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Friday, September 21st, 2007
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1:56 pm
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| Monday, March 21st, 2005
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8:25 pm - Encore
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Yet again I took a three hour nap. It was at my grandmother's house. It turns out that right after I fell asleep my grandfather fell asleep too, only at the dining room table. When my grandmother told him to go nap in a bed, he started saying the funniest things. He woke me up saying these funny things. He was half asleep and couldn't remember saying these things afterwards and he started muttering things like, "I can't believe I married a woman like this! I wish I wouldn't see her face in a hundred years!" The entire time, my grandmother who was doing dishes in the kitchen yelled, "Who are you talking to? I can't hear you!" It was pretty funny. But then I fell asleep and had a dream.
The dream consisted of me sitting in the middle of a large lecture class. The class was intro to film and the teacher was Ray Charles! He really knew what he was talking about but I doubted his blindness since everytime someone had a question he would look right at them. He also wore a baseball hat and I thought to myself, "baseball hat and he knows where everyone sits, is this really Ray Charles?" But it was, I knew it. And his experience with film was really astounding.
When I woke up my grandfather asked me where I got my crooked nose and then proceeded to tell me that I was soon to be overweight. We got out the scales and he weighed 15 pounds more than me. "165?" he yelled. "You must mean 155!"
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| Sunday, March 20th, 2005
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10:07 pm
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I took a three hour nap today between work. But the nap came with a horrifying dream.
The dream is as such:
I see my father and we're in some house which I presume to be our own. But there's something wrong with him. He doesn't talk and he moves really sluggishly. Then he leans back and quickly throws his head forward right against a wall. He smashes his face into the wall and he falls down onto his back. I pick him up and sit him down somewhere and go to tell my mother. I ask her if she's noticed anything strange and she insists that, no, your father is fine. But just when she says so, I turn around and there's my dad, smashing his face into the sliding glass door. This time he falls down and when I get to him, his face is bleeding. I take him to sit on a yard chair. He's mute, or maybe just dazed out from all the face smashing but he can't talk. He looks at me and kind of smiles and it's the stupidity in his face that's the scariest part. He seems brain dead, but what's more, he's extremely destructive. He tries to smash his face on a yard table, but I pull it away just in time and by now his nose is bleeding really heavily. He grabs a screwdriver from the table but I put my hand over his to hold it down. He tries to lift it, but his hand is weak and I can hold it down easily and he looks at me and smiles in the craziest way. I suddenly realize that he's just as likely trying to stab me as he is trying to stab himself.
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(7 comments | comment on this)
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6:05 pm
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He'd found the cat barren like desert landscape. Who was to know that the cat was to be fertile? 11 months after he'd made serious attempts to pet the cat with a daily regularity, he gave up. The giving up felt good. The giving up was the weight of a body without a soul. Much like carrying that body up the mountain to an ivory plot, giving up half way and leaving the corpse under a bush.
So that when on the 12th month the cat finally germinated and looked for a leg to brush up against, the man was 3 counties over and far too gone to even remember what it was he'd dropped. The cat searched for him for 3 months, but no one could really tell. How could one know the intentions of a cat? On the 15th month, the cat made a leap from a freeway wall with the secret intention of jumping the entire eight lanes.
The woman who hit the cat was 43 and an astrophysicist. She had curly hair and had picked up a cup of coffee before going to work that morning.
The white bumper sticker on the back of her car read, "I'm a physicist, so flirt harder."
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Saturday, March 5th, 2005
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7:03 pm
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| Wednesday, March 2nd, 2005
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11:20 pm
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He sat down on the bed, tired. He'd walked in on his daughters, painting their thoughts on to their faces. Heavy drops of mascara hung on their eye lashes, creating shadows and soldiers right in front of their eyes. Heavy blush made them embarassed of lovers' whispers which they had yet to hear.
As he undid his shoes, a noise like a dropped glass came across from behind the wall and he realized that through out his 43 years of life, nothing had sewed his heart and given him as much pleasure as the sound of his children laughing behind a wall.
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(5 comments | comment on this)
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| Tuesday, February 22nd, 2005
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8:46 pm - Oooh HOoooo
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If my laundry were done
I would leave
to study
french
the language
of the dead
the state of mind
that causes people like me
to say things like
I need somebody
somebody
just like you
just like
the smells of garlic
in oil
or maybe the impatience
of reading too many lines
or maybe the the sound
of a cat
right before it pisses on your pillow
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Friday, February 11th, 2005
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11:51 pm - Julie, I'm not so horrible.
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The man in the train station was going to the races and I told him I was going home. When another man came up looking for fifty cents, the first man said,
"Where ya' goin'?" The second man, whose leather boots clashed with his fifty cent demand told him,
"To the city."
"To the city? Me and this guy are going to the races, see the horses run" I knew I wouldn't go on the trip, but I could see it spelled out in front of me. It was a movie who's plot I knew so well that the title was enough to paint a picture so bright that we'd all have to wear sun glasses.
"The horses?" the second man asked. I couldn't tell exactly what kind of answer he wanted.
"Yeah," the first man replied, "Friday nights that place is full of young kids. Throwing their money around, like it's nothing!"
We all looked around, but the train hadn't come yet so I looked back at him.
"Like it's nothing!"
He was sweating and I guess he didn't have anything else to say. His greased thin hair looked like a partially opened venetian blind. Partially opened, but inside it was hot and the windows began to sweat. I imagined teenagers fooling around in his head, fogging up his forehead. His teeth looked like white chocolates with dark chocolate insides. They swam back and forth in his gums, waiting to get out of his cold cold mouth.
He asked me if I had joint pain. All I heard was the joint part so I shook my head. Then he showed me the joint pain medecine he used.
"Good medicine" he said. "I got them two for one and I was wondering if you wanted to buy one"
No, I said, my joints are o.k. He got a good laugh out of this one. "Joint pain" he said again. I didn't think it was that funny. He said something about girly magazines. He pulled out a brown paper bag with a bottle in it and took a sip, looking at me all the while, pretending that his eyes were two big quarters. Two big pieces of metal, waiting to fall out of his head. But it wasn't even alcohol, I think it was Coca Cola. What's more, it could've been Diet Coke.
"Hey," he said to me, "they let you ride free if you're going to the tracks."
"I don't know if that's true" I said as the train pulled up.
The man in the cowboy boots gave me a grin and jumped on the train, without a ticket.
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Friday, January 14th, 2005
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12:12 pm - From Where I Sat
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While her neighbor responded to the fielded question, the black head of the microphone balanced on her silent lips. So that for just one instant, Angela Davis had Hitler's moustache.
current music: You and Me, Meant to Be - Bob Dylan W/ Wyclef
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Saturday, January 1st, 2005
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1:45 pm
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yeah yeah,
my ribs suffocated my heart when you smiled at me,
but by the time you got out of the theatre,
my legs had hardened again
and you weren't all that great,
upon a second excavation.
current music: Let's ride the slow Train - Snoop Dogg feat. Johnny Cash
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(4 comments | comment on this)
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| Friday, December 24th, 2004
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12:37 am
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I came here to do something, but by the time I got there I couldn't remember exactly what it was I should've done, so instead I saw crowds pour into the old theatre and I rolled across the street with them like rain drops over a passenger seat window right inside to the nice blonde woman who refused my money and tipped me with a smile. Rolled right up the stairs and rolled right down, not finding a seat and drunk off the wood beams. The theatre was a glass of irish cream and I moved slowly, respectively. I sat in the seat, the faces so big that they must've been watching me. A war raged inside of my knee, but in my hands it was a love story. And the film started and it was everything I wanted it to be, since it was falling in love with out the afterwards. With cigar boxes. And big trunks. "you know how all of the big brown suit cases are stacked on top and all of the big black ones are stacked on the bottom?" Jimmy Stewart asked. "I want you to put all the brown ones on the bottom and all the black ones on top"
Come to my house next week. It's just me and my dog for a week. And Izett.
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Saturday, December 18th, 2004
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7:19 pm - ramble bramble bushes-my dog won't touch his food but let's not worry yet.
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Days like this are rich in everything. Days like this are rich in embarassing premature nostalgia. Any day when you get up at 5 a.m. is worth documenting meticulously. Days when your father covers himself in foam and does a penguin dance into the sea only to discover a dead seal pup. A dead seal pup with star fish all over it. My mom laughs like a dropped nickel and asks if it was a navy seal. What a joke! But on days like this jokes shift like sardines in an aquarium, bullets forever. Days like this are stroked continuosly with AM radio and simmered with thermos tea weak in tea but heavy in jam. Yet days like this forgive minor mistakes. "Should the tea bags have been left inside?" Yes, probably. So that when the guide came up to me with my camera in my hand, my map in my pocket, looking far too eager and just a bit too old and asked, 'Can I help you?', I wasn't afraid to tell him that 'I heard there was a place I could pet a shark'. So today I saw a great white shark, but what I liked most was the tuna. But before all of this, before my plunge, before my 16 dollars and two wallets(one in each pocket), I saw Fort Ord, all alone but with a camera that had 8 precious shots left. The base lies like a beached whale upon a hill, broken windows and rotting blow holes strewn everywhere. Barracks, classrooms, garages, all carry the stench of rotting flesh and loneliness. One house had "I'm not happy" written against a wall. Another ate itself, windows first.
The reason waking up late is horrible is that all we see is a state of constant decline. Waking up after 11 is a steady and inevitable fall towards dusk and finally night. But waking up before the dawn is unique in the sense that there is a growth that seems simply inevitable. I won't ask you to get up that early, because the stature of morning is intimidating. Yet, when it comes down to it, hasn't night been exploited enough? It's had its moment, and maybe that's enough. People used to hate the 80s, and that was only two years ago. Is dawn the 80s of the Day that forgives and remembers everything?
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Thursday, December 16th, 2004
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3:19 pm
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I found a walkman so now I can listen to music discretely. Also, I want to figure out a way to make a straw attach to a half gallon of wine. Also, there is a serb and mexican in my russian house and it's not a joke. When will this tape stop recording so that I can go on with the rest of my life?
Happy Holidays!
love,
michael.
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Monday, December 13th, 2004
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1:12 pm - Winter Break - Day 4
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I could sit here eating butter cookies all day, letting the butter sift.
But I'll go, don't tell me twice, I'll go, I'll go.
I used to ride this bike when I was 10, but now I ride it all over again,
almost a decade later and it still has two flat tires.
So sometimes you just have to know when it's time to walk your bike.
I know it's now.
and I know just how.
I'll hold it by the seat and pretend that it's alive and that we're both friends just walking down the street, and marvel at how it goes where ever I want it to without the slightest complaint.
My dog won't stop barking.
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(5 comments | comment on this)
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| Friday, November 26th, 2004
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12:34 pm - At first I thought it was that I'd just brushed my teeth, but now I'm pretty sure this milk is sour.
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Stories of bread lines.
Stories of frozen sidewalks.
Stories of train rides.
Stories of hiking trips.
Stories of my grandfather working across the bay.
Stories of potatos in the corner.
Stories of fat women.
Stories of distances.
Stories of parades.
Stories of summer cabins.
Stories that are in my memory only as stories.
Stories with which to make russian jokes.
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Sunday, November 7th, 2004
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3:25 pm - Standing tall in the dark (moon beams are sharp)
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Whose feet are those? The feet that I hear tinkling outside my door as if my floor was seeking help from an acupuncturist for the it's ill and warped moon beams? What shadow is that? The shadow that drinks my table lamp? Tender sounds crawling into my ears, cars rolling by, providing evidence of the doppler affect. You come here so low, you leave so high. But I'm here in the middle, between your lows and highs and it is my position that defines you. Who else will you smile for? Who else smiles for you? Who is that that you're looking at behind that lense, and does the lense make you smile, or would you be smiling regardless? Who is it that breaks my finger tips slowly? Who is it that fills the bags under my eyes with oranges and marmalade and maybe even a pamphlet that was handed out in front of Safeway professing the abuse of workers in Southern California who don't recieve their medical insurance through first class mail like the Northern Californians do? Don't worry, I won't come looking for you while you lay yourself down on my floor, eating toasted moon beams with marmalade.
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Sunday, September 26th, 2004
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3:16 am
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| Thursday, September 9th, 2004
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9:20 am - Alright!
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My house is falling apart and I haven't moved in yet:
1. I'm already in a gigantic battle with a housemate and am considering throwing his shit out of MY room, which he has illegaly moved into and won't leave!
2. The landlord is having problems with his wife and moved into the basement. While I hope this is temporary, if I was his wife I wouldn't take him back. He starts banging on his celing, our floor, when we play cards. Once he said, "And I can hear that damn cat walk across the floor every night". I think that's really funny.
3. Two windows are smashed.
4. There are ants.
On the other hand;
1. I am building a table for the kitchen with my housemate.
2. I am moving in soon.
3. I plan to go fishing daily.
4. I also plan to go crabbing!
5. I am also lookking for employment which isn't so cool.
p.s. if you're in Santa cruz, call my number, it is 831 469 3412 don't call if you're a jerk. knife!.
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Sunday, August 29th, 2004
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1:53 pm
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1:36 pm
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i smell horrible.
so much so that when i talked to a person yesterday, they were obviously distracted and i could tell they were looking for the source of the stench that was so strong it couldn't possibly have been human.
but it was. it was this human.
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