SCHEDULING. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

Nothing brings me so much joy
as a pot of half-filled coffee
waiting for me in the morning
leftover from yesterday
The work’s been done

My phone lurches at me through a horrible caw
like a scythe wrapping around my ribs, and yet
my memories hold the same melody
in the same manner pleasantly
It’s not too much to believe

The light becomes a solid wall of dust
lighting up golden the roads, the air between
my eyes and the cars sliding down the street
A pollution that gives for this one sun passing
beauty in five minutes
the work’s all been done to it

A shadow is cast from a yellow box building
and juts down an alley like a line dividing wars
It shoots over grass darkening one side and keeping the other light
It strikes through a fence where there is a hole
glides over stone floors, creating cracks upon cracks
and places of no cracks alike
Then it hits me running over my elbow
over my belly, up my shoulder
I can let it run over me if I can enjoy both sides

DANGER. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

DYE. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

When I hear a girl talk about how she has dyed and stripped and bleached her hair to the point that she no longer knows what her true hair color is, something in me is alarmed. It’s partly sadness, but mostly, it is fear. It’s the same reason why I’ve been relatively cautious to take drugs for most of my life. During high school, when some kids experiment with marijuana, I made sure to grill them. “Do you feel different afterwards? Do you feel any dumber?” Most kids at that age, of course, remarked that they in fact felt smarter not only after smoking up, but while smoking up.

I must’ve had this great love of my identity at the time. Despite being picked on and probably not the most comprehensible kid, or I guess because of this, I must’ve regarded my intelligence as a large part of my identity. And I most feared losing it.

And that’s still a great fear of mine. Every once and awhile, when I can’t quite wrap my head around something, when I’m in the middle of a conversation and nothing weirdly funny comes to mind to add to it, I start to wonder whether I was smarter just five years ago than I am now. I never used to drink, I say to myself. Maybe I’m killing brain cells. Maybe it’s cause I’m no longer in school, maybe I’m not reading enough. Nearly without causation I am thrust into a small paroxysm of fear, wondering “have I lost what I used to be?”

I think it’s important to realize that I can’t answer this. There’s no way to do a side by side comparison. I can’t even take the SATs I took back then, because they’ve changed too. What I do think is possible is continued change, more change. If I want to be able to think on a certain level, I just need to start thinking on that level. I don’t think there’s anything I ca n do for the circumstances I’m in — I have very little free will in that respect. But over my identity, I can probably grab some giant wheel somewhere, turn it in a certain direction, and ease it on a course. I could either dye my hair some wild color, or I could think hard and attempt a strand for strand replication of the original shade. It may not be a perfect copy. It just needs to look good.

ARRANGING. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

“Hey Joe! Which section should we put these Werther’s?”

ARRANGING. Bonus Link.

Swiss artist and comedian Ursus Wehrli is famous for taking art, and rearranging the components into an OCD-like order. The images above are from his forthcoming book The Art of Clean Up. (via Colossal)

EXIT. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

Talked to my dad on the phone today. A question entered my mind.

“Do you ever get kind of sad that you can’t ground me or Natalie anymore? Like, do you ever get kind of depressed you no longer have that power?”

There was silence on the phone for a bit, which made me think I had hit a chord. Then he said, “You know, it’s not a big deal, because I can still take you out of inheritance. Not as immediate, I guess. I’d have to wait 40 years or so.”

“And you’d be grounded in your own way.”

“Yeah.”

“We’d have solidarity in that, at least.”

SHOWER. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

Without doing much
All the grit is lifted off
And again you’re free

EXAMPLE. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

I wouldn’t want to be

this guy.

SHADE. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

SHADES OF BLACK THROUGH WHITE ON A 1-10 SCALE

1 – Black
2 – Gray
3 – Gray
4 – Gray
5 – Gray
6 – Gray
7 – Gray
8 – Gray
9 – Gray
10 – White

PEDESTRIAN. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

So I’m walking down the street and I hear this bang, this huge freakin’ bang, and I’m like “what was that?” Then this bird falls right onto the top of the storefront. I look up, feathers floating down everywhere. It must’ve ran into the building.

A bunch of us gather around this bird that’s lying on the ground, not dead at all. Its eyes are wide with terror. Something seems different about this animal. I kept thinking it was looking at me. A few people were asking if we should do anything, if we should call anybody. Who is there to call? When somebody offered to drop it in the trash, all he got was dirty looks, so he walked away.

I couldn’t handle all of that, what to do and all of that, so I ducked into the store. I don’t know why I didn’t just leave. It was some florist that I never knew existed. They had a modest arrangements of flowers outside, but nothing that stuck out to me. There was just a little man in the back behind a counter, and he could hardly see me it was so stuffed in there. The smell of cleaning fluid and plant permeated around me, and I began to calm down I think.

People began to disperse outside. I brought my hand to a soft pink-colored carnation, the edges turning red like the blood insides of a peach. I leaned in and took in the smell. Such a small thing. I felt a lot better.

BIRD. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

My wings are getting tired. My eyes burn with the raw wind ripping by. Usually, I land this time of day, but I’ve had it. The flock’s gone out. The lady’s lost it. I keep seeing some nice tree on the outskirts of town, phone lines, skyscrapers. But I just can’t do it anymore. Goodbye, cruel world. I’m not going to land.

CORNER. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

Is there love in drugs?
Shit…

So what is there? I mean I’m asking.
And I’m tellin’ you. Every mother-fuckin’ dope fiend out there is chasing somethin, and never quite getting there.

So what are you chasing, Curt?
Man, let me tell you somethin. When you get that first shot of dope, it’s the best mother fuckin’ feeling in your life. It’s better than sex. And every time after that, you’re looking for the first time. Over and over again.

And?
*Look of shock, then disappointment. Sighs, then starts walking away slowly using a cane. He looks back, shakes his head, laughs to himself, then walks on.*
-From HBO miniseries “The Corner”

IMBALANCE. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

HOUSE. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

REJECTED WORKING TITLES FOR THE SHOW “HOUSE M.D.”

Home O.T.
(they were afraid people would mistake the show to be “Homo Tea”)

Apartment Fellow

Mom’s Basement Intern

Garage Gynecologist

Loft R.N.

Mansion Resident

Teepee T.L.

Boathouse Colonoscopist

MULTIPLE. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

Peanut Butter Tower

A stack of anywhere from four to twelve different types of peanut butter jars, attached via adhesive, capable of distributing various kinds of peanut butter. As opposed to a traditional jar, the condiment must exit through the side.

Unfortunately, the peanut butter tower can only be used once until it becomes a complete mess and a waste of peanut butter.

On the plus side, there’s nothing cooler than a stack of peanut butter that tall and impractical.

RIP. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

Myspace
2003-2008
Killed by Facebook and a dirge of sexual predators. Due for reanimation by Dr. Timberlake in the coming future.

My Childhood
1988- 2001
Animated TV series Action Man is cancelled after 2nd season. New after school hobby: nap-taking.

Hidden Treasures
1993-1995
A short-lived corn cereal that was filled with different flavors of fruit filling. Every puff looked the same, yet you could never be sure. Survived by a similar cereal that Trader Joe’s introduced around 2009, then again, several months later, discontinued.

“It’s not rocket science”
1960s-2011
I can’t think of anything more retro-sounding than “rocket science,” so I’m declaring this phrase dead. Survived by, in suggestion: nano-technology, macroeconomic finance, Anthony Weiner PR.

SCENARIO. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

“When Cortes and his men reached the California coast in 1535, they recalled Montalvo’s account of a mythical island called California ‘at the right hand of the Indies,’ ruled by beautiful black women.”

-From the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County

GHOST. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

My boss:

“You are

so white

that you suck the blackness from

any black  person

around you.

You are

like a

white

hole.”

PUNCTURE. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

I’ll CCCcccccc-ccc-see

if EYE [strikemark_<del>proc = if I

can take <3232> ref: a stab

at thi[href = proceed]s[!}

TRANSLATOR. [GMT-7 LOS ANGELES]

I talked to a friend recently who said that if she was asked as a child what superpower she’d want, she’d say to be able to know every language so she could speak to anybody.

If I could choose a superpower, I’d choose to be able to time travel. That way I could tell my stupid ass friend to pick a better superpower since everybody’s going to know English anyway.