Bebop Young Turks

Heroes of Western Evolution

Thu, 08 Dec 2005 18:31:28 GMT

We’re all dreaming Spetznaz
in houses where everything carries but silence
in towns where the children play manifest destiny
and the steeples are all well lit.

Electric Shakespeare

Thu, 03 Nov 2005 18:05:55 GMT

Home is not having to be home before the streetlights come on, but wanting to.

The best surprise is going back to sleep after being awake for an hour and having the most amazing videogame dreams of your life.

The other morning I walked into the bathroom and saw an upside-down measuring cup on the floor, one which Andy had been using for (anti-hiccup)water. All I could think was "I'm really glad he came in here to try the "drink water upside-down" trick."

Waking up is sobering up.
(and I forgot to set the alarm.)

The Good Words are "Sitting Around"

Wed, 03 Aug 2005 02:20:33 GMT

So, I turned in my skeleton key to the Santa Cruz Metro Center and hung up my tall white hat. Thus endeth the Best/Worst/Best job I've ever had. The Santa Cruz population has doubled for me in the last two days. This little white house is just packed, and I couldn't be happier. Also, today a woman asked me "Are you feeding the birds despite the sign, or BECAUSE of it?"

The Joel Markham Pigeon Concern

Wed, 25 May 2005 03:35:18 GMT

"I look like a faggot? I feel like Ed Wood."

awaiting dawn, they

Wed, 30 Mar 2005 23:27:48 GMT

Uh, no. Yes.

"It's The Little Things That Mean So Little", or "My Second Monday Afternoon"

Tue, 01 Mar 2005 23:22:49 GMT

I'm going to be horribly, morbidly depressed if the mail doesn't come today. I really don't care if any of it's for me, it didn't come yesterday is all, and I'd like to be able to have some faith in our postal warriors. I mean, neither snow nor rain, but decent sunny days in Santa Cruz, and not a drop of junk mail in sight?

update, 3:01pm PST
I just went out to the mailbox. Inside was a single piece of mail. A utility bill.
This is terribly important, for the following reasons:

1) It proves the existence of God.
1a) It proves that God hates me.
1b) Existentialism must be wrong, no matter how much I can relate to La Nausee's Antoine after being awake for almost two days, because God hates me, and for God to hate me, God must exist, which means that the universe is not an indifferent and meaningless set for humanity's big selfish play. In fact, it couldn't be further from indifferent, because it hates me, and leaves me utility bills when all i wanted was proof that the postal service still worked weekdays.
2)I did not know it was March until very recently. Also, I am convinced that my watch is moving time to suit itself, because the hour from 2-3 was probably the longest hour I've ever experienced. I'm convinced it's just going to keep stretching out hours until I get something done, and then it's going to make up for lost time and leave me late to something.

Small defeats, big dioramas.

Thu, 24 Feb 2005 06:35:51 GMT

Sometimes you just can't help but think, "Today would be a good Wednesday to burn down an orphanage."
Then you realize that you'd probably just end up with teddybear ashes in your eyes.

Creepy Neighbor EP out now, send/give/wish me a dollar or a blank cd for a copy.

Don't Cut Us Out.

Mon, 24 Jan 2005 03:39:20 GMT

Please come home.
Whatever it is, it's not worth this.

The Kiss-Off

Wed, 19 Jan 2005 04:02:37 GMT

To you, wherever you are. I know we've established a pretty solid policy of issue-skirting and non-confrontation, but this is just getting ridiculous. I'm sick and tired of having to be happy for two. I've given and given, and I'm just tired of putting my own neck on the line to save your reputation. I refuse to convince people that you "don't really mean it" anymore. You're such an asshole to those that love you, to the point of making it almost impossible to do so, and it's only a matter of time until even your most staid friends leave you to your own cold, lonely devices. You can't go through life acting as if you're the only one that exists. I'm fucking fed up with your drugged out solipsism, and while I'm not closing any doors, I'm simply through with offering any part of myself for you to corrupt with your irrational misery. Good luck and godspeed, I'm out this bitch.

January 17, Still.

Tue, 18 Jan 2005 05:12:28 GMT

The days sure are getting longer, R.B.

So much longer.

If Found, Return To: the sea

Tue, 04 Jan 2005 09:08:13 GMT

It gets colder here every night. I once had a word for this kind of cold, but I said it so often that I misplaced it along the way, and now I just let my chattering teeth say it.

At least the ants don't like scotch, right?

Kisses on Groundhog's Day

Sat, 01 Jan 2005 22:06:46 GMT

Brendan is mom now?

the other pocket's full of dreams.

Thu, 23 Dec 2004 07:11:52 GMT

haha. you guys...let's all dye Happy.

let me put the potato in the pants.

Wed, 22 Dec 2004 10:20:06 GMT

i don't know. we're drunk

My First Day Back in Santa Cruz

Tue, 14 Dec 2004 03:57:50 GMT

bought an old brown hat, nearly burned the house down

Lazarus Tree, Lazarus Tree?

Mon, 13 Dec 2004 08:35:19 GMT

The first thing I noticed upon stepping into the backyard, with it's foreign walls, was the bush/tree (where the rats live) against the back wall. It had seemed on the brink of winter death before I left, but I suppose that three-odd weeks of fattening rain have cured it. Not only is it bigger, but it's covered in the happiest (and least seasonal!) yellow flowers I've ever seen. The entire annexed corner is nothing but green and yellow and alive.

Mon, 06 Dec 2004 21:13:12 GMT

soon.

Yep.

Mon, 15 Nov 2004 11:10:25 GMT

I'm an asshole/It's a new week.

Hummingbird Streetlamp

Sun, 07 Nov 2004 01:47:18 GMT

I'm sad sometimes, but it doesn't really matter. I say things I don't mean, and I say things I don't mean to say because of it, though, and I think that does. Simple enough for me. The squeaky wheel has it's well just like all the others, and eventually the metal will wear down to a shine.

"These yams..."

Flickering Glass Torches

Sat, 06 Nov 2004 21:07:19 GMT

It seems that lately I can't stop sowing my forest paths with kudzu vines, burning bridges left and right. Where's to go, what's to do? Anywhere, anything, nowhere, nothing. So I'm just going to sit here for a while.

the wettest grass burns at both ends

Sun, 24 Oct 2004 10:53:44 GMT

Wrap it in paper, sip, carefully. It's like a kiss. Take it in the car, release the E-brake ("emergency?!"), wrap everything in fake gauze, create the murder scene, take down the curtains.
One step at a time, around in circles, in through the living room. Circumnavigate the kitchen. Out through the bedroom. Tell the tales, meet the crowds, dodge the question arrowheads. They smoke french bread. Shiver, sit down, stand up, smoke a cigarette, smoke another, drink it if it's handed to you. Three girls in costumes arrive at the front door, eight days early, several years late.
Out to the car with Richard, then it's back to the 218 Sir Francis Drake act. Everyone piles into the garage. Dad, Cheerleaders, Tree Eating Kite, lit by heartlamp. Matt looks like Iggy Pop and a Red Sequin Gown had a love child on the piano.
Everyone vanishes home or elsewhere like a ghost expedition traveling in dust. More dust just blows over their footprints, but the soil doesn't forget. It leaves those footprints like sculptures in the basement of a museum, draped with canvas.

I started shivering over two hours ago, and have only occasionally stopped. My head hurts. There's fake blood on my floor.
Someone else said it best and a lot more first. "Ah, life!" I'm going to go drink hot cocoa. The water is heating in my old blue kettle on the marginally dirty electric stove down the hall.

If a gold Witch, ...

Thu, 21 Oct 2004 05:51:26 GMT

If my pupils could thread a needle, if my shoes are still a size too small, you'll find me here. It seems everyone is approaching health, just in time for a seven day birthday bridge for the ages. I've spent the last two weeks in a throbbing haze, salt snail visions of this time last year dancing through my head. I'd never felt so forgotten. That rerun was luckily skipped, and I'm heading into the latter half of the month of spirits with my own flying high.

It seems that fall finally looked at its calendar and showed up to it's own party. The rain isn't so cold yet, though, at least not if you keep employed. Thinking or moving, either way, it just bounces off. Just don't trade one for the other.

She still talks about him like a cardboard Saint. Memory cutouts should be left to their own eager propping.

Something to remember, for a place without beaches.

Tue, 19 Oct 2004 03:09:33 GMT

When they swarm, like phantom snowfall, small groups of very large words will keep them at bay.

Meet Me In Half-Moon Bay

Thu, 07 Oct 2004 07:44:45 GMT

Only dead spies tell tales.

Fortnight Line Dry

Tue, 05 Oct 2004 03:42:28 GMT

I call the bathtub!