Pluto

Big Spider's Back

2012-01-24T13:02:00.010-06:00

I finally found this artist. Wow! I've listened to the track The Rah Material dozens of times at least, which apparently can only be found on the "Circle Into Square Label Compilation, Volume 2". I've had the track listed as untitled on a very special mixed set that I've had for almost 6 months. I've hit Shizam at least 20 times since then hoping it would be the lucky one and I could find out the unknown mystery artist. I don't know why I kept trying, it seemed futile, but it eventually worked. Needless to say, an amazing track and one that I think encompasses all of 2011 for me in music. It's the kind that I listen to again and again. Like MSG for the musical center of the brain. Unfortunately I can't post it because it's no where to be found online (besides itunes). If only I were more musically inclined, I could probably find some gizmo or gadget that would upload and share it for me. Until then, here are three other tracks from his website http://bigspidersback.com/

Big Spider's Back :: Mind Grapes from Do Yon Kim on Vimeo.

Warped from Karla Santos on Vimeo.

Big Spider's Back:: Memory Man from Do Yon Kim on Vimeo.

My spring schedule with Team TIBCO

2012-01-24T10:33:00.027-06:00

Drentse 8: March 8
Ronde Drenthe: March 10
Novillon: March 11
San Dimas: March 16-18 Preliminary
Redlands: March 22-25 Preliminary
Flanders: April 1
Energiewacht Tour: April 4-8
Presbyterian: April 14
Gelderland: April 15 Preliminary
Fleche Wellone: April 18 Preliminary
Sunny King: April 21
Speedweek: May 4-6
Gatineau: May 19-21
Philadelphia: June 6

I've decided to keep a more thorough record of this year's racing season. Primarily because it will be my first year with a team of this magnitude - a crew of super-talents... I'm among greatness. I am excited, motivated, and inspired. It's everything I've been working for since I started pedaling with a messenger bag and knobby tires. It's why I could never go too far away from the ectasy and suffering of a bicycle race, even with all the school and work piling up around me. It would be a waste of wild experiences to become too busy to document the coming year. All begins in a week when I will be heading west to the Santa Barbara area of California for our team's training camp.

Last night I finally started dreaming about racing and it was good.

Tim Furey's Beings

2012-01-23T19:05:00.006-06:00

Channeling inner-superheroes and inter-dimensional beings from New Jersey based Tim Furey.

2012-01-10T08:02:00.001-06:00

Helen Frankenthaler

2011-12-30T18:28:00.004-06:00

December 12, 1928 - December 27, 2011

2011-12-30T18:20:00.001-06:00

2011-12-27T11:55:00.002-06:00

2011-12-27T11:00:00.005-06:00

Enjoying coffee this morning and gearing up for the weekly Rothe Training triplicate workout; run, core, ride. Which I actually think "yay, easy day" when I see it. So at the moment, I'm doing none other than perusing the web with my favorite bookmarked media that have been neglected. Like checking out Marc Jacobs spring rtw 2012 collection and I'm wondering what he's going to close the show with. Then I get close to the end of the slides and I noticed this unusual face, muscular legs, real arms, etc. Then I realized she is MJ's closing look. Hmmm, I've gotta do a search on this bizarre girl. So here she is, my muse for the moment: Kelly Mittendorf http://kmitt.tumblr.com/
On one hand I'm impressed with the her reception - a real girl, strong face, average height. And on the other I think I'm drawn to her story because I love the idea of being different and finding your way anyway, and when you get there, you see the top isn't as far away as you once thought. Sometimes I feel like an outsider who's found her way in a world she never quite felt a part of, but then I realize we've all got our own story, we all feel different. It's conquering the feelings of isolation and intimidation and feeling confident anyway. That's when I breakthrough can happen for anyone.
Photo by Billy Kidd

2011-11-03T20:38:00.034-05:00

I haven't been writing much lately. I've been reading a little instead, trail riding, stretching more, and running regularly. All of my favorite ways to adjust to the change of season and dropping temps.

September from start to finish was still morbidly hot and a total blur.
I spent it hurting from a crash into a brutally hard fence in the final sprint out of the last corner at the Tour of Austin. The rest of the time off and in bed I tried to focus on how to better let go of the crash and not to be angry about it. Andrew helped a lot along the way and by October I was able to run again. Naturally, I did so daily for two weeks straight. My first ride back was the North American bicycle courier championships which I didn't do very well in but I wanted to go to just to be around the whole messenger culture since it had been so long since the last NACCC I did in 2002. The best part was seeing a familar face or two and all the heckling going on along the sidelines going on from Andrew, Logan, Heath & Sharron.
During the courier race it was like going back to visit school grounds I grew up in but finding all the buildings and land have since been remodeled or completely renovated. It all felt vaguely familiar, but like trying to remember a dream after waking, only hints of familiarity. Nothing concretely nostalgic. If there is such a thing.

Despite not keeping up with writing, I still feel the desire to record the beauty I see in the world around me; but I'm doing so in different ways. Like sharing it a bit more privately, not in as many traditional mediums. It's the way it has to be for the place I'm at and probably will be this way for some time. I'm trying to keep up with photographing and keeping my libraries current and organized. Still full of inspiration, but within the inspiration, a new inspiration is born. I'm now learning how to grow into it all, old and new. I'm keeping up, or trying my best to keep up with but doing so quietly. As if acquiring a covert collection of all of my favorite things for preservation and refinement, only to one day pop open like a bottle of champagne at the blink of a new year.

Not to say that I'm at a failure to produce or follow art right now. It shouldn't be classified as a failure at all, of any sort, but more a way of internalizing this energy and keeping all inside, like fuel for the coming journey.

Or I'll sign off with this instead...

Reaching my voice over miles and miles to touch another quiet voice. The strangeness of love, longing, jealousy, like doors brushed with fingertips. Open some, keep others closed, others try to open a little, peeking inside the peephole.
Ghost colored dust blanketing the lampshades, the silent glow of 60 watt luminescence.
The drifting of separate people, each occupied in separate ways.
Big blue eyes and sun freckles.
The smell of earth, rotten wood, crumbling moss, the sent of damp cedar.
The debate about whether to replace, make new again, silence.
The sound of breathing. These are what my dreams are like.

2011-08-24T14:42:00.010-05:00

I'm in an airport heading to NYC to race my bicycle. I'm flipping through the September edition of Vogue, sitting in a long, hidden, silvery corridor. Here I am at a silver table and chair, looking out onto the massive runways the heat rolls off the planes in quivering waves. I'm thinking, typing, and listening, watching the quicksilver of heat smearing its way across the engine air.
A cool breeze of AC occasionally swirls and drafts around my new birthday perfume from my sweetie.

I think back on the events of the day leading up to this quiet moment. Before I left the house today I baked a turkey and grilled all the veggies in the fridge. I stir fried quiona and lentils, made a salad to nibble with a carrots and tomotoes and a couple pieces of bacon. I drank the last of the milk, brewed coffee, when it cooled, I slammed the rest of it. Then I placed all the food from the oven and range into the freezer to freeze until after I return. So Andrew and I can enjoy a good home cooked meal together, it's been a while.

So now my hair smells a little like a restaurant kitchen. It would have been nice to have time to shower before the airport. Water somehow clears my mind. I never know how long I've been in the shower. Time ceases to exist in there because my mind spaces out a little bit. Which is allowed when in the shower. Sometimes the same thing happens when I'm riding too, all of a sudden the sun is about to set and I'm miles and miles from home. It's just it's too beautiful to abandon a setting sky. Everything surrenders, the wind changes, the birds fly in waves, thd bugs come out to sing. When I realize that I don't remember the last 10 miles, I somehow know they included a couple stoplights and several turns, and that's when I know it was a good ride. It all fuzes together like a long spine and time disappears into a mental vortex.

*schllllloooooop*

2011-08-07T22:59:00.010-05:00

There are a couple of tiny tree branches painted red and purple on my windowsil. One of them is deep violet, and the other is arterial red and violet stripped. Strangely, in a childlike way. I'm glad i didn't throw them away, they have a certain beauty this way too.

Today I rode my bicycle alone. I miss my guy. It was a little lonesome but I saw funny things on the way home. It all made me laugh a little, but it's not the same when alone.

Outside of the window, it's black black black except for the streetlight shining on the hood of my nearby car. There is no wind, everything looks so still. I wonder if Andrew is sleeping.

I can see my reflection in the window, superimposed over the street light. If I focus on the window, I'm a bit clearer, but if I focus on the light, I become a blur of eyes and hair. A conscious memory, a subconscious dream. A blur, out of sight, and I dissipate into thin air.

2011-05-29T18:32:00.010-05:00

Words are so awesome. They're an intellectual-sensual-emotional batter like a layer cake that you taste in your imagination through known experiences, visualized through love, understood through smell, touch, excitement, pleasure, even pain. Frosted in ink, out of the oven, and into our brain. This is why I had to go back to school, to study theory behind literature. All kinds, so much to learn and to absorb, but there's only so much theory can teach, it's merely a path to a door, wherein lies a world of creativity.

I want you to stay in my head for a little while, because it's a fun place to be.

2011-05-20T22:09:00.010-05:00

I'll go to bed soon. Sleep is usually a better preparation for bike racing than training is, usually.

A piece of information for you: On warm nights, I like to sleep with my head on the windowsill and my arms outstretched of the window. The warm breeze over the crickets as I drift away are wonderful things.

This summer I realized I'll always spend more time in the sun and always get more freckles. And you know what? I love having freckles. I like when the sun sings into my eyes, blinding and deafening them. Today I looked back to the sun, and its white light shivered into a burst of a billion pieces, icy, triangular brightness. When the mists around my eyes cleared, the sky shone white, then blue and the twin curves of spinning crowns twisted away from helical view. I looked into the trees too. And each leaf danced a different dance, quickly, each a fluttering staccato.

Everything feels heavy, I'm not going to say anything else - you should tell me something.

2011-04-29T15:00:00.012-05:00

Lights off. I have a companion. We are facing each other, he is stroking my shoulders. Lightly.
He has wonderful hands, strong wrists and fingers. Surgeon hands. He uses them to stroke the small of my back.
My eyes are shut, and he grasps my hand, pulling it between us, until we are palm inside of palm, anterior to posterior. The ceiling of the hands arching, like an old-world cathedral. Marveling. The world spins slightly, as though I'm a little drunk. I'm not thinking about anything but the tactile sensation. The slight dampness between our hands like dew in a hollow because of the contours of our palms.
My eyes snap open, suddenly. Wide and engaging. Courageous and vulnerable; the softest, most subtle elements of happiness.

It's amazing what fingers will do if you cut the connection between the brain to the hands, taking all the little tollbooths out along the way.

2011-04-21T00:49:00.031-05:00

I watched the landscape inside of a wine glass for a couple of minutes the other night. It varies depending on the body of the wine. Sometimes with heavier reds the legs are thick and strong, sometimes with champagne, they're thin and dissipating, waif-like. I tipped the flute up to take a drink, and ended up transfixed by the bubbles, silhouetted on the surface of the inside of the glass, like a firework on the fourth of July. My fingerprint became a blurring pyrotechnic effect. Then I took a drink, and watched as it all sparkle and twinkle away.
Worth noting, for dinner tonight: Steamed garlic and bok choy, asparagus, and celery with peanuts and sesame-garlinc pork. Mmmm.

I need to go to the ocean sometime soon. I've been feeling too worried late at night when I'm alone lately. It hasn't anything to do with the ocean, which just sits there, majestic. The tide rises, and falls. I am so tiny in relation to that. It makes me feel better. Kind of like the stars, we're just babies. We're just sub-particles of space dust, really.

I move out of this apartment tomorrow. Tonight is the last night I'll sit up late and type a blog at this table, the one with the lion's feet at the base of its legs. The last time I'll sit at this particular table in the old chair from the 1960's, the one that starts to hurt my pelvis after a little while from its steely surface. My friend & I took it from the stage after the 'Man Or Astro Man?' show at the Rubber Gloves Rehearsal Studios in Denton, Texas. I was 19, it's seen above in the photograph. Would I do it now, steal a chair from an space rock show? Probably not, but at the time it fit snugly in the back of my metro and we've been a good match ever since. This chair will last forever, longer than me.

I'll miss these quiet times. So quiet that I can hear the plastic frame squeaking and wrestling against the wall from its balancing counterpoint on the table. Tiny little chirps of plastic while I type.

Ahhh, sigh, I'm such a scared child sometimes. This is better than being homeless. Have I grown spoiled? Am I wicked? I keep moving forward.

I'm going to start going back to yoga, I really am. I'll find the money somehow. if i'm not going to take medication - which I may or may not need, then I need to have yoga in my life, I think.

2011-04-08T15:54:00.002-05:00

2011-04-08T15:11:00.015-05:00

photo: http://www.vogue.it/en

The sun was out today. Really out, not just peeking. I sat outside for a spell in shorts and a too-big t-shirt with the sleeves and neck cut open wide, knees together and feet turned inward. My favorite way to sit. The sun warms like nothing else. It's not like fireplace, nor a warm vent - which are both nice, but the sunshine is different. The sun makes the air smell different to me. So nostalgic mixed with burning charcoal grills, when I don't mind the smoke so much. I rather enjoy the smell of smoke in the summer, a campfire or a charcoal grill in the warm sunshiny air.

Today I've been sitting inside for the rest of the time. Every door and window is open. Leaves are blowing in across the floors. Right now I'm stopping to glance up occasionally and look out the door. A moment ago, there was a squirrel watching me, it was hooked onto the tree in a funny way. After that, a bold male cardinal who stopped and gazed in for a while, well, a while for a bird at least. I hear the leaves rustling again, which is different than the rustling palms of southern california, still like rushing water, but in Texas it's more like a rambling creek - less like a brooding, dreaming ocean.

This morning the sky was deep bright blue, the sun was uninterrupted. Into the late afternoon it's still blue with a wash of white, superficial and moving. Right now I'm perfectly safe. Even with the sun in my eyes, I can still see clearly.

I'm on the floor and I smell like myrrh and vanilla and salt from sweat. It's one of those scents that catches in your nose for a moment. Warm and bronzing. I think so. It smells of a mix: One part human, two parts energy and life.

I slept in Betty's bed last night while a friend came over and slept on the couch. It's a safe place with a good friend, the best combination. Where I really want to sleep is on an immense teddy bear with certain someone. Warm and soft and inviting.

2011-04-04T19:55:00.006-05:00

2011-04-04T09:28:00.009-05:00

Photo from http://www.zeitgeistudios.com/

I'm so poor right now that I can't afford to go to yoga, I honestly believe it has a lot to do with why I've been feeling and acting a little weird. I miss it a lot, donation classes are available, but I would donate more than I should, so I'd probably end up spending more that way. I don't have enough discipline to actually do it on my own everyday, I would rather go to the studio, that's where all the progress through practice takes place. Maybe I'll take money out of savings, it's a worthy investment, but I really ought not to, I need that for so many other things. It's just, I'm not so bendy as I was even just a month ago. Sad. I'm glad our team made a little money this weekend at Redlands.

I've been feeling like slowdancing with somebody. Billie Holiday's on, and it feels kind of soft and contented and quiet before I get up and tackle the airports today. I wish I had the voice to be a lounge singer, hushed and subdued. My voice is too high and puny. I'd love to slither all over the stage seducing everyone, lying on the piano. If only my stage fright would go away. I'm working on it.

I wish I had more self discipline. I could go to bed earlier, read, and stretch more. It's really a struggle. I've got an addictive personality. Right now it's seven-fifty am and I didn't sleep until almost 2 am. I woke up at seven and I came here, online, looking at cycling news and gretchen's blog. I can't help myself because today is her Monday Mood Board post. The problem is I'm doing all of this when I should be asleep so my eyes are burning and my back still hurts from the race yesterday. Damn stupid of me to offset my sleeping cycle. I'll try falling back asleep now. Wish me luck.

Photo from http://gretchenjonesnyc.tumblr.com/

2011-03-28T23:39:00.001-05:00

Your full moon taunts me

You put me, you put me on yourself
You've been at yourself
You woke me up last night
and my eyes lit up like lights
like a string of pearls
but you still did what you wanted

and all the time it took you to get your self straight
all that time it took you to get your self straight
all that time it took you to get yourself straight
was too late
so work harder for the things you made in me

And your full moon taunts me
And your thoughts they got me
(got me in
got me in)

and all the time it took you to get your self straight
all that time it took you to get your self straight
all that time it took you to get yourself straight
was too late
so work harder for the things you made in me

Did i reset what I started?
Did I resist what I wanted?
Do I think you've got my number?
I'm not the one to continue on.

all that time it took you to get yourself straight
was too late
so work harder for the things you made in me

My darling Clementine

2011-03-28T22:52:00.004-05:00

I spent five minutes carefully seeding a clementine, so I could savor it while I read. The first section tasted like some kind of strange perfume, tart, heady, and bright. I then proceeded to stuff the rest of it into my mouth all at once. I nearly choked on juice and sheer amusement of twisted tangeriney-orangy fibers.

There's a sense, inside of a rush, which is savoring.

Warpaint

2011-03-28T21:28:00.005-05:00

Ms. Amelia Earhart

2011-03-28T12:33:00.008-05:00

Amelia Earhart quotes:

Adventure is worthwhile in itself.

Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace.

Flying might not be all plain sailing, but the fun of it is worth the price.

I want to do it because I want to do it.

In soloing - as in other activities - it is far easier to start something than it is to finish it.

Never do things others can do and will do if there are things others cannot do or will not do.

Never interrupt someone doing what you said couldn't be done.

The more one does and sees and feels, the more one is able to do, and the more genuine may be one's appreciation of fundamental things like home, and love, and understanding companionship.

Obviously I faced the possibility of not returning when first I considered going. Once faced and settled there really wasn't any good reason to refer to it.

Please know that I am aware of the hazards. I want to do it because I want to do it. Women must try to do things as men have tried. When they fail, their failure must be a challenge to others.

The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity. The fears are paper tigers. You can do anything you decide to do. You can act to change and control your life; and the procedure , the process is its own reward.

The most effective way to do it, is to do it.

The woman who can create her own job is the woman who will win fame and fortune.

There are two kinds of stones, as everyone knows, one of which rolls.

Women must pay for everything. They do not get more glory than men for comparable feats, but, they also get more notoriety when they crash.

2011-03-27T22:48:00.010-05:00

The wind in the trees sounds like the ocean would were it made of leaves. It's dark out, so I can't see the leaves, but I know that branches are nodding and dancing. The sky is clear and dark, like sparkling grape soda. It's winking with little carbonations of stars. It's just slightly too bright out to see many stars, but I know they're still there. Up beyond the mountain tops, sometimes the sheer infinity of stars is overwhelming - breathtaking. On this side of the mountains, there are just enough to be comforting, tucking you into sleep. You know that the rest of the stars are up there. Just hanging out, wishing you well, one by one, even though they can't all be seen at once.

The Sundays - Can't Be Sure

2011-03-20T02:42:00.003-05:00

give me a story and give me a bed
give me possessions
oh love luck and money they go to my head like wildfire
it's good to have something to live for you'll find
live for tomorrow
live for a job and a perfect behind, high time
England my country the home of the free, such miserable weather
but England's as happy as England can be
why cry

and did you know desire's a terrible thing
the worst that I could find
and did you know desire's a terrible thing
but I rely on mine, a-ah

England my country the home of the free, such miserable weather
but England's as happy as England can be
why cry

and did you know desire's a terrible thing
the worst that I could find
and did you know desire's a terrible thing
but I rely on mine
did you know desire's a terrible thing
it makes the world go blind
but if desire, desire's a terrible thing
you know that I really don't mind

and it's my life
and though I can't be sure what I want any more
it will come to me later
well it's my life.... and it's my life
and though I can't be sure if I want any more
it will come to me later... ah, yeah

2011-03-20T02:23:00.008-05:00

Watching plants move in the breeze is strange and invigorating. I've never completely figured it out only because I have difficulty deciding if it's actually the air moving the branches, or a power inside of the plant speaking and breathing.
The branches nod and wave, gesturing at whomever might be watching, or just making movement around, like an aquarium.

I feel the same way when I take a long car ride, or a boat ride and my hair is untied. It will leap up, it will writhe and tangle. It suddenly takes on a life of its own. I can watch as it hovers and waves, often twisting like the small tornado connecting the surface of bathwater and the drain in an emptying bathtub. I took a bath tonight, I used grapefruit and sandalwood bath salts. It was nearly perfect.

Camera Obscura - French Navy

2011-03-15T11:38:00.007-05:00

Spent a week in a dusty library
Waiting for some words to jump at me
We met by a trick of fate
French navy, my sailor mate

We met by the moon on a silvery lake
You came my way
Said, "I want you to stay."

You and your dietary restriction
Said you loved me with a lot of conviction
I was waiting to be struck by lightning
Waiting for somebody exciting

Like you
Oh, the things that you do
You make me go, "Oooh"
With the things that you do, you do, you do

I wanted to control it
But love, I couldn't hold it
I wanted to control it
But love, I couldn't hold it

I'll be criticized for lending out my heart
I was criticized for letting you break my heart
Why would I stand for disappointed looks
I'm fully grown but I'm on tender hooks, ooh with the looks
On tender hooks,
Ooh, with the looks, the looks, the looks

I wanted to control it
But love, I couldn't hold it
I wanted to control it
But love, I couldn't hold it

Relationships were something I used to do
Convince me they are better for me and you
We met by a trick of fate
French navy, my sailor-

I wanted to control it
But love, I couldn't hold it
I wanted to control it
But love, I couldn't hold it

2011-03-14T21:43:00.012-05:00

Stay under the blanket, we can't see the sun anyway.

We smell like three-day old flowers and a day at the beach. Your eyes the color of the small flecks in an oyster's shell.

I'm still a night girl, but I can wake up with the sun. It slants peachgold rays on the flagstones and plays abstract shadows on my bare, white walls. It stares quietly through slender gaps in long branches. It rests and moves in the thin early fog.

In the night, sound seems to be muffled, and in the dark, it closes around you like a flowered down blanket. To be awake is to be at odds. You can almost hear my dreams, drifting like perfume in the quiet air, but the morning is expansive and crisp, like the taste of iced pineapple.

1. Let's make dinner out of something from the farmer's market.
2. Let's find the tallest hill in the city and pin a love note to a tree at the summit.
3. Let's sit face to face and I'll inhale the breath out of your mouth and you exhale the breath into mine.
4. Let's fill a dish with confetti and drop it out a window.

The cracks in the street are like the shape of your veins as they fill us full of life, but it's not quite the same, love, not the same.

2011-03-08T23:47:00.012-06:00

2011-03-07T14:58:00.027-06:00

I really want to take a warm shower but am instead completely engaged in planning logistics for California; calculating numbers, looking at maps, registration, dates, sending emails, and planning how much money it would cost to drive. It will cost twice as much as flying at the current state of oil prices, and I'm sitting here cold and wondering where all the money is going to come from. Yet I know I'm still going to spend it. Letting go of security somewhat frightens me, yet there's something peculiar about going to California that feels like it's already been written. Life's big picture. I see it, or rather I will see it one day. I'm at an outdoor movie theater, in the middle of a desert, crooked metal posts peeking up next to cars with their lo-fi speaker popping and hissing the soundtrack throughout the lot. I have to find the means and ways to physically manifest this, I have to add more scenes. It's all so inspiring, it is meant to be, like a friend waiting with open arms.

Or maybe that's how everyone feels about California.

Sometimes when I'm riding my bike I realize I don't remember the last 4 blocks and somedays, the entire ride in general. Today I could have ridden all day effortlessly spinning. Last night I only remember bits of the ride home, it was so late and I was so tired. I remember feeling frozen as a block of ice after starting out, but by the end I was unzipping my jacket so that I could stay out even longer. I wanted to stay on the bike until dawn. Up and down the hiding hills in the neighborhood. I remember watching out for speed bumps, I remember my lights flashing on and off the roads. Time had disappeared briefly through a vortex. Then I was home, wide awake. Blue lights on the patio, buzzing through the blinds and over the couch where I fell asleep, sedated, reeling.

2011-03-02T20:58:00.008-06:00

My eyes sting.

And you know what happens whenever i get grumpy. Yep, it's time to explode. Today it's a loud welping explosion. A water balloon full of jello hits the street and there is no crash, there is no crispy shatter, only a loud smack. The sound is full and carnal. Flesh in the jaws of something invisible, torn and hanging in bloody strands like a man of war. Trickling, oozing. I remain a subconscious mess; an annoyance to clean up. It is not beautiful. Everyone who sees it laying there turns away, disgusted.

My mind's clearly in a great place today. I need a nap. no, actually I need to register for Lago. Be back in a minute...

Ok. Deep ...breath.

There are gladiolas on the table. They look like they should be dancing. Stiff rippled underskirt and panels frozen in time, suspended in the middle of a twirl. A dancing dress with yellow flowers and a full skirt. Dance with me. I can wear the wilted yellow dress and you wear a herringbone vest. We'll put on a tragic play, spinning, spinning, spun and dying laughing in a heap. The only time that death isn't final. Get back up and we'll dance again. Until we get bored and run outside into the sun where we're blinded, a flash of yellow and bronze that fades into the present and it's over. Until the next vivid fit of nostalgia.

But we did dance, didn't we? It happened. I remember, you remember, and that's all that matters. I can always remember.

Switched On /// Grenades & Confetti

2011-03-01T11:35:00.011-06:00

Today I feel the potential explosion of a confetti filled egg. Smooth, sharp, scattered, a thousand harmless bits and pieces flickered by the wayside. Picked up by a child, run over by a bicycle, nudged with the clammy nose of a dog. One false move and it shatters, like a champagne flute tossed into a fire place. My simple facade detonates, shrapnel clawing its way into my unlucky companion. Biologically engineered shards destroy everything in their paths. The image of the explosion is beautifully devastating, invitingly miserable, but none of this matters. It looks harmless, yet destructive, leaving a wake of pain in its confetti mess.
I am built for this; it is not a question of if, but when.

Padmasana

2011-02-27T12:48:00.009-06:00

Photo: Ryan McGinley

At 3 am this morning I showered, but then I had to do my ab workout before bed so that I wouldn't feel like I wasted the day and fell off schedule. I'm like that with so many things, it's good but weird. I strive so hard to stay on track or I wander off like a lost satellite. I sleep better knowing I do what I need to do. I don't remember too many dreams from my last sleep, except, one about a traveling bag with a name embroidered on it, except the name was misspelled.

While I was drudging my way through the 3 am core workout, I lost count with every exercise because I was talking with Alan, the blogger staying with us during the North American Handmade Bicycle Show this weekend. I'm really starting to adore this guest, he's a super down to earth, awesome fellah from the Adriatic sea. He introduced us to Dalmatia fig spread. If you see it, get it. A neat-o side note about Alan is he went to school and worked with a favorite photographer of mine, Ryan McGinley before Ryan launched into his photography stardom - and Alan's blog is pretty awesome I might add.

I knew I'd be sleeping-in today so last night I tacked a blue blanket over the highest loft window. It casts a soft wash of blue light over the whole apartment, fuzzy and damp like a drying cool watercolor. The blanket doesn't keep the room quite dark enough, but that's ok, it's not healthy to live in a cave. It's 1 pm now and I'm still waking up with Flying Lotus and a second batch of coffee. I have laryngitis after 2 days of NAHBS, the coffee is supposed to help. I'm going to practice the lotus pose on the mat today. The mood I'm in now is one of rushing to slow down. In ASAP-speed, I'm going to do 4hour-speed yoga. As Patrick would say. At least having slept after 3 nights of a this big Austin weekend, I'm feeling much more human-like again. I'm still gearing up for breakfast, I'm so hungry my stomach is starting to fall in on itself.
After a stretch I'll make pancakes mixed with blueberries and a little ground fennel pork inside, it will go so well with grandma's maple syrup from Wisconsin, which is almost gone. By this time, it may very well be for dinner.

Flying Lotus featuring Thom Yorke "...and the world laughs with you"

2011-02-27T12:24:00.010-06:00

I'll need to know you're out there
I'll need to know you're out there
I'll need to know you're listening

I'll need to know you're out there
I'll need to know you're out there
need to know you're out listening
I'll need to know you're out there somewhere

2011-02-23T10:05:00.021-06:00

I finally had 8 hours of sleep last night and was awakened from a dream about model trains. The first thought that came to mind is that I want to start constructing them, that they should become a new hobby. I awoke with the idea of discovering a local crafts store and buy a really cool train as soon as possible, and getting really consumed with my new hobby. One that I could switch on and watch travel along the tiny tracks around and around. I could perch my collections up on my pantry shelves and there they would sit, running in circles.

Of course I just looked up the meaning of model trains, and as to no surprise, my subconscious holds all the truth. Promise not to laugh?

"If you see or play with a model train in your dream, then it indicates that you want more control and power over your own life and where it is headed. Dreaming of trains may also be a metaphor that you are "in training" for some event, job or goal. According to Freud, a train is analogous to the male penis."

But enough of that, time to get ready for a ride, then motorpacing later. Double workouts, are like double rainbows. Haha.

This morning's air is piquant and hushed. It doesn't makes my cheeks and nose pink like I wish it would. Sometimes I love to be able to see my breath in cold air. Sometimes I love to watch people smoke in the movies, the smoke coils and dissipates. It doesn't look so nasty when it's on film.

Photo by jgspics

2011-02-22T10:19:00.011-06:00

I just remembered, I had my first cycling dream of the year. I know when I'm coming into form because I dream about racing, but even better, winning. Before I opened my eyes today, I dreamed of winning Sunny King in April. The last lap was pure chaos, I was dodging corners leading the pack - then I jumped and had such a massive gap on the field that as I crossed the line, it was as though I was swimming backwards in backstroke looking up at the finishing banner. From that vantage point I could see the rest of the field, scurrying to finish. In the fraction of a moment before I awoke I thought, I have a national win, it's already happened, now, I just have to go through the physical half.

It is all magic.

2011-02-22T08:32:00.019-06:00

It was warm yesterday. I was glad to spend the morning with my good friends on a light-hearted ride, lots of laughter, sunshine, and finally a long visit on a deck. I wasn't able to see the rest of the day because afternoon time was so dazing that I walked in my sleep throughout it. I found a spell of energy much later and went out with my girlfriends. I wore a gray hat, the kind that looks like it's from the 1940's period, something a woman would wear to the train station when she's saying goodbye to someone special. This morning is flirting with spring but, there's a crispness in the air. There aren't quite blossoms all over the place yet. Still dry and damp at the same time, the trees are not yet warm and decorated, no signs of new growth, just yet.

I closed my eyes and the burnt orange splotches bloomed themselves into poppies. Poppies behind my eyes - can't ask for much more on a gray morning.

Maybe i'll get work done on the bike today. Right now I feel like the air has been punched out of my stomach. Maybe I'll even go to yoga tonight. Hopefully. Unlikely. I can hope, though, can't I? Losing hope is an unpleasant idea.

Tell me, from where you're sitting now, when you look out of your window, what do you see? I see a gray wall of cinderblocks, from the top of the ledge to the bottom of the blinds.

2011-02-20T22:28:00.010-06:00

This is the stuff of dreams and crazy camera angles. The haze of tiny soft circles obscuring my vision, for a fraction of a moment I am in an entirely different place. I am four, eating the snow off of the branches of pine trees. I am five, playing piano upside down into a tape recorder. I am eight, riding my uncle's old road bike far away from grandma's house. I am eleven, in a nest of blankets on my day bed.

Something very tiny snaps within me, and I am perfectly, completely, happy - for only just a second. Then the water ripples away and I am left alone. During my bath, I shift in my tub and petals fall from the top water spout. I brush my hand over my hair and feel soft water dripping down my cheeks. It could be collections of steam, it could be sweat, it could be tears. Involuntary souvenirs, clinging to me, dripping down me, displaying my momentary need.

The Brain in Love and Lust

2011-02-16T15:08:00.000-06:00

The Brain in Love and Lust

2011-02-14T19:33:00.010-06:00

flashvars="hostname=cowbell.grooveshark.com&songIDs=23418968&style=metal&p=0" allowScriptAccess="always" wmode="window" />

Pusher be the test and I beat to the rest
In my head, in my head now
Slow candle burning with your flame on high and now I'm dry land so
Play it, play it, player play
The sound of escape now honey
Take it take it
Say it lover, say it lover right
It's all the thicker, the light hearted taker
So take it, so take it, so take it

Dream is in this heart
Season in these years
Death is in this heart

So what so what
So fine so fine
So what so what
Be mine be mine

Burn it to the ground
With the planks all around
On the top
On the top right?
Flowers in this dream of easy thinkers
Fell out of love, out of love now
It's all the faker, the light hearted taker
So take it, so take it, so take it

2011-02-10T22:58:00.015-06:00

I'm looking for something breathtaking, and though I'm finding images no words are pouring out of them. So i guess this is the end, for now.

Write something for me, will you? Haiku, limerick, prose, whatever. Maybe this will be an inspiration.

Photos: zeitgeist studios

2011-02-09T18:59:00.015-06:00

Chapter 7 continued...

I looked at him secretly from under a fall of hair.

He was lying on his back, his hands under his head, staring at the ceiling. The starched white sleeves of his shirt, rolled up to the elbows, glimmered eerily in the half dark and his tan skin seemed almost black. I thought he must be the most beautiful man I'd ever seen.

I thought if only I had a keen, shapely bone structure to my face or could discuss politics shrewdly or was a famous writer Constantin might find me interesting enough to sleep with.

And then I wondered if as soon as he came to like me he would sink into ordinariness, and if as soon as he came to love me I would find fault after fault, the way I did with Buddy Willard and the boys before him.

The same thing happened over and over:
I would catch sight of some flawless man off in the distance, but as soon as he moved closer I immediately saw he wouldn't do at all.

That's one of the reasons I never wanted to get married. The last thing I wanted was infinite security and to be the place an arrow shoots off from. I wanted change and excitment and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket.

Plath, S. (1971). The Bell Jar. New York: HarpersCollins Publishers Inc.

2011-02-09T13:04:00.018-06:00

Not caring about anything. I hate it when I get this way. Anxiousness wrapping around me like a mummy. I'm turning to stone. At least if I were an oyster, I could create something iridescent and luminescent and beautiful like a pearl.

When I feel this way I wonder if I'm perpetually afraid and only at peace momentarily - or if my inner most self is like a long row of sadness where happiness passes through in cracks, like a long, lonely sidewalk. I hate getting annoyed about things and then I have so much difficulty letting them go.

Just calm down, breathe deeply, pretend I'm having a good time...but that doesn't work so well for me. I can't fake it.

In my heart I'm naturally happy, but when the blues hit the ground shakes. I lock up because I know my foundation is being rattled and tested and the ground below me is turning into water and everything is going wash out like dark storm. Never mind.

I need sleep. I need to drink water, ride my bike, take a hot bath, and figure out what home really is.

Hawk

2011-02-08T13:04:00.011-06:00

Sew the seeds
Of everything to be
Safe in sleep
I winter in my dreams

Speak your words
Defined by grief for me
Out of reach
Some things just can not be

2011-02-07T14:34:00.013-06:00

From chapter 7 of 'The Bell Jar'

I started adding up all the things I couldn't do.

My list grew longer.

I was a terrible dancer. I couldn't carry a tune, I had no sense of balance, and when we had to walk down a narrow board with our hands out and a book on our heads in gym class I always fell over. I couldn't ride a horse or ski, the two things I wanted to do most, because they cost too much money. I couldn't speak German or read Hebrew or write Chinese.

The one thing I was good at was winning scholarships and prizes, and that era was coming to an end.

I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks or a champion college footballer suddenly confronted by Wall Street and a business suit, his days of glory shrunk to a little gold cup on his mantel with a date engraved on it like the date on a tombstone.

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.
From the tip of every branch, a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brillant professor, and other fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of of other lovers with queer names and off beat professions, and other fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I coudln't quite make out.

I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant loosing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.

Plath, S. (1971). The Bell Jar. New York: HarpersCollins Publishers Inc.

"New Discovery" By Alex De Spain

2011-02-04T07:22:00.001-06:00

by kozyndan http://www.kozyndan.com/

Frost // Soft Attacks

2011-02-04T02:29:00.012-06:00

I watched the winter today.. slanted rips and tufts in the air, a shattering and crunching of feet marching over frozen land. The sky the color of milk mixed with dirty water. Harsh and silvergrey. The sun scarcely shone from the edges of the clouds, Through the bent trails of water on the car windshield. Dim shadows flanking luminous reflections, crawling across the backs of my hands as I watch the edge of the hood onto the road in wonder. Handcolor, whitegold and peach. My scars are shiny, pink, faint, white, and dull. I have 3 easily visible scars. They drove me to a hotel. My nails reflect the bed light, making them seem more awake than I am. My fingernails made up of a million hairs, pearls at the top, and light pink at the bottom. How many things have I touched with these hands? How many things have I made? how many more will they make?

My motion for magic is always to make the same loose fist and then uncurl all of the fingers kind of open outward movement, like a little puff of smoke expanding, then you expect something to appear in my palm. To make the motion would be to say swooossshhh! - but I can't write it because it's a whisper. It's the onomatapoetic sound of a tiny magic thing happening, I'm doing it now, something tiny and magic is happening right now.

The sky at dusk was bluegrey. It reminded me of the color of the skin under someone's eyes who wore too much makeup and partied too long last night.

flashvars="hostname=cowbell.grooveshark.com&songIDs=26723383&style=metal&p=0" allowScriptAccess="always" wmode="window" />

Semafora, Triangle Folds

2011-02-02T00:02:00.010-06:00

Sometimes we sink, sometimes we float, and sometimes we fly. Today I'm submerged, but tomorrow, I'll shake the wet frost off my wings and race the frozen clouds. Tonight, I'm listening to Legowelt and hanging vintage garments in one lofty closet. Is this all it is to be a girl in the city? Only for now.

flashvars="hostname=cowbell.grooveshark.com&songIDs=24848098&style=metal&p=0" allowScriptAccess="always" wmode="window" />

He Would Have Laughed

2011-01-28T21:55:00.001-06:00

Only bored as I get older
Find the ways to...
Cult of time

Only bored as I get older
Find new ways to spend my time

I'm a gold digging man
Find my money, find my land
I'm a gold digging man
I won't rest 'til I buy your land

Sweetness comes suffering
In sweetness comes suffering
I won't rest till I can't breathe
I can't breathe with you looking at me

I get bored as I get older
Can you help me figure this out?

Come on, dream on:

"I lived on a table - I don't know where to go. I know my friends would. . . I know where my friends are now. I lived on a farm, yeah. I never lived on a farm. Where did my friends go? Where did my friends go?"

What do you do when you're sleeping?
Where did you go when you said:
"I don't need nobody on my bond"
Where do your friends go?
Where do they see you?
What did you want to be?

- Deerhunter, Halcyon Digest 2010

2011-01-27T11:45:00.005-06:00

I'm off to a peculiar start. It's like there's something wrong and I can't put my finger on what it is exactly. It seems like I'm searching for something but I don't know what I'm looking for. I'm forgetting something important and everyone know's what it is, except I do not. I'm lost today, maybe I dove too deep in all the writing yesterday. Today I feel like I need to surge to the surface for a blast of life-giving, forgiving air.

Moments like this, I wish for a full time job so that I could punch-in to work. Forget about my personal thoughts for 8 hours, switch into work-mode, and just let my 'self' rest. Maybe this week with Kacey here, I've been digging up too many buried confessions about my weaknesses. I feel exposed.

I'm taking a break from Facebook, I need respite. I wish it weren't a finger's touch away. Too much social networking makes me feel like I've put myself on an operating table and everyone's looking at my insides and I can't do anything about it because I'm sedated and drifting to and from reality.

I like this blog because, let's be real, no one reads it! Well, maybe 2 friends and they are like family. I can vent here and say whatever I want and get it off my chest and it remains unknown. Plus I don't know where my written journal is hiding today, so, here I am.

Rest circular thoughts,
rest...

2011-01-26T09:37:00.003-06:00

This morning I awoke wanting to write again while the house is still sleeping. I awoke wanting to do a whole lot; thirsty for knowledge, hungry for activity.

Crazy connect-the-dots inside my brain today. Synapses zapping metaphors around these deep fissures.

My thoughts, zooming around like a fleet of small birds, blackspotting the sky. Droplets of memories and bits of information clinging to a hundred tangled mindwebs, occasionally coalescing, slipping down my spinal cord like a long icicle. Shiver.

Can you know me? Look into my eyes. Can you see the gold flecks shyly floating in there? Can you see the iris of rust acquiescing to the sea on an overcast day? Can you look through my pupils and tell that I'm not from here? Not from anywhere?

Wading up to my knees in a flooded street. Transparent windstorm. Starry glazed streetlights in the reflection of a storefront, dusty raisin sky like a smoothly rounded rootbeer waterglass.

Waking up in the middle of the night with heavy choking fear like swallowed cotton and humidity in a small dark corner of a bedroom. Fear of what? Today, tomorrow? Nothing. So I slumber into the bathroom and look at myself into the silver mirror. I look surprised.

Ok, maybe that's out of my system now. I don't know, it all definitely helps.

"I had that dream again
I'm exploring my (own) home: I happen across a door: that leads me to a room I've never seen."

- Photo by Brandon Boyd
From White Fluffy Clouds

2011-01-26T09:24:00.000-06:00

I love what light in the sky can do in different situations. Moonlight on white clouds against black sky. Sunlight from one side of the atmosphere against bold clouds, it makes the sky taller. Eerie quiet light blinking during a lightening storm, electrons balancing and unbalancing, like a flashing strobe, a thousand snapping photographs. Rays of sun through smoke, like the edge of a beachfront. Bright, bright.

Photo by John Trujillo

2011-01-26T09:21:00.001-06:00

- Brandon Boyd
White Fluffy Clouds

Love&Life,Life&Love

2011-01-26T09:19:00.000-06:00

- Brandon Boyd
White Fluffy Clouds

2011-01-19T20:12:00.001-06:00

Carla Swart

2011-01-19T11:50:00.001-06:00

The beautiful, brilliant, heart of a pure champion. You will always be remembered.

Trish Keenan

2011-01-18T19:27:00.002-06:00

Brilliant poet and musician. I will always hold Trish's music and close to my heart. All the good ones go too soon. It's as though they see too much, know too much. They're a catalyst of life.

I am grey, still on the page
Oh colour me in
Just an outline, sketchy but fine
Oh colour me in

If green is chasing the hills over miles
If blue is pursuing the sky
If the red of your heart doesn't mind
Where to begin to colour me in

Something new and nothing to do
I'm just the idea
I must be real cause somehow I feel
That I'm just the idea

Let's share the blue of the towering sky
The green of the hills that run by
Leave the red of your heart to decide
If you cannot choose which colour to use

I'll always wait, it's never too late
To colour me in
To colour me in

Today or next year
I'll always be near
if you want to colour me in

Kevin Cyr featured on zeitgeistudios.com

2010-12-25T13:31:00.000-06:00

I can relate to this after living out of the back of my Subaru station wagon all summer while traveling to bike races. This, to me, seems like luxury. In 2011, I'm going "big"...

Architect Selgas Cano featured on zeitgeistudios.com

2010-12-25T13:25:00.000-06:00

I would work in an office like this one in Spain...

Tiny PBS Documentary on the Tiny House Movement

2010-12-25T13:08:00.000-06:00

2010-12-20T00:36:00.001-06:00

I've been writing longhand in my journal and it feels so good to flow into true penmanship again. It's a little more visceral than typing up a blog. Reading my journal from 1999 made me want to try physically writing again. I converted a few of those entries from 1999 into this blog last month but decided to save that entry as a draft. Basically that period of my youth is uncomfortably strange and unusual to me now. Despite its tumult, the diary documenting that time period was really quite beautiful. If only for the depiction it provided. Things I had completely forgotten, and it took me right there, to that very moment reliving it, or watching it from a distance. That's the beauty of an actual diary. I think the direction of thought is better documented that way, at least for myself and for the time being. Maybe it's because I know it's completely private. The act of writing, when we don't have to feel guarded in any way and the words become more effortless. They are complete thoughts, uninterrupted by judgement. Maybe I'll submit some entries from my current written journal into this blog. As for tonight, I'm once again super late in going to bed. I have a job interview tomorrow and I need to get some sleep, but I'm nervous, well just a little. On the other hand there's something that cycling has taught me... I know I can step up to the occasion when the pressure is on. It's interesting how riding a bicycle can be applied to life in so many little ways.

Here's an old Squarepusher track. I used to love when Dave played this one. We all lived on St. Paul Avenue in uptown Dallas and listened to great music, and created all kinds of art. I was a bike messenger then and life was different. I remember I would come home for lunch just to watch The Kids In The Hall with Matt. It wasn't long until I fell in love with the idea of bike racing. Anyway, this is odd and quarky track and for the most part unknown, but I love it.

Yokoo: Words to live by

2010-12-04T15:44:00.000-06:00

2010-10-06T00:48:00.002-05:00

"Weathered Stone" by Aphex Twin, I listened to it over and over on the Greyhound bus when I moved to Texas. I looked out the window all the way from Chicago. I remember I wore tan corduroys and a black top. There was a lot of gold september sunshine. I had an empty stomach for days and days and had just turned 19. Such a dream ago. Right now I'm up late listening and baking a cassoulet. I'm in love with the entire Selected Ambient Works Vol. II album.
Also the track "Rhubarb" , "Metal Grating", and "Corrugated Tubing" are all just as intense.

2010-09-29T00:45:00.001-05:00

Lying there in a tall painted room, hot like baking cookies in August.
So still that I've forgotten what quiet feels like.
So still that my body is no longer an instrument of touch, but instead a conduit, a translation of cadence and whirl into tactile output.
So still that my chest falls open like a sleeping child's fingers, uncurling.
My heart is beating like a couple's joined hands swinging as they walk down the street.
The bicycles going around the track so fast they catch my breath.
I'm so happy I could die.
A bell rings and the dark gold sound is like sunlight in the leaves and it ripples through my body like a stone thrown into a pond. I'm simultaneously all consciousness, released from the shackles of the body, and all physical, sense and perception washing up my spine like a bucket of bloodwarm white chocolate.

Hands off the bars of my bike and it's twilight. The stoplights are like stars, if stars were made of cherries, yelling "go!" into my eyes.
Tan wind on my skin like pond water.
Around and in and out of well-banked curves I'm wheeling, twisting, a sparrow at a dance party.

I wish I could cast a spell. "Watch this," I'd whisper as I ride up the bank into the low, late, yellow moon.

Feel the slow soft love of being alive with me, like falling asleep while I watch you, smiling.

ראש השנה

2010-09-09T10:13:00.001-05:00

L'shannah Tovah!

2010-08-13T01:01:00.001-05:00

Today I wanted to stay in and write. I wanted to find a used slide projector and make a show on our wall of other people's vacations. Today I wanted to document it all; the taste of anise, the sounds of stepping on leaves, the sound of the hub on my favorite wheels, the way light creates stars in the creases of a strawberry candy wrapper, the ribbons of a balloon wrapped around an antenna, the shush and rattle of the wind in the trees, the sounds of bicycles as they travel in packs, the way expensive shoes sound on the pavement, stepping the time away moment by moment, the way our sight wraps itself around each object, softly and carefully, like a cotton towel after a cool swim.

This life is an engagement ring, it's the touch of your lips against a warm forehead.

This is it,

a heart beating.

Still the body resting into a blue corner, pressing a toe against the crack in the wooden floor.

Ink dots dripping onto fresh paper like pores of skin. Listen, it crackles as it spreads.

The ceiling is above and the floor is below and the walls are four sides of boundary, it's a space.

What will you fill it with?

Two minutes or twenty thousand miles?

A fragrance of pears?

The nape of a neck?

Gauntlet Hair

2010-07-26T01:51:00.000-05:00

GAUNTLET HAIR - I WAS THINKING from ( . )( . ) on Vimeo.

Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti

2010-07-26T01:40:00.000-05:00

2010-06-07T17:49:00.001-05:00

I don't know why but when I return home from long races I sometimes tend to feel blue. When I drove into Texas a few hours ago, I felt the heat change against the windows and the Texas sun set in. I started to unload the car and felt all woozy and dizzy inside. I felt worried, worried in so many ways... Worried about the bad dreams I had last night, worried that maybe I said or did something wrong, worried that I could have offended others. Worried about so many things all at the same time. Maybe I'm just tired or overstimulated because I have nothing to feel sad about today. I set my goals and I completed them, I'm home. Why is that not enough? The aftermath of weeks of hard racing enumerate themselves through ecstatic highs, elation of good results, interviews and celebrations. Why is it met with the contrasting lows? is it the natural balance of life? All of it makes for ups-and-downs that tend to follow a long batch of intense efforts as we strive so passionately for achievement. Maybe as highly competitive individuals we push ourselves so gruelingly to surpass our boundries that it depletes our stores of serotonin; the very shred of our comfort. It does stand to reason. After a great bunch of races, why on earth would anyone feel depressed?
Maybe the sum total of racing is greater than its parts on the course, or where ever it is that achievement is sought. It goes on and on after the finish. The journey doesn't end there, it's only just begun.

2010-05-28T18:17:00.001-05:00

Tired, glazed eyes separate me from everything. Odd camera effects pushing everything into the distance & feelings of disconnect.
Flyaway

pink pink pink pink pink

2010-05-28T17:39:00.000-05:00

I wrote a long entry, but then I erased it to feel the power of making something irrevocably disappear.

Last night I dreamed of kissing.

I'm reading Henry Miller again.

I am lonely.

2010-05-15T00:25:00.001-05:00

Sun-thick & Lolling

2010-05-15T00:14:00.000-05:00

Strange how summer happens so fast. The air is gray and sharp one day, sun-thick and lolling the next. The flowers are each events. They're drops of food-coloring, twisting knots in the crevices between cool rocks. Throughout the seasons the temperature doesn't actually change. In the wintertime there are blankets and warmers and overheated restaurants. In the summer its shaved ice and bare feet, skirts and lying in the shade. Sometimes I slip into an apartment building's swimming pool late at night to swim. I submerge myself quietly in its corners. Nobody ever notices.

2010-04-12T13:19:00.001-05:00

When I was little, there was a old, sparse fir tree in the park next to our house. One of its lowest branches was sturdy enough to sit on. I used to climb it, my nimble eleven year old body easily borne by the branches. I climbed up quite far and would look over my house and then descend. One day I decided to climb as high as I possibly could, I got almost all the way to the top, my head level with the other tree's, peaks and branches. Displaced blackbirds flew around, I could see into the neighbor's backyards. The trunk of the tree was so slender at the top that I could feel it sway slightly back and forth. The air felt lighter and cooler, I felt older. When I looked down, I didn't know how I could ever return, I felt hidden and nested. There was a green hush over everything. I loved climbing trees.

2010-04-04T18:26:00.001-05:00

2010-03-10T10:48:00.001-06:00

Lemon yogurt cake and espresso.

Yellow sunshine and toasted earthiness.

2010-03-10T07:36:00.001-06:00

I awoke feeling like I want to delete everything. Online identities, forum profiles, comments, pictures... delete, delete, delete. This blog is the only place that has yet to create a sense of alarm, a sense of misunderstanding. Is social media robbing too much time? Some are perfectly happy without these online personalities. They're all so ambiguous. Perhaps I could focus better on reality before it all.

Social media adds a new element of life, but it doesn't seem real, or entirely healthy. It seems like an escape, like playing make-believe. Sometimes it feels too eerie, this ability to just make things happen with a keystroke. Too many uncontrollable misunderstandings through syntax. Is it better to just remove yourself from its picture?

2010-03-08T17:52:00.001-06:00

The sky was reddish purple at school today, like the color of my fresh bruise.

There were plums dripping as clouds, rich ambient light making everything surreal.

The sky was this color because of the vortex surrounding this university, blooming with clouds in the sky gusting up into the air.

I'll draw up a hot bath tonight... one arm out the window, my fingers steam and drip, evaporating into the night.

Drawing 11

2010-01-26T00:31:00.000-06:00

Somedays I watch the crowds flickering, perched safely from my rest, wrapped in cotton and protected from the world. Somedays I look down from an ariel view, in the crispy prickle of the unconscious. Somedays I watch the wind. Somedays the pulse quickens, the coffee fills the brim, the wine spills onto the table. In the evenings the bathtub water pours onto the tile. Maybe I'm too mesmerized to care, too tempered to seep out of, I talk with a boy talking in his sleep.

Sometimes I manage strong and majestic, other times I make my grandmother's yellow cake at midnight to feel her company through the wafting cinnamon. Sometimes I tell you it will be ok. Somedays, will you tell me?

2010-01-22T00:05:00.001-06:00

The city sleeps and I think of love. Listening to the Magnetic Fields. Pushing away lust. Joyful, simple, pleasant. Lips swollen from kissing. Pull my hair please. I feel a rush wash over me. Inquisitively. Want. love.

I have found newness and it will never be kissed.

Bask yourself in goodness.

2010-01-21T23:52:00.001-06:00

I'm still a night girl, but I also wake up with the sun. It slants the bricks on the neighbor's chimney peachgold, and plays blind shaped shadows on my bare, white walls. It stares carefully through gaps in the tree leaves. It rests, carronade by tangerine and lavender, in the thin early fog. The cicadas and aren't up yet, and the birds still sing into their sleeping feathers. In the night, sound seems to be muffled, and the dark closes around you like a pink cashmere blanket. To be awake is to be alone, at odds with other people. You can almost hear their dreams, drifting like perfume in the quiet air. But the morning is expansive and crisp, like the taste of pineapple

2009-12-12T18:46:00.001-06:00

A fine day, one which sieves out the best in us; cool air, mild winter skies, warming sunshine in the afternoon, no feelings of rush. When all seems to possible, let's leave it this way. Let's explore the new and feel awake. This morning, a longer ride than it seemed - but, with two sweet-hearted boys and a lot of easy talk. Now I wait for a party tonight sitting with my contest chili in the crock pot stewing. Yep, contest chili, what better than a chili cook off in December?

Right now, there's totally strange & unusual international disco sounds a bit skewed with mixes of American big band on dublab.com. I've got a side 450ml of La Fin Du Monde next to me - almost a meal in itself, and 5 pine candles burning around the apartment... I have a huge weakness for pine candles. Sometimes I think I would spend my last dollar on a nice piny candle.

Tomorrow I'll prep and cook all day and we'll throw everything in a cooler and head out for a long trip road trip to Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Mountain bike, single speed, winter boots, bomber hats, and big sunglasses. All of it to see a big frigid lake, and lots of snow, lots of family. Can't wait to feel our frozen breath and warm pubs on Brady Street.

2009-11-15T13:51:00.001-06:00

I'm happy to report that as of yesterday my step dad, Larry, is showing signs of improvement. This last week has been scary, I hope we can all get back on our feet again. It's one of those lessons that teaches you to be grateful for good health. I haven't talked to my mom today but I hope he continues to do a little better every day. I was terribly depressed in my last post, part of me thinks I shouldn't post feelings like that, maybe a little too dark. Maybe I should try to remain happy-go-lucky on these online forums/blogs/etc. They've been a source of anxiety at times and I need to back off facebook right now, it really creeps me out sometimes. I think I tend to worry enough in general, without adding stress from silly social networks. Too much some days, just toooo much. I did want to get back to this blog though because A. I don't think anyone reads it anyway! plus it feels like a private corner of existence to which I can let my fingers go. B. My last post was so depressing I wanted to bring some good news on a new day. C. I've been wasting so much time today, it's a new personal record for me and definitely worth noting!

Yes, I can hardly believe it's 2pm and all I've done is email my professor about how I can't turn in a paper that's due tomorrow because his directions on the syllabus are completely different than current APA formatting. By the way, APA is psychotic and definitely a candidate of induced neurosis. It makes me crazy. So now I can't begin my next research paper until I finish this one and I can't finish this one until the prof tells me how to trick-up some half breed APA formatting.

Since I woke up today I've considered lifting weights, writing a new paper, doing all the productive things I should - but I then decided to update my iPod on my iPhone which consisted of me going through several thousands of tracks on my PC's music library for just the right blend. It took me 2+ hours to create a playlist. Meanwhile I'm not at the gym, I'm not doing my paper, I'm not doing anything. I didn't even want to get up to pee because I'm zoning out so hard on the playlist that my bladder suddenly ceased to exist. This isn't even procrastination, it's spacing out on an astral level. Hahaha, I will eventually get to work. Or will I???

...one thing is for sure. I t will only be when my music has finished uploading.

Matzo & Poached White Fish...

2009-10-29T10:33:00.000-05:00

This rainy morning I put my books aside and decided the rest of the day can wait for a little while, so I prepared fresh food instead... my favorite procrastination technique. I had a craving for steamed matzo balls, which are kosher dumplings, and crispy cast iron turkey bacon on the side. What? I said turkey bacon. אױ װײ!Last night I wanted poached cod so I decided to steam the fish in white wine, pepper corns, crushed garlic, and bay leaves; with some whole carrot matchsticks to poach as well. The flavors were so delicate. I usually go for bold and super pronounced styles of cooking but I love the refinement and these, kind of like, whispers of flavor. Especially the poached cod, it offered a completely different feel. It was a ballet rather than a tango.

So what's with all this Kosher cooking you ask? Should I find a synagogue tomorrow and go to Shabbat? Although, I don't think there are any Jews in Wichita Falls. I'm secular anyway... not overtly or specifically religious...or maybe a little bit of everything, which feels peaceful to me.

Shalom

שָׁלוֹם

2009-10-23T09:35:00.001-05:00

The cold dust from this windy city leaves heads heavy with coarse beards, faces red breathing whiskey frost, icy fingers, watering eyes from wind tears. Its bathtubs fill with sand.

My hair grows more quickly here, it wraps around my neck. I let it fall around my shoulders, old friends. The blueberry

stains under my fingernails came from picking them last night before bed. I wondered how many bites until I find the perfect one? What will blueberry dreams look like? This morning, I awoke giggling.

I

2009-10-20T00:54:00.000-05:00

The graybright sky smells emphatically of nothing. Cold humid prickles, the ghosts of raindrops, rise on the backs of my hands.

Today, I want to cleave myself in two, that I may be more exposed to the world. I want to tape my eyes open until they fill with tears and everything turns into a blur of colors. I want to be the off-key tuning fork for pianos in the trees.

Even when you see, you can not know if it's real.

II

2009-10-20T00:37:00.000-05:00

Sit under the warm sky, doll. You won't be able to see the sun anyway. Your sweat smells like two-day-old flowers and your eyes are the color of raisons. Let's make dinner out of something in the neighbors trash can. Let's find the tallest hill in the city and pin a love note to the tallest tree at the top. Let's sit face to face and I'll inhale the breath out of your mouth. Let's fill a dish with old tomatoes and drop it out of the window. The cracks in the street are the shape of rain as it trickles down your slicker, but not the same, love, they're not the same.

2009-10-02T23:13:00.001-05:00

I've been waiting to do this. Wanting to be alone and free of time and willing to write again. I wonder if the full moon has been influential. I can list the ways the moon has done its mysterious deeds today. It was an unusual day. On my bike on the way to school, I noticed a brilliant sun and the sky was creme-fraiche, it was a perfect day. The kind that make you want to have damp feet from the garden floor, and hear music in your pockets. The days that make it easier to imagine being in a different city and in another decade. To play make-believe. I still play that game. It's not as easy as when I was seventeen. It makes me sad because when I was seventeen, I didn't know it and never enjoyed it. But today, I enjoyed as much as I could. I rounded a bend in the road curving around a park while I was riding but instead of going to school, I went to the park instead.

Today I took some pictures of a tree that was lining up with the sun. It reminded me of an eclipse and the camera obscuras I saw on tv last week. While I was lying there I bullied mini hybrid bees swarming around my ears, the little bees that confuse themselves with flies. I watched a cricket squeaking, and tried to study, I felt guilty that I wasn't working in a hospital but I stayed there in the grass and with my computer and books and duck food for lunch for 3 or 4 hours. I wanted to avoid the library that was waiting for me but decided to go instead and do something productive. When I was there I found a spot for myself that was very private. Libraries are sexy, they're appealing to people who are happiest alone.

2009-09-02T01:02:00.001-05:00

The most poignant moment in recent past was my cat and his dying in my arms. Heavy like a swollen funny shaped pear he lay next to me in a bed. Heart beat short, moaning, human like. I saw death and slept next to it like an old friend until its fuzzy and gray beaming life was gone. It hurt intensely. My little lovely. I am missing him a lot.

I also started school and I realize I have to pull the reigns in on my mind. I have fears of 'can't'... and 'what if I just couldn't?' It's hard to learn how to study again, after my funny self has been running ramped over the last 2 years. I haven't been a complete waste-monger, I've read a good bit and have been writing and working hard, and have been keeping social and I try my best to be well versed and witty and savvy and organized, and yet unrefined, but, the thought of school overwhelms and I'm alone amongst all of these online classes to face my own successes and shortcomings, left to study alone, make my own deadlines, assign my time. I have no one to study with or call when something is confusing. Internet classes are a lot to keep spinning together and separate. I hope to do them well, I have to - I quit my job for them! I did it, I quit! No more shrilling call pager in the middle of the night! No more work depression. I registered to race for 3 days in Austin this weekend and am making plans to race in Las Vegas in 3 weeks. In 2 weeks I'll be in Dallas racing around the American Airlines center with a crowd of friends and a field of comrades. 4 weeks ago I was in Illinois racing the national championships, 6 weeks ago I was with Colavita at Superweek. Wow. This season will be missed greatly. Seems far away but, when it's finally come to an end, I won't know what to do with myself. I can't imagine that next year could be any better but I hope to be surprised. I love surprises.

It's late, I'm so tired. I need to sleep, but no work tomorrow. I can't get over that. It's scary and wonderful at the same time... I love a paradox. I love to be frightened and thrilled. They say it's the worst time to quit a job and here am I, voluntarily unemployed in a recession - and I wanted it that way?!

Forget the recession, before I go I have to share the really great news: I made my first apple gastric tonight! A glazed base kicked off with a chicken stock, ginger, mustard, black sesame seeds, hoisin, chili peppers, tamari, and 1 chopped apple. I then seared the onions & garlic in sherry vinegar, added the sauce and reduced. Served over pork with wild rice and hard lettuce for wrapping. I ate it with pale ale served in a mason jar. From here forward, I'll always want a pale ale in a mason jar.

Yours in spades.

'Motorman' excerpt meets bedtime story...

2009-09-02T00:46:00.000-05:00

She would say, "Play the Buxtehude, Moldenke. I enjoy the chills it gives me." She would close the door behind herself and leave him alone in the piano room with its pots of ivy and ant-traps.

He would begin the Buxtehude on the cold keyboard. In the bedroom she would listen through a wall.

He would play the Buxtehude until ants crawled along his fingers and assembled on his sleeves.

He would then walk into the kitchen, carrying his hands like packages, and scrape the ants into a teaboil. Roberta would emerge from the bedroom, stand in the doorway in her flannel. Moldenke would turn from the teaboil and smile, his old silver tooth throwing out a beam of light.

Roberta would say, "Tea?"

Moldenke would add mock sugar. "Yes, would you like a cup?"

She would always have a cup. She would say, "As always."

Moldenke would have his with potato milk, she without.

David Ohle 1971

2009-08-24T17:30:00.001-05:00

I've gotta big big big big heart beat,

yeah I think you are the sweetest thing

I wear a coat of feelings

and they are loud

I've been having good days

Think we are the right age

To start our own peculiar ways

With good friendly homes

You get me freaked freaked freaked on Preakness

Never met a girl that

likes to drink with horses

Knows her chinese ballet

Must admit you smell like

fruity nuts and good grains

When you show my purple gaze

A thing or two at night

Make me sick sick sick to kiss you

and I think that i woud vomit

But I'll do that on mondays

I dont have a work way

I like it when I bump you

an accident's a truth gate

I'm humbled in your pretty lense

I'll hold you dont you go

Sometimes you're quiet and sometimes I'm quiet.

Hallelujah!

Sometimes I'm talkative and sometimes you're not talkative,

I know....

Well i'd like to spread your perfume around the old apartment

Could we live together and agree on the same wares?

A trapeze is a bird cage

even if its empty and defintintely fits the room

And we would toooo

And my dear dear dear khalana

I talk too much about you

Their ears are getting tired of me singing all the night through

Lets just talk together

You and me and me and you

And if theres nothing much to say

Well, silence is a bore

I've gotta big big big big heart beat,

yeah I think you are the sweetest thing

I wear a coat of feelings

and they are loud

I've been having good days

Think we are the right age

To start out own peculiar ways

With good friendly homes?

Sometimes you're quiet and sometimes I'm quiet

hallelujah

Sometimes I'm talkative and sometimes you're not talkative

i know....

Sometimes you hear me when others they can't hear me.

Hallelujah!

Sometimes I'm naked and thank god Sometimes you're naked.

Well, hello.....

Can I tell you that you are the purple in me?

Can I call you just to hear you,

would you care?

When I saw you put your purple finger on me

There's a feelin' in your bottle

Found your bottle, found your heart

Gives a feeling from your bottled little part

Gotta crush high

Thought I crushed all I could

Crushed all I can

then I touched your hand

Crush high

Don't want it to stop

Cause stories of your brother make my crush high pop

And you couldnt really know cause its in my toes

And sometimes i wonder whered that crush high go

Crush high

then i go and take some pills

Cause i cant do all of my dos and still feel ill

You get that whooooooo

2009-08-09T23:17:00.001-05:00

Today I raced for the first time in 3 weeks. My head hurt toward the end and I sat up but it's ok because I still made $300 and a new pair of Pearl Izumi shorts. I lost my motivation in the men's race, I needed to see 5 laps to go in order to pull something out of my wattage cottage, also known as ass, but the lap cards, they weren't coming, the lap cards, where were they? Then I sat up and: LAP CARDS. My life needs lap cards. I shouldn't have given up. I was sitting in about middle of the field when I quit. Why'd I do it? I didn't care anymore, apathy... ugly.

Tonight I lost a nice speaker that I just bought for my computer. How does anyone lose a speaker? Tonight I also window shopped at Highland Park Village, the oldest shopping mall in the country. I decided if I were to buy a gun, I'd get a Beretta. Instead, I got a Beretta baseball cap. I also lust for a Chanel suit in much the same way people lust for dirty affairs. I decided my next hair cut will be a short black bob with heavy bangs. But first I need a long neck like a gazelle. I also want Chanel shoes and a gaudy Chanel chain with Chanel coins and pearls clanging all over my chest. Chanel, Chanel, Chanel.

When I'm done bike racing I think I'm going to turn into a long distance runner and grow freakishly thin. I'd like to try it. I'd like to be emaciated at least for a year or two before I get too old and it doesn't matter anymore if you're fat or skinny. I'm also going to start writing more, I will. I love to write because it's one of the only things I can do while being completely alone with myself and I love it because it makes every bone in my body pop. I'll be taking classes full time at Midwestern next year to finish the next degree in Radiology so I don't think I'll have much time to write as much as I hope. I've also committed to the cycling program at MSU on top of 15 hours. Look, anything to not have to take mobile x-rays anymore. The money is unbelievable but I can no longer endure the call. I spend all my money because I am bored. I need to live for something I am passionate about. So, I'm going to live small again. The ways of the small. Less is more and no, that doesn't pair well with Chanel but I think expensive clothes look best in my imagination anyway.

I've got nothing tonight except the lingerings of a concussion and a really sore shoulder that is missing its skin. I have a heavy heart and am sad that Gato, Ross' family cat, was pronounced dead today. Devastating. Our cat Leopold is getting really sick from drinking dirty water.

Today I remembered a favorite teacher of mine from high school. He used to say that giving flowers was nothing more than giving someone plant privates and that every time we smell a flower, we are pushing our noses into a little plant's genitalia.

I'm going to read my book now. Lunar Park is aces, gold, diamonds, and plant privates. I can not get enough of Bret Easton Ellis. Who am I going to bathe my mind with after he's all finished? Who? ...WHO???

I can't stop thinking about a line in The Gambler by Kenny Rogers. "And the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep." This has been resonating with me all day today. Can't shake it.

2009-07-26T12:04:00.004-05:00

2009-07-02T22:07:00.002-05:00

There's some kind of groovy kraut rock on Dublab.com right now. It makes me want to write or cook, it makes me feel soft all over. It makes me want to lie in bed and watch the mobile turning with the air gusting from the dusty vents on the ceiling. Tonight I spent the evening cooking a warm spinach salad with fresh ground nutmeg, roasted tomatoes and soft boiled eggs. I wilted the spinach in rendered bacon fat. I sharpened the knives. I'm having a hard time feeling like an athlete this week. I'm torn between being die hard or being the bohemian that I inevitably am, the side that fantasizes about a glamorous life when the mind's adrift and has nothing better to do. The great thing about being in my nonathletic mode is I create more and spend better time with my family and friends. Although it takes time away from living the dream and being true to a passion for cycling. I'm torn in both directions. Why is this life so great?

That's all for now. I still need time to read and wake up early. I decided tomorrow I'll start doing some stretching and maybe a little core work in the mornings. I need to do more of these things, too many extremes in my life. Either too hard or too soft. I need a bit of middle ground for balance, some early morning time to stretch and open up to the hot sun. I am amazed at the effort it takes to constantly seek balance. I think I like dramatic ups and downs, or at least I am very accustomed to them.

Yours,

Dim Sum

A Bit Of Heart

American Apparel 2012 Catalog & My Vertically Integrated Farm

2009-07-02T09:11:00.000-05:00

This is pretty accurate, especially since owner and CEO Dov Whatever-His-Name was under fire yesterday - yet again. Haha, this time not for sleeping with his models but for violation of labor laws. Apparently something like half of his factory workers were without benefits and were illegal aliens & employed illegally. But he claims to be sweat-shop free. Yes, I feel bad because 2/3rd of my wardrobe is AA... I guess I like it for its controversy! I don't know why I feel the allure, I thought originally it was a good thing to be "buying local". There is really very little difference between LA or China. It's all bleeding together, and what is so wrong with that?

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

One day after I've catapulted beyond the many chapters yet to come and I come to a time when my hair is turning gray and the lines on my face begin to tell their stories, I'll live in a home on a small working farm. There'll be cows and chickens and a huge garden used in every season. We'll make most of our own clothes, work a compost, set up a solar powered rooftop. There'll be a big porch with a wooden swing and a small stable for cows, goats, and pigs; and maybe a horse, if I can afford one. Perhaps I'll board a horse for someone else... hmmm, ideas...

One thing is for sure, we'll eat fresh food picked from the ground and off the vines, we'll bake desserts from the small orchards, pick fresh sunflowers in the mornings, make our own cheeses, brew our own beers, build our own greenhouse. I'll play the piano before bed and fall asleep in the living room in a place that smells alive and like cherry wood, barefoot most of the time. There will be short walks on the moss next to the cold gray stones along the creek. We'll have parties with bonfires and live music, we'll sing. We'll all have dirt under our nails, getting old and away from it all. No one will be aware of "Vertically Integrated Fashion".

Time to start saving... Who wants to live on this farm with me?! It doesn't matter where... all we need is land. We'll be pioneers!

Exploration/Examination

2009-06-29T23:54:00.000-05:00

I'm destined to never have more than 7 hours of sleep. It's my life's quest. Soon it will begin to happen. Soon! I was on the right path tonight... a nice, solid tempo ride, a delicious dinner dancing through all the food groups and back again, no alcohol, lots of water, a hot shower, a facial, a clean room, a prepped coffee machine, and then... then, I found out about Raymond Scott. And now - I'm completely and senselessly enamored with this new discovery. 'Manhattan Research, Inc.' is officially a lullaby. Thank you Petter.

My mind is aglow, I'm giddy. It's as though someone has let me in on a playful secret. I feel like holding my hands up to my mouth and giggling. I'm happy to find new treasures! I want to explore more and more, retrospectively, introspectively, prospectively... Self exploration, artistic exploration, musical exploration, academic exploration, human exploration. No stone unturned. So much to hunt, so much to find, so much to discover.

It's funny how we can come out of weeks of feeling down and then one day it's over. I realized this as the sun was setting tonight and I was sensing something imminently. Watching the glittering lights of a construction caravan, watching the colors bleed from the dusky stretch of road blown around with pinks and taupes and everything is going to be ok.

2009-06-26T20:33:00.002-05:00

Lately I've been having a lot of dreams about driving cars that have failing breaks. It's the most out of control feeling, I remember my second car had its breaks go out while I was driving and it's a feeling that, apparently, one never forgets and lately I've been feeling that same sense of panic in my sleep. And even still, in these dreams I'll keep driving the car and experiencing the break failure over and over again. They're usually other people's cars too. The one earlier last week was in my grandma's car, I was steering from the back seat and someone else was controlling the foot pedals, from the front seat. We couldn't coordinate our steering and acceleration. I didn't know if or when the car was going to stop or go and then the brakes were shot on top of it. Last night I was driving the parent's car of someone I know. I kept crashing it, I wasn't leaving a good impression on them! I wanted to impress them.

Wow, Viva Radio would be great it it would actually stream. I listen to it while I read or write, it makes me want to lay out and tan and I'm not the lay-out-and-tan-type, which is why it's so funny to listen to it.

Ok, time to snap out of it and get to work. Lot's of constipated old people to do abdominal series x-rays on this morning... and I wonder why I dream all day...

2009-06-26T20:31:00.002-05:00

What happened? The young summer has matured overnight into a wrath of blistering, heavy heat. We're at its mercy, standing under the waves of dissipating solar power, falling over us in particles. Smouldering blankets of hot winds and crazy energy.

I'm lying around on my bed while glimpsing out the window. I can see the heat rise in gassy little bits of curling waves off the streets and rooftops. I realize ironically that I have a summer cold. It makes me feel hot have to fight off the urge to sneeze every time I roll over. I knew something was off last month, something was wrong. Then I went straight into a few weeks out of town to race hard, driving me into the ground. I've been so tired since I've been home, so down. Now it's been a week, working with the sick, and I'm sick again. The same thing happened when I returned from racing in California... I push my immune system into overload racing and pick up some sort of little microbe on a mission at work. Well I'm home now, ready to relax and recover my legs from racing. I guess the recovery has now moved into other areas as well; as long as it stays out of my lungs, that's all I ask.

///Tonight I've had time to think, in my bed, where the best thinking occurs. I've realized my mind has been running around playing with new colors, stirring forgotten emotions.
My eyes are parched, they've been looking in a distant direction, looking at the sun, blinding them. Now it's difficult to discern anything familiar or unrecognizable, perhaps instead rediscovery through touch. It feels like being outside on a sunny day, then running indoors and everything is dark while all the little rods and cones adjust to the state of things. I feel my way around reaching out for the wall that I know is safe and there.

/////I had a dream that I was in an arid landscape without cover and the heat was emitting itself in waves off of all the plants and stones around me. There was a huge mirrored billboard sign. I didn't know I was lost, but engraved in cursive onto its glass it said, Apocalypse: This Way. Everything beyond the mirrored billboard was badlands and I was almost there.

I'd been wrapping myself up, in a spell that ended being only caused by myself and a figment of my imagination. It was unfamiliar and exciting and fun and odd and WONDERFUL! But now reeling and lying here in bed, alone, thinking. My head hurts and I know all I need is sleep but I cannot.

//////He's found a doll. It's small and seemingly resilient and stuffed with wool and wrapped in a pinkish felt. It's a not much of a doll but it amuses him. It has pearls for eyes and pink lips, her hair is drab and brown like boots. He places a small wreath around the top of the dolls head and it stings because it is made of barbs that attach roughly to her woolen skull. It's like purple thistles but it's not, it's made of needles from the sea. They glow an indescribable color that exists outside of the spectrum. Their color makes up the ink that pulses inside these otherwise invisible creatures that dwell in caverns at the bottoms of the deepest oceans. They can only be found by those who are lost. He's collected these needles all his life. They're shaped like barbs and he weaves delicate wreaths and sometimes necklaces with them.

He finds the old scissors he used in grammar school to cut Valentine's cards. His fingers are too thick now, but he pushes the tips inside the holes. He begins to cut through the smallish ruffled neckline of her pale & yellow dress that looks like a tulip. He runs the blade along the lines of her torso, following possible nerves and imaginary bones. Its blade is so cold, but it feels like heat. Burning her, he misses and cuts the flesh a little bit. He sews it up with pink staples.

On land and when he was a young at heart, he found rusted pins in an old jewelry box in the attic while his grandmother was sleeping. He's always held onto them for protection, but now, he pushes them along the doll's spine and combs her hair with their sharp edges, running the points across her head and along the bridge of her nose.

He uses rusted carpenter's nails from a tin box that he dug up one evening while the sun was setting. He pushes the nails into the doll's chest, peppering her dreams with anxiety, awakening her with paranoia, and restlessness & unease.

Before bed he opens a box of moths. They're hungry. They feast on the wool that makes up her belly.

Lastly, he pierces her heart with and old feather pen and watches it bleed with blue ink. It stains all of his fingers.

2009-06-26T20:25:00.001-05:00

Videoclip from Gabo Gesualdi on Vimeo

Letters From L.A.

2009-06-26T20:22:00.000-05:00

Oct 22, 1983

Dear Sean,

I'm sitting in the penthouse apartment of some friends in Century City. It's kind of late in the afternoon and I'm very relaxed. Someone gave me a Dalmane (I think I've spelled it right) because I had a headache and they told me it would help it. I feel very comfortable and relaxed right now. This is the first time I can remember since I was a kid that I am glad and content to be where I am. I don't know if you have ever felt like this, but I've always felt very uncomfortable and impatient with wherever I happen to be after a certain point. I get bored and irritated and everything I think is in the future tense (maybe like the way you got up suddenly that night we were all sitting in the Cafe and you looked at me and abruptly left). I've always felt jumpy, like I couldn't stay in one place for any length of time. But something's changing. Totally rad (short for "radical"), as we say around here.

This is not going to be much of a letter because we're about to go out to dinner soon because someone made reservations at Spago and we're leaving in an hour to and hour and a half, someone says. What I want to tell you mostly is that I'm thinking about you and hope you are all right. Are you? Will you write me? I want to hear fromyou. Please?

Love,
Anne

The Informers, Bret Easton Ellis, (pg 139) Vintage Contemporaries, New York, 1994