Sonoma County Exile

the whole world shaking

Tue, 25 May 2004 12:45:14 GMT

humming
rolling on a two day high
and you have no safe answer
no easy explanation for any of this
senseless blind dumb and deaf
your eyes in someone else's head
the past can only speak for itself
and holds no sway over us
over this
find yourself left with nothing to say
only this strange certainty
and a hand to hold in the darkness.

June 1997

Wed, 31 Mar 2004 14:49:37 GMT

You remember the sun beating through the trees and the light and dark spots on the pavement as you walked. Those subtle hints you dropped. Or maybe not so subtle. These notions of love, and of forgiveness. Maybe the last you'd hear out of your own mouth, although you'd hear them countless times later from the mouths of the people you'd burned. And maybe she heard them. And maybe she didn't. But maybe for the moment you could care less. It's good enough just being there. Being back.
And you walked slowly, even though you felt like running.
And you talked, though the words aren't important now.
Only this.
That you were young. And that this was perhaps the last moment when everything was truly possible.
Later you would kiss her, standing in an empty parking lot, and later you would drive home with the taste of her still on your lips. And later she would call to say it was all a mistake. And later you would agree. And later you would say horrible things about her. And later you would struggle to remember her face, her voice, the things she had said.
But you thought of none of this as you walked together in the dying light.
Her hand brushed yours, and she smiled.
And it took you a moment to realize that you were smiling too.

Placed by...

Thu, 25 Mar 2004 13:45:57 GMT

Okay. So, I work at a hotel.
Who the fuck are the Gideons?
I mean, seriously, they place bibles at every hotel in the fucking world, yet in all these years I have never personally, nor do I know anyone who has, ever seen a Gideon.
Are they elves? Gnomes? Are they like the tooth fairy? If I threw away the bible from my hotel room, would another one be in the drawer in the morning? If I stayed awake long enough, would I be able to catch one?
This is all starting to really freak me out.

never enough time

Thu, 19 Feb 2004 09:31:39 GMT

or too much maybe.
too many words, never the right ones
ten years from now, who could say they knew us
say they knew where we stood when we stood there
on the flash point of indecision
self righteous proclamations of truth
promises
lies
it's always the end of the world in here
but you have to live
with it without it with yourself
eat these words
make a feast of them
take them back
like you never said them at all

Nobody reads this

Thu, 12 Feb 2004 10:04:29 GMT

I could say anything.
I could rail endlessly against the president and no one would care. I could make wild exaggerated claims about the quality and events of my life and no one could stop me. I actually work for the CIA, you know. I fuck supermodels on a regular, almost hourly rotation. Yep, in one door, out the other, step right up ladies. I don't have all day. Or more subtle, maybe. So you'd never even know if I was lying or not. But I'm a bad liar. Even in print. You'd know. But that's beside the point. Nobody's listening. THAT, dear nonexistent readers, is the POINT. And there's a certain freedom in that.
I could just repeat a single word over and over again because I like it. For example: Equilibrium. A good solid word.
equilibriumequilibriumequilibriumequilibriumequilibriumequilibYou get the point. No, wait. You don't. Because you're NOT THERE. Besides, equilibrium is a hard word to type. so therefore i'll justs tartdoingotherthngtbuf;adjaja;vajhvajvn;ajvnja;gnjv;saiudghbauirbgui;bv;irugv;ibnvr;iuguivirgui;h;iaui;ana;nv
This might be comforting to me, but I have my doubts.
Work sucks.

oh yeah

Wed, 11 Feb 2004 02:07:45 GMT

As a kind of footnote to the last post, I had an interesting dream last night.
All I can remember about it is that I moved somewhere far away, but everything was exactly the same.
If that's not completely depressing, I don't know what is.
Aren't I a bundle of joy today?

meaningless epiphany

Tue, 10 Feb 2004 23:29:01 GMT

These thoughts are not unique.
24, nearing halfway to 25, and the sudden realization, upon waking up too early on a clear winter day, that even in the very best assumption, a quarter of your life has passed, or more realistically, a third, perhaps even half, and you've got very little to show for it.
Does it make you want to accomplish something more? Or just run screaming into a hole and hide there, waiting for your eventual death? Stuck in the same patterns, the same people, coming back endlessly to the same places in your life. Stuck.
But you've got these IDEAS.
Those wild, uncontrollable thoughts spinning in your head, giving you hope that someday maybe they'll magically burst out onto paper, or film, or canvas, without you even having to try. Without having to learn how. Of course not, because I never had the paitience for that.
Where am I going?
See, patience.
Where did your urgency go? Where did your energy go? Where did that coil in your gut, that teenage rage and impetus to do moremoremore all at once, everything all the time. Right. Now.
To think about it now only makes you want to fall asleep.
All those years of feeling as if you could die any day, any given moment, and now that you're more likely every day to actually die, the feeling is gone. What made you so fucking numb?
I don't have an answer.
I don't even fully know the question.
I know that sometimes that coil comes back. That feeling in my gut that makes me want to jump out of my own skin.
But I've forgotten how to use it.
And that's the most terrifying thought of all.

Get pissed, dude. Get pissed.

Thu, 22 Jan 2004 10:55:31 GMT

What happened?
One minute, Dean is ahead in the polls, the favorite going into Iowa, angry, defiant, and everything we'd expect him to be.
The next minute, he comes in third in Iowa, and heads into his home turf of New England with preliminary polls turning clearly against him.
So what happened?
Why did he lose it?
The answer is simple.
He finally became what everyone told him the voters wanted him to be, instead of what he needs to be to win the nomination and eventually defeat Bush.
About a week ago, he started acting in a perfectly balanced, civilized manner. He started acting, curiously, exactly like the other candidates, and therefore lost all momentum.
Because if we want to vote for Kerry, we'll vote for Kerry, not someone who simply acts like him and denies his true nature.
What Dean's advisers dont' realize is that we liked the angry outsider. We knew, deep in our hearts, that the only person who could save the democratic party, and in effect, save this country from the forces who have betrayed it, was someone who didn't play along the normal lines. That the only person who could defeat this arrogant, criminal administration was someone who wasn't afraid to fight dirty. Someone who wasn't afraid to bring it down to their level. Someone who was angry for all the right reasons, angry for the same reasons we all should be angry.
But his vanity got the better of him.
He bowed to public opinion, and the whims of advisers who could only spew out the same rhetoric that led their party to its current dismal state in the first place.
We will not win by playing the middle. Not this time. The days of the moderate democrat are over. We are being led into a war, between republicans and democrats, pushed and shoved and prodded into it by force. The swing republican no longer exists, and we can no longer continue our efforts to woo them to our side. We've been backed into a corner by vicious bullies, and the time has come to fight back.
So get pissed, Doctor Dean. Pull that switchblade out of your back pocket and gouge their fucking eyes out.
It's the only option we have left.

Why? Why, you fucking Bushmongering morons?

Wed, 17 Dec 2003 12:45:04 GMT

A headline from this morning's New York Times:

Bush's Approval Ratings Climb In Days After Hussein's Capture.

Followed by a pretty little graph rendered in a lovely shade of purple, showing Bush's approval ratings before and after the valiant, hard fought capture of wily Uncle Saddam.

Before: 45%
After: 52%

Questions:
What the fuck changed?
What the fuck is wrong with 52% of this country's population?
Why does half a year of pointless slaughter on both sides of a pathetic excuse for a war only to capture a beaten, downtrodden sitting duck cheer anyone up about the state of this country and it's foreign policy?

Even more poignant and disturbing is the second question in the survey:

Are things in this country generally going in the right direction or have they gotten off on the wrong track?

Positive responses before: 39%
After: 49%

Why do I fail to see the logic in this horrifying turn of events? The majority of the poplutaion now seems to believe that the capture of Saddam Hussien will magically bring their loved ones home, pump up the suffocating economy, and bring meaning to their lives.

Well, I've got some news for you, folks. Johnny isn't coming home. Not yet. Maybe not ever. This is a war without an end. This is a holy war. Bush's god against the rest of the world.

This will get worse. And 52% of you are aiding in that process. And I have no shame in telling each and every one of you who answered yes to that survey that YOU ARE WRONG, that you are beliving in the false words of the worst kind of theives and liars, and that you are sealing not only your own fate, but also that of people who DON'T WANT IT.

Capturing Saddam Hussein will not save you. Only you can do that.

Good Charlotte must die.

Wed, 03 Dec 2003 12:10:58 GMT

Watching MTV these days has become for me a ritual of sorts, something akin to self flagellation, a kind of voluntary torture. I watch with pure vitriol, just to stir up the hatred in my blood, bring on fits of self-righteous anger at the current state of music and pop culture. What hurts is that there are so many others out there that feel the same way, yet our collective rage is so impotent that we can't bring ourselves to do something about it. We can't make music important again.
Important, you ask? Come on, you whiny bitch, it's just music, it's not life or death, it's not something you should spend all your time worrying and complaining about.
And to you I say bullshit.
Because music is worth it.
Because music matters.
Because music connects us, and divides us.
Because music punctuates the most important moments in our lives.
Because music can even change our lives.
And yet everyday, I come face to face with an entire generation of soulless MTV neophytes cashing in on their peers with no knowledge of the past, and no identity of their own.
An entire generation churning out empty shells of songs, molding to whatever pre-prescribed genre their producer tells them to. Avril could become Britney could become Beyonce and it wouldn't matter. No one would care. As long as there was a face to put to the single.
The tragic, painful part is that it seems there is no way out, no alternative to speak of. All the outlets are gone. Canned DJs spill over the beginnings and ends of the same pre-approved twenty song playlists, while MTV busily co-opts the latest indie bands to play ten second snippets of their songs over Rich Girls and the Real World and then hastily discard them without credit. Record executives sit in offices getting head from the latest 14 year old girl from the sticks who wants to be a star, while great bands labor in obscurity for years without any reward but the loyalty of their small fanbase.
Here, of course, is the bone of contention. I know more than a few people who would like to keep it this way, who would like to be able to keep the good bands to themselves, like to stay in their little club of in the know.
At times, I'm tempted to agree. But in the end, it bothers me more to act like an elitist. In the end, I'd rather have the world at least have the opportunity to hear something good. There are more people now than ever that aren't even aware of most of the music that exists in the world. The mainstream is getting narrower and narrower with each passing day, and the only way to widen it is to fight back. To get the word out, in any way possible. Start a band. Tell your friends about it. Start a magazine. Write an article. Listen to everything. Don't discard it because your friends don't like it. Fuck your friends. Put your ear to the ground and fucking listen. Let music matter again. Make music matter again. Go out and find it. Go out and make it. Turn off MTV.
Stop watching. Start listening.
Do it now.

A possible solution

Wed, 10 Sep 2003 12:58:21 GMT

Okay. So I had this idea. California and Texas. Two of the most independent states in the union. Both originally founded as independent republics, in fact. Also diametric opposites in every possible respect. Both could concieveably break off from the US and have self sustaining economies. I have presented a possible timeline of the effects of such a move below. Judge for yourself:
1. Being a Texas resident, George Bush would become, in effect, a non-citizen, and therefore ineligible for the presidency (There is, of course, the possibility that he could be granted dual citizenship, but only after a considerable amount of time and paperwork, and besides, his cronies would never elect a foreigner).
2. California and Texas would finally have the opportunity to declare war on one another. California, of course, having a superior technology base and more citizens, would be at an obvious advantage.
3. After the war, Bush would be undoubtedly tried for war crimes, at which time a certain number of American citizens who supported him in the past (Cheney, Rumsfeld, etc.) would be extradited, brought down along with him, and most likely put to death for their repeated infractions against humanity.
4. Eventually, of course, the Californian occupying force would be forced to leave Texas, having installed an appropriate figurehead government to watch over the now impoverished nation.
5. The puppet government of Texas would be paid a healthy annual sum in exchange for exclusive control of their oil reserves by California.
6. In a final ironic twist, the people of Texas, tired of their diminished living conditions, would begin illegaly jumping the border into America and California in search of jobs and a better way of life.
In conclusion, a mixed blessing, but certainly worth considering.

A gentle kind of oblivion

Thu, 04 Sep 2003 13:00:23 GMT

waiting out the clock
this strange notion of being stable
even happy
of feeling you
even when you aren't there
of knowing that for once I've made the right choice
instead of the easiest
these streets only offer the comfort of leading to you
and this city could never hold me for long
always be waiting around the next corner

The Eploding Hearts are dead

Wed, 30 Jul 2003 09:43:59 GMT

Long live the Exploding Hearts.
I just found this out, a good week after their van crashed somewhere near Eugene, Oregon, killing the singer, bass player and drummer, a good week after I finally had enough money to buy their debut album. A good week after I went to what turned out to be their very last show.
Officialy, I missed their last show. I thought about going to see them on thursday at Bottom of the Hill, where they were headlining, but decided against it, figuring they'd be around again. The next night, I went to see the Bobbyteens at the Parkside, and after an ear splitting set from the four bands, when everyone was about to pack up and go home, another band, unannounced, began to set up. They took the stage quickly and without much fanfare, quietly and efficiently setting up their equipment. The bartenders shouted out last call, people rushed for beers, and the band played.
They tore through four songs in fifteen minutes, each more frantic than the last, racing against the clock. At two o'clock, the sound guy rushed to the stage, and shouted "one more song". Adam, the singer, nodded, and started to speak into the microphone, but no sound came out. They'd already shut off the PA. The band started to yell out to the sound guy to turn it back on, and then the audience began to yell along with them, but he was nowhere to be found. At this, already past time, Adam turned to the rest of the band, shrugged, and launched into the next song. He sang. They all sang. It didn't matter that no one could hear it.
These were the Exploding Hearts.
It occurred to me, while I was watching the show, that I was lucky to be seeing them like that, in a small, sweaty club, poised as they were for imminent success. I remember thinking that the next time they came through town, I would have to wade through a crowd of hundreds of people to watch them on an elevated stage in a concert hall. That it wouldn't be the same.
Instead, twenty four hours later, they were gone.
And I still feel lucky.

sometimes I try to sleep

Wed, 09 Jul 2003 09:57:47 GMT

sometimes it's not for days
wired for self destruction
implosion
delusion
contradiction
falling in love doesn't seem like enough
more
better
the last time you kissed someone and it felt electric
losing my dreams
maybe if i slept more
maybe my brain is rebelling
mutiny
it's educational
as the great frank black once said
i'm waiting
waiting for that kiss
waiting for something to slam my head against a brick wall and say here
here is your life
and it's been waiting for you too

Barbeque, pyrotechnics, and pain.

Sun, 06 Jul 2003 21:33:03 GMT

I love fourth of july. But this year was somewhat disappointing. Not that anything was really different. Well, at least if you don't count the political climate. I ate barbeque at my parents house, hung out with friends, sat in a parking lot and watched an anti-climactic fireworks display that was nearly overshadowed by the displays of the people in the parking lot. I got drunk, of course, because that's what one does on fourth of july.

Then it happened.

I was in the backyard of my friend Amanda's house, eating barbequed corn out of a tinfoil wrapper, drinking cheap beer, and feeling alll right by anybody's standards. We hadn't brought out the fireworks yet because of all the kids. Then I found the bottle rockets. We figured it would be okay to light off a few and entertain the kids. They got a little more than they bargained for. Amanda stood, and nonchalantly held a bottle rocket between her fingertips. she lit it, and it flew in a graceful arc over the neighbor's rooftop. Hey, I thought, I've never done that before. I'll try it.

That was my first mistake.

My second one came while I was holding the bottle rocket in my fingertips, watching the wick burn down, and I suddenly lost hold of it at the worst possible moment. It landed on the grass, face down. Everyone was quiet for a brief moment, watching. Then it launched.

Right up my shirt.

I frantically pulled and grabbed at my shirt trying to get it out while it screamed and burned in my armpit, searing hair and flesh indiscriminately. Then it exploded. It hurt.

Then, when everyone realized I wasn't dead, and liberal amounts of Bactine were applied to the rather interesting wound, they all laughed at me. And I laughed. Because when the fuck does that happen to anyone?

Then I drank some more.

Happy belated fourth of july.

Life in Bush's America

Thu, 03 Jul 2003 23:10:02 GMT

So I got fired for calling in sick (once) at a menial video store job that I'd worked at for only two weeks the other day. Three years ago, back in the real world, back in the good old days, this would have been nothing. This would have been a minor setback. The next day, I would have walked into any store in San Francisco, and and walked out with another job. But no more. The days of wine and roses are over, to put it in the most hackneyed way possible. Done and gone. As it is, it took me almost three months to find the job I just got fired from. And the funny thing is, three years ago, they wouldn't have fired me for something that small. Why? Because three years ago they wouldn't have been able to replace me with someone who has a master's degree. I am, as so many of us are, becoming one of the forgotten Americans. One of those who decided, in those heady, pre 9/11 days, that we could get by, take some time in college, maybe try doing something else for a couple years, or maybe decide not to even go to college in the first place, because the future was wide open. Because we had options. Because we could decide to go right or left, up or down, wherever we wanted. It didn't matter.
Be a musician! Be an Artist! Go to Europe on your parents money, drink, party, work shit jobs to support yourself while you decide what to do with your life. Your future is bright, kid, and you're going to go far. Well, kid, no one told you about this. And now nobody's going to catch you on the way down.
Good luck to you, kid, and good luck to me. good luck to us all, because these are dark years ahead. And we've only seen the tip of the iceberg.

Cops

Tue, 01 Jul 2003 03:47:26 GMT

They've been on my mind lately.
Did you know you can get a ticket for tailgating? Call me stupid, but I really had no idea. I got pulled over last night for tailgating a car at two in the morning when I was boxed in by two morons going way under the speed limit because they had a cop behind them. The ridiculous part, of course, is that none of us would have gotten pulled over if we'd all been just going the speed limit, instead of being paranoid assholes. But no, we've all been bullied into submission by cops for so long, that we feel we can't even go the legal limit around them. But on the other hand, I got pulled over because I wasn't being paranoid.
Anyway, I didn't get a ticket. But - here's the list of tickets I've had to deal with lately:

- June 15: Took traffic school to get out of a speeding ticket (45 in a 30, given to me by the illustrious minions of the RoPo popo)

- June 25: Misdemeanor citation given for swimming in a state reservoir on a 105 degree day (official charge: loitering in an industrial area, maximum fine $2000)

- June 26-28: 3 parking tickets, $35 each, given in as many days by the San Francisco DPT. Same old shit.

Anyway, this is the long way of saying just two very important things:

1. Cops suck.

2. Got any money?