Wednesday, August 31, 2005

blog cherry

my friend jason gives me a hard time about the blog thing, the idea of blogging, to a certain extent I agree with him, what’s the point really. I'm getting old and I should be concentrating on other types of writing. the contrarian in me, which looms rather large over my entire landscape, says “fuck him”. because isn’t the point of the internet, or any kind of technology, to make things easier, or connect us in a different way, or simply to make things better. if it’s not doing that then it’s a failure. I saw a guy being put in handcuffs the other night on my block. my immediate reaction was that someone has failed, or something about us as a group has failed, because we have an invented device to keep people from moving their arms and hands. when I read about bombs going off I always think the same thing, we as a group, because we are part of that group, whether we want to admit it or not, have failed with that invention.

the blog seemed like a good way to point things out to my friends, if they ever bothered looking at it, things that I found interesting. or poems that were in the process of being written. maybe because I agree with jason a bit, that too many people are out there saying nothing, or maybe because I’m just afraid of people saying “jesus, what an idiot”, or something else close to that sentiment, whatever the reason, I haven’t actually put myself into the equation that much here. I’ve stayed out of it in a lot of ways.

I like that jason gives me a hard time. it makes me think whether or not I really like the blogging idea, which I do. there are thoughts you’re having that you want to share sometimes with your friends that you seem to have best sitting alone or while you’re watching a baseball game on your computer, or stuck on the muni train between the van ness and civic center stations. which is where I was thinking today “please don’t let me throw up”. because I was sure I was going to right then. and throwing up on the muni train, stuck in a tunnel, everyone on that train was going to hate me. it was a very crowded train at the time. I started thinking that I’d have to announce it. “excuse me, I think I’m going to throw up and you should probably step away from me if you can. I know it’s crowded but if you let me through and let me step over into that corner I’ll try to control it as best I can”.

the feeling passed. it was the second time it passed. the first time was back in west portal. the feeling itself came about in a strange way. I ate bad food at chevy’s after work and had a great time doing it (no, this is not the reason I felt like throwing up). after eating I was walking with someone and she was talking on her cell phone. we got to the corner across from the muni platform across from stonestown. she was still talking on the phone. I looked down to my right and saw a train coming down the tracks. I motioned that I was going to head across the street and catch the train. she motioned back, “sure, okay, dinner was fun, you’re an excellent conversationalist and even though I’ve been on the phone talking to someone else the last five to ten minutes it’s really you I’d like to be talking to and it’s the one big regret in my life that you’ll be boarding that train without me, while I slowly hasten that other way”. or maybe she waved and starting heading the other way. the light was green and despite my waiting a moment to go, the walk signal was still in my favor. I moved into the intersection a bit too fast, I’ll acknowledge that, but I had the right of way. the guy driving the car was young, for some reason I focused on his face even though it all happened very quickly. maybe it was the fact that his head wasn’t turned the way it should have been and I picked that up in the pattern of things we take for granted, that pattern was slightly out of place. he was looking to his left while turning right. he never looked to his right to see if there were pedestrians coming into the intersection, and his car was moving, he had a red light and never came to a complete stop. he turned his head then and saw me, his foot was on the gas at the time I’m guessing. he had a moment of panic, I watched him have it, and he stepped on the gas ever so slightly. his face was amazing right then, I could see he couldn’t believe I was suddenly in front of his car. he found the break, but a tiny bit too late. his front right bumper hit my left knee and moved the left side of my body out of the way at the wrong angle. my right foot couldn’t move as a reaction. his front right tire rolled up onto my foot. he found reverse then or he was driving a clutch, I think it was that actually, and the car moved backwards. I jumped back out of the intersection. “are you okay”, she said. “yeah, strangely enough I think I might be. he rolled over my foot, but I think its okay. my knee hurts a bit, more than my foot actually”. the guy in the car hadn’t moved. he looked like he was driving his parent’s car, a sedan of some kind. he looked scared. I felt bad for him and waved him away. he didn’t wait, he left very very quickly. he left so quickly it gave me second thoughts about waving him on.

then I did what I often do when anything bad happens. I ran off. I have no idea where this instinct comes from, but in bad arguments or earthquakes, or car accidents, or other incidents of stress I was to be left alone and let be quiet for a while. so I waved and said I was okay again and headed for the platform. I still made the train and it wasn’t as crowded as it was going to be, but still almost full. when I took off my shoe to see what my foot looked like where the car had run over it people seemed curious, I could feel them noticing. the entire top of my foot was red, but again, it didn’t hurt as bad as it could of. I got my shoe back on and straightened up and that first moment of nausea hit me. my left leg and knee hurt more than my foot.

at the civic center I took the long escalator that leads up to the library out of the station. as I hit the sunshine I felt weird again. I had my i-pod on and I was trying to not think. I turned the music off and put the i-pod away. the sun was really bright and it hit me hard somehow. the sun always bothers my eyes, but this felt like I just wanted to get in the library as quick as I could. I had one of those twenty second walks to the doors where it seems like everyone in san francisco is in your way. I got inside the doors and it was crowded getting past the security stop as well. I got to the center of the library building, where you can look up and around at most of the place and just stood there for a minute. I like this spot in the library, it seems to hum with activity and noise and if you watch the people going by you see the whole city in a way. I was hearing the hum louder than usual and then I had this moment of sadness. I started thinking that if he hits the brake peddle a second or two later I’m on the ground with a broken leg at least. I blamed myself a bit for moving so quickly into the intersection.

where does that sadness come from, the kind that seems like it will overwhelm you. and where does the initiative to fight it come from. standing there my imagination kicked in. I closed my eyes for a second and a claptrap of quiet came down. it came down quickly artificial. there was no quiet. then the library was the library again, but I wasn’t myself again. I was shaky. as often happens in such moments the past came up to get me a bit. I tried to put it away and I moved to the back of the library and took out my notebook, thinking maybe I could at least get a poem out of the experience if nothing else. but I had nothing to write down. I sat there for a minute, calming, waiting. how many hours in our lives do we spend in that kind of waiting. again I closed my eyes for a few seconds and I imagined myself back in the center of the library, with that quiet, and everyone I knew in san francisco there, and I was supposed to say something. this image formed in my mind and all I could think to say was “I had a few years taken away from me once, which you can never really explain, which doesn’t matter. the result is that I’ve always felt like I started late, that I’ve always been behind. you should know that about me”.

edwards drive-in, the internet version

in the new york times last week in their playlist column mark romanek, a video director, talks about his favorite videos right now. a few of them were very interesting.

the video for the song "only" by nine inch nails was directed by david fincher of "fight club" fame. he worked on it for three months with 25 to 30 people at a time and you can tell. the song isn't great, but it's definitely worth taking a look. you'll find yourself thinking "were they really able to do that".

the strangest one is "rubber johnny" by aphex twin. this is one of the creepiest things I've seen filmed and I have no idea what I think of it. it's brilliant in a way, but definitely creepy creepy brilliant. it's not music I'd ever listen to, but the music fits the video.

"romantic death" by the sun is a song I actually like. the video consists of people masturbating from the shoulders up while the song plays. the people come from the website beautifulagony.com where you can pay to watch people do this by handing over your credit card number of course.

"easy/lucky/free" by bright eyes has shades of dylan to it, but it's conor oberst writing backwards on clear glass in an empty room. it's worth watching just to see how well he can write backwards while the song plays.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

edwards drive-in

I had this idea once about scenes from certain movies. that I'd like to get certain ones and put them all on a tape or a dvd and then maybe have them all playing in the background during a party. or something like that.

so then you start wondering which scenes you'd put on there. maybe jack nicholson in "one flew over the cuckoo's nest" calling the baseball game. or sean penn getting the pizza delivered to his class in "fast time's at ridgemont high". there would be a couple obscure personal favorites, gabriel byrne smoking and sitting on the edge of the bed in "miller's crossing" or nicholas cage trying to get matthew modine to talk in "birdy".

the lastest addition would come from the movie "me and you and everyone we know" written and directed by miranda july. I like the whole movie, but there's a scene in the movie where a kid chats with someone online and it turns into a talk about sex and the kid doesn't really know what he's saying. the child actor in the scene in unbelievably great to watch and it's the hardest I've laughed at a movie in a long long time.

notes from a waking...

there’s a man in the apartment above typing into two in the morning. his non-electrical selectrical strokes falling strangely like the sound of intermittant rain. you realize when you hold your breath and it becomes silent that he’s made up the two of you just to put you in this bed. he’s a fever of bites. spiders and cats and her mouth on your chest. his fingers work slowly, yours moving backwards unhurriedly across her left nipple. he carves out some background music, the beautiful south singing let love speak up itself. it feels off and he erases it. still, it stays in your head and on your lips all morning. he writes an echo of her leg on your shoulders that comes out like a gasp. he takes a drag on his cigarette and feels the heat on his skin near his lips. the two of you sweat, perspiration gathering on his upper lip. the man upstairs can make rain with another richochet repetition, I need you so much closer.

no, no more music, he thinks. instead she lengthens, she gathers you between her legs and he pushes down hard on the keys. a pelting. he’s going to leave something behind, indentations on paper, the weekly bruises on your chest, the night and nights she leans in, you feel it like a crowd of faces sometimes but he never includes that. he erases baseball scores, the L train, the afternoon and the rush always comes different than you expected.

he wakes you into an early plot, but gives no sound to walk the uncrowned streets. he shows you your head, leaving her back in the bathroom, water running in the shower a floor below him. you wonder if he’s being selfish as the shower goes on, or as she gathers a blue towel to wrap around herself as she walks you to the door. he writes in the cat trying to get out the door to avoid a kiss goodbye, too sentimental. later though, as the lights dim the way they do during the forward train jostle you find that you can still taste her. he’s obviously a generous man. a hard worker. a callous on his right index fingertip. a smiler in the gale. shelter along the way. and then, because he can’t help himself, you hear music. hey, mr. dj, keep those records playing, cause I’m having, such a good time, dancing with my baby.

Monday, August 15, 2005

notes from a waking...

what if trifle, a boast found twice
once for me
and once for me.

an expanding skirt, not decrepit
then when
and then not us.

a squeezed thirst is finding it a third time.

put your hand on your chin, be thoughtful
be still
be an obvious believer
a fourth foundling beautiful.

a fifth behind your passenger’s seat
or you reaching up in the cabinet, for something.

I’ve seen so I can overhear, conversation be swift
see me not for who I am
see the hot idaho wind, the machine shadowed dusk
taking turns tuning the car stereo
language the passing mining towns
into empty stomachs, and the grieving of ourselves.
know your own head, set if off on my chest fidget
follow one train down with another
drawn later unawares
a sixth column of the good stuff.

a seventh voice streaming, a passenger side window chant.

eight are all numbers, do you have enough of them to see about us.

I am all missing rib today, a side ache
a light snore
how many times do you get to look at someone this way, before
it’s easier not to
reading back a linger in the sound of us, in our ears
a retreatment.

i-pod wars

count the cases piled up high
for the 1:15
the platform and for passerby
it’s the same routine
I’m ranting while I’m raving
there’s nothing here worth saving

all I want to do is hide
it’s graduation day
everything I learned inside
didn’t seem to pay
I’ve had my fill of palm trees
riding up grauman’s chinese

tell me now what more do you need
take me to walter reed tonight
baby I lost the will for fighting over everything
there’s a few things I’ve got to say
make no mistake I’m mad
cause every good thing I’d had
abandoned me


from the song walter reed by michael penn

Friday, August 05, 2005

i-pod wars

all the best bands come from canada.

the latest example is "underwater cinematographer" by the most serene republic. take broken social scene and throw in a little bit of postal service and this is what it might sound like, or maybe that's reaching. the album feels like one long jam session in a way, but it's more carefully planned with tracks running into each other.

they also have two of my favorite song titles in a long time: "the protagonist suddenly realizes what he must do in the middle of downtown traffic" and "you're a loose cannon mcarthur... but you get the job done". yes, they seem be enjoying themselves like a lot of other canadian bands. and they do sound like bands, like a whole. there is something communal going on in canada that's missing in a lot of other music. obviously they should be stopped.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

off the rack

"No god but God: The Origins, Evolution, and Future of Islam" by Reza Aslan. This is one of those books that you feel a little smarter after reading. The book does just what the title suggests, explaining Islam and the world it exists in, but in an understandable way. Azlan lists the books he read to research this book at the end in the book's index. That list goes on for five or six pages and you feel that he has taken the most necessary facts from those books and filtered them into this one. He also has a few definite opinions that seem fair and balanced and in the end attractive compared to so much of the rhetoric you read and hear on this subject.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

notes from a waking ...

indescribable sitting splits the difference
my watch once again heavy on my wrist

rough days invent
thesewaitingmachinesofmine move closer by moving further away

a secret spelling society
come in, come in, leave the next move and the din
a gallant self-study
a library lunch
thewaywe’dbe
listen