Tuesday, December 28, 2010

transportation aesthetics

Public Transportation is oft a frustration. All around me are people staring at their smart phones. One guy even has the balls to bust out an actual laptop. I usually do all I can to disguise the fact I'm carrying one. I've heard too many stories of people getting their shit stolen by some desperate and confused 12-year-old with a gun. As everyone waits the 5-7 minutes for Bart to start moving again, it's hard to find a place to rest my eyes. Everything is so hideous. We're in a tunnel underground, on a rapid train. Rapid Transit. We wait. It's dark, so the windows only function as dark, dirty mirrors, and not a single nice thing to look at. The novelty of it's 'newness' has long since worn off, and all the colors are chasing each-other toward grey. The poster design is bland and boring, and people's clothing choices are the same. Mediocre and safe. Jeans and sweatshirts. It's like everyone bought their clothes from a thrift store 5 years from now. Jeans and jackets. Black and blue, like a bruise. Generic shoes and black backpacks. There is an extreme disassociation at work here. If this were my train, the walls would not be the color of sun-bleached paper. They would be bright and saturated with shapes and textures that make the body feel calm, safe, and content. The lights wouldn't be flourescent, and they wouldn't be so bright. They would be softer and hold more of the light spectrum, and that would absorb nicely into the colors of the walls and cushions. The light and colors in these trains makes me feel on edge. They make me feel so ugly and on the spot. So small. Like a deer frozen in headlights. I want to put sunglasses on--to hide. I want to put my hood up, cover my hands and mouth. I want to shove ear buds in my ears with music blasting. Anything that will remove me from where I am. And I am sure that I am not alone. I just don't have the option.

Everytime I get on this train, I just do what I can with my eyes, hands, and mind, and wait for it to be over. That's what my little red book is for.

the school of heart knocks

I'm attracted to the strangest creatures
The depth of the sea is in their bodies,
high walls protect their wells

I sense the water behind them
and feel life thrive
I bide my time

until the guards get used to me
until they invite me in

barter system

middle money man
money middle man
man money middle
money man

meddling

iphone junkies

on the train
out to dinner
waiting for a street light to change

in line at the bank
in the elevator
waiting for a burrito

there's always something to do
to update
to entertain
to investigate

you fit neatly in your demographic
snug in the statistics
helping the average
to achieve mediocrity

obese flamingos

Heading back to cali
the weather is transforming this car into a steamy glass box, with water worms chasing each-other across the windows. Ghosts of trailers, sedans, and SUVs whisper past with a hush. "Shhh...." though the secrets they're trying to hide are too sinister for curiosity. They're the skeletons you avert your eyes from when the closet door comes flying open. They are too dangerous to tell. Even more dangerous to know, and our individual bodies are too weak to bear the weight of this secret. It would pulverize. And when I look around at all the people; at all my people, I can't find a single pair of eyes. I only find my own staring back at me in the reflections of all these stunners. Hater blockers. There is too much responsibility in our eyes. And it just keeps on raining...

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Huh-Uh Castles ep 2010

Huh-Uh Castles ep is released! finally, something!

it's cute, people. real cute. And cheap. 6bux. bam.

order here: (i'd put a link, but links never seem to post on my blog for some reason. so it's oldskool copypaste all the way)

http://kunaki.com/Sales.asp?PID=PX00ZS7FZ0

Friday, December 3, 2010

gun

I found a gun, last week. It was late and I was In Oakland. Drunk. Walking alone at night, carrying three days worth of stuff and costumes from performing for the 100K Burning Man crowd. I was running through nightmares in my head, playing them out. Being mugged, attacked, harassed. Ten blocks from my house, five blocks, two. As I walked under the bridge just past MacArthur, I saw something on the ground. Something with weight. The city is my shopping center, the ground is my bargain bin. I am a collector. And I welcomed the distraction from fear.

It was a pistol. Probably just a squirt gun.

I picked it up. It was metal. Heavy. The plastic was broken off of one side of the handle from where it had crashed against the concrete. Probably thrown from a car. The serial number had been burnished off. I could see through the broken handle that there were bullets in it. It was real. I put it in my pocket. I liked the weight of it, it felt good. Like power. A whole new series of thoughts came to mind. My fantasy attackers from earlier came back, but this time I had control. I had a gun. But it turned quickly. As quickly as it took to run through the scenario to the point where I'd have to use it. I don't know how to use a gun. I know nothing about them. And by pulling one out, I'm all of a sudden on their level. I'm a threat. NO longer a victim. Shooting me would be no longer murder, but self-defense. Behind that came another stream of fears. Whom-ever discarded the gun might be coming back for it. They would attack me and I wouldn't know how to defend myself. I had a weapon, but didn't know how to use it. I didn't even know how to take the safety off. I wanted to try shooting it, but was afraid it would blow up in my hands. Or perhaps ricochet and hurt me. But it was too late to put it back. This piece of power was turning into a large metallic demon in my pocket. Besides, I didn't want some angry and desperate kid to find it. I figured, if it was with me-- no one would get hurt. I made it home safely and immediately got it out of me. Away from me. I put it in my little dresser with the Barcelonese Mannequin painted on the front. I then cast it out of my mind and went to sleep.

gathering

These bounces are inconsistent
and dreams tatter
for the sake of dreaming

i've begun to fall
trsting that sand will catch me
and break bread with

singers and strummers
thinkers and speakers
players and layers

although cellular explosions
may distract our purpose
our hearts are aligned
and sharp as cupid's arrow

do not forget
we beam brightly