Being in New Orleans makes me think alot about classism vs. materialism vs. morality vs. the fact that I would rather spend money on alcohol than on alot of things and so would alot of people. Take these things and throw them in a cosmic blender and that's what been on my mind lately. I think pity is the world's cheapest currency. I had a great ( Read more... )

You deal with matters, practically
Practically, you deal with them not
A practically unfettered apathy
Which unto your sadness begot

And so you will not see things practically
With your practiced proximity from love
Your sorrows sidestepped acrobatically
Prohibited practically for good

...a week til New Orleans

There was never any night. I am watching the sun rise over lake Michigan its scowling at the electric imitations of lampposts being walked under by workers in the humble morning. They're carrying my heart I know it and I've seen them skip it out to sea like the smoothest rock they could find on the shore. I'm sinking now into the repetition of all ( Read more... )

I have a drawer full of things I can't throw away. That I could never muster the courage to exert the energy to send a message from my brain to my nervous system to then activate the muscles in my forearms and fingers to relocate these pieces of my life into a trash can. Katie's postcard, Molly's picture, Willie's birthday card from 7th grade, my ( Read more... )

Get photos developed ( Read more... )

Yesterday I wandered. the kind of day when the universe leaves you a big smooch on the face.
Day of infinity after all. The Chinese and their olympic conspiracies just make me smile. Here's to Mao suits on mars.
I know I have grown. I have grown.

11 days.

I got a haircut.
A major one.
Please do not be alarmed.

Just do me a favor and recognize me, ye?

I only got two bank acounts and one's a tulip bride
and the other is a holy ghost
she keeps to herself inside
but my fifth eye's staring out my brow
don't think that she would lie
she's the figure on the album cover of your own demented mind

oh fucking homeland
oh fucking homeland
oh fucking fucking homeland

the universe is
constantly trying to
lick its own elbow

you use me like an iPod and turn me off when there's still battery left

Today I met someone born in 1834. He wore small circular glasses and spoke like an orator. I wondered what the water from the fountain of youth tasted like when he doomed himself for a lifetime of awkward mortal interactions. He had seen Woody Guthrie in his lifetime. The Old Guard forever ( Read more... )