You ain't machines and You ain't men

I have recently aquired from an unnamed source something that I am very excited about, and that folks, is Sun Kil Moon's Tiny Cities. For those of you in the loop, you know I am a huge Modest Mouse fan, and this is a "reimagined" collection of some of their best songs. It's very paired down and simple, but still maintains its gravity. The guy's voice is totally different than Isaac's, and there is some nice acoustic guitar and some strings that add a whole lot, too. Some of the songs are almost "folky" sounding, which I think is a really nice touch. I don't think it has officially hit stores yet, but man, you should really buy it if you know what's good for ya.

What else you jivin' on lately, turkey turkey? you are probably asking right now. Good, I'm glad you did. So, here is a quick list of what I am enjoying right now.

The Mars Volta - Amputechture: Man, this band completely amazes me. Their progression in substance and style is always really exciting, and this album just feels right for what music needs right now.

McSweeney's: Eggers and his crew never cease to amaze me. Be careful, you could spend a few hours here if you ain't careful.

Peanut Butter Hershey's Kisses: Holy shit. These things are certifiably amazing. Like little Reese's cups but better. Good flavor, great consistency.

Daniel Clowes: I still haven't seen Art School Confidential, but I feel like I need to see it real soon.

Gumshoes

Studio 60: Good writing, good acting. Like West Wing without all the stuff I don't understand.

I might update this as it changes. Wouldn't that be fun? Maybe some sort of Hot or Not list? Ok, I will think of something clever. Stay tuned!

The Myth of Being

here is a blog project I'm working on: The Myth of Being

It kept me warm

H and myself. @ Empty Bottle, Chicago 10(?)/05
I might work on this again, but I don't think I am allowed.

There are people, and then there are these people

- young couple walking down the street singing (careless)
- gender-ambiguous attractive person wearing a big ? on his/her shirt
- woman with very hairy arms
- cutesy girl from 1920's film
- boy with 35 year old's face (photo to come)
- girl that looks just like Magda
- skater girl with lip ring whose skin I imagine is very smooth
- blind homeless guy in subway tunnel (now dubbed "Stevie Hunger")


P.S. This* is how I feel lately.



*graphic

Things To Do Before I Turn 30

The CORE from 24 Live 2006.

There are a lot of things that are supposed to happen before 2010. Hell, there was a lot that was supposed to have happened before 2001, but I don't see any flying cars, do you? It's not like we are surrounded by cyborgs or anything. But 2010 marks a special year for me, personally, in that it marks my thirtieth year. My parents smartly had me in 1980, knowing how easy it would be for everyone to keep track of how old I would be turning with as little math as possible. Anyway, I have a few goals I'd like to accomplish by that year. Here are some of them:

1) Write or be writing a book.
2) Have at least one screenplay floating around out there.
3) Live by myself or with a significant other. (I love my current roommates, but I don't want any by the time I'm 30, no matter how cool they are.)
4) Be making at least 35-50K a year.
5) Live in one place for over a year.
6) Have travelled to Europe/ Asia/ Azerbijan.
7) Either have/ be working towards/ have decided not to pursue Master's Degree.
8) Own a car. Maybe even a NEW car.
9) Have been in some sort of commercial/ tv show/ film
10) Continue teaching and performing improv full-time, maybe even get paid to do it.

The way I see it, these goals aren't farfetched or unlikely, but it will take some work to get there. I should probably get started on this 3 years ago.

His Brain is Squirming Like a Toad

Figure with Meat by Francis Bacon
I've had a weird obsession with death and murder lately. I am excited to see The Black Dahlia, and not just because my girlfriend is in it, but because I generally am interested in the story behind the film. Now, I am not necessarily an evil or disturbed or in any way bad person, but I find things like serial killers and strange death phenomena to be fascinating. I think that if I wasn't so full of whimsy and general light-heartedness, I might be a goth kid. I used to be a goth kid in High School. I think I concerned Jason the other day when he eyed the pictures I was looking at on the internet on my laptop, because they were mostly crime scene photos that I had come across while researching The Black Dahlia. Sure, a lot of the photos were gross stomach turning gut wrenchingly disgusting, but I am still totally fascinated by it. I think that it is also a very personal thing, and I don't want to sound weird, but my fascination with the macabre is not something that I want to chit chat about on a date or a party. And no, I am not going to purchase any Gacy originals or carpet samples from the Tate house. No, I am not going to secretly experiment with torturing small animals or lye. I just think it is strange and eerie. The idea that these people exist is horrifying to me, and that people are completely capable of eviscerating one another is so frightening I can hardly apprehend it. But then again, maybe these serial killers and murderers are really no different than anyone else.

Me duele estomaga...

It's funny how certain things can make you really nostalgic. For me, it is often music or smell, but sometimes something as simple as color can take me back to the past. For example, I am eating Dark Chocolate M&M's (highly recommended) and the first few were yellow and brown. The color combo is easily recognizable as that of bee clothes, which takes me back to a few years ago when I was reading a great little book of poems called Blind Huber by a dude named Nick Flynn. The collection is very nice and tight and tiny and edible, just the way I like poetry. I started thinking about where that book might be now, and I realize it is one of the dozen or so that I lost to an ex-girlfriend. I guess the idea of the book and the ex-girlfriend and the fights we hadgives me a sinking in my gut. This was right after I graduated college, and it was not an easy time for me at all. I remember that cold, clean apartment in the treetops and how close I always felt to being someone clever and fun and doing what I wanted, but never quite got there. The thing about that book is that I let my ex borrow it right before we split, and then I needed it back but I never had the balls to ask for it again. I think I bought a second copy of it, and who knows where that is now. At that time I was listening to a lot of Modest Mouse, eating a lot of Pad Thai, and doing lots and lots of crying. It is good to know that I was able to overcome the person I was then, but I guess at the time I didn't even realize how sad depressed I really was.

Now, I am in a much different place with much different people, but there are always constants. The way I feel today is not much different than how I have felt in years past. Its not that I'm sad or depressed, relly, I just know how history so often repeats itself, but its hard to see until it actually is history.

My stomach hurts.

Improv group serves up 28-hour laughs - Arts

Improv group serves up 28-hour laughs - Arts

Restart Now or Restart Later?

When you consider yourself a writer, you might make the assumption that writing is certainly a part of that. I apologize, dear friends, for my lack of updates lately. The truth is that I have been sawmped by doing quite a bit of improv and work lately, and I'm afriad that my desire to write has been suffering. So, in my hopes to alleviate this, I am going to push myself to at least blog daily in order to gain the momentum I need to at least get some things written for samples to send when I want to start selling myself and what I do. I'm also taking it upon myself to research a subject and write something about it once a week. Right now is going to be all about producing substance and to just be as prolific as possible. The rest will come later. If I am going to be a writer, then I had better get to writing.

That being said...

Grace Cathedral Hill by The Decemberists

Grace Cathedral hill,
all wrapped in bones of a setting sun,
all dust and stone and moribund.
I paid twenty-five cents
to light a little white candle
for New Year's Day.
I sat and watched it burn away
then turned and weaved through slow decay.
We were both a little hungry,
so we went to get a hotdog,
down the Hyde St. Pier.
The light was slight and dissapeared.
The air, it stunk of fish and beer.
We heard a tuba & trumpet play the National Anthem.

And the world may be long for you,
but he'll never belong to you.
But on a motorbike,
when all the city lights blind your eyes tonight,
are you feeling better now?
Are you feeling better now?
Are you feeling better now?

Some way to greet the year:
your eyes all bright and brimmed with tears.
The pilgrims, pills and tourists here all sing
"Fifty-three bucks to buy a brand new halo."
Sweet on a green-eyed girl,
all fiery Irish clip and curl,
all brine and piss and vinegar.
I paid twenty-five cents to light a little white candle.

And the world maybe be long for you,
but he'll never belong to you.
But on a motorbike,
when all the city lights blind your eyes tonight,
are you feeling better now?
Are you feeling better now?
Are you feeling better now?

la la la, la la la, la la la.
ooh la la la la.

Hard to Chew pt.1

For ten or fourteen years we never realized our small mountain outpost was something
more than a niche in the nape of the Ozarks-- a fistful of families, each with a mule
named for an uncle.

When the ambit of winter came sudden and amaranthine, we forced our teeth around our lips and bit to feel the warmth of blood in our beards. Oh, but our buckram bones could not remember the days we had foregone and what we could salvage was never ample enough to fend for our brothers, our daughters our housecats, our toes or our faces.

The ground was too rocky and frozen for our spades or shovels, the air as thick as ice and just as ugly. If you want to forget the taste in your mouth, the whiskey is always warm.

But You Can't Make Her Drink

A mare and her master-- their muscles rubber and stiffening under summer sweat-- push through to the riverbed, a creekbed, rather. Because the morning haze is risen and their are feet sticking to the clay they can't saunter despite their urges, despite their excitement. Her shoulders twitch and he slaps her hind, then tugs the reign and says come this way, old girl, this way.

The continuity of life is based on...

the correlation of structure and function, apparently.

But, why does it matter?

he hits snooze twice before he dies

from the piano Helen's eyes are the only things visible in the hallway this room needs dusting this room is falling apart Helen is rapt in a faded yellow dress she can't breathe doesn't even try blue skin and black black eyes eyes that fall out of sockets screaming "this is serious, there is no cure" its a disease there is no cure no breathing only kicking wake up wake up this isn't real you have to breathe or you be that dark and no one will see your eyes from the hall.

Wake up sweating. Breathe.

this is not burning this is drowning an asp a copperhead a rattlesnake a sidewinder but where is the scorpion? it is in the tank with the pirannha rescue the scorpion rescue it and the dog will help you breathe this house was my own we used to throw the bird down over the balcony his wings were clipped but he would still fly I could draw it for you the house was beautiful the scorpion is ridged and thorns distract the viper chase the dog move move move the thing is loose on the ground why can't I find it? then again the eyes the eyes in this house too it was sacred a lizard got loose maybe I swallowed it the kitten was trapped underneath the basket was shuffling it around when I came downstairs

What is that thing?