This Thursday is my Friday

Ahh, time to relax. Roll a preg'nnt cigarette from the good folks at Top, light a stick of Nag Champa and kick back with the keyboard. I think the weather is right for some Hendrix bootlegs and a smattering of Radiohead. The power of choice is a beautiful thing. I work a simple job involving Italian food and smiling on occasion, and somehow it magically allows sustinence for this chunk of meat, and even pays for this shelter from the rain.

Back in the saloon my tears mix and mildew with my drink,
I can't really tell my feet from the sawdust on the floor,
But as far as I know, they may even try to wrap me up in cellophane and try and sell me
Brothers help me, and dont worry about lookin at the storm
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah...
-Hendrix

On a plain and can't complain. This Sunday (or Saturday to the rest of the world) an animation showcase with Bill Plympton and Don Hertzfeldt cartoons is coming to Berkley, and I am like, so there. I had the pleasure of viewing Hertzfeldt's short, "Rejected" a few years back at Spike and Mike's, and I have been a fan ever since. Despite it's underground status, "Rejected" has been seen by a number of people (thank you filesharing programmers), and like any good piece of media, the lines from it have made their way into the verbal lexicon of all of my friends. I only have to say "Ma spoon is too big!" and someone will inevitably come back with "I am a BaNaNa!" It is good to be around people who speaka my language. So who's coming with me?

Speaking of badass things in the near future, next Saturday Gabby-La-La and Les Claypool are playing at 21 Galaxies in S.F. and I wouldn't miss that for even an extra-large Hanes whitie T and a biggitie-bag of chili-cheese Fritos. If I had a biggitie bag of something else, however, I might just forget what day it was. Now to get LoMo and her quasi-mystical follower of Attilla to join us... oh yes the boozing and halfintelligent erophilosophicality will abound. Wow! I just put three links in one paragraph! I am bristling with interactivity today!

I think all things of major interest have been spoken of, so those of you still reading can safely bow out now. Unlike the people who carefully compose their "journal entries" I like using this thing like a journal, so time to write on. It feels so good when rent comes around and you actually have the money to pay and moneys left over to do with what you choose. While responsible people actually save their money, I, on occasion, like to think of the leftovers as free game. People are so concerned with money in this society, and while I understand that money is pretty damn important when you don't have enough, I have met people who still woe losing a twenty dollar bill for months afterward. Wierd. That seems like too much of an attachment to material object. You might as well mourn about all the semen or ova that has been *gasp* lost in sex or menstruation that could've been converted to children. Yet we count and recount money all the time at the store, at jobs. We are told that every cent counts... because it could be converted to Why, Yet More Stuff™!. Ack. I need to find someone with the same sense as me and m-m-Mate. Cabin in the woods, baby, cabin in the woods... we probably would have trouble with home loans, but at least we could sit back in our cabin and laugh at car commercials. Speaking of mates and all that shtuff, I have had sex on the tip of my mind for friggin' days now. My loins are pulling me back into the Grand Hat Dance, though my brain still gives a peery eye to the whole concept of entangling myself in another person's DramaLand. Still the loins pull, though, and I am no monk, no Dalai Lama- I have no way to combat this drive to, well... FUCK. Nope, can't fight that. He speaks succinctly, but has a point. Shit this keyboard ain't gonna help me so time to change the subject. Other than that, the road to being a professional musicmaker is going well- I'm going to be doing scoring for two movies- one of them one of those succulent, evil black comedy/horror movies that seem to sprout like mildew from the white tiles of mainstream cinema. The plot, from what I've seen, though I haven't got the script yet, kicks ass. Full of accidental-murder-creates-ever-spiraling-psychosis type stuff. I am so down to do a soundtrack for a movie like that- use feedback, fuzz and static, moldy theater organ music from an old 45 breaking down, and really fuckedup blues guitar. Mmmmm, mmm, good.

The second movie synopsis will have to come later. The loins are ionically polarizing to some distant positron-filled warm place. I must doff the keyboard and head for the source...

Neoteny and the Pixies

Time: Surprisingly Early
Vibe: Dirt-influenced Nostalga
Listening to: Rufus Wainwright

The smell of cooking dirt is wafts into my room as I type, making its way over guitars, rain soaked jeans, stale beer and my skinned knees to come knocking at my memory's back door. My nostrils interpret the dirtscent strangely, somehow thawing out a memory of me of making a tree fort with my friends. That was fourteen years ago, nearly two meaty thirds of my little life, and fortunately not much has changed- Tom Robbins calls it neoteny- "remaining young." I feel like I've done well for myself- my knees are still scraped, my nails either too short or too long, and I still have the healthy disrespect for authority I developed all those years ago... I've gotten bitter and converted those motions and emotions back to something beautiful, like tannins in red wine. As a kid I ran around the house and sometimes into things... I still do that. I used to draw dragons eating people, or else knights slaying dragons, now I do the same but I call them "tattoo ideas," I still play video games, although now other things have muscled their way into the number one spot Nintendo once occupied.... I still sleep in on Saturdays and read in bed for hours, until the afternoon has fully ripened. I've traded my plastic superheroes for plastic guitar picks... I still write stories... I've got my imagination, and still relish the fact that It can raise a few eyebrows when spoken aloud...

Now all I need is some gum and a tattered Spiderman when the all Bazooka Joe comix run out... what ever happened to Bazooka Joe?


In other news, Lukezy just adopted Kuana's pet tarantula, Rosie, and we are cooking the dirt in the kitchen for her. To make her feel welcome. To remind her of home. Tarantulas don't need Ikea, but they do need fresh, sterile dirt to dig their tunnels, and we are more than happy to oblige. When we first saw her scuttle our of her burrow at Kuana's with surprising speed and devour a hapless cricket, it was love. The life and death colorblind stimulus response struggle of insects beats TV any day. Why watch Reality TV?

I've found a friend on the internet I haven't talked to in years- I'm sending her an email to say hi, and it has been so damn long it's unbelievable. But from what I saw on her online journal (is everyone keeping these today?) she is keeping busy and following her heart, and as Calvin once put it, "the inscrutable exhorations" of her soul.
It is inspiring to meet people from earlier down the road, especially people who really rocked, and find out that they are still going for it. And those of us that are "going for it," and I count myself as one of them, need as much inspiration as possible. Inspiration is the fire that keeps the wrought-iron poker jabbing us along our path red-hot. My 'poker' is more of a flaming torch, really... yep. A torch, sometimes wielded by an angry villager, but more often by a beautiful Lady-of-the-Lake, constantly threatening to catch my hair on fire if I don't continue. Pretty good motivation, no? My last LotL took things a bit too far, but I am still travelling, always travelling, gypsy guitar by m'side. ;P Okay, I'm done. Too long at this screen fatigues my human eyes... now if I could just get an old Remington typewriter, a few tons of carbon paper and a biplane, I'd be set....


Dodo-da-doodo...Dodoo-da-DO-doo...

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