Sun drawn, under the sky,
We dug in, after most all things
The brine of night and the butter knifes
Sang the grains of light.
Liberty, watched as the glass round
Your neck, caught our eyes
In all the angles and relations
There are so many emulations
Of our hobby and our hearts
Of our hobby and our hearts
In all the ways to be divided
It’s ideal that we collided
In our hobbies and our hearts
In our hobbies and our hearts
Lucinda and your summer hair,
all soft and bright
We walked along the avenue
of a 1000’s smiles
The feathered Wink of altitude
gave up our miles
On the path that we did find
It’s so lucky to have aligned
In our hobbies and our hearts
In our hobbies and our hearts
Sharp as a whisper in the dark
and never to be split apart
In our hobby and our hearts
In our hobby and our hearts
Monday, March 27, 2006
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Friday, March 17, 2006
Shackiness Afoot
Just feeling totally detached yet pissy today. So I'm just going to include some photos of people I love.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Carl Sandburg visits me in a Dream
I cried myself to sleep last night
And the ghost of Carl, he approached my window
I was hypnotized, I was asked To improvise
On the attitude, the regret of a thousand centuries of death
Even with the heart of terror and the superstitious wearer
I am riding all alone I am writing all alone
Even in my best condition, counting all the superstition
I am riding all alone I am running all alone
And we laughed at the beatitudes of a thousand lines
We were asked, at the attitudes, they reminded us of death
Even with the rest belated, everything is antiquated
Are you writing from the heart? Are you writing from the heart?
Even in his heart the Devil has to know the water level
Are you writing from the heart? Are you writing from the heart?
And I cried myself to sleep last night
For the Earth, and materials, they may sound just right to me
Even with the rest belated, everything is antiquated
Are you writing from the heart? Are you writing from the heart?
Even in his heart the Devil has to know the water level
Are you writing from the heart? Are you writing from the heart?
And the ghost of Carl, he approached my window
I was hypnotized, I was asked To improvise
On the attitude, the regret of a thousand centuries of death
Even with the heart of terror and the superstitious wearer
I am riding all alone I am writing all alone
Even in my best condition, counting all the superstition
I am riding all alone I am running all alone
And we laughed at the beatitudes of a thousand lines
We were asked, at the attitudes, they reminded us of death
Even with the rest belated, everything is antiquated
Are you writing from the heart? Are you writing from the heart?
Even in his heart the Devil has to know the water level
Are you writing from the heart? Are you writing from the heart?
And I cried myself to sleep last night
For the Earth, and materials, they may sound just right to me
Even with the rest belated, everything is antiquated
Are you writing from the heart? Are you writing from the heart?
Even in his heart the Devil has to know the water level
Are you writing from the heart? Are you writing from the heart?
Birth of Cool
It’s trippy when your city becomes the grooviest places in the country for two weeks every year. All the podcasts, movie 'zines and interactive media that I plow through from LA/Seattle/NYC have been going nuts about this years SXSW for a month. And now, this past weekend the people started arriving in droves.
They're throwing their money around in our neighborhood bars/restaurants/record stores and boutiques in an effort to enjoy the Southwest during their strange little window of time. The students are away and it's almost like having adult swim in Bat City, USA.
All "hater" indie-kid crap aside, it should be fun. All the bands: the unsigned acts, the old acts looking for a new home, the secrete shows, the label parties, the fashions, the half dozen or so hot movies I'll get to see that aren’t out yet and don’t forget about the people. Oh, yes the beautiful and fabulous people who will draw me out of the house and keep me out of some of my favorite venues for the next solid week.
Even Pearl digs it.
They're throwing their money around in our neighborhood bars/restaurants/record stores and boutiques in an effort to enjoy the Southwest during their strange little window of time. The students are away and it's almost like having adult swim in Bat City, USA.
All "hater" indie-kid crap aside, it should be fun. All the bands: the unsigned acts, the old acts looking for a new home, the secrete shows, the label parties, the fashions, the half dozen or so hot movies I'll get to see that aren’t out yet and don’t forget about the people. Oh, yes the beautiful and fabulous people who will draw me out of the house and keep me out of some of my favorite venues for the next solid week.
Even Pearl digs it.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
a tribute page
They prefer to be called little people but the most of the world they are know as midgets and this is my tribute them.
umpa lumpa
Peter Dinklage - The Station Agent - btw he went to Benington '91
Verne Troyer - mini - me
and his strange tale 1 and 2
Billy Barty
Tony Cox
Gary Coleman - the catch phrase of the 80's
Hervé Jean-Pierre Villechaize aka - Tattoo
read his bizarre story
The baseball stunt from the 30's
and finally Morris Garage's Version
umpa lumpa
Peter Dinklage - The Station Agent - btw he went to Benington '91
Verne Troyer - mini - me
and his strange tale 1 and 2
Billy Barty
Tony Cox
Gary Coleman - the catch phrase of the 80's
Hervé Jean-Pierre Villechaize aka - Tattoo
read his bizarre story
The baseball stunt from the 30's
and finally Morris Garage's Version
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Big Doings in Greenpoint
Found these recently when I was looking at begining a new project in my old neighborhood in NYC. I don't know if any of you can make out what going on in these images but where the red mark hits the land is where the last of these pictures was taken.
Try referencing the Citicorp building. The one with the large slanted top. 
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