moonshine

Yesterday was a strange day. The moon has been acting funny and it made me feel a rather distant yet familiar side of myself come awake and walk around me. The night before I was working on this batch of absinthe. It’s a mixture of moonshine, water, and pounds of herbs. The herbs soak in the shine and water and for the distilling process I needed to squeeze out all of the juices. So that’s what I did in the moonshine for a few hours. Squeezed by hand pounds and pounds of herbs. It was rather relaxing but, I think I absorbed most of its herbal power into my body. The next day I woke up like normal but, then once my body began moving things felt different. My pee smelled peculiar and then the rest of the day was rather strange and a cloudy vision seemed to fill me. On my way to work I decided to take a different route than usual. Could this be from an inherent chemical boost in creativity? I got to work faster than normal and felt like things were going well. Then my thoughts became dreamy and hopeful. Reality seemed tinged with beauty and far off yet closeness. This strange feeling of being here and no where at the same time. I felt stress. I hated being in my cubical and it was sending me into negative spaces. Those caves inside full of stalagmites and stalactites that have formed over the years with droplets of your fear and anger. I said things I didn’t need to say and I didn’t know why. I let the bats fly out of that cave and now I’m sitting at the edge of the cave shaking my head and thinking that the squeezing of wormwood and anise could be to blame for my tangled thoughts.
Well nothing is too blame. It’s just the way things seem to go sometimes. We are always looking for something in this world to hold on to and to feel confident will always be there with us. Part of that thing inside me that I carry around is my art even though it’s a crazy 20 headed monster that is hard to tame and is constantly digging into my soul for little things to call its own. Then it’s other people. Those people we love and care for. We make our lives fit together. Sometimes really well other times some pieces are missing or different turns are taken. We all need space to grow by ourselves and with each other. One morning will be perfect and you want to relive that moment over and over. Life feels wonderful and like everything you see is breathing and trying to talk to you. Other times the sunshine is empty and you just don’t feel like anything around you is real. Currently the smog laden city of Los Angeles is causing my hands to sink into the tar. The black boiling sea that surrounds me, hundreds of rivers all smoothed together with all these holes and places to navigate around. We’ll see what the next mornings bring and if this absinthe works out. . .

Babies are Small

Real quick.

I've noticed lately that baby strollers are eclipsing Hummers in stature, footprint, standard features, and eco-destruction. To the manufacturers of these Multiple Big Gulp conveyances, these rolling tailgate parties, aisle hogging parade floats for overindulged babies, FUCK YOU.

That's all.

waking up in a mango colored tent

The perfect sunlight of sound
everything felt like it should and can’t not be

The touch breaths lucid eyes
dreams real all there for the taking

Slow movements before that cup of coffee
not too strong not too weak

Look at pictures read about people
hear stories see the color of your eyes

Just wanting it all to start over again
relive it again and again

Tortured happiness.
burn that bridge when we come to it

Being left on an island
stranded forever together

Making tree houses with all the parts no one wanted
little steps for little feet

Then the words came from the sweaters
people had visions while walking to the store

Everything tasted sweeter more alive
all those things we ever said and did were nothing

Living in this perfect nothing and then doing everything
right again over and over

So many wrong turns taken
when the cellar door was left open

All those dark parts came rolling out
we picked them up one by one and then let them go

Free in the green forest we’ve never been in
sleeping together in a mango colored tent

Things feel crazy today. ..

The news. . .WTF??? So many people dying in Iraq. All around the world. Why does it make me sad? Why do I feel connected to photographs of rumble, human suffering, all that stuff. It must be the connection to humanity. That acceptance of wanting to feel love and kindness for my fellow humans.

It’s going to be like this for a long time I feel like. This world doesn’t seem like it’s looking any better and maybe in 50 years bombs will be going off here and blowing up our landscape. . .This blog will be like a joke. It’ll be a memory. . We’ll talk about how we use to have the internet and cell phones and food. . .

Could it be possible? Yes. That’s what has happened to all those people in Iraq. Their lives use to be just like ours if not better. Different but, the same. Now it’s an apocalypse. Everyday you can read a new article about the war. Woman widows becoming prostitutes to buy food for their children. Families selling their virgin daughters to the wealthy. Bombs blowing up everyday, everywhere! This is real, people!!!!

I woke up this morning and watched some rap videos. Obviously as the afore posting indicates I love rap music. But, these videos are what you would stereotypically expect from the commercial rap community. Dude with his shirt off, tats, baseball hat, big bootie girl, money, cars, blah, blah, blah. . .It’s so U.S.A. it’s unbelievable. The object based nature of our lives. My life is very far from this world. I think about 99.9997% of people’s lives are. Even the people in these fantasy songs and videos. They know it’s a joke. We know it’s a joke. But, still it’s entertaining, it’s fun to think about being in that world. And most people want to be or think that world could actually be real and try to live it everyday. I’m in LA so I see this constantly. . .

I feel that’s what people are doing in the U.S.A. our lives are like those crazy blingtastic videos for real! Compared to the rest of the world we have our shirts off, giant cars, food, women, wealth, awesome teeth. It’s probably even crazier once you start breaking down how much we have and get and how easy it is to just be a citizen here. Michael Moore can criticize the government and so can I but, it’s what the American people believe in that’s what you need to think about.A balance is here between the people, government, companies, and everything else that is finely tuned and unbelievable that it’s all working. The markets are starting to go down so maybe it’s over. Think about Ralphs, the freeways, the internet. Everyone can get that stuff and have it as a part of their lives. Everyone reading this has these elements in their lives and uses them. I try not too but, millions of others do everyday in Los Angeles. But, it’s not that easy. I feel like crap about it all. I make things. I’m materialistic. I exist in this world that I don’t believe in and it’s all insane.

Life is beautiful and amazingly unpredictable. I love that. I feel like some truths do exist out there. Love, nature, and yourself. It’s nice to have all those things. . .So go back to reading NYtimes.com. Forget my preaching. Go back to trying to understand how we exist in this whole thing called Earth. Have fun and feel happiness and sadness. It’s all we have.

Can you believe what see when your coffee cup is empty.

This rap song is inspired by Lady Sovereign
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lady_soverign

Wha Wha Wha Wha Whaaaaaaattttttttt?
Inspired by the beats laid down
on the ground
like a bear skin rug
come alive
and bites the hunter on the ass
we got the words and beats
to make old peps get on top of their seats
and spin around
Spin around
spin spin arooooouuunnndddddd
until you can't touch the ground

Then comes the bio diesel trucksss
lifted on nitrousss
draggn' in da' back from all the free foods
and garden tools
that people need to survive in this waste land
with missy E to the left of me
Lady Sovereign to the right
Gandhi riding on the back
throwing broccoli to the kids
makn' 'em flip their lids
Everybody say hheeeeyyyy hoooooo
let Mumia goooo.
Heeeyyyy hooooooo
let Mumia gooooo
Hhheeeyyyy hoooooo
let Mumia gooooo

So now I'm got to the point
where I've rhymed enough to hurt my butt joint
I've given you free nuggets of thought
so don't get caught
Please be blessed that you can read
wake up everyday and maybe smoke weed
Take a deep breath for all the peace warriors
that are lying deep under tank tracks
Just wait until we all unite and attack
under that boom box in the sky and
make the government cry
we all go on and on
and on and on and on and on
singing for justice and peace
with all our hands held in the streetssss . .
peeeaaaacccccceeeeeeeeeee.

Morning

The light was still blue and gray.
The silhouettes of the lines and angles were
themselves and for the first time real.
All the stars were alone and forgotten.
We woke up with a rush, fell asleep again.
Our faces painted
the smell of gasoline on our hands.
The dreams were of memories
the emotions kept hold even in waking.

This space was left for us.
Between the trees by the rocks and hidden in shadows.
You sat reading a borrowed book
with shoes on
the door open
morning light
giving perspective.

I was on the edge of the bed.
Closed and mind open.
I saw the body still.
His life is our love.

Can you believe all these fires and dreams forever?
Twisted names called lives.
It’s hard to even wonder when it started or ended.
These bubbles of existence
each floating by
to its own place in the sun.

Where it’s all going?
Have I been there?
Have you always been here?
Movements of revolution in the myths
new stories being written
in the land where stories started.

Can we hold on to all of this beneath us?
The water is among us and killing.
Two hands holding as the eyes see darkness.
Breaths slower deep calm believing.

You told me everything.
Every word a million times more real
than any thought.
I see only what I want to see and let my blindness guide me.

The sky is now white and nothing else is needed.

Crazy on Board

My commute is quite different from foreverever’s. I am one among the legion of half awake car commuters who choke the southland with heat, smoke, and anxiety. My drive spans 25 miles from my comfortable urban center to the end of civilization, where salad bars are banned, and dogs with 8 saggy tits rule the land. Aunty Entity played by Tina Turner in chaps runs this place.

My challenge in the morning is not so much staying alive while in a zen space, rather getting there on time, in one piece, without killing anyone. I drive like I ride my bike. Darty, aggressive, stealthy. As a working stiff, I’m not making art because I’m too tired, so I fill the boredom by recreating my last game of Crazy Taxi on the 405.

I have to actively choose to be passed by other cars. I love to hear the sound of my engine pegged somewhere around 3800 rpm, which translates to about 90 mph. Sometimes, I imagine that I am driving so fast that my car and I disintegrate sublimely into the ether. I drive in the left lane with my windows down so I can hear the sound of the wheels, the exhaust overrun, the sound of the heavy breathing typewriter stuffed behind me, all reflecting against the retaining wall.

Driving ultimately is a bad idea. It is ego expressed in its filthiest form. Mass transit riders know the art of graceful surrender. They surrender to the train, the bus, the throng, weather, labor unions, angry train operators and bus drivers, stinky passengers, and they shrink their footprint to only that piece of mobile real estate imprinted by their butts and/or their feet. They are the serenity prayer in motion.

Drivers are the diametric opposite. We exist under an Astrodome of false notions. We believe that we can influence our arrival time. We believe in short cuts, secret passages. We rely on painted lines to keep us from harm. Our extremities are constantly engaging some control device, eyes scanning ahead and behind, mind tapping its fingers, calculating and recalculating. Our footprint is defined by speed, sight lines, and reaction time, and could easily measure up to 400 square feet. A driver cares only about piercing the space-time continuum. Any break in the logjam is our opportunity to blast off to the next bottleneck. That’s why we speed to the red light. We think we can touch the hand of god in between lights.

Commuting is inherently miserable. No iPod can eliminate it, they can only mask it with your own creative play list, and even still, you can hear its rumble beneath “Under Pressure”. And since I don’t have adequate chaps and feathers, I need to frame my daily race to and from Thunderdome in some way that makes it as fun and as thrilling as being chased by the citizens of Bartertown.

My apologies to everyone in my wake.

I'm back. 6 months later?

Now I'm back at the blog thing. I kind of found this because, a friend invited me to be on his blog. And then I found mine.
It's a perfect day in LA. Overcast and cool. I got into work early so I have this extra time to send out my thoughts before I need to go and do stuff. My time spent here at work has been full of loathing, acceptance, and rejection. It's just really difficult to feel connected here. I think more about work than I do about my own art and it really troubles me.
Last night I was in the studio, writing some letters to friends and painting some stuff and I kept thinking about work. I hated it. Not being fully committed to my art practice is fine with me because, of my belief in balance. Everything needs to feel balanced but, right now it's definitely not This life with 40 hrs of a job and then the studio shoved into the spaces between eating and sleeping is putting me into a strange state of mind.
I need to keep creating. People want to see new stuff. I want to make new stuff. But, I need a few days of just straight art making. It's so hard to juggle everything but, I know it's going to be like that for awhile. Who knows how long maybe forever.
One thing that has really helped me is riding my bicycle. Something so simple yet so rewarding. It feels great to ride but, it's so stressful to ride in Los Angeles. Since I'm commuting I'm out there with all these morons rushing off to their jobs. I have to call them morons. Everyday I feel my life is blowing by me at 30 miles an hour. This morning this big ass work truck with a trailer buzzed by me and on the other side of me was this jersey wall. I couldn't believe that asshole. Because, of the wind he creates and that stupid wall and my literal 6 inches I was from his truck I was just holding my line to keep from going down. Something like this happens all too often.
About 75% of the time, the offending vehicle stops 50 feet down the road. At this point I usually get excited. It's my opportunity to retaliate. I did NOT flick him off or yell ASSHOLE which is what I was thinking. Maybe it was too early, maybe I was just in a different space or the saddest thing could be maybe I'm getting use to this shit. I just rode on and I'm still wondering why.
I'm really vocal when I'm on my bicycle and I'm constantly taking a lane or cutting cars off. Ringing my little bell. Just letting them know I'm out there. I have a right to be there and if they're going to drive like shitbrains then I'm going to show them I'm not going to take it. I feel like I need to fight back to let people know the road is for me too. So to just ride on was kind of against my whole bicycling philosophy in Los Angeles. In one letter I was writing last night I said how we need to spread a love virus in the world. The opposite of 28 Days Later. Maybe this will all happen. I don't know.
About 10 minutes after I was almost killed something else happened. I saw a guy ride by with one leg. He was on a nice single speed with synergy wheels. I was track standing at a light and he was doing a loop in a gas station and before the light was green he was blowing by me. We were both going up this little hill and he was totally pulling away from me. It was incredible. I was trying to catch up with him but, he totally beat me to the next light and ran it. I caught up with him a few blocks later and saw him weaving through traffic and then he disappeared. I pulled up to the light and looked around and he was gone. I looped around in the crosswalk and waited for the light. I thought about how hard it must be for him to stop. How he probably never stops unless he's finishing his ride.
He's making his way through the streets in his own way. His own style. He rides in a way that I never could because, it's his world that he's riding in. I like thinking about that. When you're in a car, in traffic, your share the world with 100's/1000's of other people. You don't have choices you're stuck. Following the flow. I think that's why people floor it to red lights and drive super stupid. So that they can feel they're in some control with the world around them. But, they're not. It's a joke. But, on the bicycle you totally have freedom and control. Except when some crazy driver doesn't see you or thinks your going 3 miles an hour. Every bicyclist rides in a different style and they all make it to where they're going in their own way. We need some more of that free thinking and freedom out there.