Corrine again. I felt immediately at home, they have that effect on me.

After a bit of catching up we all walked to a Mexican place down the street and started what would end up being 72 hours of constant drinking. Soon after we made beer run #1 and returned to the house. The idea of a bar-b-que floated in the dense air and the next thing I knew we were traipsing to Lowe’s then another store until we found a grill that was 1) EXTREMELY CHEAP and 2) would last through the weekend. With our mission accomplished we made yet another beer run and settled in to dine on pork and chicken as the sun dipped behind the trees. Conversation was plentiful, a warm and challenging evening and the beer flowed my lovelies (11 for me), flowed like the waters of the Nile and delivered us to a peaceful rest.

wedding day 080621

I woke up to the sound of thunder smashing the ground in northern Georgia - giant men walking heavily through the tiny town.
I woke again to coffee and cigarettes with Scott and Corinne. A beautiful morning. It looked like rain was imminent. We all hoped it would blow over in typical southern style. We were guaranteed intermittent showers, but we feared that the humidity would be uncontrollable once sun came out.

Scott began cooking up breakfast for the hungry soldiers and Corrine’s father and brother arrived with the tents table and chairs. After a nice breakfast we all set out putting together the matrimonial landscape. Corrie was in charge and she really showed her chops. In a few hours the backyard was transformed and was perfect for the occasion.

Beer run...again...

Eventually people started showing up slowly, a little too slowly. If we were to pull off the whole enterprise before sunset people would need to get a move on. Everyone filtered into the backyard as the sun began setting. In an hours time we had herded the guests into their seats and away we went..."I Do." "I do." excellent, let's get back to drinking...

Corrine’s family was absolutely lovely. Every single one of them is friendly, interesting and very kind. I loved 'em, they reminded me so much of my family I even asked if they were in the market to adopt a 33 year old man.

Corinne’s good friend Dave put on the spread and goddamn, that boy can cook! I’m a picky son of a bitch and I ate until I was stuffed. (good thing too, I clocked in just over 20 beers for the day OI!).

I was finally able to spend individual time with some of the people I had met. Megan and her husband john were down from Adam’s Morgan in the DC area, which is only a few miles from where I had lived in Maryland. She’s a photojournalist and he works in tech-tenant improvements from Microsoft. A lovely couple, vastly interesting. I was also pleased to see Mr. Keith Kortemeir, I didn't really know it, but I missed that fucker while I was gone. It was great to catch up with him. He sold the Jittery Joe's name and business and was in the unique position of being in-between investments. We tossed ideas back and forth and (I'm embarrassed to say) I even got drunk enough to pitch my next book to him. FOR SHAME! Somewhere around 4am I called it quits and took possession of my couch back zzzzzz


Get up, coffee and bagels run with Mike and Hillary to Jittery Joes. Nostalgia was beginning; I spent many an afternoon in that coffee shop, wondering where I’d go next. DC had already come and gone and California was calling me home. Athens, the second time around, was a way station for me. I drew almost no pleasure from it; I simply existed until it was time to move on.

ATHFEST was in full-effect downtown and a posse was rounded up to do a walk-through. Once downtown we all parked at the new Game Day hotel where all of the parents and relatives were staying. I broke off from the group once we wandered down near the 40-watt. I had a photographic mission to complete. It had been 10 years since I’d last damaged my liver in Athens and I wanted photographic evidence of the changes...more importantly I wanted photographic evidence of what would NEVER change. Rocky's was gone, the engine room was gone, Jackson St. books remained (although, like an idiot, I waiting too long to walk in...they closed right before I made it back). Topper’s was still there in all of its shameless glory. The Lunch Paper had melted into history and (sorry kids) good riddance.

We met back up at smoker's den and had lunch in place that used to be bookstore. Incidentally the very bookstore where Scott and sis and I first spent a blistering summer day back in 1999. The service is horrendous, but the grilled cheese and tater tots were splendid.

Scott went back to visit his parents to visit parents, I tried to go to Jackson St. Bookstore but the bastards closed. I resigned to wait Scott out at Taco Stand, a bar I spent many an evening in. it was my favorite place to hide and drink during my work shifts. Good prices, nice staff, Guinness on tap...

The bartender is an ex all-nite diner employee (The Pantry) that looked just like JIMBO from the Simpsons, beanie and everything. I watched a show on Nat King Cole's brother.

I got my call from Scott and we headed over to the old neighborhood so I could snap a shot of 238 Cleveland Ave. as I mentioned, some things NEVER change.

Around 1130PM we heard thunder closing in again so we sit on the porch and watch the sky light up. The lightning was within a mile and lit the sky periodically. I called sis to let her hear the rain and Scott reminded me "bad idea to use a cell phone in an electrical storm." everyone moved off the porch in a hurry, Scott called them pussies. It rained REALLY HARD for an hour and then stops dead.


Woke up and helped Scott put tables and chairs into truck and take them over to the rental place. Scott and I putted around Athens a little reminiscing, but surprisingly talking much less about the past than we did about the present. A good thing, a sea change for us, and certainly a harbinger of happiness.

When we return, everyone is awake and showering, milling around. Coffee, cigarettes, conversation were in large supply.

Mike Corrie and Hillary left for ATL.

We made a trip to Dave's to drop off Annie (Scott and Corrine’s dog) and his cooking utensils. Dave is a crazy inspiring musician/showman/producer that I want the derv to work with. He is planning to create an all-analog reel-to-reel studio in Athens. Super cool guy, has a theory of "the Gibsonian Method" (Mel Gibson) wherein so much patriotism and anger and hatred (justified it is inferred) are rammed down your throat that you walk out of the theatre an angrier more ignorant human being.

The assorted parents showed up and hung out for a bit while everyone finished their packing and readied themselves to drive out to Atlanta. Scott Corinne and I headed to Borders for some reading material and then Chick-Fil-A for grubbin'. I picked up another copy of Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow. I lost my copy and since I never technically read the entire novel I wanted very badly to get started on it again.

And we were off to the ATL with scattered sprinkles and a grey warm sky.

We drove by Jeremy and Tova's apartment (Jeremy is Corinne’s younger brother and Tova is his lady) and then take I took the kids to the MARTA station to say goodbye. I feel a bit sad saying goodbye, and more than a little jealous of both their honeymoon plans (three weeks in Nicaragua) and also the uncommon symbiosis between those two people. Scott and Corinne are very lucky. They seem to have definitely found soul mates in one another.

Jeremy and Tova had been kind enough to let me stay at their place for the night. My flight didn't leave until the next day, so instead of taking a cab/shuttle from Athens to the airport, I could have a more relaxing (and cheaper) day just walking to the MARTA station and taking the train to the airport.

Jeremy came home first; poor guy had some work bullshit he needed to get off his chest. He thanked me for letting him vent and I assured him that it was my pleasure. Tova arrived and we all decided on Mexican food. Dinner was fun but the REAL festivities began at home...Tova busted out SCATTERGORIES! I hadn't played Scattergories since the early nineties. I had a blast, it was the perfect last evening to the adventure.


Morning came and after a quick shower and smoke Jeremy and I drove over to the MARTA station. I thanked him profusely and made my way to the top of the platform. The trip across Atlanta was excellent eye candy. We sped through suburb to arts district to college campus to industrial wasteland and finally came to rest high in the air just outside of ATL. We waited for the tracks to clear and descended into the airport. The train let off right at baggage claim and after a quick session with security and TSA I was settled back into the waiting game...

Back to LA, back to reality, back to plebian existence.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

going back to athens...

i've only been back to athens, ga once. after leaving her for good in 2000 and making tracks for nevada and then california, i did accompany a friend on a drive from los angeles, ca to northampton, ma. we spent the night with the man who became "Sil" in 'A Selfish Man' and pressed on in the early am toward new york city. this was two weeks after the world trade center crimes and getting onto manhattan island at 2am was a struggle...but that's another story altogether...

so it's been almost eight years since i've walked the streets i wrote about in 'A Selfish Man'. the aforementioned visit took place almost three years before i finished 'A Selfish Man' and it was published. master Sil is tying the knot and i'll be flying out to witness and imbibe in celebration. i have been warned that much has changed and that i will either be pleasantly surprised or horrified.

in years past, i made a special point of re-visiting old haunts because i am addicted to the nostalgia of "difference" that naturally arises with the passage of time (which reminds me i need to do some traveling deep into texas and utah since it's been a decade give or take since i've seen either). as i became tethered to los angeles through music and emotion i have been landlocked so to speak and have felt the pinch of familiarity and all it's caustic side effects. i admit being borderline ecstatic about returning and walking the streets, a 'finnegan's wake' re-enactment, american-style. 'Marciano's' is now gone, i believe the 'engine room' is now gone and i imagine most of the cast and characters of 'A Selfish Man' have faded into history (miss 'ya Cedric!) but i know that the essence of athens will remain least for yours truly.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

the vocational hazards of occupied desire.

deeply enmeshed in a sonic web of our making...the tones are coming out clearly, boldly...the syncopation is spot on...the vibe pulses through each take...why is it that i am prevented from doing this all the time(?)...20 hour days, gone in a flash and a mid stretched enough to last a lifetime.


Monday, February 18, 2008

what to say when it's all been said?

i don't care much for that sentiment. i always seem to have SOMETHING to say. tonight, not so much, but these things happen...

the epic rainstorms that ushered in the year were welcomed as an out-stretched hand. a wistful feeling that creativity may wash over me in the next few months and i will get back on the proverbial horse with the writing. the overwhelming grey of los angeles skies and the bitter winds whipping down vine st. served to make smoking a challenge, ad though my thoughts returned to the book often i have yet to commit to her completely. fickle love this writing business.

we return to the studio on march 10th, another ep forthcoming. we have all taken the week off and will retreat into the cave for seven full days. emerging, hopefully in victory, on the seventh day.

i have no further interest in the presidential elections, all evidence of a sea change in policy has withered away under this extremely long campaign season. i may slowly be returning to apathy, and i wish it were not so.

'ulysses' by james joyce is turning out to be a life-saver, i have tried for many months to find an inspiring tezt that i had not already rea from cover to cover hungrily. leave it to the irish to pull me back in...


Sunday, January 13, 2008

saying goodbye and hello in the same restrained breathe...

"Everyday we murder our finest impulses" - Henry Miller

most of you will be coming to this blog for the first time because of my hasty evacuation of both my myspace and facebook accounts. i doubt it is important for me to note why either of these accounts wore on my conscience, if it is, let me know i'm good for elaboration! please feel free to check here for a continuation of creative, autobio, and political regurgitation. i've left IMPEACH up on myspace's servers, after all shouldn't i continue filling Rupert's servers with information directly in opposition to his goals? yes, of course i should. and of course, i can still be reached through the band as well at THEWHIRLINGDERVISH.NET and

i'm still available at, use it, abuse it, do what thou wilt.