I'm thinking of a word that begins with U.

Just turned in my big paper for the semester on quantum physics blah blah blah. Haven't slept much in the past few days. Can't wait for winter vacation. Bought a car yesterday in Chandler. Our old car's clutch went out on the way back to Tucson: good timing. Almost enough to prove the existence of God. Almost.
I get the darking feeling that I'm going to be the asshole that washes his car every Saturday now. This fact is balanced for me by the fact that I'm also going to be the asshole that can buy his family a car that won't crap the sack or get them killed in any accident. Such is the torrent!

Mates of State

Saw 'um last night. It was only a few songs--I got tied up and was late to the show--but those few songs had value. I don't own any of their records because I'm not The Gay, but I've seen them live more than twice, and each time I love it. I hate to sound so old, but they totally rock and roll when they play live, and since their sound is reasonably thin--I mean, only two people bangin' on things at a time--it makes the rock factor even more fun for me. And they both really belt out their words, which I'm a sucker for. The next show I'm excited to see might be Some Girls. Don't have any of their stuff either, but their "ex-members of" credit are more than worth the cost of admission.
Here's a picture of my clavicle. Eventually it may be just a little more fancy, but I'm going to give it some time before I decide for sure. With the way I've been going, though, "some time" pretty much means "once this heals, I've already scheduled an appointment." Not the best picture, but it says, "Grace grows in winter," which is from Strongarm's second album, Advent of A Miracle. This was probably the best sitting I've ever had with Jason, and I think it came out really, really nicely.
Thanksgiving was a holiday I went to this past week. It's over now.
Onnavah turns two tomorrow. She thinks she's pretty cool for it. She's got me convinced.
Go for it!

The difference between a hand raising and a hand raised

Because, obviously, a sleeve isn't enough, I'm getting some script on my chest (sorry Adam!) tomorrow, and getting the rest of my arm finished. We'll be running around for Turkey Genocide Day, and the week surrounding it, but we hope to be in Phoenis long enough to drop in on the friends, so, hopefully you'll be there--all of you. It's going to be in the high 80s today in Tucson; I hope, at least, the weather in all our hearts is dank and darking.

Until you fall dark asleep.

Men and Women--music has been so exciting to me lately. I'm writing from the sofa in our living room, and, sitting here, it occurs to me that it's the first time I've sat down here since I went to Brooklyn. It's not like our house is big, it's not like there are tons of places to sit, I just haven't sat down here. That's, maybe, a silly detail to write about, but this Saturday feels like a good day to be sitting on a sofa. It's not too hot, it's bright cheery all over, O. is taking a nap, L. is shopping, I'm spinnin' the hardcore jams--and I just saw this awesome video on youtube of the University of Arizona marching band covering Radiohead for their halftime show.
Yesterday I had some amazing goat cheese, green chile scones, bahari dates, and a persimmon all at once. I'll be damned if hell tastes anything like that. For now, the farmers' market on Fridays at school is as close to hell as I can get away with, eventhough I've been wearing quite a bit of black clothing lately. Yes, yesterday was a sexy day, it was.

Employee #666

It's been too long.

Still recovering from New York--yesterday was a long one: woke up at 5am (AZ time) and didn't sleep till 3.45am, then was back crackin' at 7.30 this morning. I had a great, great time, and want to give the shout to Adam and Jay--I love you dudes, and it (as my mom would say) did my heart so well to see you. Yeah, maybe you guys have me convinced (without even trying at all) to try and start a band with you out there, but you also made me feel like I can make it through the semester out in Tucson. I loved every second of it. You're awesome.

A little made-up town with its own topography.

I keep going back and forth: would it be capital A amazing to be a poet in New York, or would it be a crusher? Obviously, its the center of the literary world, so that's a vote in the right direction, but I'm not so sure I'd love it. There's stimuli up the cornhole out here; way too many excuses to write. A visit is good, though: you don't have enough time to get hard, but it reminds you that there's hard things and people out there, and you get exposed to a little of that, and that's good. Adam and Jay's neck of the old woods, in particular, is exceptional. I'd give away one of my nuts to live here if they weren't already spread and promised a little too thin as it is. I'm really, really glad to be able to visit them, though. And, also, it will be really nice to be back in Tucson. Ah, crap--I really said that, didn't I? Man, I hate to admit it, but Tucson is getting more of me than I've been prepared to give. Our own little spot out there is really, really nice, and I love that I can walk about anywhere I want to go (except I'm too lazy to walk to my office--you gotta draw the line). Sure, you can't find a vintage pin-striped YSL jacket at the corner vintage store for 15$, but that's why you make sure one of your best friends lives in an orgasmic city, right? OK, I'm going to go pretend to try to write some poesy.

Food is gross.

Rocked a pretty nice walk through the city today with Adam, Jay, and Heather. Adam and I each picked up some fake Rolex action on Canal, chewed the fat, which was nice, and then walked back over the Williamsburg Bridge into Brooklyn. My legs are tired and all; I think I'm going to size my watch and hit a movie or something. Good day, good day.

Your pretty voice and green my eyes.

This will have to be a quicky. Sorry to pull yet another poor lyrical quote, but last night my air taxi was late late late; when I got on my feet couldn't awake and a fat man kept a knee in my back until the sun rose of Sharon. As they say: No sleep till Brooklyn. I'm trying to hit a quick dognap, but this bitch, Stella, the French bulldog, is nothing if not a shitstorm in the sac. Men and Women: she snores worse than Brad Rhoades. I say again, She snores worse than Brad Rhoades.

Explain water to the fish.

Sitting in the airport, I just finished a paper idea for a class, tried to get tickets to see one of my professors read this weekend in NYC (in point of fact, the same professor my paper idea is for), and decided that there's another stupid job I'm probably going to apply for.
My arm is tattooed and almost healed. After she lent rolls all the scabbies off the bed and all I'll show you the nearly-finished result.
I really wish that Converge would have put the vocals a little higher in the old mix on this new one. While they're at it, I wouldn't mind being able to hear them on You Fail Me, too. I don't know... maybe I'm just becoming deaf.

From the top of the parking garage to the making of The Soup.

I've been spinnin' this new Tom Yorke album a lot the past two days, and I'm stoked about that crap. I kind of hoping that music will keep my mind off life for a few weeks, until I can stop caring or stop being a breathing, sucking piece of crap. So far, so good!
Also, I hit the photography museum here at school today. It was a bunch of b/w portraits of these working poor in the West from like '79-82. Everyone had really haunting eyes in the photos. I felt like some of them were entering my consciousness, peering into my spirit, and I felt a little afraid that they'd tell someone what they saw. Good thing they're all probably dead by now!
Also, last night was beautiful. I had green tea while the sun set and it got a little cold, and I tried to find words to say what I was thinking, but all I could do was laugh. The ripple of the setting light is still bothering me tonight.

We neither hide nor seek.

Ah, shit, friends... the world is a heavy place. When I took my first tattoo, I got "more weight" put on me, in a way, to kind of paraphrase a line I really love by the Florida hardcore band from the 90s called New Day Rising--"ca'mon motherf'er, bring on the pain..." but more poetic, etc. Sure, I thought, I can handle anything! I'm an existentialist! Bring it! Well, I still really, really love my little inky-poos, but who would ever *ask* for all that crap? Dude, an 18 year-old--that's who.
By the by, though, I almost got my arm finished last night. As you may or may not know, there will exist some red highlights on the old sleeve, and we didn't get those done, but all the rest is finished. I'll be sure to post some photos once everything smoothes out and heals up. Man, I'm tired. I hope everyone out there is hanging in there. I'm hitting the NY this weekend, so lock up the china and hide yr virgins! Has anyone heard the new Converge? I just picked it up and am stoked to take it for a spin.

I'm certainly not pleased with my options

Well, tonight I read my long poem at Casa Libre (see link to right), and it was weird. I haven't really ever put into words exactly why I'm trying to write this poem, but it's kind of coming from an emotional (suprise!) place, I guess. While I was kind of introducing what I thought the poem was about it just kind of occured to me how little I've dealt with JJ and our history. So, before I even had a chance to hit them with the poem, I was hitting them with the ultra-emo introduction to the poem, which, for tonight, was called, A Portable Model of How Memory Works. For you non-Joan of Arc fags out there, that's basically me ripping off the title of their first concept album(s) and calling it my own. I think it's ok to rip that crap, and it's almost definately working for the poem, etc. So I actually think the reading went ok or whatever. I mean, I didn't kill myself or anything, and that's supposed to be a good sign, right?
I have recorded the reading of the poem, so if I can figure out how to post it or send it to anyone who may want a copy, I'll do that. If you're really interested, I'll email you a copy of the poem with a cd of my reading it, if you want. It's just under fifteen minutes on iTunes, etc. Spellcheck is gone again--sorry. --j