Devin says:
"you need to make sure there's a track on the record for each of the following scenarios:
1) girls doing their hair in the mirror before they go out
2) dude speeding on the freeway
3) college student studying
then, put some hits on, some deep stuff, and whatever else you want, maybe a super weird jam
and you've got a hit record!"
there you have it. My work is cut out for me...
till then,
yamz
30.12.06
9.12.06
8.12.06
Been long since Raffles
Bobby told me a story about fifteen pounds of white rice. Next time we might try lime juice for the rickets.
There was no money, just a bag of white rice, I remember that Chris came to visit and he had a powerbar, and I wanted it so badly. Then I made zines and had money. I sold a thousand everytime I got one pressed.
A powerbar? I can hardly imagine.
Mom says, 'to me, you are the moon.' But I know it's a line she stole from a pair of street hustlers in Hanoi. They were cute, so we hadn't minded being conned. In the end, we missed it when it was gone. I was thinking today, while clouds (of all things!) gathered above the mountains (i tend to make those out of hills) in Griffith Park, that there is always someone who is hungrier. I am sick, and I am tired. Of complaints, mostly.
There was no money, just a bag of white rice, I remember that Chris came to visit and he had a powerbar, and I wanted it so badly. Then I made zines and had money. I sold a thousand everytime I got one pressed.
A powerbar? I can hardly imagine.
Mom says, 'to me, you are the moon.' But I know it's a line she stole from a pair of street hustlers in Hanoi. They were cute, so we hadn't minded being conned. In the end, we missed it when it was gone. I was thinking today, while clouds (of all things!) gathered above the mountains (i tend to make those out of hills) in Griffith Park, that there is always someone who is hungrier. I am sick, and I am tired. Of complaints, mostly.
23.11.06
Big Noise
First, two things:
One day i was talking to Cora. She prayed for me because she believed I was blind to sin, wanting me to kneel and pray too, because people to whom sin is just a matter of words, to them salvation is just words too.
Wm. Faulkner, spoken by Addie in 'As I Lay Dying'.
When the routine bites hard
And ambitions are low
And the resentment rides high
But emotions won't grow
And were changing our ways,
Taking different roads
Then love, love will tear us apart again
Ian Curtis in 'Love Will Tear us Apart'.
Honesty is a tired cliche. But I don't think that exempts any one of us from having to reckon with it. I am in Winston-Salem and most of the leaves have fallen. The roads are wet with rain, and until today there was nothing but grey in the sky. My brother and mother returned from New Orleans with cans of coffee spiced with chicory, and i'm drinking it minus the requesite hot milk. It's really not the end of the world.
I used to delight in the mundane. I thought that it was thrill enough to pluck something out of the everyday and elevate it to grace. Things being equal enough, all that should take is polish to shine. Now I don't know where I am, but have a much clearer idea of who.
My thoughts are cluttered like useless things, aimlessly arranged on a sitting room table with the appearance of chaos and mess. I utter from dead ideologies, reflecting assumptions that have fallen out of fashion and out of use. I have not won the race to the new, I am hobbled by my grip on an older order.
Style is a game that we are constantly playing with ourselves. We deafen the messages in our articulations in order to communicate as quietly as possible. In order to be receptive one must be up to the times. There is no room in this for beauty like there is no room for speech on the moon. We should take up slings against gentle suggestion, we should punish subtlety in ourselves. If we don't speak to other times, then we may not as well speak at all.
All words are fighting words. Time escapes like gas from a flask. Most of it has flown from us already.
Happy thanksgiving.
jamz.
One day i was talking to Cora. She prayed for me because she believed I was blind to sin, wanting me to kneel and pray too, because people to whom sin is just a matter of words, to them salvation is just words too.
Wm. Faulkner, spoken by Addie in 'As I Lay Dying'.
When the routine bites hard
And ambitions are low
And the resentment rides high
But emotions won't grow
And were changing our ways,
Taking different roads
Then love, love will tear us apart again
Ian Curtis in 'Love Will Tear us Apart'.
Honesty is a tired cliche. But I don't think that exempts any one of us from having to reckon with it. I am in Winston-Salem and most of the leaves have fallen. The roads are wet with rain, and until today there was nothing but grey in the sky. My brother and mother returned from New Orleans with cans of coffee spiced with chicory, and i'm drinking it minus the requesite hot milk. It's really not the end of the world.
I used to delight in the mundane. I thought that it was thrill enough to pluck something out of the everyday and elevate it to grace. Things being equal enough, all that should take is polish to shine. Now I don't know where I am, but have a much clearer idea of who.
My thoughts are cluttered like useless things, aimlessly arranged on a sitting room table with the appearance of chaos and mess. I utter from dead ideologies, reflecting assumptions that have fallen out of fashion and out of use. I have not won the race to the new, I am hobbled by my grip on an older order.
Style is a game that we are constantly playing with ourselves. We deafen the messages in our articulations in order to communicate as quietly as possible. In order to be receptive one must be up to the times. There is no room in this for beauty like there is no room for speech on the moon. We should take up slings against gentle suggestion, we should punish subtlety in ourselves. If we don't speak to other times, then we may not as well speak at all.
All words are fighting words. Time escapes like gas from a flask. Most of it has flown from us already.
Happy thanksgiving.
jamz.
29.10.06
Stray en Fuego
There is a new Pitbull record out now (I don't think it's been officially released but it's creeping around the internet), and he has put the nail in the coffin of my affinity for traditional rap. There's really nothing in it that I would ever think to do in a recording. He basically does for the party what Slayer did for hell. What else do you want me to say? Go cop El Mariel and call me in the morning (which has now been moved to 3pm).
jmz
jmz
16.10.06
Regarding A Different Class
I'm not saying there aren't boundaries... This is a little gratuitous, don't you think?
9.10.06
Briefly.
i'm eavesdropping on political coffeeshop conversation.
Dudes in prada sweaters yammering about Israel and the counter-culture.
I love LA
Dudes in prada sweaters yammering about Israel and the counter-culture.
I love LA
3.10.06
A Different Class
I'm struggling a bit trying to solidify some ideas in my head. Many of them involve plans and strategies I don't want to completely reveal just yet, but if you'll bear with me i feel like airing some of my internal convolutions.
I keep having imaginary conversations in my head with people that I haven't seen in a long time that I have more or less internalized as ethical and strategic mentors. Usually any new idea that I decide to execute goes through a pretty rigorous process of 'what would so-and-so think if I were explaining this to them one afternoon?'. I've come to a point in life and in what I'm doing that I have to evaluate the proper way to proceed. This conflict arises from the fact that there is something that I learned from punk that I don't deem necessary to ever discard or give up on. This is something elusive, and sometimes seems like a personal issue, other times an ethical imperative, or even an aesthetic standard. At present I wonder what my greensboro punk connects would think of 'limited colorways' or of the 'brand aspect' that, for my understanding, rap has entailed. If you've got time, i'd like to roughly sketch what underlies this problem in some suppositions (it's been a minute, things may get a bit clunky).
Rap music, by and large, is a form that is meant to be mis-understood by a large percentage of the people who come in contact with it to some degree. There are, within every kind of rap lyric, meanings which are meant to be latent until someone who possesses the right skill or information set to decode it comes along and listens. In this respect, rap music doesn't differ from any other discourse of art or design. Crypticism, subtlety and layering have always been a part of these kinds of human articulations, especially those rooted ultimately in subversion. So far, no problem right?
But rap music is special in two ways. The first is that it is the largest and most visible strain of writing/speech that holds an internal conversation: it’s the reigning meta-discourse (outside the fold of polite academic circle,s that is). It is also music that is rooted in subversion, but focuses not so much on critique as on strategies for the acquisition of wealth and status by those who do not have it (this isn’t to say that the ‘hustler’s utopia’ picture of reality that rap music paints isn’t often a pie-in-the-sky).
Consider it self-serving or naive if you wish, but I’d be willing to hazard that the rapper-as-entrepreneur does the cottage industry that punk offered in the 1970s and 1980s one better. Where (for lack of better vocabulary) the punk business leaders and their business models of these prior decades created very successful record companies, they also did many things to intentionally get between themselves and future expansion. You could say that the result of this is the phenomenon of major-label platinum artists (who are by all accounts other than image merely radio rock bands) headlining and thriving on an endorsement-dense Warped tour, year after year. After enough time, it appears that the ‘punk’ listeners will tolerate any amount of commercial saturation. Punk writ large has basically been invaded thoroughly by money.
Alright, so you’re probably thinkng, ‘what’s the big difference?’ What music if any, is more commercial than rap music? None, probably. So-called urban is one of the biggest and most lucrative markets there is. But there are different aspirations held by the artists, the fans, and the culture around the industry is very different. Rappers are trying to invade money, nevermind money indvading them. The crucial difference is encapsulated in a comparison of this point. If your culture has a built-in plan for artist driven enterpreneurship, you will be ready to cope with the money when It comes. If they are, then artists will remain in charge of the discourse (not to mention the market) for much longer and will make decisions based on this.
Now, back to where it all began. Rap music, the thriving meta-discourse and multi-million dollar industry that it is, is now a field that is ripe to create shifts in the landscape of the American media (and the world to a waning degree). This can be done if the ones arrogating themselves to positions of influence in this arena are aware of the ramifications. To quote a notable articulation of this: “If skills sold/ truth be told/ I’d probably be/ Lyrically Talib Kweli…We as rappers must decide what’s most important… I can’t help the poor if I’m one of them/ I got rich and gave back/ to me that’s the win win.” (Jay-Z, Moment of Clarity, from The Black Album).
Pair that with the injunction to ‘overcharge labels for what they did to the cold crush’ and this espousal of achievement on behalf of a greater good is a very powerful and motivating cultural technology. There are many examples of this strategy pervasive in Rap, and they all articulate something similar to the passages above. In short, rather than starting a punk label and winding up in a scenario where we are becoming successful despite ourselves, we are entreated to start a rap label and become successful in order to spite the established successful media engines. Need I spell out which strategy is more potentially successful? The former strikes me as about as futile as screaming at a wall, so that said… Let’s get it.
jamz
I keep having imaginary conversations in my head with people that I haven't seen in a long time that I have more or less internalized as ethical and strategic mentors. Usually any new idea that I decide to execute goes through a pretty rigorous process of 'what would so-and-so think if I were explaining this to them one afternoon?'. I've come to a point in life and in what I'm doing that I have to evaluate the proper way to proceed. This conflict arises from the fact that there is something that I learned from punk that I don't deem necessary to ever discard or give up on. This is something elusive, and sometimes seems like a personal issue, other times an ethical imperative, or even an aesthetic standard. At present I wonder what my greensboro punk connects would think of 'limited colorways' or of the 'brand aspect' that, for my understanding, rap has entailed. If you've got time, i'd like to roughly sketch what underlies this problem in some suppositions (it's been a minute, things may get a bit clunky).
Rap music, by and large, is a form that is meant to be mis-understood by a large percentage of the people who come in contact with it to some degree. There are, within every kind of rap lyric, meanings which are meant to be latent until someone who possesses the right skill or information set to decode it comes along and listens. In this respect, rap music doesn't differ from any other discourse of art or design. Crypticism, subtlety and layering have always been a part of these kinds of human articulations, especially those rooted ultimately in subversion. So far, no problem right?
But rap music is special in two ways. The first is that it is the largest and most visible strain of writing/speech that holds an internal conversation: it’s the reigning meta-discourse (outside the fold of polite academic circle,s that is). It is also music that is rooted in subversion, but focuses not so much on critique as on strategies for the acquisition of wealth and status by those who do not have it (this isn’t to say that the ‘hustler’s utopia’ picture of reality that rap music paints isn’t often a pie-in-the-sky).
Consider it self-serving or naive if you wish, but I’d be willing to hazard that the rapper-as-entrepreneur does the cottage industry that punk offered in the 1970s and 1980s one better. Where (for lack of better vocabulary) the punk business leaders and their business models of these prior decades created very successful record companies, they also did many things to intentionally get between themselves and future expansion. You could say that the result of this is the phenomenon of major-label platinum artists (who are by all accounts other than image merely radio rock bands) headlining and thriving on an endorsement-dense Warped tour, year after year. After enough time, it appears that the ‘punk’ listeners will tolerate any amount of commercial saturation. Punk writ large has basically been invaded thoroughly by money.
Alright, so you’re probably thinkng, ‘what’s the big difference?’ What music if any, is more commercial than rap music? None, probably. So-called urban is one of the biggest and most lucrative markets there is. But there are different aspirations held by the artists, the fans, and the culture around the industry is very different. Rappers are trying to invade money, nevermind money indvading them. The crucial difference is encapsulated in a comparison of this point. If your culture has a built-in plan for artist driven enterpreneurship, you will be ready to cope with the money when It comes. If they are, then artists will remain in charge of the discourse (not to mention the market) for much longer and will make decisions based on this.
Now, back to where it all began. Rap music, the thriving meta-discourse and multi-million dollar industry that it is, is now a field that is ripe to create shifts in the landscape of the American media (and the world to a waning degree). This can be done if the ones arrogating themselves to positions of influence in this arena are aware of the ramifications. To quote a notable articulation of this: “If skills sold/ truth be told/ I’d probably be/ Lyrically Talib Kweli…We as rappers must decide what’s most important… I can’t help the poor if I’m one of them/ I got rich and gave back/ to me that’s the win win.” (Jay-Z, Moment of Clarity, from The Black Album).
Pair that with the injunction to ‘overcharge labels for what they did to the cold crush’ and this espousal of achievement on behalf of a greater good is a very powerful and motivating cultural technology. There are many examples of this strategy pervasive in Rap, and they all articulate something similar to the passages above. In short, rather than starting a punk label and winding up in a scenario where we are becoming successful despite ourselves, we are entreated to start a rap label and become successful in order to spite the established successful media engines. Need I spell out which strategy is more potentially successful? The former strikes me as about as futile as screaming at a wall, so that said… Let’s get it.
jamz
2.10.06
Married to the Game
Today it was cloudy and raining in Salt Lake City. Meghan and I enjoyed a partially diffused sunset over downtown. We ate tea with our soups and salads, and later there was sushi followed by fresh figs. We went shopping and I now own a shirt with (faux) french cuffs. We talked alot about important things like how bad the drivers are in Utah, and I was further introduced to the world of rock climbing. Later, we walked her dog in the cold air in jackets and shoes that were put on in a hurry without socks. She told me some of her more creative ideas to make money and they all sound plausible to me. Returning home, we wordlessly watched television, safe from the wind outside. I drank a glass of water and the dog sighed. Truth be told, I have spent the last few days walking in some pretty bourgeois shoes. It feels like playing a role, though It's one I could get accustomed to, It still feels way too far off to anticipate. It's really nice when things are quiet though.
Keep it Quotidian,
Jamz
Keep it Quotidian,
Jamz
8.9.06
makavellis on the maybach (kicks retro)
Last night. Fast Forward, No Age, and David Stone at the Smell. It was hot, packed, and you couldn't hear any of the vocals. It was living, breathing proof that music is and has never stopped moving ahead.
Walking down that alley is always a bit like crossing over into a sovereign zone. The corridor was peopled with unfamiliar young faces, with luminous new skin, and the kind of raw sensibilities that seem to predict (and create) danger. Entering I saw a few familiar faces (indexed here) that I can't ever really get enough of, and we all jammed into the front room of the club to watch David Stone's cacophonic arrangement of distorted drum machine loops and keys that were (to my surprise) well complimented by amplified and patched copper wires.
I hadn't seen No Age play yet, and I was made aware more than once that I was missing something that i'd regret not seeing soon. Brother Reade had done some shows with Wives a year or so back and I'd meant to stay up on what these guys were doing but it had somehow been escaping me. Tonight I was strapped in just beside their setup on the floor in front of the stage, directly flanking Randy's order of pedals and digital recorders. Their set commenced with blaring guitar and drums and words that were buried by the power of their instruments, but the sweat and veins in their faces communicated exactly just enough to garnish the compositions. I'm not positive, but I think that what these two are doing is quite necessary and maybe one of the best things you can see right now in LA. The energy of Wives (and punk writ large) is intact in No Age. The songwriting is developed and fermented, and the impurities of further living strengthen the message. The use of sequencers and playback is a total enhancement and never exceeds its purpose. I can only guess that a no age recording wouldn't disappoint. After the show, a large and majestic man named Bryan Ray bought me a bandana and Randy and I helped someone who'd drunk a bit too much find themselves a seat.
There is nothing I can say about fast forward that will make you understand what it means to see them. The audience was given red hoods with small eyeholes in them to wear. They were dressed in tall black pointed uniforms. They flooded the space with light. There were seven of them, one was screaming something he was reading from a sheet of paper. The others were waiting with arms folded, until he was done reading and then they all jumped off of the stage onto (not into) the crowd, and ran out the front door of the venue while the rest of us were left to listen to the end of their song, which was playing on a digital 8-track. The whole thing took four and a half minutes, and I couldn't tell you what they look or sound like. I imagine that teenage teardrops may provide photos in the next few days if you're at all curious. It was a serendipitous September 11th to say the least.
Walking down that alley is always a bit like crossing over into a sovereign zone. The corridor was peopled with unfamiliar young faces, with luminous new skin, and the kind of raw sensibilities that seem to predict (and create) danger. Entering I saw a few familiar faces (indexed here) that I can't ever really get enough of, and we all jammed into the front room of the club to watch David Stone's cacophonic arrangement of distorted drum machine loops and keys that were (to my surprise) well complimented by amplified and patched copper wires.
I hadn't seen No Age play yet, and I was made aware more than once that I was missing something that i'd regret not seeing soon. Brother Reade had done some shows with Wives a year or so back and I'd meant to stay up on what these guys were doing but it had somehow been escaping me. Tonight I was strapped in just beside their setup on the floor in front of the stage, directly flanking Randy's order of pedals and digital recorders. Their set commenced with blaring guitar and drums and words that were buried by the power of their instruments, but the sweat and veins in their faces communicated exactly just enough to garnish the compositions. I'm not positive, but I think that what these two are doing is quite necessary and maybe one of the best things you can see right now in LA. The energy of Wives (and punk writ large) is intact in No Age. The songwriting is developed and fermented, and the impurities of further living strengthen the message. The use of sequencers and playback is a total enhancement and never exceeds its purpose. I can only guess that a no age recording wouldn't disappoint. After the show, a large and majestic man named Bryan Ray bought me a bandana and Randy and I helped someone who'd drunk a bit too much find themselves a seat.
There is nothing I can say about fast forward that will make you understand what it means to see them. The audience was given red hoods with small eyeholes in them to wear. They were dressed in tall black pointed uniforms. They flooded the space with light. There were seven of them, one was screaming something he was reading from a sheet of paper. The others were waiting with arms folded, until he was done reading and then they all jumped off of the stage onto (not into) the crowd, and ran out the front door of the venue while the rest of us were left to listen to the end of their song, which was playing on a digital 8-track. The whole thing took four and a half minutes, and I couldn't tell you what they look or sound like. I imagine that teenage teardrops may provide photos in the next few days if you're at all curious. It was a serendipitous September 11th to say the least.
30.8.06
27.8.06
potluck epidemic and the whole world eats.
We are back from the planet. Bobby and me have been on 24 hour party patrol for over seven days. fuck yeah fest, Wu-Tang, guns of winston, GSO family reunion, tattoos, friends, many 4 and 5 am walks, wading in a strangely warm pacific ocean at six am this morning. All around, I feel at home everywhere i've been. My friends and the people I love (t) are an inescapable geography. Stray has lagged because i've bottomed out a bit and had a hard time seeing anything but blue, but now things are all on the climb. Thanks y'all for your faces.
Bobby Evans is playing the Dracular instrumental by Bob Marley on the PA which is still set up at the Dillon Street Girls' house and they, Manuel, and Eagles are all on the back porch smoking and talking shit. I am reeling and stoked. Tonight I have to work until 7am. IM me if you're bored. (I'll put my name in my blogger profile temporarily).
I actually had the pleasure this past week of interviewing my mother about raising a family and how she felt about my brother reade. It's interesting that we never take the time to ask searching and direct questions to the people that are the closest to us about things that we'd really love to know. I am half-vowing to interview most everyone I know at least once in the near future. For the price of coffee you could have a different take on a friend. People do different things when they're on the spot. My Errol Morris phase begins today.
more later, there will be a detailed update on the BR news section of the site, peep that and the new photos if you get a minute. That's it for now. I'm going to go listen to TI over a very high profile crystal waters sample.
xo
jamz
Bobby Evans is playing the Dracular instrumental by Bob Marley on the PA which is still set up at the Dillon Street Girls' house and they, Manuel, and Eagles are all on the back porch smoking and talking shit. I am reeling and stoked. Tonight I have to work until 7am. IM me if you're bored. (I'll put my name in my blogger profile temporarily).
I actually had the pleasure this past week of interviewing my mother about raising a family and how she felt about my brother reade. It's interesting that we never take the time to ask searching and direct questions to the people that are the closest to us about things that we'd really love to know. I am half-vowing to interview most everyone I know at least once in the near future. For the price of coffee you could have a different take on a friend. People do different things when they're on the spot. My Errol Morris phase begins today.
more later, there will be a detailed update on the BR news section of the site, peep that and the new photos if you get a minute. That's it for now. I'm going to go listen to TI over a very high profile crystal waters sample.
xo
jamz
30.7.06
paying for liquor with change.
I dreamt last night of climbing fences in the dark and being chased by mastiffs. There were dozens of them. My housemates and Bobby, Eagles and I were all running from them. Jen's friend fell and the dogs had her in their mouths and I had to pry her from them. They weren't touching me or trying to hurt me. She had fallen asleep and didn't understand. Eventually, she chastized me but i took her with us anyway.
Some things you might need to know:
D. Boon, J. Belushi, J. Dean. Maybe dying early? Dig my matrix and stop swagger jacking. I want a dog and a front porch, and may be getting evicted. Holler if you have a house.
jamz
Some things you might need to know:
D. Boon, J. Belushi, J. Dean. Maybe dying early? Dig my matrix and stop swagger jacking. I want a dog and a front porch, and may be getting evicted. Holler if you have a house.
jamz
29.7.06
how to stunt.
Tonight is Jeremy's birthday. He's thirty-two now and is aging like Sean fucking Connery. We are celebrating and listening to some ol ninety eight jams. The clouds are gathering, and the heat is breaking. The second wind of summer is about to crack open, and the horoscopes say that this whole mercury in transition thing is about to be over for now. But forget a mercury, you can't stunt in those. You can stunt on a puch 10 speed though. My rims is seven-hundred cm. Rust colored. The competition getting dust-covered. Off-whites and V-necks are the uniform. Vans are the kicks until the wallys come back (or until the bread does). Sweat is in. So is two-wheel transport. For the fall? Remixes. Remixes. Remixes. Please prepare.
Jams.
Jams.
28.7.06
the other oceanfront won't wait long
A friend told me that you don't have to come to a conclusion every time that you sit down to write. I replied that, unfortunately, conclusions are awfully abundant.
I need an open space to have a good idea in, everything lately feels like slick talk to charm a comely cousin. Not my scene. In less than a month i'll be back where the air conditioning (and mosquitoes) will be ubiquitous and free. June will fry trout. I will make sides (and most likely post the recipes). I'll probably have to drink all the Bourbon by myself, depending on Mr. Garcia's mood. Lord willing and the creek don't rise, there'll be just enough ice to put me to bed. It'll be good to see Tina and Lucy, and I'm also all thanks since Miss Kay has a clean bill of health. If you're bored saturday, you can find me in the club. If you're bored sunday, go fishing.
as a mug...
james.
I need an open space to have a good idea in, everything lately feels like slick talk to charm a comely cousin. Not my scene. In less than a month i'll be back where the air conditioning (and mosquitoes) will be ubiquitous and free. June will fry trout. I will make sides (and most likely post the recipes). I'll probably have to drink all the Bourbon by myself, depending on Mr. Garcia's mood. Lord willing and the creek don't rise, there'll be just enough ice to put me to bed. It'll be good to see Tina and Lucy, and I'm also all thanks since Miss Kay has a clean bill of health. If you're bored saturday, you can find me in the club. If you're bored sunday, go fishing.
as a mug...
james.
25.7.06
heat wave
"Dear lord, please save us from the third world war/ I want to do a world tour/ before world war four."
Something about the weather and the power outage make it even harder for me to comprehend the missles in Beirut. I can't wait until my friend makes it to Europe so that I can stop worrying. I am on cloud "stoked" otherwise. Me and Bobby Evans are playing with the Circle Jerks and the Wu-Tang Clan in the same weekend, and I am doing a chorus on a jam with Sadat X. I am pretending to take all this in stride, but fanning the fuck out on the inside. Big ups to Despot and Get the Fuck Up.
Something about the weather and the power outage make it even harder for me to comprehend the missles in Beirut. I can't wait until my friend makes it to Europe so that I can stop worrying. I am on cloud "stoked" otherwise. Me and Bobby Evans are playing with the Circle Jerks and the Wu-Tang Clan in the same weekend, and I am doing a chorus on a jam with Sadat X. I am pretending to take all this in stride, but fanning the fuck out on the inside. Big ups to Despot and Get the Fuck Up.
23.7.06
an old prayer
"Music, rescue us from our youth. It is big enough to destroy us all." us ca. 1999.
My friends and I have saved the world at least seven consecutive summers (some of us more), and I am only now beginning to feel the dull and fading effects of time. RJ is putting together a book of the last few years at the house, and I was thinking about how difficult it is to transmit nostalgia to someone who wasn't there. When you see young skin in old photographs of people you know it gives you an awareness of the only fact: decay is constant. We scream from pictures: "I am a glass of water. I used to sparkle."
The insight seems to come a bit early. I've never imagined living all that long, but I think that assumption was linked to my idealization of brighter stars with shorter half-lives. Time is, after all, very good to some people. Maybe I can have a dry-docked sailboat I work on for nine months out of the year, and sons who bang it up against everything in the sound for three. Then repeat until they feel their own peaks passing. For now, i feel as far from this as I am from the birth canal, and I have no plans of purchasing any sefaring equipment that doesn't say sperry on it for years. I have been a little ocean obsessed lately, maybe some salt air and wind can cure it. Anyone for a trip down south?
all aboard...
james.
My friends and I have saved the world at least seven consecutive summers (some of us more), and I am only now beginning to feel the dull and fading effects of time. RJ is putting together a book of the last few years at the house, and I was thinking about how difficult it is to transmit nostalgia to someone who wasn't there. When you see young skin in old photographs of people you know it gives you an awareness of the only fact: decay is constant. We scream from pictures: "I am a glass of water. I used to sparkle."
The insight seems to come a bit early. I've never imagined living all that long, but I think that assumption was linked to my idealization of brighter stars with shorter half-lives. Time is, after all, very good to some people. Maybe I can have a dry-docked sailboat I work on for nine months out of the year, and sons who bang it up against everything in the sound for three. Then repeat until they feel their own peaks passing. For now, i feel as far from this as I am from the birth canal, and I have no plans of purchasing any sefaring equipment that doesn't say sperry on it for years. I have been a little ocean obsessed lately, maybe some salt air and wind can cure it. Anyone for a trip down south?
all aboard...
james.
20.7.06
plum hateful
Ambivalence is a hell of an MO. It appears that there is a rebuilding season ahead, and on top of that, my comments are getting spammed. I could be bummed about it, and spin my wheels and bicker, and maybe i'd even bring you into my lil sphere of grumpiness, but instead, i'm going to go get excited about how radical Aaron Farley's photo blog is, and I am going to urge you to leave here now and do the same. It never hurts to watch a lot of happy people have a good time.
I'm going to go 'shake it off' (emancipation of jimmy?), and try and come up with something worth writing about.
till then,
elephant prince.
I'm going to go 'shake it off' (emancipation of jimmy?), and try and come up with something worth writing about.
till then,
elephant prince.
19.7.06
chill retardo
"Fame is a form of incomprehension, perhaps the worst." J. Borges.
Massive rap day number two in a row. I just watched Ghostface and Rick Ross play to thirty people at the Malibu Inn, and I was videotaped for BET in a segment that disses the dipset. It's a long story, and I am remaining neutral in any and all beefs, in keeping with my usual policy. I kept imagining what it must be like to play for thirty people as a seminal and platinum selling artist who actually still makes good and relevant records over ten years after debuting. I don't have to imagine what it's like to play for thirty people when you're not. Then there was a famous person at the Cha Cha when we headed there after for drinks, but Toddrick, whose birthday it is had already gone home. Sour luck, but all in all, a very good night.
Life is good, and the price is right.
j
Massive rap day number two in a row. I just watched Ghostface and Rick Ross play to thirty people at the Malibu Inn, and I was videotaped for BET in a segment that disses the dipset. It's a long story, and I am remaining neutral in any and all beefs, in keeping with my usual policy. I kept imagining what it must be like to play for thirty people as a seminal and platinum selling artist who actually still makes good and relevant records over ten years after debuting. I don't have to imagine what it's like to play for thirty people when you're not. Then there was a famous person at the Cha Cha when we headed there after for drinks, but Toddrick, whose birthday it is had already gone home. Sour luck, but all in all, a very good night.
Life is good, and the price is right.
j
17.7.06
fish story
wasabi seared tuna:
soy sauce
sesame oil
fresh jalapeno
a bit of sugar
a modest amount of cilantro
sashimi grade tuna steaks
In a small bowl, pour enough soy sauce to provide a base for a glaze or marinade. This should vary according to the amount of steaks you plan to prepare. Slowly add sesame oil and, using a fork, emulsify as rigorously as possible. If you've never emulsified anything before, simply disrupt (not stir) the mixture as the oil is being added in a very rapid motion of the wrist. You want to break the oil up into as many small droplets as possible. Finely chop fresh jalapeno to taste (err on the side of too spicy: the cooking process and the other flavors in the mixture will compete heavily with the pepper's influence). FInely chop and add cilantro. Stir in sugar. Emulsify again. The sugar is not for taste, it is for consistency and to create the stickiness that a glaze needs. You should neither leave it out nor use enough that you can detect its flavor.
Cover tuna steaks in glaze. Heat a thick-bottomed pan with a small amount of oil in it to medium high. You need a pan that will cook at high heat but will not cook the fish through too fast. If you don't know how to buy fresh fish, look up the fish markets in your area and inquire there about the best days to purchase which types. Normally, people who work at fish markets are more than willing to answer questions.
Place the glazed tuna steaks in the pan, allowing the outsides only to become white and then light brown. This takes only a matter of minutes, and stalling here can make you lose the whole point of the recipe. Remove from heat once the tuna is seared and cut into julienne pieces. Serve atop sushi rice with a shoestring cut cucumber-sesame salad and sparkling water with lime. Enjoy.
jj
soy sauce
sesame oil
fresh jalapeno
a bit of sugar
a modest amount of cilantro
sashimi grade tuna steaks
In a small bowl, pour enough soy sauce to provide a base for a glaze or marinade. This should vary according to the amount of steaks you plan to prepare. Slowly add sesame oil and, using a fork, emulsify as rigorously as possible. If you've never emulsified anything before, simply disrupt (not stir) the mixture as the oil is being added in a very rapid motion of the wrist. You want to break the oil up into as many small droplets as possible. Finely chop fresh jalapeno to taste (err on the side of too spicy: the cooking process and the other flavors in the mixture will compete heavily with the pepper's influence). FInely chop and add cilantro. Stir in sugar. Emulsify again. The sugar is not for taste, it is for consistency and to create the stickiness that a glaze needs. You should neither leave it out nor use enough that you can detect its flavor.
Cover tuna steaks in glaze. Heat a thick-bottomed pan with a small amount of oil in it to medium high. You need a pan that will cook at high heat but will not cook the fish through too fast. If you don't know how to buy fresh fish, look up the fish markets in your area and inquire there about the best days to purchase which types. Normally, people who work at fish markets are more than willing to answer questions.
Place the glazed tuna steaks in the pan, allowing the outsides only to become white and then light brown. This takes only a matter of minutes, and stalling here can make you lose the whole point of the recipe. Remove from heat once the tuna is seared and cut into julienne pieces. Serve atop sushi rice with a shoestring cut cucumber-sesame salad and sparkling water with lime. Enjoy.
jj
14.7.06
pilgrims speak!
"I don't believe in hell, so fuck it. I don't believe in heaven either. I do believe in whiskey, though."
Sometimes when I hear things, that, even though I don't agree with them, i feel like I've chosen the right friends. I have a grumpy pal who doesn't like when I put her name on the internet, but she does like when I borrow or lend her books that I think that she should read. She's going to go to a place where there are wars on two fronts, and I'll be counting on unseen forces she doesn't regard as real to bring her back home.
I was reading a Dr. Bronner's bottle and I was amazed again at how much ridiculous shit there is out there, and just how alluring ridiculous shit is to believe in and to follow. Simple language of principles and 'oneness' are probably going to appeal to people for the rest of time, and if you want to win a lot of friends quickly, learn some short cuts to profundity and employ the cliches as swiftly and broadly as possible. Please, don't concern yourself with depth of knowledge or reflection. Also, accuracy is for the faint of heart.
Now we are looking through old scrapbooks and marvelling at weight fluctuation and dyed hair. Tonight I was given a plant named cassiopoeia. What's in? Eating organs and uplifting jams. Out? Bad vibes.
go with god.
james.
Sometimes when I hear things, that, even though I don't agree with them, i feel like I've chosen the right friends. I have a grumpy pal who doesn't like when I put her name on the internet, but she does like when I borrow or lend her books that I think that she should read. She's going to go to a place where there are wars on two fronts, and I'll be counting on unseen forces she doesn't regard as real to bring her back home.
I was reading a Dr. Bronner's bottle and I was amazed again at how much ridiculous shit there is out there, and just how alluring ridiculous shit is to believe in and to follow. Simple language of principles and 'oneness' are probably going to appeal to people for the rest of time, and if you want to win a lot of friends quickly, learn some short cuts to profundity and employ the cliches as swiftly and broadly as possible. Please, don't concern yourself with depth of knowledge or reflection. Also, accuracy is for the faint of heart.
Now we are looking through old scrapbooks and marvelling at weight fluctuation and dyed hair. Tonight I was given a plant named cassiopoeia. What's in? Eating organs and uplifting jams. Out? Bad vibes.
go with god.
james.
13.7.06
suffixes are a part of life
I began my first effort using a new way of writing and recording yesterday. No hands. It worked as an excercise and as a new way to create songs. Craig called and he is now a master of psychology. It has been that long since we spoke. I also had drinks with Katie Perry and Lynn and Helen at the nexus of Silverlake beverage consumption on Glendale blvd. Katie is going into the writing program in Iowa, Lynn is converting to Judaism, and Helen is nurturing a possum until it is old enough to be rescued. I have been wearing shoes without socks, and growing a beard despite the extremely hot weather. There are no new letters by my name however, all of my credentials are leaps of faith.
j
j
8.7.06
it hurts to wake up.
Like light through a lens, I feel good right now. Stretched out in long lines and lazy. We went swimming yesterday at Alex's parents' house. I could listen to her father talk for hours, and it'd be entirely for my own benefit. Truly a righteous dude who has read everything, and has most of it in hardcover in his home, poised to lend.
On the way home Audio fell asleep in the back seat and jayson fell asleep in the front. They both were awakened rudely when I had to slam the brakes on the 101. We barely beat a near pile-up and the baby woke up crying. It hurts to wake up sometimes.
Today I watched Italy win the title of best national soccer team in the world, after a healthy dose of human drama, tension, triumph, and disappointment. I saw the game over at RJ Shaughnessy's with he and Steve Berra, and conversation with those two has left my head singing with ideas. Singing like songs, not singing like burned hair. The french team was seriously crushed under the weight of coming so close to real glory, and watching them I thought that there is nothing so inspiring as seeing a grown man cry. Second place is a very bitter position. The highest of the humbled ranks.
Now I'm fully lunched, air-conditioned, and I have lost my tablet containing the last ideas for the tale of the whale. I think i'll have to call RJ before we meet this evening to see 'pirates'. Keep it as nautical as possible, my friends, it is the simplest thing. For in the words of your boy JC (Conrad, not Christ): Each ship is just like another, and the ocean is always the same.
On the way home Audio fell asleep in the back seat and jayson fell asleep in the front. They both were awakened rudely when I had to slam the brakes on the 101. We barely beat a near pile-up and the baby woke up crying. It hurts to wake up sometimes.
Today I watched Italy win the title of best national soccer team in the world, after a healthy dose of human drama, tension, triumph, and disappointment. I saw the game over at RJ Shaughnessy's with he and Steve Berra, and conversation with those two has left my head singing with ideas. Singing like songs, not singing like burned hair. The french team was seriously crushed under the weight of coming so close to real glory, and watching them I thought that there is nothing so inspiring as seeing a grown man cry. Second place is a very bitter position. The highest of the humbled ranks.
Now I'm fully lunched, air-conditioned, and I have lost my tablet containing the last ideas for the tale of the whale. I think i'll have to call RJ before we meet this evening to see 'pirates'. Keep it as nautical as possible, my friends, it is the simplest thing. For in the words of your boy JC (Conrad, not Christ): Each ship is just like another, and the ocean is always the same.
i sort of had to share this.
Sunshine by Jayson Poole and James Jolliff. Recorded in Jayson's apartment in Raleigh, NC in early 2000. Jayson's verse was written that month. James' verse was recycled from an earlier jam made in 1998. Man oh man, does it get deep and dark in here.
7.7.06
a walk in the park
In an economy like this one, we pay for our bad choices with our time. You could spend years cleaning up a week's mess if you can't articulate exactly what it is that you want. And patience, not charm, is the only surefire way to get exactly what you want.
I am in need of a good friend I don't know yet that I can share some stories i've already told before and can tolerate trite wisdoms and nighttime air. Must have own kitchen, or be or have been punk enough to cook and/or eat from mine. It is preferred that this person have interesting tastes in an arena that I know nearly nothing about, and can possibly put me on to things i'm oblivious to. Doesn't necessarily have to dress 'well', but must evidence a degree of awareness and self respect with regards to self-presentation. It doesn't matter if this person is poor. Also, it would be a great benefit if this particular new friend knew how to hear and appreciate a good story, especially one that is not necessarily true.
I spent some time tonight trying to describe to my roommate how being from the south gives you a certain disposition towards religion that isn't easy to explain to others. It's like a figure of speech or a hand gesture that doesn't translate into english. God is just part of the terrain, so even those of us who aren't religious have some of this presence in us, since we've been down there breathing in the same tank with the good god fearing folk for so long. I can't properly articulate it. I think that Mark Cohn was trying to understand this phenomenon when he wrote 'walking in memphis'. This suggestion is not meant as an endorsement of silly gracelandish projections popular rock music has created to portray the south, or to advertise the slick tourist's eye view you get from this song. i'm just saying that this square was trying fairly sincerely to get what we're all about. Good ass try man. You can't expect Mark Cohn to sing you the same story as a VanZant.
Either way, i guess what i drew from this whole bit was that some things, no matter how personally they get spun, really are external. So as much as something is a theoretical idea like 'god' or 'happiness' it lives and breathes as a social reality given the right settings. The simple answers are: If you want to know about God, go to georgia, or somewhere like it. Want to be happy? Lose track of the passing of time. Remember: patience, not charm, is the only surefire way to get what you want.
I am in need of a good friend I don't know yet that I can share some stories i've already told before and can tolerate trite wisdoms and nighttime air. Must have own kitchen, or be or have been punk enough to cook and/or eat from mine. It is preferred that this person have interesting tastes in an arena that I know nearly nothing about, and can possibly put me on to things i'm oblivious to. Doesn't necessarily have to dress 'well', but must evidence a degree of awareness and self respect with regards to self-presentation. It doesn't matter if this person is poor. Also, it would be a great benefit if this particular new friend knew how to hear and appreciate a good story, especially one that is not necessarily true.
I spent some time tonight trying to describe to my roommate how being from the south gives you a certain disposition towards religion that isn't easy to explain to others. It's like a figure of speech or a hand gesture that doesn't translate into english. God is just part of the terrain, so even those of us who aren't religious have some of this presence in us, since we've been down there breathing in the same tank with the good god fearing folk for so long. I can't properly articulate it. I think that Mark Cohn was trying to understand this phenomenon when he wrote 'walking in memphis'. This suggestion is not meant as an endorsement of silly gracelandish projections popular rock music has created to portray the south, or to advertise the slick tourist's eye view you get from this song. i'm just saying that this square was trying fairly sincerely to get what we're all about. Good ass try man. You can't expect Mark Cohn to sing you the same story as a VanZant.
Either way, i guess what i drew from this whole bit was that some things, no matter how personally they get spun, really are external. So as much as something is a theoretical idea like 'god' or 'happiness' it lives and breathes as a social reality given the right settings. The simple answers are: If you want to know about God, go to georgia, or somewhere like it. Want to be happy? Lose track of the passing of time. Remember: patience, not charm, is the only surefire way to get what you want.
4.7.06
i'm so bored with the usa.
For two hours it has been the fourth of july. My grip is slipping. I can feel what's important getting away from me. I need something explosive. Hopefully the coming day will provide.
Jayson is going through my old CDs and I am wondering how Craig is doing in Massachusets with his girlfriend who he lives with and his academic career. I imagine that they have a pretty good time. The harbor probably has some amazing fireworks, in the north east being patriotic still seems to have some sort of meaning that can be traced to less conspicuous sources than it can elsewhere. Perhaps they're getting away to another city, or going sailing and wearing light colored clothing and open toed shoes. I sincerely hope that together they share a dog or another pet that requires equal responsibility. I also hope that they are grilling out with couples and beer.
I'll be in echo park watching what cali describes as 'beirut' go down around the lake. What sold me on his recommendation was the vivid descriptions of coke bottle bombs, lovingly made by good old amateur human hands. I hope none of my human hands get blown off in the process.
I thought that there was a walk in my future but it seems like i may be turning in at a more respectable hour this time. As a place where ideas come from, my head is a mite dry at present. So in all of our interests, I should say goodnight here. If anyone knows anything about the LA plants/flower market, you should tell me because i want to know. Remember the Alamo.
jams
Jayson is going through my old CDs and I am wondering how Craig is doing in Massachusets with his girlfriend who he lives with and his academic career. I imagine that they have a pretty good time. The harbor probably has some amazing fireworks, in the north east being patriotic still seems to have some sort of meaning that can be traced to less conspicuous sources than it can elsewhere. Perhaps they're getting away to another city, or going sailing and wearing light colored clothing and open toed shoes. I sincerely hope that together they share a dog or another pet that requires equal responsibility. I also hope that they are grilling out with couples and beer.
I'll be in echo park watching what cali describes as 'beirut' go down around the lake. What sold me on his recommendation was the vivid descriptions of coke bottle bombs, lovingly made by good old amateur human hands. I hope none of my human hands get blown off in the process.
I thought that there was a walk in my future but it seems like i may be turning in at a more respectable hour this time. As a place where ideas come from, my head is a mite dry at present. So in all of our interests, I should say goodnight here. If anyone knows anything about the LA plants/flower market, you should tell me because i want to know. Remember the Alamo.
jams
1.7.06
gallardo or not
This life is a beautiful one, brushed with just enough sadness to sweeten the rest. I can feel the hurt stinging in the cracks of my skin when it's in, and times like now i'm glad that I am glad to be alive.
Today was the hottest day i've felt since hanoi. Jayson wants to find a pool to go swimming, but I am lazily writing in the big chair by the door with the fan oscillating. I'll probably stay here until the sun has been gone long enough for Erin's house to cool down, and then i'll go there. In my front yard there are two young ladies in audio's plastic pool, and he came home and was glad to have someone to swim with. Ted, Mickey's brother taught him to say 'rad! there's babes in the pool,' and he seems pretty excited about the whole setup.
Today I adopted a plant from home depot. His name is Echelon Khong. Right now he is only a small sapling. But someday soon he'll be a big ass tree.
Today's dedications? Rad dudes and plants. Old friends, babies, babes, swimming pools, and grinding out your gunshyness. Also, the coffee at the place across from trader joes on hyperion.
jams
Today was the hottest day i've felt since hanoi. Jayson wants to find a pool to go swimming, but I am lazily writing in the big chair by the door with the fan oscillating. I'll probably stay here until the sun has been gone long enough for Erin's house to cool down, and then i'll go there. In my front yard there are two young ladies in audio's plastic pool, and he came home and was glad to have someone to swim with. Ted, Mickey's brother taught him to say 'rad! there's babes in the pool,' and he seems pretty excited about the whole setup.
Today I adopted a plant from home depot. His name is Echelon Khong. Right now he is only a small sapling. But someday soon he'll be a big ass tree.
Today's dedications? Rad dudes and plants. Old friends, babies, babes, swimming pools, and grinding out your gunshyness. Also, the coffee at the place across from trader joes on hyperion.
jams
from fitted caps to written raps
Tonight we played capture the flag. I was on the team that didn't win, which is a shame, because it seems like you work just as hard when you lose.
Dig the friends, the wet grass, and the relatively cool night air. A drawback was that i kept losing my shoes, because I have no foresight and wore jordan twos with no laces in them to run around in circles. I spent most of the night breathing heavily in 'jail' in wet socks. Cooley mixed a secret old jam that we love and made it sound like something new that I haven't ever heard before. I've been working completely around the clock on writings and recordings and that ain't so bad.
It is now four in the morning and our den is occupied by four dudes who are talking about the tallest girl they have ever slept with. I think mine wins, but heaven forbid I trot my business out on the internet of all places. Consider the shame!
I got a message from June today, and I feel that he has more soul than anyone on earth. As trite as the phrase seems, it's true. He has a heart as big as a lincoln and he always keeps a promise. The hardest thing about having people that you love everywhere is that at all times you are, in way or another, very far from home. If I could play you the message he left me I would. He told me that he was calling because he knew that Jayson and I were 'holding it down', and he wanted to thank us for doing so and also to suggest that we continue to. June, consider that heeded.
if you need me, you can find me in bed.
james.
Dig the friends, the wet grass, and the relatively cool night air. A drawback was that i kept losing my shoes, because I have no foresight and wore jordan twos with no laces in them to run around in circles. I spent most of the night breathing heavily in 'jail' in wet socks. Cooley mixed a secret old jam that we love and made it sound like something new that I haven't ever heard before. I've been working completely around the clock on writings and recordings and that ain't so bad.
It is now four in the morning and our den is occupied by four dudes who are talking about the tallest girl they have ever slept with. I think mine wins, but heaven forbid I trot my business out on the internet of all places. Consider the shame!
I got a message from June today, and I feel that he has more soul than anyone on earth. As trite as the phrase seems, it's true. He has a heart as big as a lincoln and he always keeps a promise. The hardest thing about having people that you love everywhere is that at all times you are, in way or another, very far from home. If I could play you the message he left me I would. He told me that he was calling because he knew that Jayson and I were 'holding it down', and he wanted to thank us for doing so and also to suggest that we continue to. June, consider that heeded.
if you need me, you can find me in bed.
james.
27.6.06
Two Headed Monster
I used to want to have two heads and four eyes. I've tried it before, but it's never worked out exactly how I've imagined it could.
There are too many ways and times you can have the same conversation, and too many times I can sneeze. The couch is fighting me with some dust or mold or mildew that lives inside it, and I am on the verge of bummed. Jayson says that people in the military don't have allergies, and that I should join. Dallas says that it's time that I got an intern, and also that I should sell compact discs in the street. Most everyone else says that I should shave, and the heat says they're probably right. I'd be as happy a man as possible if all it took was carrot juice and rhythmic speech. No lie. Stranded. Carrot Juice, talk: perfect.
This is actually not a bad conclusion to come to, because speech-related insomnia has been visiting me for weeks, and the beta-carotene is supposedly sharpening my night vision. This makes dodging the skunks and coyotes much easier while wandering around the neighborhood. I've been meaning to get a laser gun in case i get attacked.
I sorely miss anthony lowe and his bookbag full of spraypaint and cigarettes and wine. Not to be overlooked are his long and thoughtful opinions on the way things are, mixed in with truly unpretentious quotes from literature and perverse versions of southern aphorisms. He's truly a dude that makes the good life good.
So yeah. Two heads, four eyes. I figure, if I'm watching out behind you, and you're watching out behind me, we can see the whole picture. Pretty crazy.
your boy.
There are too many ways and times you can have the same conversation, and too many times I can sneeze. The couch is fighting me with some dust or mold or mildew that lives inside it, and I am on the verge of bummed. Jayson says that people in the military don't have allergies, and that I should join. Dallas says that it's time that I got an intern, and also that I should sell compact discs in the street. Most everyone else says that I should shave, and the heat says they're probably right. I'd be as happy a man as possible if all it took was carrot juice and rhythmic speech. No lie. Stranded. Carrot Juice, talk: perfect.
This is actually not a bad conclusion to come to, because speech-related insomnia has been visiting me for weeks, and the beta-carotene is supposedly sharpening my night vision. This makes dodging the skunks and coyotes much easier while wandering around the neighborhood. I've been meaning to get a laser gun in case i get attacked.
I sorely miss anthony lowe and his bookbag full of spraypaint and cigarettes and wine. Not to be overlooked are his long and thoughtful opinions on the way things are, mixed in with truly unpretentious quotes from literature and perverse versions of southern aphorisms. He's truly a dude that makes the good life good.
So yeah. Two heads, four eyes. I figure, if I'm watching out behind you, and you're watching out behind me, we can see the whole picture. Pretty crazy.
your boy.
24.6.06
at the most
I think that really we get it wrong thinking that joy is the only way to feel freedom. In this pickle, we miss plenty of both. There's something about dreading the future that makes today seem pretty sweet.
Today I sat in indirect sunlight, drank pilsener and ate someone else's potato pancakes with sour cream and cranberry dressing. There was something comfortable and digestive in it. My very good friend has poison oak on her arm and was uncomfortable and making faces that I liked to watch but didn't like to imagine how it felt to want to look that way. Her bandage looks like a soft gauntlet.
Jayson Poole is in town, and he's the only reason at all that I even make music in the way that I do. He doesn't know how long he'll be here and arrived at the downtown Grayhound station at eight this evening. The future for us all is wide open. Right now he's comparing the serbian rapper Sin to the RZA, based on a common speech impediment. Get with it. Ichat is the new phone caking, but neither really work once you no longer live with your parents.
good night.
Today I sat in indirect sunlight, drank pilsener and ate someone else's potato pancakes with sour cream and cranberry dressing. There was something comfortable and digestive in it. My very good friend has poison oak on her arm and was uncomfortable and making faces that I liked to watch but didn't like to imagine how it felt to want to look that way. Her bandage looks like a soft gauntlet.
Jayson Poole is in town, and he's the only reason at all that I even make music in the way that I do. He doesn't know how long he'll be here and arrived at the downtown Grayhound station at eight this evening. The future for us all is wide open. Right now he's comparing the serbian rapper Sin to the RZA, based on a common speech impediment. Get with it. Ichat is the new phone caking, but neither really work once you no longer live with your parents.
good night.
22.6.06
school
I imagine that in hell there is much more human story. Perhaps in going there you could learn a bit more about things. Maybe you could win your way out. But then would you want to leave?
I tend to take my time, and also take myself too seriously, and have slept on concrete and in a car respectively for the past two nights. Tonight it is back to California and to bed. This morning I woke up in the unofficial city of bicycles and thieves, and I walked where we used to hide with the spoils from the police. The night before I ate with the new wolves that have taken our place. They’ve done wonderful things with the lives we unknowingly passed on to them. At the venue we played the good parts of our songs that we normally skip at big shows and parties, the crowd was small and attentive. Outside an unrelated shirtless yelling match broke out between a very large man and a very large woman, and then we went to Jan’s for tea and breakfast.
June parked the car at a grocery store—our friend who had offered us his home had fallen asleep—and we reclined and opened the windows. My sleep was short and fruitless, so I walked around the adjacent neighborhood listening to Giant and imagining my own melodies. It’s impossible to describe the pride that is felt when people we know make truly good music, all on their own, and in their own way. We spend so much time fretting over our own work and our own lives that a week like this one really crashes into an unsuspecting blind side. And everyone from North Carolina has a peculiar kind of identification with the place and the people there that to others must look like chauvinism, but honestly we are just used to looking out for one another, and aren’t spoiled by the kind of saturation of fame that turns a thing into industry. Permit me this, it’s been a good week. We knew all along that we represent North Carolina. Now we know that North Carolina represents us.
A walk in Greensboro is the beginning of a good idea. In the air there, contrivances vanish. For me, there is also a chorus of ghosts, but I am not troubled by that past at all.
I tend to take my time, and also take myself too seriously, and have slept on concrete and in a car respectively for the past two nights. Tonight it is back to California and to bed. This morning I woke up in the unofficial city of bicycles and thieves, and I walked where we used to hide with the spoils from the police. The night before I ate with the new wolves that have taken our place. They’ve done wonderful things with the lives we unknowingly passed on to them. At the venue we played the good parts of our songs that we normally skip at big shows and parties, the crowd was small and attentive. Outside an unrelated shirtless yelling match broke out between a very large man and a very large woman, and then we went to Jan’s for tea and breakfast.
June parked the car at a grocery store—our friend who had offered us his home had fallen asleep—and we reclined and opened the windows. My sleep was short and fruitless, so I walked around the adjacent neighborhood listening to Giant and imagining my own melodies. It’s impossible to describe the pride that is felt when people we know make truly good music, all on their own, and in their own way. We spend so much time fretting over our own work and our own lives that a week like this one really crashes into an unsuspecting blind side. And everyone from North Carolina has a peculiar kind of identification with the place and the people there that to others must look like chauvinism, but honestly we are just used to looking out for one another, and aren’t spoiled by the kind of saturation of fame that turns a thing into industry. Permit me this, it’s been a good week. We knew all along that we represent North Carolina. Now we know that North Carolina represents us.
A walk in Greensboro is the beginning of a good idea. In the air there, contrivances vanish. For me, there is also a chorus of ghosts, but I am not troubled by that past at all.
18.6.06
home
There is no such thing as writer's block. Only genre problems. A lack of inspiration is only a matter of not knowing which details to pluck.
My friends live in a splendid place. It has old concrete floors and a meat locker. And whatever's available always turns out to be enough. At five and again at seven they sleep through the phone ringing for half an hour at a time. Anthony and I didn't. We made the night turn into the morning by making allusions to software functionality and drinking a bottle of wine at Old Salem. I told him to read a book that another good friend has lent me, and he wrote it down. We stole some iced coffee and whatever food wasn't locked up from the shop downstairs, and then i think that i chewed his ear up a bit too much and it was time to leave.
Winston-Salem may be the only city I've ever been in with salon culture. Here the quality of the talk is like the quality of bread in old countries. Every day it may be the same old thing: bleached flour, water. But everyday it is fresh, and if you came here you would tell your friends about it when you got home. It is important to have a place in the daytime where people know to go to see people they know that is made out of very old wood and has many windows. There also should be plenty of sunlight, but only at the right times of day. Under these conditions people can really enjoy each other in a way that is free and simple. Plants and books help, but the latter is less necessary than you think, and good seating is almost always incidental to good conversation. Maybe just something to lean on once in a while is enough. Also, I admit (somewhat begrudgingly) that smoking can also help make good talk. And people still smoke in Winston-Salem. Inside.
i feel like smoking is a crucial randomizer; because it creates one-on-one talk that doesn't normally happen. if you're in a circle with a stranger who is going to smoke without a partner, you can join them, it's customary
if the stranger is a she and she strikes your fancy--provided that she's are your bag--it's a perfect chance. It's gallant to join her, and it can alert her of your interest in a way that is not at all conspicuous. Regardless of the outcome, you've had something nice and rare: a few seconds with a relative stranger, and often you will do this with them or talk to them again. At the very least you will remember their name.
Now, after eight, listening to my stomach and others' and wine-snores i need to go home. And I can't help but thinking that poison is a sweet way to die.
good day.
james.
My friends live in a splendid place. It has old concrete floors and a meat locker. And whatever's available always turns out to be enough. At five and again at seven they sleep through the phone ringing for half an hour at a time. Anthony and I didn't. We made the night turn into the morning by making allusions to software functionality and drinking a bottle of wine at Old Salem. I told him to read a book that another good friend has lent me, and he wrote it down. We stole some iced coffee and whatever food wasn't locked up from the shop downstairs, and then i think that i chewed his ear up a bit too much and it was time to leave.
Winston-Salem may be the only city I've ever been in with salon culture. Here the quality of the talk is like the quality of bread in old countries. Every day it may be the same old thing: bleached flour, water. But everyday it is fresh, and if you came here you would tell your friends about it when you got home. It is important to have a place in the daytime where people know to go to see people they know that is made out of very old wood and has many windows. There also should be plenty of sunlight, but only at the right times of day. Under these conditions people can really enjoy each other in a way that is free and simple. Plants and books help, but the latter is less necessary than you think, and good seating is almost always incidental to good conversation. Maybe just something to lean on once in a while is enough. Also, I admit (somewhat begrudgingly) that smoking can also help make good talk. And people still smoke in Winston-Salem. Inside.
i feel like smoking is a crucial randomizer; because it creates one-on-one talk that doesn't normally happen. if you're in a circle with a stranger who is going to smoke without a partner, you can join them, it's customary
if the stranger is a she and she strikes your fancy--provided that she's are your bag--it's a perfect chance. It's gallant to join her, and it can alert her of your interest in a way that is not at all conspicuous. Regardless of the outcome, you've had something nice and rare: a few seconds with a relative stranger, and often you will do this with them or talk to them again. At the very least you will remember their name.
Now, after eight, listening to my stomach and others' and wine-snores i need to go home. And I can't help but thinking that poison is a sweet way to die.
good day.
james.
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