I'll give you three Deane Bolands for a Kinks album

Did I ever tell you the Kinks f*cking rock!? Because they f*ckin do.

I met 'er in a cave in east Kenya,
then I hopped on a plane and gave it to ya...
Ebola... Oh-oh-oh ebola... la la la eboooollllaaa

No seriously. I've been listening to them and the Shins the past week, it gives me a rest from my own music, which I have been working on as fiendishly as a humpback with a speech impediment. Yeah I know that metaphor doesn't quite work, but fuck me if it isn't funny. The winds of change are a'blowin over my little house out here in Benicia- my landlord's selling, and that means we have these realtors over here checking out our place oh, say, maybe once every other hour. I woke up the other day with roughly forty people in my house. They were all meticulously groomed and made up with ties and business suits, I was topless in my pajamas. It could've been a cool party if everyone brought a bottle. And liked each other. And weren't there for money. But hey, I digress- in that situation I did the thing that required the least effort. I just grabbed my phone and walked outside. Ten minutes later they were all gone, leaving a pile of business cards on the kitchen table in their wake. Funny- the Prudential business cards all look eerily the same except for a little picture of the realtor on the front. We have like sixty of these little cards, spread across the table. Enough to trade. "I'll give ya three Deane Bolands for a Marianne Moody" "No man, my Marianne's not going for anything but a Paul Belasco..." "Well, FUCK! You lowballing bastard!" etc... So anyway, the "estate sale" we have going on is a little weird.
As for where I'm going. I don't really know, which is actually at this point, still a novelty for me. That should wear off soon, replaced by the cold reality of having to find a place to live in the Bay. But in the meantime, I'm enjoying it- party like it's 1999!*

*Ed note- Brendan has, unfortunately, been savagely influenced by pop culture. His strong mind has been clouded by Simpsons quotes, bad jokes, and Bumblebee tuna jingles. For those of you who do not understand the above reference to the Prince song, please replace the aformentioned date with some year far more applicable. Say, 2006.

<™>

Fresh Posty Goodness

In an effort to stem the tide of lame chicks I've ended up sleeping with recently, I am making an oath for a month of sobriety... er, celibacy. What are lame chicks, you ask? Well, like guys, females also have many different ways of paving over some of the bumps on the dirt road, nay, highway- to sexual pleasure. Meaning they bullshit just as much as guys do to get a guy they want in the sack. But there is a cruel aftermath to this: a certain Brendan wakes up the next morning, checks his machine, finds two messages from the girl from the night before... but... theres... something... strange... about them.
C'mon now people, we've been here before, listen to Brendan preach it!
She sounds as if she's been at Starbucks with a grande intravenous drip going since long before I got up. The hurried voice, the nervous psuedoseductive laugh thing, the way she says call meee with too much "ee"... all of a sudden I'm seriously worried I misjudged her, and that I might've accidently fucked someone with a vacuum tube for a brain. Bzzzt. I feel hungover, and the hair of the dog that bit me sounds more and more unappealing as a cure, despite the arguments my dick tries to make. Now, all of this could be chalked up to post-coital jitters, nervousness, tests to see if she made a clean capture with the vaginal net, but regardless, when I call back, the girl who likes :adult swim:, radiohead and bad movies isn't there, and has instead been replaced with some nervous chick on guard duty.
The truth is, the girl I met the night before never existed, and as I talk to her double and try at least for the consolation prize of an okay conversation about :adult swim: and indie rock and various other bits of pleasurable ramblings, I realize that doesn't exist and I've been HAD! She is really just pretending to be interesting in an effort to make me interested in HER. I manage to end the conversation before it gets to the awkward, "so when do we meet up (i.e. fuck) again?" I hang up the phone and take a shower. Masturbation is just so much easier than this. Celibacy here I come.

Girls, if you are one of these types and wonder why guys stop talking to you after sex, please don't blame the guys right away. Instead, ask yourself these questions: "Did my behavior towards (insert guy here) change after I had sex with him?" or how about "Am I really as interesting as I pretend I am?" Because if the answer is no, then stop pretending and do whatever it is that makes you happy instead of what you think makes other people happy with you. Believe me, people will eventually find out about your discrepancies. People certainly have found mine, but that helps you learn, and it shows me the people who stay with me. Sex should be a really good thing but people attach way too much bullshit to it, which is like taking a really good plot and turning it into a shitty movie because someone tried to add too much of what they thought people wanted. I'm letting all you girls onto these secrets, by the way, because when I'm off of this celibacy kick next month, I'm gonna to be horny.
-™-

Update

Update time. This blog is still quite functional. I am writing a story for y'all called the Same Old Song and Dance so keep posted and you'll have a chance to enjoy my structured writings and ramblings as opposed to my random bits of thoughtmeats.

>™

If I'm melodramatic... well, then that's friggin fantastic!

Sorrow and Jubillation. All of my favorite music comes from very deep rooted sorrow. Sorrow of generations of oppression, and within that music lies so much beauty and hope. It gives me such a good feeling about life to realize the more you try to suppress beauty, the more ways it finds to seep through. It's all pretty amazing.

Work should be like a smooth poop

God, I love being lazy- planning my day to start in the afternoon. I turned off the snooze like five times this morning just to show the alarm clock its place. This my day off. I went out to breakfast with Iz at one, and we tracked down the only place in the east bay that serves lox and bagels and had some. I swear eating fish for breakfast makes you smarter for the entire day. I can actually think today, and after a week of burning the candle at both ends, that's quite impressive to me. Those norwegians know a thing or two. This is my three day weekend, I lucked out with scheduling at work, and I am floating on a cloud, (60% marijuana smoke) reading, recording some music, and listening to Bjork. Tommorrow I have wine tasting in Napa on the agenda, which cracks me up a bit because I have no money. But I do have a tailored blazer on a hanger in the closet, and a cute girl will be on my arm... Society, sometimes, is only about appearances.
Had a talk with Bella about work. We both currently hate our jobs (surprise, surprise!) If you are reading this today at work, Iz, my heart goes out to you. Rawk out with your... I mean, Shunt it with your... Rawk North Carolina with your... Shit, nevermind. Why do male body parts rhyme better than female body parts? You girls need to take charge. Put some diversity into the lexicon of dirty words. Besides all of the words for vagina- pussy, cunt, meaty curtains of meat, whatever, have all been designed by men. What up with that? Take some verbal-vaginal responsibility!
Now, the Iz and I both agreed that we should find jobs which aren't the daily equivalent of a long painful bowel movement. She wants to be, among other things, a writer. I, a musician. A nice, smooth poop. Nothing complex. No compromises.

So I am to write a letter to my boss today on behalf of my fellow employees. This should be interesting. If it turns out funny, I'll post it.

A little unabashed honesty from a man with a fig leaf.

Just so you know, this post is simply to put some text in front of the nudity. I've got a bottle of Smoking Loon Cabernet riding shotgun on the table next to me, so there is a good chance that as I get more drunk and the thoughts pour out, there will be a few solid paragraphs between the pagetop and Thoughtmeats, a la carte.
Just
So
You
Know.
I just checked my site traffic... I am beginning to realize, like a forgotten B-Movie Starlet, that removing one's clothes gets you seen. Maybe not read, but seen. My mind is already making machinations over how I can use this newfound publicity to make the next step towards world domination...

that's right. Utter Dominion. Treating people like Peeps™. Join before it's too late. Buy Buy Buy. Spend Spend Spend. Save Save Save.
The level of Loon(™) has dropped significantly. This is rather entertaining. I think I'll drink this entire bottle while writing this post. I've always been a big supporter of hedonism. Besides, each superfluous idealet that I write gets the nudity farther from the top of the page, and meanwhile(!!) I can get drunk. More.
"Do you drink by yourself?"
"Well... well... yes... but I am communicating- somewhat- with the magical people on the other side of the screen... who, um, came to see me naked..."
Sedation updation- Bottle is at about half.
You and me, Smoking Loon. We were made for each other. You were made to be drunk and I was born to drink you. Why try and be what we're not?
My inner cosmonaut is excited. I'm going to see SoundTribe Sector Nine (STS9) this weekend, got the tix today. Last time I saw them they kicked ass, even though afterwards I found myself and Lukezy, both too stoned and coming down off of the energy of the concert, realizing half and hour too late that BART doesn't like to run after midnight. This time I'm driving, g'dammit, as public transportation needs to be more convienient. As in, paying more attention to the needs of the public. I'd like to live in a country where public transportation goes all night, work doesn't start til noon, and people stay up all night drinking Smoking Loon and conversing outlandish shit until the sedative effects of alcohol kick in. Maybe Germany is the place for me. What do you think Iz? How are their tolerances towards psychotropics and tryptamines? Which leads me back to STS9- they are basically an entire hallucinogenic experience- they improvise like mad, in a a really cohesive way, have both a drummer and a percussionist, two painters who make a painting by the end of the show, use the resonances of crystals on top of bass speakers to create vibrations you can feel as well as hear, and, well... Hunter Brown (guitarist, could you guess?) kicks ass, and I always want to hear what he's up to.

***

Because I am a man of science, an update is in order: 1/3 left and counting. This is the best date I've ever been on. I'm not bitter. I'm not bitter... =) By the way, this guy is fucking amazing. He took all my sketching ideas and made them waaaaaaaaay more badass. It is a good thing I'm not trying to make it as an artist or else I would have to kill him. Nothing personal. Damn, I am pretty fucking drunk, I feel like Hemingway, although I can't write like him. I need another twenty years and about twenty-five extra pounds of solid bitterness for that. I only have about five pounds of bitterness, centered in my midsection, and that's only because of the usual shit, past relationships, moments of indecision, yep, the usual bag of tricks. Wooo. Human Condition. Anyone want to be my muse? Here are my positive traits: I am kind and talented, relatively intelligent, funny, respectful, honest and awake. There are probably others but if they work ok, I usually don't pay attention. Negative traits: I can be self-absorbed, insecure, and have a hard time keeping a single train of thought running. I also am really good at saying the wrong thing during an argument and usually regret it afterwards as my defenses come up quicker than I'd like them to. So there you go. A little unabashed honesty from a man with a fig leaf.The Loon (™) is nearly gone now, but my brain is smiling just right. The end of this post is nearing, which means that nudity is on it's way in. It took the red-eye and will end up on your doorstep
right
about...
now.

So I...

Went camping recently.

Drunk + Waterfall + Fig Tree =



I call this piece "Hiding Behind a Substantial Body of Work."