Thursday

August?

When the fuck did it become August? I mean, it's like July 28, but that's August (like my wife's birthday of August 31 is September).

I was just hating Independence Day ("forth of Juuly, yeeee-haw!") and now it's Fucking August.

I must have cancer.

Monday

Five

Five tracks into new record. About 10 minutes worth.

Another culture jamming record.

Funny Motherfucking Shit

"This is some funny motherfucking shit, motherfucker. Fuck. Happy Mother Fucking Summer."

-Rich Walkling, Summer 2005

[Google planting: posting shit so that when other people Google you, they find the trails you set. I just made this up]

Friday

The Middlespace is Open

Hey kids. Studio's open!

Wednesday

This is Not a Poem to Get Ass

This is not a poem to get ass...

This is a poem for the daughter that I [just had].

This is so I won't forget the pillars of my youth, so that her sunlight can be balanced between them.

This is for the daughter that I will have one day.

For the moments when the world says that she cannot play because she does not have something dangling between her legs.

This is to tell her that the only one she needs to open her legs for is for herself, when she stands up and walks; back high, chin up.

This is for the girl that will come into this world, pushed forward by her mother and pulled up by her father.

The girl that will grow up with alphabets and soap, and poems in her ear.

The girl that will be the greatest poem I will have ever written.

This is a poem for the daughter that I will paint with.

I will teach her how to throw a Frisbee and how to put her mind onto paper with letters and pencils.

I will teach her to be afraid of the dark, but to be able to walk through it when she needs to.

This is the poem that I will hold up for her to read when I cannot speak from the pride I feel when she walks, when she ties a shoelace, when she simply breathes.

This is the poem that will be there to hold my daughter's hand if I am, one day, not able to.

This is to let her know that these arms will always be holding her up at the water fountain, no matter how tall she gets.

This is to tell her that nothing is perfect; that we all make mistakes and she should strive to make enormous ones so that she can grow enormously.

This is the poem to tell her that it is better to love every person, than to wait for one person to love you.

That even if that one person never says it, that this poem will be the blanket to calm her trembles.

It is to tell a little girl that one day the sun will fill her eyes.

And on that day, all my days will be filled with her.

This is to teach her to look both ways before she crosses the street, but to not let anyone see her do it.

This is to teach her to live life on the edge, but to make sure that there is a trampoline on one side, and if there isn't, one side will always have the sky on it .

And to laugh into it even as she falls.

I will teach her that there are moments when the only person that will suffice is one's self.

I will teach her that having others in your life, though, is a precious thing.

And that friends are never a commodity, but rather, one's lungs.

I will teach her to eat ice cream whenever she has the desire to and to always have the desire to share it.

And though all the girls right now are thinking, "Gosh, he's writing about the daughter that we could have together; I'd better give him some."

And all the guys are thinking, "I wish I'd written that poem, 'cause with that poem, he's gonna get some."

And though this poem may not or may have gotten the author "some" is inconsequential because, contrary to belief, this is not a poem to get ass.

This is not a poem to pick up women or acquire phone numbers
Or to razzle and dazzle the opposite sex's sensitive side.

This poem is not for anyone but the one who is yet to come

The sun that will finally make my moon burst

The water that my storms are carrying

The steps that I will take to bring a song that is too beautiful to put into words
So for now, may these suffice.

To the daughter who will prove to me that my life was worth it, because I put at least one beautiful thing into a crazy world.

I am writing this poem now, so that when you ask me to dance, I will always remember to say yes.
_________________
- Anis Mojgani

Tuesday

Us vs. Them


“All their lives they’re being disciplined. When you’re born or when you’re one or two or three, you’re an uncivilized creature. And from that age, right up to twelve or fifteen, if you are going to become civilized and become a member of the community, you’re going to have to be disciplined. Severely. Stop eating with your fingers and spitting on the floor and swearing and anything else you want to mention. And who does this disciplining? It is two people. It’s the parents. . . . Although the child loves her mother and father, they are subconsciously the enemy. There’s a fine line, I think, between loving your parents deeply and resenting them.”

-Roald Dahl, 1988

Monday

Perfection Through Aging

Rich,

So, I've just listened to the track "The French Mistake" that I put on the LA Black record. I've listened to it three consecutive times just now.

It's a portion of that Velvet Lounge improv set we did - shot out of our asses in 1998 or so. The one where I borrowed the floor tom from Charlotteville's The French Mistake. This is the same set that TTBOTT's "La Erreur Frances" originates.

Brilliant? Fuck yeah. But, what is amazing is that it is flawless. Truly. Upon listening to it numerous times, and knowing what's around the corner...it makes the fuck sense. What?! It's not that we listened to each other - for about 40 minutes, we were each other.

This was the height of tKoL. Nobody does this. Live? WTF? Not only was it the height, it was way too fucking bold. Who has balls like that? It was hugely ballsy.

And, of anyone on the planet to witness it, it Gabe sitting there waiting for "Gay and Mexican." Not Dan. Not Marcus. Not Big Dave Wave. Not Jamie. Gabe, who couldn't even buy a beer because he didn't have an ID.

It's now my turn - ME - to say: you can't do that; it breaks all the rules!

Life is funny.

-ty

There is Nothing to Worry About Here...



...every thing is under control.

Friday

Relief

if relief feels so good
is it still worth the pain?

since pain is rarely a permanent memory
does relief need pain?

i wonder

No Modicum of Decorum

Time to ride the cyclone
No papers
No fire
No plumbing
The hydrocoaster is getting rocky
And all traumas are fin

Descent into the arts
Gets harder each time
Like the journey into junkydom; again
Look in the withins and doing withouts

Hey, look at the cool kids
Turning ping-pong into table tennis
And enjoying the causal Friday
Yes, I miss my girls

Again, It's Time


It's not that I take life lightly, I don't
But, I've found it really hard to take myself too seriously
Life is a series of one-act plays

I find it hard to be myself
While always being myself
Or, at least, knowing what myself is

By goal or by plan, I work very hard at avoiding cliche and stereotype
While working equally hard to make it appear
As-if it's the easiest thing in the world

As natural as the beating heart
As theoretical as existence itself

"A series of incidents have created your present reality."

- Poppa Nutrino

Wednesday

The Internet Rules

Dog bless the internet:

Piss and Moan

This mess got me blogging...

Tuesday

The Merging



"Meditation is not about getting anywhere...when you pay attention to boredom, it gets unbelievably interesting."

jon kabat-zinn

Sunday

There's a Light



What's important to know about my music - and I hesitate to call it music, how 'bout "recordings" - is that it is a pretty clear reflection on my psyche. My cognitions. Even when I produce, my contributions make things sound how I need to hear them.

I think this trend will continue until I am completely insane and these recording become meaningless to everyone except for me.

Thursday

Untitled



...just follow me...

By Emily Abt

Driving Sr. Gonzales



How to get Alberto to the highest court:

Step 1: Get ultra conservatives to immediately claim he's too liberal and "not in the same vein as true conservatives"

Step 2: Get pal, the president, to slap hands of the not-conservative-enough crowd, "he's a good man"

Step 3: Nominate him as terrific Hispanic pioneer (don't mention Geneva Convention as quaint stuff)

Step 4: Grab a beer and watch as democrats love him up as not-as-liberal as once considered because, if the conservatives don't like then gee, he must be good, after all.

Tuesday

Middle of the Night



House plants at 2:37 a.m. reminding me of Calder mobile using available lighting.

Oh, fuck you!

Monday

Daily Afromations

The cat is so high he sells his lawnmower on eBay.

You can come over tuesday or whenever, I'm now at the corner of Cottage and Bradford.

"In the face of raw reality that is meaningless to the layman, a photographer, like a geologist, must extract the meaningful features and shed light on what has caused them, allowing history and meaning to be read where others see nothing but stones."

-Paul S. Taylor

Sunday

A Million Monkeys

Re: A Ioan lookalike?

Person One: That's weird.

Sorry, the guy doesn't even come close to looking like Ioan. So far, the closest one yet is Ty Hardaway of "One Life to Live" soap opera on ABC. Check it out, you'll see for yourself.

Person Two: I can kind of see it, but only at first glance...

That Ty DOES look like Ioan, but not as good as him though! Oh, btw, his last names's Treadway, not Hardaway. The lack of pics for him kind of puzzled me at first...

Now for the Healing

"Gaylord A. Nelson, a former senator from Wisconsin who was one of the architects of America's modern environmental movement and the founder of Earth Day, died yesterday in Kensington, Md. He was 89.

A liberal Democrat who also served as governor of Wisconsin, Mr. Nelson was known for his candor and independence. He was one of only three senators who voted against the $700 million appropriation that began the nation's expanded involvement in the Vietnam War."

Meanwhile, I'm sick as a dog and healing with vicodin, tequila and green tea.

Gaylord. Tee-hee.

Saturday

I have to pee

Like me, start here:

This is Ray. He's a cat.

Friday



Like I care.


Like I care.


Like I care.


Like I care.
July 1, 2005

Sandra's leaving. People are running around like scared freaks, afraid of shadows and George W. Bush - "Boo" says the boogieman.

In a Pogo cartoon strip from the McCarthy Era, Churchy the turtle has become the target of a political persecution campaign by the sinister types who live deep in the swamp, like Wiley Cat and Sarcophagus McCabre, the vulture. In a moment of despair he received the following dubious consolation from his friend the depressive porcupine:

"Don't take life so serious, son, it ain't nohow permanent."

To liberals everywhere. Stop your crying, you embarass me and yourselves. Don't be so weak. Let's roll kids!