Friday, January 28, 2005


I washed for effect,
scrubbing hard and thinking of
the stories of cruel cleanliness:

blood blisters, washcloths, shame,

the dread of a bath, any bath.

With this I whipped myself,
and shaven, shining

stepped into a big, drafty room.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Olive and I went on a tour of Downtown, albeit a brief one. We had a cocktail at the old Uberhaus, now a sushi joint called Masu (funded, I was told, by screenwriter's money... that would be appropriate). It occurs to me now, as in the various dreams I continue to have about that place, that coordinates are as important as time. By this I mean that a specific space has equal balance with a spot in time, a "magic moment," and some places , as some moments, are more conducive to magic than others. I throw words like "magic" around, but there are no English equivalents save words like "fortune" or (dear God) "luck." A true coordinate, then, a literal juxtaposition of space, time and individual will that yields to something else, something that exists wholly here, in this world and dimension, is something worth noting. I held forth during a brief chapter in the life of the space, but for me it was eternally significant. Others have felt the same way (the backing partner, I heard, proposed on the stairwell not a month hence). There is humor and irony and not a little pain in it, too. I saw this on young Olive's face.
My view is that anything that makes you more alive is worth it. If, that is, you like being alive.

Sunday, January 23, 2005

Well, a frickin' walkman was bad enough, but the ubiquity of everyone walking around with THEIR ENTIRE COLLECTION OF MUSIC at thier immediate disposal makes me wish for armegeddon. I mean, I have sat behind so many boom-cars that overflowed with the driver's wish to play me his favorite song that the possiblity of that driver being able to immediately choose from 10,000 different pieces chills me to the bone.

You see some fucker with white headphones, rip that Ipod out of his hand and dash it to the sidewalk. Some things are simply not meant to be. Imagine lugging around a thousand LP's, or more: a thousand live musicians. As a culture, we seem to revel in environmental control, but enough is enough.