from the elements

The couple beneath the umbrella are everything that's good about people. I wonder if they'll ever know that while they were huddled beneath that lavender instrument, they were also out there dancing in the rain together.

trav and i

Today my brother and I left our apartment in Venice for the final time. The one we shared longer than anywhere either of us have ever lived. It was unceremonious our departure. We got the hell out of there. Too many bad memories. Too much struggle. Too much of nothing. But we were there together even as so many things crumbled around us, and we created as much as our inner and outer circumstances would allow, we wrote quite a bit of good shit actually, and we never took the ocean for granted, and we laughed like hyenas, and I'll cherish that longer than I'm alive.

tom robbins awhile back

script

FELICIA: My dad is sick. I told you. Didn't I tell you that? Well, he is. And he's gonna die if I don't help him.
MATILDA: No one can help. Trust me.

Matilda shivers and her face is sweating profusely.

FELICIA: You don't have to be nervous. I told you I'm not gonna hurt you.
matilda: It doesn't matter.

FELICIA: Yes it does.

i'm fine

My liver is fucked at the moment. From food poisoning, too much drinking this year, or Tylenol. They don't know. It's not that bad, but I can't drink until the next test. I can't consume any food either, not without it bubbling up in my chest, a separate problem that I can't take medication for cuz of the liver.

No problems on this earth are really separate.

And it's difficult figuring out how to be a human being without the little creature comforts of consumption. The food, the drinks, whatever we rely upon as crutches against time and space. And it's difficult figuring things out knowing that whatever I really am will be jumping ship from this body at any moment. I guess that's what's so miraculous about people, our ability to so intimately know of our impending demise while still innately feeling compelled to live. So I'm exercising more, I'm drinking apple cider vinegar and water with every meal, probiotics, and I'm not eating anything after six pm. And it's helping, it's helping, a little bit at a time, and for awhile, it's helping. And that's a damn fine thing, staving off defeat. Anyway, I should get out of my parked car now. I've hated Sunday nights for as long as I can remember, and I'm grateful to complain about it.

oh man look at those cavemen go

I'm like 28 and I've been listening to the Bewlay Brothers by David Bowie on repeat for days and days and I can't stop listening to it

I get like that on songs sometimes, I get stuck

And there's this Swedish-Nicaraguan girl I'm seeing. And her and I are all dreamy eyed for each other cuz she's leaving to go home soon and cuz I still have a week before I find out that my dad has cancer

And one morning I'm taking her back home from my apartment to the house she's been rooming in with a peaceful Sikh family who has a little blonde boy who is in love with her

And I'm driving us up that hill that wraps around the Santa Monica Airport's southern end into Ocean Park I think the street is still considered Walgrove

And I turn on the Bewlay Brothers song again and it sounds crisp and is pitched clearly

And then she reaches for my hand and she holds my hand

And I feel placed

And after that moment I don't need to play the Bewlay Brothers on a loop anymore cuz now it found its location in my heart indefinitely, with her hand on mine

"And so the story goes they wore their clothes they said the things to make it seem improbable..."