Sleepless Mind

How To Save the World

2011-04-01T13:11:00.001-07:00

Here's draft 3. Getting close to finished. If anyone knows the name of the economist who created the famous theory about the effects of importing food into starving populations, please let me know!

1. THE SURFACE OF THE POND

There is a set of questions about our modern civilization that seems inevitably to arise in each of us who grow up in the First World, usually in early adolescence. These questions will probably feel familiar to you. Why are there starving people when we have so much food? Why are there homeless people when there is so much space? Why are we always fighting wars with each other? Why is there crime, social dysfunction, racism, sexism and other widespread inequality? Why can't we all just, you know, get along?
Of course, most of us come to believe that the answers to these questions are incredibly complex. They tie into economics, sociology, psychology, politics, religion and a mess of other intricate systems that govern the behavior of humans. On a more basic level, though, the teenager who ponders these queries is essentially contemplating one much simpler question: why are we humans so destructive?
As children we are taught that humans are the most intelligent creatures on Earth. This is what separates us from the other animals, so much so in fact that we don't even refer to them as "other" animals, they are just animals and we are humans, something different entirely.
Imagine for a moment that you are somehow outside of our planet looking in. You didn't grow up here and you have no knowledge of the various species on earth (however, for this example, you do have a thorough knowledge of physical science and ecology). You couldn't tell a human from a tuna egg. Suppose you land on the surface and decide you'd like to meet the locals. Also, you're kind of an elitist, so you'd only care to speak to the most successful species on this planet. Who do you find?
You're going to look at several factors. Population is a main factor. Health of the living population is also a crucial factor, and of course genetic strength should be a key indicator of the species' potential for future success. Obviously a disease-ridden species has a greater chance of suffering loss in future generations as the diseases are passed on. You're also going to look at resource consumption. Is the species consuming resources at roughly the rate at which they replenish? Or is the species using up their resources, and if so, how quickly? Are they fighting just to resolve territorial and mating disputes, or has some of their conflict become arbitrary?
From this outside perspective, humans are not doing particularly well on this planet. We're consuming resources that take hundreds of thousands or even millions of years to replenish themselves in just centuries. Our population continues to increase, and the percentage of humans with genetic diseases and deficiencies is sky-high. Every other species on this planet (with partial exceptions for domesticated pets) is subject to natural selection, thus their genetics are almost perfect. A weaker animal dies younger and therefore doesn't usually reproduce, whereas weaker humans are kept alive with medical technology and then have the opportunity to pass on their weaker genetics. Any outsider looking in would probably assume that our species was on the brink of disaster. (A quick aside: some of the more successful species are earthworms, bacteria and spiders).
Obviously this is not what we want for ourselves as a species, yet we pursue the perpetuation of this status quo relentlessly. Of course, we don't see things this way. From our perspective, success means the highest possible survival rate for our species in every generation. It is widely assumed that, as our resources diminish, we will simply devise new ways to extract, conserve or synthesize them. We're far too clever to actually go extinct, right?
Perhaps this is true. If so, we have nothing to worry about. We will simply devise more and more ingenuitive solutions until we colonize Mars, synthesize food and petroleum efficiently out of raw hydrogen and carbon, and cure all disease.
The viewpoint that we humans will thrive no matter what is commonly shared in the First World, though realistically it is quite religious. It is clear to anyone who has some familiarity with our situation that humans coming out of the next few generations without severe loss of life is quite unlikely. There's no scientific breakthrough on the horizon that will provide us with food and clean water out of thin air, yet many choose to believe that this is inevitable. There's an undercurrent of religion here: the unspoken idea that we humans are Gods and cannot fail. It is our destiny to prosper. Perhaps this is so. Perhaps not.

PART 2: THE VIEW FROM THE TIP OF THE PYRAMID

Currently our society (planetwide, not any particular country) is arranged in a pyramidal fashion. The vast MINority of the population resides at the tip of the pyramid with the vast MAJority of our resources and wealth. About 10% of the world's population controls almost 85% of its wealth (2006, World Institute for Development Economics Research). The very tip of the pyramid is populated with CEOs, powerful politicians, old-money families and elite criminals. Many of these categories, of course, overlap. They are mostly thinkers, decision-makers, rulers and ringleaders.
As we drop down the pyramid we find a tiny portion of "middle class" people. We exist here in America, in Europe, Canada, Australia, the U.K., parts of the Middle East and Asia and elsewhere in very small numbers. The middle class often arises when a nation is very prosperous and there are very few people in charge. If those few keep the rest of the nation doing manual labor, they will eventually revolt. The middle class creates a buffer between the elite and the impoverished. The impoverished have something to work toward, a decent life that seems (and sometimes is) actually attainable. The middle class are comfortable enough that revolt doesn't seem necessary, and the status quo continues.
Most of the pyramid consists of impoverished peoples. These folks grow all of our food and produce all of our goods. They man our factories and fields, toiling away endlessly, working only toward the goal of feeding their families for one more day. They have no opportunity for advancement (except in very rare and often glamorized cases) and will likely die in exactly the same village where they were born, with no inheritance to pass on to their children.
Ironically, the bottom of the pyramid has all the power. Without production of food, goods and services, the top of the pyramid cannot function. Obviously those in power are hardly willing to don gloves and start growing their own food, so they cannot persist without the dis-empowered labor force. The same goes for the middle class. We rely heavily on the impoverished peoples of the world, but we hardly like to address this fact.
Let's look at an oft-used example of this pyramid situation. Let's say you go to the grocery store and buy some eggs. No big deal, right? Well, take a moment to think about how those eggs came to be there. Let's start with the store itself. You have the stockboys, the janitors, the checkers, the managers. Remember that they all have to eat. Now add in the people who unloaded the truck with the eggs, and those who drove it. Also you've got the coordinators of the delivery, not to mention the mechanics who keep the truck running. The truck itself was probably built in a huge factory somewhere, and at least some of the parts almost certainly came from overseas. Someone had to make those parts, load them into an airplane, the plane had to be flown over, etc. The truck, of course, came from the farm. All the farm workers now have to be factored in, the food that they consume, and of course the food for the chickens. Now consider that, out of all these people eating, most of them are probably not buying local produce. So take into account the thousands of people growing THEIR food somewhere in the Third World, plus all the people it takes to ship it up here, the food that THEY'RE eating, and all the people growing THAT food. Suddenly your box of eggs has involved a significant number of people, easily in the tens of millions.
You could keep going along this line, adding in the people who manufactured the parts for the farm equipment, the petroleum consumed by everyone driving to work, the production of the egg carton, and on and on. I think I've made my point, though. It is impossible in the modern world to live "alone". You are ALWAYS part of a vast human community, whether you like it or not. If you want to eat, you need the help of others - unless you go live completely off-the-grid, which I assume you're not doing if you're reading this.
This is one of the reasons that it's so hard to manage resource consumption in modern civilization. If we suddenly abandoned our pyramid, abandoned government and world community, what would happen? Let's pretend, for this example, that this scenario happens totally peacefully. Every world leader suddenly wakes up with a heart that's grown two sizes, and decides to destroy all of his weapons and give all the land back to the people. Result? Those on top of the pyramid suddenly have no one to produce their resources for them, and have a very hard time. Those at the bottom, admittedly with some fairly major adjustment, are still in a much better position: they are already growing food. So they eat it. In reality, the situation is far more complex, but the impoverished are still in a far better position than the rich. They are capable of production, not just oversight and consumption. They also (usually) have tightly knit communities. They know everyone in their village and they all help each other survive. This is somewhat less likely to happen at the tip of the pyramid.
So, it becomes obvious here that one major goal of those in power is to keep this system in place. We, the rich, are far better off keeping the poor producing for us while we reap the rewards. None of us really like to think about it that way, but that's how it is. Slavery never ended, it was simply outsourced to the third world. Sure, many of our field workers are technically "free", but are they really? They may not be chained, but they have neither the economic ability nor the educational resources to actually make it out of their field. Besides, as I illustrated before, there's only so much room up here. If every field & factory worker were to defy the odds, get an education and come to the first world, there would no longer be any food here, because no one would be growing it. Thus we rely absolutely on each other to live. It is, however, a fragile existence.

3. THEN AND NOW: AN INCREDIBLY BRIEF HISTORY OF HOMO SAPIENS SAPIENS

Have things always been this way? Of course not. Anthropologists are not certain, but it is widely believed that we evolved into our current state (Homo Sapiens Sapiens) about 200,000 years ago (2005, National Science Foundation). At this point, we were hunting & gathering almost exclusively. Humans lived in small nomadic communities. We were an incredibly successful species. The actual work done by a hunter-gatherer is believed to have taken about three hours of her day (2000, Hans-Joachim Voth). The rest of her time was spent socializing, playing, perhaps practicing survival skills or courting a mate. Based on all our modern observations of the few indigenous peoples who have managed to survive, they are incredibly healthy, happy, well-adjusted people. There is almost no evidence of currently-common psychological disorders such as depression, OCD, social anxiety and so on.
As time went on, we developed more and more "culture", as evidenced in the Native American tribes that we westerners all read about in school. Humans were dancing, singing, making art and thriving. Of course, when I say thriving I refer to quality of life; our population during this period was rather consistent. It was perhaps growing slowly, but nothing like our remarkable explosion of numbers in recent generations.
With respect to Daniel Quinn, an author who writes much on this subject, let's take a look at a few basic "rules" that we humans used to abide by before agriculture.
1. We shared resources with our competitors. The modern farmer, for example, builds a fence around his crop and shoots any fox or coyote who comes too close. He sets snares for rabbits and sprays pesticide on his plants. Before modern civilization, we very well had the ability to build fences and to kill animals, but we didn't use these skills to monopolize a food supply. We would perhaps kill a wolf who got close to us, but we would never send out raiding parties to kill ALL the wolves in an area so that they couldn't get at our rabbits. If food became scarce, we would simply migrate to where it was plentiful, thus allowing the food supply in the previous area to replenish.
2. We operated as independent tribes, not as a world-human-community. For example, if a nearby tribe was experiencing famine, it was not common practice to rush over food to feed them. Economists observe that a population of animals will always grow to the point that its resources allow. If the population outgrows its food supply, a few will starve until the demand matches the supply and balance is struck. However, if outside food is brought in, famine will continue indefinitely because no one will starve. The population will continue to grow even as starvation becomes more widespread.***CITE*** See Africa.
3. We were not completely anthro-centric. In modern society, human life is valued over all other life. The extinction of various species is simply a price we must pay to sustain our population. It hardly even comes into consciousness that perhaps some of us should die so that other creatures can survive. This mentality is carried to extreme degrees, even using the planet's resources to keep alive people who are in comas and vegetative states. Such individuals are consuming fresh water, food and petroleum (in the form of electricity), but it is absolutely unacceptable for us to let any of them die. Human death is to be avoided at all costs.
About 10,000 years ago, a shift occurred. The concept of imperialism entered our consciousness. We shifted from living subject to nature to living as rulers of nature. Since then, we've consumed more than half the Earth's petroleum, consumed or polluted much of our fresh water, consumed to near-extinction many of our food supplies (e.g. Buffalo), destroyed countless ecosystems (e.g. the rain forest), and brought our population up to nearly its breaking point.
Of course, we've reaped much reward for our efforts. We have warm, safe shelters, we no longer have to move around so much, we are at little to no risk from natural predators, our lifespan is greatly increased, we can enjoy luxuries like travel, movies, television, processed food and general gluttony.
Have we really reaped these rewards, though? You and I, here in the First World, get to enjoy these luxuries every day. However, most of the world's human population works to sustain this reality for us. About 90% of the people on earth will never travel for pleasure, own a computer or experience an overabundance of resources (2010, Worldwatch Institute). Though we do live longer, most of us spend our lives, as I said, working in fields or factories, with little or no opportunity for advancement.
And as we discovered before, there is no way to change this without revamping the entire system - there simply isn't enough room at the top or middle of the pyramid for nearly seven billion of us.
So why do we hear so little about this problem?

4. THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH

It would be difficult to effectively refute the points made so far in this pamphlet, but most will nevertheless try. The majority of educated people understand the concept of the pyramidal structure of society, yet one never hears of any plans to dismantle it. Why is this?
Our efforts to save the world come in many forms. There are environmentalists, who push for policies that will protect our remaining natural resources, but never at the expense of human life. There are activists who advocate change in the political structure, but never at the expense of human life. There are scientists who pursue technological breakthroughs that will allow us to sustain our species ...but never at the expense of human life. It would seem that all of those who aim to save the world believe that this plan must include all 6.8 billion of us. They are well-intentioned, but completely unable to step outside of their human-centric view of the world.
The reality is, if our population were to stay exactly the same (which is incredibly unlikely), we would still be in dire straits. If our population continues to grow as it has been growing, we will run out of key resources in just a handful of generations (take a look at WWI's State Of The World report). In other words- short of a scientific miracle- if we all live, we will all soon die.
Many experts speculate that the most likely scenario is world war. As resources like petroleum and clean water get to desperately low levels, we will begin to fight over them (even more than we already are). Eventually large-scale war will break out. If we are very lucky, nuclear war will be avoided, and only most of us will die. Otherwise, it would only take a relatively small nuclear war to devastate the ecosystem and severely damage global food production, causing widespread loss of human life (American Geophysical Union 2006).
In light of this information, one would expect activist groups to arise with ideas that could actually save our species in the long run. And they do, but they are branded anarchists and terrorists and quickly dismissed. This is because ANY PLAN TO SAVE THE WORLD THAT DOES NOT INCLUDE A 100% SHORT-TERM SURVIVAL RATE FOR HUMANS IS UNACCEPTABLE IN OUR CULTURE. The idea that our numbers should be allowed to dwindle until they match the resources we have is out of the question. If one single person needed to die to save the entire species, we would likely still resist. We see ourselves as Gods and our lives as invaluable. There is no "cycle of life" for humans, we do not return to the earth and feed the trees. We live forever. We are immortal.
Daniel Quinn puts it very succinctly when he describes our drive to conquer. Culture never directly states that we are imperialists over the natural world, but how often do you hear tales of our dominance? Humans have conquered space, we've conquered the moon, we've conquered the oceans, we've conquered the atom. We strive constantly for more and more dominance over the natural world. Whether we have the right to do so is never even vaguely questioned by our culture. This is our planet, and we can do what we want with it. Deforestation, oil drilling, housing developments built over marshland - these are often put to a vote. It never comes to a vote, though, whether we even have the right to vote on these things to begin with. Is it really OUR marsh to destroy? Well, if the majority of us think so, then yes. This is how we see things.
The human-centricity of our culture is so ubiquitous that most of us don't even notice it. Our whole lives, day to day, minute to minute, thought to thought are centered on ourselves and other people. Once in a rare while we notice the breeze, the sunshine, a little bird flitting by - but these things are not part of OUR world, they are from a SEPARATE world - "nature". According to our culture, nature is something outside of the human world, something to exploit or appreciate or save from afar, but never from within.
This type of thinking is truly the ONLY obstacle to the survival of our species. Because we are so attached to our own value, we refuse to entertain many viable options for improving the state of our species and of the world for generations to come. Obviously the options that we ARE entertaining have done little to nothing to reduce our population or slow its growth, so it seems logical that we would step outside the box and consider more "extreme" options. Contrary to popular belief, though, we are not a logical people. We are religious fanatics, believing in the divinity of human life beyond all other life, willing to chase this fantasy all the way to our own extinction.

5. THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL

Is there no hope for us, then? Nay, there is always hope. We must start fighting the right battles, though.
There is no solution that will preserve civilization as we know it. Civilization is dedicated to the consumption of the very resources which sustain it. It is not a perpetual motion machine, rather it is a candle flame, gradually consuming the very fuel that gives it life.
Therefore to save the world and our species, modern civilization must be abandoned. We must return to being subject to nature rather than its ruler. How, though, is this change to be accomplished? Most humans are so attached to civilization that they would lay down their very lives in the name of its preservation. Nature-centric perspectives are laughed at. Just stupid hippie shit, right?
Therefore what must be shifted is our consciousness. Until we begin to perceive our role in the world ecosystem, we will be powerless to alter it. If we continue to live out our little lives in our tiny worlds, continue to fight to change political policy that is all essentially the same anyways (anthrocentric), there is no hope for greater change. However, if people begin to understand the ways in which we are connected to each other and to the resources of our planet, potential for a positive shift arises.
Writers like Quinn and Zerzan are essential to precipitate such change, but they accomplish little or nothing if we don't act upon their teachings. Unless we become willing to actually recreate our day-to-day lives, even making personal sacrifices for the greater good, the status quo will persist.
What changes can be made on a personal level? Most simply, the very topic of this pamphlet can be discussed. Just bringing these concepts into general discourse will cause more people to ponder them, and perhaps a few of these people will change the conclusions they've come to regarding civilization. If we simply take time to think about our state of being as a species and our relationship with nature, the chances of progress increase rapidly.
Ideas spread like viruses. Look how quickly we went from coexistent hunter-gatherers to imperialists. This type of transformation can happen literally overnight. Once enough people become conscious of a certain reality, a tipping point is reached and it becomes widely known.
In fact, if you are seeking a more direct way to act, there are options. Already there are communities of people trying their best to live in accord with nature. These off-the-grid "communes" exist in Hawaii, Northern California, Oregon, India and other places. They are often difficult to find as they function without electricity or any access to mass communication, but to the noble seeker they will present themselves. The stronger and more prosperous these communities become, the more attractive they will become, and the more the idea of their lifestyle will spread.
A quick caveat: beware of communes that rely on resources from outside their territory. Although their level of participation in the global ecosystem is probably much reduced, it still exists. Especially beware of communities that rely on electricity or running water. These are basically glorified cabin retreats, and often consume resources at a much higher rate than average, though admittedly lower than the average First-World community.
Essentially, hope for humanity rests in you. It is entirely up to you to step outside your cultural mindset and be truly rational and analytical in your thinking about our species and its survival. It is up to you to encourage your peers to think similarly and even just to pique the interest of those who may become more open down the line. As our resources dwindle and our situation becomes worse, people will become more desperate and more likely to be open to non-traditional solutions. This is our opportunity to reach out and try to share the concept of a nature-centric way of life with our fellow humans.
I strongly encourage you to do your own reading, research and thinking about the topics I've discussed here. If you disagree strongly with a point in this pamphlet, play out both sides of the argument and see where you end up. Really analyze and be open to new ideas. Challenge yourself. Come to your own conclusions. Perhaps this is all bullshit, but if not, you will understand and internalize it far more thoroughly if you delve into it yourself rather than just taking my word for it.
Above all, connect with the world around you. Be aware of what you're consuming on a daily basis, how much time & energy you're giving to the world and to your peers, how much you're receiving. Notice when you consume resources that you don't really need, and notice whether you feel fulfilled after doing so. Be aware of your excess, of how much you have rather than what you want or need. Compare yourself to a Third-World citizen and look at your life in that perspective. Open your eyes. Soak it in.
The human race is on the brink of extinction, and these coming years may be our last chance to save it. May the sun shine on us all.

for the wind:

2010-11-26T07:55:00.000-08:00

nothing in the world is as tall
as my tuesday trees.

their zeniths soar above me
like so many swallows,
dawdling in summer breeze,
soft sway seducing sunlight.

she is drawn to the sun.

their branches ascend from their trunks
as though reaching out for God,
million leaves choral
in whispered prayer,
reverent as the infant's gaze.

she sometimes looks at me that way.

in ultimate ascension
of these giants
one would find himself omniscient,
staring upon the tops
of humanity's heads,
and in this forest of people,
only she could be distinguished --

she glows.

nothing in the world is as tall
as my tuesday trees.

Finally!

2009-02-20T03:26:00.000-08:00

After over thirteen months of anticipation, at last I publish a blog.

About a year ago, I decided to stop eating animal products for a variety of reasons.
Since then many people have asked me, quite legitimately, 'What do you eat?'.

As I haven't utilized this blog space in some time, I decided that it would be fun to show you what I cook for myself on a day-to-day basis. Enjoy!

Boiled spaghetti noodles in olive oil & flaked red pepper.
Tofu pan-fried in red palm oil with crushed black pepper, red chile, sea salt & fresh garlic.
Sauteed artichoke hearts, sundried tomatoes & vegan sausage.
Fresh chopped spinach.

This is my average lunch on a wednesday afternoon. More to come...

Stockholm Cancelled

2008-02-13T11:27:00.001-08:00

As you all know, I had planned to presently be in Stockholm, Sweden. As some of you have heard, I am in fact in El Cerrito, California.

Unfortunately my trip had to be cancelled last-second. The reasons for this were several, having to do with, amongst other things, logistical difficulties with myself & with the parties I was going to visit.

On the plus side, I was able to recieve a voucher for most of the value of my ticket, so I have untill November to travel by plane if I choose.

Also, I am taking the days off I have to relax and take a little personal vacation, so if I am difficult to reach by phone or email, that is probably why.

Love you all..

2008: Best Year Ever.

2008-01-02T12:12:00.000-08:00

I would like to share with everyone that I have experienced what is commonly known as a premonition. I had a dream about a week ago from which I awoke in a cold sweat, breathing heavily, mind reeling from the force of the experience. I have no memory of the dream itself, only the solitary thought that remained, resounding in my head as a deep, thunderous voice that said

"DUDE! Two thousand eight, is gonna be pretty sweet. Potentially top three."

Top three! That's right up there with '04 (I don't know about you guys, but my '04 was pretty incredible). Try as I might, I couldn't shake the impact of the experience. Even now, when I think about the forgotten dream, my spine shivers and a smile forms at the corner of my lip. I feel excitement flitting about in my belly, building up to the crescendo of phenomenalness that will be 2008! It's pretty amazing.

Now you may be asking yourself, "is this for real, or just more of Evan's cruel hyperbole?" Well, you may rest assured that this post is practically true, which is even better than being true, because it's more practical.

That said, I'm off to enjoy a kickass year of bountiful goodness - I'll see you out there.

These Brambles Are Not A Metaphor

2007-11-27T20:32:00.001-08:00

Welcome to JEL.

2007-11-25T11:30:00.001-08:00

The San Francisco Bay

2007-11-21T11:02:00.000-08:00

Goodbye, Sweet Ireland

2007-11-06T00:42:00.000-08:00

Alas, my time in this fair city is almost come to an end. In just over an hour I'll be riding the bus to Dublin airport to embark on a leisurely twelve hour journey back to San Francisco. I'll definitely be returning to Europe and eventually Ireland again.

The Dracula Experience

2007-11-04T01:44:00.000-07:00

(The above picture is from the coast of the North of Ireland. It has nothing to do with this entry.)

I ventured a few minutes out of town on the DART (guess what it stands for) to go to the Bram Stoker Museum. While interesting, it wasn't quite what I expected - it was very elaborately designed to scare the visitor, without great effort put into being exceptionally informative. Even so, I had a good time, and I did learn more than I knew about Bram. One can also see some of the various places that he lived in here in Dublin, though they are mostly akin to visiting Jerry's old digs in the city - now it's just someone's house.
After that it began raining, so I decided to indulge in an old Irish past time & go watch some football (i.e. soccer). I found a really cool pub on the north side of the river full of very spirited fans - who, fortunately, were rooting for the team that won. It was a lot of fun. Culturally it's a contrast to Berkeley in terms of drinking - public drunkenness isn't really as frowned upon, and it's not uncommon to see guys my age stumbling down the street as early as two or three in the afternoon.
After that it was back to the hostel to relax and write for a while. I was then able to catch a few hours of sleep before again waking up ridiculously early for no good reason - seems I've caught the insomnia bug once again. Hopefully once I resume running it'll just fade away again.
Now it's waiting for the Stepdad to return from Liverpool & unknown adventures to follow...

Wild Wicklow

2007-11-03T03:22:00.000-07:00

I signed up for a day tour called the "Wild Wicklow Tour", a guided coach & walking tour of County Wicklow in Ireland. I thought it was just a clever name. As I pulled my sweaty, exhausted heap of self into my bunk many hours later, I reflected through my massive grin that it had truly lived up to its name. Well.. perhaps that story's a bit longer.
The tour itself was really good - our hilarious Irish guide, Michael, gave us a side-splitting but also quite informative tour of the countryside, a number of notable glacial lakes & cliff trails, and an old Celtic monastery & graveyard. It is amazing how much blood has been soaked up by Ireland's fair hillsides, but equally impressive are the tales of her survival & perseverance.
I have refrained from posting more pictures of the countryside, because they can hardly do it justice. It is nearly impossible to capture the array of color that paints the Irish forest - Johnny Cash put it quite succinctly when he remarked from an airplane over Ireland that there must be forty different shades of green down there.
To return to the allusion I made at the beginning of this entry, all I will write here is that I met some Australians on the coach who I went out with that night, and I will state for the official record that Auzzies are all right in my book.
Now I'm off to do something with myself for the day - as luck would have it, my insomnia has returned with a vengeance, so an attempted nap may be in order.
The moral of this post is, if you get a chance, come to Dublin.

Guinness Lake, County Wicklow, Ireland

2007-11-02T04:26:00.001-07:00

Unfortunately, it's just water.

Causeway Stones

2007-10-31T01:29:00.000-07:00

This is the Giant's Causeway - the stones are a natural occurrence yet they're perfectly hexagonal. The white is seafoam. Really unbelievable when you see them. To get an idea of size, you'd have just enough room to stand on a stone with both feet together.

Political Graffiti

2007-10-30T03:33:00.000-07:00

This is part of the wall that divides the Loyalist from the Republican neighborhoods. On this particular section, thousands of people from all over the world have come and written messages of peace. The Ulster Freedom Fighters, a militant Loyalist force, sprayed their prominent black logo over the pleas for non-violence.

Mural in Belfast

2007-10-30T03:28:00.001-07:00

It should be noted that this is not any particular building, just the side of someone's house.

Dublin City Marathon

2007-10-29T08:32:00.000-07:00

I finished!

It was very emotional. At about mile 15 I decided that I hated marathons, running, words of encouragement, mile markers & life itself. At mile 20 I was born again to a second wind that had me hi-fiving the bystanders. At around 22 my body was done with the run, but I made it keep running anyways. It was angry. Come last mile, headlines started floating through my head like "Delerious Marathoner Slaughters Thousands with Bare Hands". At the finish line I shed tears.

Now I'm at an Internet Cafe up THREE FLIGHTS OF STAIRS FOR SOME REASON but it's cheap so whatever. (Pardon my lack of beautiful prose at the moment). I have a coupon for a big ol' footlong Subway sandwich that I'm about to throw down on, it's gonna be some serious action. I want everyone to know that I eat meatball subs with EVERYTHING on them and if you don't, you're missing out.

In case anyone's wondering, a marathon is 26.2 miles or 42km (I seriously get asked this a LOT), I don't have my official time yet but my gate time was 4:20 (I'm guessing official is within 5min of this), and yes my legs hurt.

It was an intensely satisfying experience.

I am too hungry to write more.

Belfast

2007-10-27T10:12:00.000-07:00

Belfast has been incredible & intense. As soon as we arrived, we took the "Black Cab Ride", a personal tour of the city focusing on the conflict. I came to Belfast under the impression that the conflict had ended. While it has greatly lessened, what I did not know was that one condition of the peace agreement was that the media is no longer allowed to report any conflict news. The wall still exists, a mass of concrete, steel & barbed wire dividing Catholics & Protestants, and people are still fighting.
In the city center, however, tensions didn't seem to be too high. Nobody talked about which side of the fight they were on, and I wasn't asked anything about it once. A local told me that it is understood that you simply don't bring it up in mixed areas if you know what's best for everyone.
Belfast has two newspapers, a Republican (Catholic) paper and a Loyalist (Protestant) paper, which apparently report very different news. There are memorials, murals & political graffiti in the neighborhoods with very, very direct statements. I will post some pictures when I can.
The weight of the blood beneath one's feet here can be felt upon the heart. Thank God there is at least mostly peace. I pray it will remain so.

On a very different note, I visited the coast of Ireland at Giant's Causeway, a dumbfounding volcanic rock formation. You can't really see the rocks so well in the picture I put up so I'll add a couple other ones soon. The headlands were amazingly picturesque, with little paths along the cliffside, high winds and wayward sheep. I will venture so far as to say that I found it much more impressive than the headlands at Marin. It was the most peaceful place I have visited thus far in Europe.

I am catching the train back down to Dublin in a few hours. A day's rest, then running tomorrow morning. I'm quite nervous. For those who don't know, I pulled my achilles tendon about three weeks ago. I have been mostly off my feet since then, but there's no telling whether it will stand up to 26 miles. As a result I am not running for any particular time, but just hoping to finish. I am pretty confident I'll be able to do so, just hoping I don't end up walking the last fifteen miles...

I'll write the night of the race to say how it went. Wish me luck!

As a brief aside, I would like the world to know that "beer" is a verb here in Ireland, as in "Let's beer!" or "Do you want to go beering?" It's amazing.

Giant's Causeway

2007-10-27T09:51:00.001-07:00

Europe

2007-10-25T02:58:00.000-07:00

My travels thus far have been amazing. I find it hard to write in descriptive detail with so little time, so forgive me if the following language is quite simple.

Rome had me fairly awestruck the whole time. It is not just the landmarks, but nearly every structure in the city that is ancient, massive and elaborately carved & decorated. Everywhere I looked was another beautiful statue, column or arch. The Forum, including the Colosseum, left me speechless. To consider that men built such structures with their bare hands & simple ropes & pulleys, that are so huge and still standing (partially) is just incredible.

Perhaps the most impressive was the Pantheon. I cannot fathom how ten million men in a hundred years could build such a structure. Photographs did little justice in conveying just how titanic that dome is - it envelops you as the ocean does a little fish, one solid block of stone which must equal the size in volume of an entire block of houses in Berkeley.

The Vatican was equally impressive. The works of Raphael & Michaelangelo, especially the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel, brought tears to my eyes. Everything from ancient mosaic floors to gold leaf fresco walls was intricate to the point of genius. Truly my respect for humanity as a race & its creative capacities was increased drastically in Roma.

I am in Dublin now, friendly, warm & lively. I must say, they like to party here, and everyone is invited. Never have I had more strangers approach me to offer directions, advice or a kind word. The music & dance, as well, is very impressive.

I will write more as it comes to me - I haven't even started on the food & drink yet.

Off to Belfast tomorrow and a marathon in four days, wish me luck!

Evan

Roma

2007-10-19T00:13:00.000-07:00

Dublin.

2007-10-18T23:51:00.001-07:00

Europe Draws Near

2007-10-15T09:41:00.000-07:00

****UPDATED - VOICEMAIL INSTRUCTIONS CORRECTED****

In less than thirty hours I'll be in Dublin, Ireland. Heck yes!

I'm in the middle of packing, but I'm writing this quick blog to drop some key knowledge on you.

1. You can reach me by email at thefreshmaster@hotmail.com. I will check & feasibly reply to email whilst abroad.

2. I have an ekit voicemail box which you can call toll-free and leave me a message. Here's how:

"To leave me a message while I'm away:
Dial this access number
1-888-579-0208
Press *, followed by 2
Enter my account number
2111065620 then press #
And leave me a message."

3. I have trained a small flock of carrier pidgeons and hidden it somewhere in Contra Costa County. The first person to successfully contact me via pidgeon will receive $20 million as soon as JEL turns a profit.

I'll be updating this blog as often as possible from Europe, although I have no idea right now how often that actually is. Also, there will be photographs. Stay tuned...

Mooo.

2007-10-07T13:33:00.000-07:00

...Cowtown Cancelled...

I won’t be running the Sacramento Cowtown Marathon this Sunday. For some reason, I decided to go and pull my Achilles Tendon, so it looks like rest & ice for a little while. Thankfully, a friend of the family is a doctor who specializes in this sort of thing, who I hear has agreed to take a look at my poor ankle. Very generous indeed.

I’m hoping with a little downtime and a little luck I’ll still be able to run the marathon in Dublin on the 29th, but only time will tell.

I mean, who the hell wants to run 26 miles in a row, anyway, right?

My hopes are high that I’ll heal up in time for DCM. My body’s been good to me so far, it’s got no reason to stop now. Meanwhile the only other thought in my head is ROME IN TWELVE DAYS!

Until then.

Barbeque This Weekend - BYOM

2007-09-21T00:43:00.000-07:00

Parking will be two miles beyond the East wall of my estate, behind the golf course, next to the servant's quarters. Please refrain from arriving by any means larger than a Learjet. You should bring roughly ten to fifteen pounds of hundred-dollar bills to use as toilet paper during your stay.

Don't forget your phone charger.

The video had me rolling on the floor.. is this for real? I feel like I'm watching Unflinching Triumph all over again. Sprint openly mocks its target audience, only a hundred people who are probably all very well educated. That's awesome. The cut where the guy's in the pool changed my life.

Do you think Rupert Murdoch's head will explode when he watches this? I believe it might. There should be more web sites like this in the world. It's the most truly, deeply entertaining thing I've seen in the last few days. I love it.

I'd better sleep, though...

I Hate Northside.

2007-09-16T11:12:00.000-07:00

Sorry, Elise.

I set out yesterday evening on my now-beloved bicycle to ride up to La Val's Subterranean, a local independent theater venue located in the basement of the popular pizza joint in Berkeley. Subterranean is located at Euclid & Hearst. It is the heart of a neighborhood teeming with City-Council-lovin' homeowners (read: yuppies), members of the Church of Christ, Scientist & Cal students who are too "mature" to live south of campus.

The area is peppered with very short, steep hills that lead to intersections with no street signs. This was designed by the Northside Homeowners Association to prevent tourism, cycling & fun in the area. They also planted palm trees (see Ridge & Scenic) in order to confuse you further. I hate you, Northside.

On a brighter note, the play that we attended, Sleepy, was phenomenal. I believe it's playing there for a while longer, so if you can stomach the location, I highly recommend going.

Just bring a map.

22.

2007-09-11T15:36:00.000-07:00

This blog brought to you by the Brazil Cafe.

I love Tri-Tip.

I had debated for much of this previous week whether to run twenty-two miles on Saturday. It had been my original plan, until my marathon-sensei told me that I was probably ready for Dublin, so long as I kept running medium distances between now and then.

My initial plan of running 22, then 24 miles before reaching the eventual 26.2 was, it seemed, utterly unnecessary.

Nevertheless, when Saturday rolled around, I succumbed to my stubborn nature and decided to run my long run. It was perfect: a little sunny, a little cloudy, not too hot. I laced up, ate some cereal, finished listening to the latest TWiT, grabbed my water bottle and set out.

Immediately I noticed that I was over-paced. I know my long run paces pretty well, and I could tell I was going a little too fast. For some reason, though, I decided to go with it for a little while. I figured that I'd hit the halfway mark, get tired & slow down.

But no! I hit the eleven-mile-mark feeling stronger than ever. I completed the whole run without dropping pace. The result?

20 miles had taken me 3:30. At my 10 minute pace, I expected to run 22 in 3:50. I got home, eager to check my time, but not expecting anything much faster than that. I was shocked to discover that I had run 22 miles in 3:10, an 8.6-minute pace (which is like 8:40, I think).

Could running become more than just recreation for young Evan? I'd have to get a good bit faster than this, but considering that in some sick, maladaptive way I actually enjoyed running that far, it's a possibility.

More to come, as always...

Those Bastards.

2007-09-05T12:30:00.000-07:00

A new ipod? Are you kidding me? I hate you. I hate you, Apple, so much.

Moving on.

After a fantastic morning (other than the ipod thing), I've learned that I now have today off. What to do? Maybe I'll have a little rebellion. You know, throw glass bottles at cop cars, set trash cans on fire, check my email near a Wi-Fi cafe WITHOUT BUYING A CUP OF COFFEE.. on second thought, that might be going a little too far.

No.. maybe just head to North Beach for some of San Francisco's best Cannoli.

I wanna live in North Beach. I can't afford it, though.

If you would like to sponsor me, please call or email anytime.

There's a flying insect in my room. I must go take care of this situation. Good day..

spiderweb.

2007-08-29T20:04:00.001-07:00

Twenty Miles

2007-08-25T19:40:00.000-07:00

It is done. It took me three and a half hours, seventy ounces of water & some kind of masochistic bent, but I ran twenty miles. You know what I'm gonna do for the rest of the day?

Whatever I want.

I'm only six-point-two miles away from Cowtown, then shortly thereafter, Dublin. I can't freakin wait to go to Europe. I've been purposely not thinking about it. It's like waiting for morning to come on Christmas when you're a little kid. It's maddening.

Let's talk about music for a minute. Underground hip-hop is experiencing a resurgence, in my opinion, of dope, conscious lyricism & razor-sharp production ON THE SAME ALBUMS. I'm serious. It's like putting Reflection Eternal in my stereo for the first time, all over again.

The up-and-comers that I'm keeping an ear on are Illogic, Roots Manuva, Jemini, Braille, Danger Mouse, Forensic Science, Zion I & The Living Legends. Check 'em out... there's some really original, progressive music happening right now that YOU should be a part of.

That's all I got right now. Back to my cup of coffee, to Berkeley for the night & my tired legs get no solace..

Goodnight.

The Mini-Vacation.

2007-08-22T18:52:00.000-07:00

Those of you who may have called me today will have received a new voicemail: the mini-vacation notice.

I was feeling a bit stressed out, so I decided to turn my phone off last night and spend today by myself, doing whatever I felt like. It's 7 PM and I'll say this about it: it was a damn good idea.

I went for a beautiful 10mi run along the Emeryville waterfront. Perfect weather, just the right amount of wind, smooth sailing, and it gave me a chance to contemplate a few of the things that have been on my mind, and come to some conclusions. Solid.

Cut my hair off. Damn near all of it. Honestly, it's not a style thing. I don't think it looks particularly better or worse than it did before. To be completely honest, it's just too damn hot outside to have all that hair on my head. Another bonus is that I don't have to deal with the whole gel / styling thing. Out of bed, ready to go. It's pretty sweet.

Right now I've got a couple of Yukon Golds boiling on my stove, along with a nice Ribeye and some Asparagus ready to get in my belly. I'm contemplating a little bourbon cayenne cream sauce for the steak & some orange butter for the greens.

Ah, the finer things in life.

I'm hopeful that "everything else", i.e. the causes of the internal strife, will resolve themselves peacefully, and it will all work out for the best.

And to that, I shall toast, over the feast that I must now go prepare.

To life.

flickr

2007-08-17T12:33:00.000-07:00

I have created a flickr account.

The name is Thefreshmaster.

I'm not sure how to link to my pictures yet, so it's on you to find them. If you liked my picture of the Seagull, you will like the rest of my photos. They are usually of other objects, similar in size to the gull, with different cool things in the background other than the bay bridge, but often similar in size. They're amazing. Good luck.

(remember, I'm hardly ever THAT serious....)

PS, I am going to see Rage Against the Machine live in concert, on their last tour, at Rock The Bells tomorrow, and you aren't. Sorry, I had to say that.

I breathe as The City breathes -

2007-08-15T17:02:00.001-07:00

we hyperventilate.

I am in San Francisco, the city who understands me. Messenger bags, iPhones & skateboards swirl around me in sync with the chorus of roaring engines, honking horns and abrasive Street Spirit sellers. San Francisco undulates under my quickened step, she vibrates with my urgency. Here my obsession with speed and connectivity is no less absurd - but it's understood by the masses. Leaning my tiny shoulder against a massive skyscraper, my unholstered PDA inhaling WiFi like fresh-baked-cookie aroma to a little kid, a woman walks by - we make eye contact... but only for a moment, as her gaze shifts back to the email she's writing on her Treo. Here, we don't need long stares - we glance in broadband. It's all unspoken, all tacit. We're all connected.

I credit The City for Berkeley & Oakland's technological awakening. We of the East Bay know that if we want to come to FiDi or Nob Hill, we're going to need something with an antenna - otherwise we'll be trapped on the outside, looking in.

Here, on my laptop, in an internet cafe overlooking Bush street, in the shadow of massive structure and the thickness of internet as it floats across the breeze, I feel at home.

Please don't get me wrong - I absolutely love the great outdoors. Hours ago I was running along the Bay, surrounded by protected marshland on either side, nothing electronic in sight or mind, and loving it.

But I also love the great indoors - the wealth of knowledge at our fingertips.

And I love the pace - everything's faster here. If you stop walking on Market Street you'll get run into, if you stroll you'd better watch out for the fastwalkers coming up behind you. Drive fast, talk fast & connect fast - or you'll be left behind. Quite motivating.

So this is my brief ode to this place.. because without The City.. it would just be "BAT".

Evan

on Why He Never Updates His Blog

2007-07-30T14:57:00.000-07:00

Are pronouns capitalized in titles? I can't remember. Maybe I'm getting soft.

It's 3 PM, monday afternoon. Work starts in an hour and a half. I am supposed to be getting in the shower right now. Instead, I'm blogging.
To return to the subject at hand, though: it's not that I don't have any free time. It's all about how I choose to use said time. Today I hung out with Tahiti and played with Wikipedia & Google Earth for a couple hours. I'm obsessed with WIKI. It's almost as fun to say as "Tiki", and even more educational. It doesn't provide ambiance like tiki torches do, but I hear that technology is in the works.
Then I went for a run, came home and made oatmeal. Brown sugar, butter, golden raisins, mmm. I just finished it. Now I'm blogging.
I recommend buying a 2-liter bottle of club soda, opening it, and letting it go flat in the fridge. It will still retain some bubbliness for weeks but not enough to make you burp; however, the bubbliness that remains is sufficient to make the water "taste" colder than it really is. It's incredibly refreshing after a run.

I guess I'd better go get ready.

I may start updating this page more frequently, especially if I get the Tablet PC I'm thinking of (the Asus R1F). No promises.

P.S. Does anyone know why carbonation makes beverages seem colder in your mouth? If so, please write.

E

i got a camera...

2007-07-03T23:26:00.001-07:00

Writer's Block.

2007-03-22T18:29:00.000-07:00

...I've got it bad, guys.

I haven't written any poetry in almost three weeks. I'm going insane! So I started thinking about why.. am I missing something? Let's take a gander at Evan's life and see where we stand.

1. Health.
There's a little room for improvement here. I intend to quit smoking in the next couple of months. I've been excersizing a little more outside of work, but I'd like to increase that as well. I've been eating semi-decently. I'd like to get a little healthier, and by healthier I mean TOTALLY BUFF. I wanna like, throw cars over fences, and stuff.

2. Finance.
I've been making the proverbial fat bank. Seriously. I'm freakin rich. I'm talkin about the kind of financial freedom to buy as many pop-tarts as I want, all the time. It's amazing.

3. Work.
I work too much. Hence all the cash. However, I just had two days off and I'm scheduled for two days off a week for the next while. Plus, now that I'm serving, five shifts a week will be more than enough. So things are looking up, and by up, I mean ROCKIN THE FUCK OUT. Pardon my french.

4. Social.
I have a solid community of fairly awesome people around me, including Brendan "Quasar" Callum, Elizabeth "one-of-the-guys" Moore, Joe the Rockstar, Allen "yes, I AM asian" Seol, the elusive MohMoh, Lucia "basically my roommate" Saboe, Ryan & Ian, Abraham the motherfuckin POET, Little Meth, Cazz-tastic, and of course Lewis & Mike. We're not lackin here.

5. I forget what 5 was.

6. Time Management.
Doin well in my book. I've been spending a little more time alone in the hopes that it would encourage me to write, but alas, no luck yet.

So what the hell people!! Why can't I write? I'm upset. I mean throw a sandwich at you upset. And I will. Oh, yes I will.
It seems my only option is to embrace the teachings of Lao Tzu and just let things flow on their own. I've had longer gaps than this. What's painful is I can FEEL a poem forming inside me but it's not quite to the point of nascence. Oh well. I've got to get back to my laundry and my hanging out reading old notebooks, which I often do when I've got writer's block, so until next time, just say no.

Sleepless

Found In An Old Notebook.

2007-03-22T15:30:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it's better just to write and not think about it. One of those times is now, thought Evan as he sat on tables. He wanted revenge, all right. Revenge on the semi that had taken his left leg, revenge on his ex-wife, and revenge on the llama that had left him unable to make a fist with his right hand or pronounce the word "and". "And" was a tricky one to get around, especially since he didn't know the words "plus" or "also". He had a very rough time in math class.

But all this was rather incidental, as Evan was, in fact, a tree frog. Or so he thought. But since tree frogs can't think, none of this was really an issue. Except the part about his ex-wife. But I'd rather not go into that, for the sake of my left kidney.

None of this makes sense, thought Evan as he sat writing, but this thought was soon overcome by his realization that he was somehow, as a one-legged, no-fisted and vocabularily challenged tree frog, able to write.

Then a plane hit him and he died of SARS, but did Bill Clinton care? No one knows.

The point of all this is to realize that life is really a continuous stream of nonsense, at least when you're me. Which for me is a lot of the time.

So stay calm, eat your kids & floss daily, or is it Sunday? Who cares.

WHERE DID THIS SQUIRREL COME FROM??

Written Three Years Ago...

2007-03-22T15:05:00.000-07:00

perfect pain permeates this pitiful pleasure --

self-worth's measure becomes grams
I embark on blind endeavors like lambs --
my spirit strains to soar but my mind is
tethered to land,

so on I march, determined to repair
my severed hands

that drip the blood of selfish martyrs
the love of selfish fathers
and it falls upon the mud that is
the drug of helpless daughters --

it mixes and its thickness maybe mocks me
the elixer is intoxicating, wickedly it stops
me from the pain --

my name is lost, my soul's not far behind,
the game is lost forever and I've nearly
lost my mind--

so I explore impossibility with rhyme,
enduring time like weathering a storm
but never cleverer than sin
I chase euphoria like treasure hunters
tunneling for diamonds in their mines --

but all I find is coal.

General Musings

2007-02-19T13:57:00.000-08:00

I was on San Pablo Avenue the other day and I noticed Tulip Hardware Floors in a location at which it previously didn't exist. My first thought was, "oh, Tulip moved". Then on my way home later, I noticed Tulip in its original location at San Pablo and Carlson. I thought to myself, "oh, Tulip expanded". My train of thought continued as follows:
"Well of course Tulip expanded. Hardwood floors are the shit. I mean, who doesn't like hardwood floors? People who don't like hardwood floors have something wrong with them. They were dropped as babies. In fact, if you don't like hardwood floors, fuck you."

This is a brief insight into the workings of my mind. I hope you've enjoyed.

(untitled)

2007-02-12T23:21:00.000-08:00

sticks,
the warm blood oozing from the half-heart
in your left hand
to the in-betweens of your fingers.
you notice this only once you decide
to try to open your hand.

falls,
the remnant of muscle torn apart
from your unfurled fingertips,
landing with a plop on the scorched earth
below.
this you choose to ignore.

remains,
for eternities thereafter in that same spot
the broken heart of humanity
till arrives who with passion and love
enough to mend it.
for this you hope.

Unicorn

2007-01-07T15:09:00.000-08:00

last night I dreampt I was a leapfrog,
vaulting with sudden grace
the murk of the swamp -
you were there, and you were a unicorn,
and you might have been a little drunk.

having awakened I felt strange and reborn,
as a butterfly, akward in its freshly found form,
unaware of its profound beauty
but appearing sure, aloof and full of grace.

I flew with a freedom few have
ever found over desecrated land
and war-torn state,
eventually landing on the tip
of a lavender petal, dancing with its
subtle sway.

it made me think of you in terms of
that dream, roaming mystic lands
on magical adventures,
galloping the golden meadows
of imagination and -
your touch does that to me.

dark coffee and porter course through
my veins and I wonder if this is
what it's like to be a poet,
needing nothing more than sensation
of graphite sliding softly onto paper
through my pencil.

kool-aid man and licking
lime juice from my fingertips
love Berkeley,
cleansed by that gentle mist that's
neither fog nor rain,
and in the distance,
from the depths of shroud
I think I see your single horn
emerging.

I yearn to ride upon your back,
chest pressed against you
and face whipped by your
windswept mane, gaze trained on yours,
but I think you'd throw me off.

so I am content to soar fast and low
above you,
the wild in our eyes exchanging glances,
destinationless and driven
by the passion pouring from the sky,
nearly swift enough to catch the sunset.

eventually we'll collapse in exhuasted
heap and pant sonnets,
wings and mane all tangled
in sweat and laughter,
but now the hills are golden,
the sky a velvet orange-pink
and we must not stop,
or the sun will slip away.

Seagull

2006-12-27T02:59:00.000-08:00

her life is crumbling, she tells me,
who I barely know,
and the curling vapors
in their heavenly ascent
from my last cigarette
seem to coalesce with the stars,
a word she just taught me.

wine is love and beer is rough sex,
or so say the Gods,
cool warm wind-rain splash on my
face is just as real
as the penciltip
and your knowing smile
tastes teardrop-pure.

bed is warmer than my heart,
which is worn,
soft embraces me touching
my own hair and I keep an
extra pillow here
because I like to cuddle.

we could have talked for hours
and said the same thing
for nectar slid from respective lips
creating calm like foggy woods
and I don't know my way
unless I'm lost,
so I wander.

seven sunsets fade away
and lapping bay is tactile,
gulls call out to each other
above me and I wonder
if they like poems,
wings with grace that make
me feel far from the sky.

the last time I felt this full
I was love
behind a microphone,
and trust that rare it is
on days without milk tea
or too much gin.

so I lay down,
pillow beside and soaked in solace
to dream,
almost too amazed that
when I wake up,
I will still be here.

her life,
she says,
is crumbling.

Evan's Life at a Glance

2006-12-01T11:31:00.000-08:00

El Cerrito. That's where I live - alone in a two bedroom apartment until a roommate arrives. Meeting a potential tomorrow, I've gotten a few responses already and things look pretty good. Furniture donations welcome.
Jupiter, where I work - a brewpub style restaurant in downtown Berkeley. Excellent pizza and, I'm told, very good beer. Fun people and great atmosphere, just don't get lost walking home or change the background on your phone... yeah. Well, some of you know what I'm talking about. I am the biggest loser ever.
Good times are being had by all. Things seem to be coming together pretty well. I have kind of a nasty cold but it's subsiding. Should be all better after the weekend.
Head's up, biting my bottom lip sometimes but it's been trickier. My legs are sore from the pace around here, but I'm building endurance. Wish me luck in all endeavors and for God's sake, come visit.

Sleepless

State of Sleepless 2006 - Official Document

2006-11-16T11:56:00.000-08:00

November 2006 State of Sleepless (Official)
Published by EWO
(c)2006

Having exceeded an acceptable length of time away from the 510 area code by approximately nineteen (19) seconds, Evan made the decision to embark on a dark and dangerous bus journey back to the East Bay.
Despite overwhelming opposition and multiple near-death experiences involving trolls, yeti & small, loud children, he successfully returned. He stayed in Dublin, CA for approximately one week before stumbling upon godsent habitation: a room for rent across Adeline from Ashby BART.
Though some would describe said room using such terms as "attic", the rent was almost excessively reasonable and the location was more than ideal. At the time of this publication, Evan is scheduled to move his various belongings to his new place of habitation on the evening of Thursday the Sixteenth (16th) of the fine month of November.
In poetic news, Evan and his pointy-eared friend Abraham have, under the pseudonyms Sleepless and Cheese, embarked on a mission to revolutionize the way spoken word & slam poetry are treated by poets. In short, they intend to bring you the raw, uncut, heart-on-the-slab shit that you love to hate, right here in the 510 area code & beyond. Hailing from Albany and Marin respectively, neither poet calls himself a "gangster", but both nonetheless use bad words in their poems from time to time. Their debut at the Starry Plough on the evening of Fifteen (15) November of this very year sparked intrigue, fascination, awe, and one guy peed his pants.* More to come.
Evan Enterprises, L.L.C., currently possesses a small financial reserve which stands to carry it through the next two and a half months, however its CEO, Evan, is currently exploring opportunities in private ventures (read: I need a job). E.E., L.L.C., is open to any input, advice or idea for potential employment and would love to hear from you.
In global news, at the present time Evan does not rule the world, at least not in the constraining social & cultural sense of the phrase. Progress is being made by leaps and bounds, however, and according to official sources, "[Evan] like, rules your mind, man." That is all.
In just a few months EWO will proudly publish State of Sleepless 2007, so check back. If you would like to subscribe to our periodical, please leave US1,000,000 in non-sequential unmarked bills in the trash can on the corner of 23rd & Broadway between 2:00PM and 4:00PM on the third Thursday of the month. After the money has been verified and counted, you will recieve further instructions.

*This did not actually happen. It was fabricated. An investigation as to the identity of the fabricator is underway.*

*This is also a lie.

---end of report---

Leaving Arizona

2006-10-13T12:16:00.000-07:00

the pencil had ever moved itself
with exceptional ease
through the valley of desperate hope,
his sole respite from
the desert of darker days
that surrounded him,

but faced with ascent
the graphite tip lingered in that
empty white space
between passion and apathy,

praying for rain.

as the candle to the conflagration
he longed to melt,
wax puddle in utter communion
with the millions of sparks of
inspiration and
the taste on his breath would be
freedom,

of this he was certain.

he was but a soldier
caught in a stalemate,
having long since tossed aside
his white flag in defiance,
now in endless wait --

holding out that the sun might
someday bleach his black shirt
into his coveted symbol of concession
that he might finally
lay his arms upon the sand
and lay his head upon the fern
and sleep,
for once,

with both eyes shut.

he was the criminal who never got caught,
the con artist who was never exposed,
the gangster never struck by stray shots,
the daredevil never injured.

like a ripe tomato resting beneath
a carbon steel blade,
its thin skin barely able to resist
the lure of the razor's edge,
it would take only the most minute
disturbance to slice him in two,

so he dared not exhale,

terrified he might taste freedom.

so when the last grain of dust blows
away,
when the last sliver of sun sets in the
distance, never to rise again,
when the last round is spent
and every surviving soldier
returns home,
when the last droplet of sweet
moisture evaporates
and the final faltering fern
falls lifeless,

he will stand alone in the
barren wasteland
amongst all the demons
and all the angels once unseen,

and he will grow warm,

and he will melt --

and when he finally lets leave
his lungs that last sacred breath,
the taste
upon his parched lips
will be freedom,

and he will smile.

Stolichnaya

2006-10-10T20:40:00.000-07:00

he sat stoic in that same
spot on the sand,
strained,
every muscle taut
as the tightrope he traversed,
gaze trained on the stormclouds
over the ocean
in the distance.
every individual grain of broken rock
scratched his skin
and itching in a thousand seperate
places he had given up on shifting.

he stayed still.

he might have seen that same
thundercloud the previous evening,
somewhere deep beneath her
watery stare,
just as ominous
as the blackness
drifting toward his lonely island.

palm leaves flapped sharp replies
to the icy wind that cut
across his beach,
standing strong but at the same time
perfectly content with the prospect
of their imminent destruction.

they were at peace.

in his mind, though,
the storm had already hit --
third eye pelted with
bullet rain between
the blinding bolts of not her,
not holding her that
struck his guilty heart
almost constantly --

so he remained perfectly still
but filled with great power
as a fox fixated on a fragile fawn,
anxiously awaiting absolution
but secretly
he longed to be punished
for his sins.

so to this very moment he
sits motionless
watching the storm that may never come,
neither hope nor shame yet great enough
to impel him to seek shelter,

but knowing through and through
that even if he turns to dust
in wait,
the softness of her body
and the fleeting grace of her words
will have been worth it.

Lime Juice

2006-10-06T01:00:00.000-07:00

it tasted the same.

the stage reminded me of the
psychotic killer's basement, finally
disovered by the helpless heroine in the
third act,
walls painted with splattered blood
and entrails,

only here were entrails of spirits,
of passion;
blood of dignity and self-respect.

I might be starting to stir from my long slumber.

I heard a voice tonight
like a splash of ice water on my face,
she who cares for me like no other can,
as a true friend but
it made me miss that substance --

ephemeral,
long since extinguished,
never to burn as once the old pyre stood hot and crackling,
and my hands are cold tonight.

I long for the shore.

I long to sit and watch the waves in the moonlight,
alone, nameless,
to sit and pour my heart out,
to bear my soul
and my only replies will be
the swells crashing against the rocky coast,
and in that deafening silence,
all will be said.

absolved,

maybe,

but despite the lust,
despite the love,
despite the loss lingering on my lips
in the dead of night;
despite the warm campfires
and hearty laughs
and cool breezes across my bare chest;

in spite of every moment that had ever touched my tongue,

the taste never changed.

Firefly

2006-10-03T11:39:00.000-07:00

in a tame attempt to be tender
I gently stroke her slender thigh
but find it to be rough
like her edges,
likely cries in private
but she's murderously sly.

frames twice the size of hers
couldn't bear the verbage of
what I imagine comprises
her biography
yet her step is light
as a lily pad perched pious
on the glass surface of an abyss
in still air,
oblivious to the darkness
of the depths beneath it.

soaked in spirit
she spirals aimlessly but
each tiny turn is precise.

it's deliberate, plotted,

desperate.

watching her, one might see himself:
arms outstretched
on a hot summer night,
the sun having barely set behind
the skyscrapers,
wondering if the ant marvels
at the firefly.

take it as you will and
so shall I but
it's that dreamy contemplative
state into which she coaxes you,
feeling utterly safe
under the drop of blood
that rolls down your neck
from where the swordtip touches it.

so staring into her sad gaze it's
all I can do not to lean forward,
as I have so many other times and
lived so many other lines
that my rhymebook gathers dust
and I just want to sleep
in peace --

like an origami doll cuddling
with razor wire I
can't get too close,
not ever again,
so a finger's width is my rule,
between souls.

stop.

a hare's breadth leapt spry
remains barely breathing
torn to tiny shreds,
faces wept dry and I cannot
go back to last vestiges of my
final faith in humanity
let die;
I will not concede.

I breathe despite the toxin in the air
and seethe despite the brief respite
I find falling fingers through
her fragile features,
beautiful I'm sure but
maybe slightly bruised
by that she bears...

so sad to say I slide her
soaking body slightly over,
leaving just enough room in this
small world for us
to daydream.

I'd take a long walk on the coast but
I don't have one,
so I say my prayers
to the God I don't believe in
and make my pilgrimage to
our lovely peak under the summer sky,
all the while wondering whether

the ant

marvels

at the firefly.

The Walking Wounded

2006-09-25T02:04:00.000-07:00

sometimes it slips through like sunlight cast on
venetian blinds and
there's a breeze,

like a torch let fall down a well and
its depth is revealed.

I hide it, though,
I hide it in long nights spent beside
bright friends in dark bars
and at the end of the adventure,
when my soul seeps out my chest,
I wrap my body in her long knit coat and
I hide.

we all must be broken though,
we all must be pushed to that point
where we have been utterly defeated
and cannot muster the strength to take
a single solitary step forward,

broken bruised and battered
amidst the rubble of lost minds and
tattered hearts,
empty bottles and shattered promises,
foot paused above the
ground and terror grips us and
driven to madness but --

but we take that step.
and that's what makes us mighty.

frail strength, decietful honesty, chilling warmpth --

these are what make us human.
these are what make us
not you and me but
us.

and in the midst of chaos --
at the moment of apocalypse --
while I take my dying breath --

I ask only to find your eyes.
and in that moment, we will be brothers.

because we are
the walking wounded.

Pier Seventeen

2006-09-20T23:50:00.000-07:00

Mathematics

2006-09-19T11:21:00.000-07:00

two hundred and fifty-three lemons fall from
three hundred and six lemon trees,
and just one hits my head.

result?

I take ten-fifths of the woe bestowed upon me by
two-thirds of the world
and make a half-assed attempt to
cast at least three-fourths of it
on my fellow man,

but fail.

so if I've got fifteen
and the dealer's showing six
then the odds of me hitting successfully
combined with the fact that I'm
two hundred into the table
leaves me with
one day off,

at most.

then on that day
if I've ordered three items
and only two have been shipped
and made plans with five people
and only three came through,
then that leaves me with how many
heads on my pillow tonight?

just one.

City Breath

2006-09-12T15:27:00.000-07:00

The Imaginary Rabbit

2006-09-08T12:28:00.000-07:00

it felt so right,
such strength intertwined with
such fragility in my arms and
like a droplet of cool, clean water in the sun-baked desert
I drank,
drank all that I could and
as though it trickled down my
chest I was in ecstacy, or at least
peace.

we, who are like me,
we like our secrets torrid passions and
late-night tacit affairs, or very close to,
we like our adrenaline almost as much
as we like our calm
as small soft pressed warm against me
and perfect, falling asleep and
sins drift away with consciousness
and
in the middle of the night,
we are all innocent.

good people do terrible things,
sometimes;
sometimes all you need is a
lithe back enveloped by your chest
and the steady rhythm of her breathing
and the quiet peace of her sleep
is absolution.

this is not a poem but
someday my life will rhyme,
someday the hand of God will descend
from the heavens and
pat me on the back and
tell me that I am the purity
I wish to see in the world,
I am the solace I seek and
I am the divine.

until that day I rest my head upon
the breast of the scorpion
and pray not to be stung,
I swim in seas of sand and pray
I might wash ashore cleansed,
I write as a lone wolf stalking
the only prey that cannot be caught,

and wonder why I'm still hungry.

Just for you,

2006-08-17T00:52:00.000-07:00

only because you still read this, because --
you are the sweetest, softest and
most painful
substance
I've ever let go of --

every bubble strained taut on the surface
of molten soul gently rocked back and forth
like
a baby
in a cradle,

every bubble popped today.

I ran into her and she and
words had meaning,
today,

they spoke of my gradual ascent out of maelstrom --

I love that word --

but I once loved more than a word and it meant so much,
when I said it
to you but,

maybe I work too much and
maybe I stay out too late and
maybe I should stop playing cards and
maybe I should learn how to
fucking
trust
again...

but maybe not.

just know that,
if the sky were to come
crashing down upon us,
the earth to tear open and consume us,
our demons to finally lay claim
to their prey --

know that I wrote this for you.

West Oakland

2006-07-17T02:14:00.000-07:00

I wasn't really making a call...
but I wish you'd answered.

Red Bull & Cigarettes

2006-07-06T11:20:00.000-07:00

You wanna talk about vices?

It brought me back. She, with her bottle of chardonnay and her pack of Camel filters, and I, a few Red Bulls simmering in my stomach and a Newport perpetually between my lips. Her table, a sturdy oak chest, grew strained under the weight of our conversation; it began to buckle with my past on its back. I kept my knees locked and carried on. By the end of my dark tale, as the first traces of light crept over the horizon like dye soaking into some vast suspeneded cloth, we could still laugh. In spite of our deeper connection, she was still my lesbian sister when I wanted to hit on the waitress.

Which brought me eventually to the pool hall. Why do I even go? My intention of maintaining my distance somehow became showing her how to place her fingers on a rail shot, my chest pressed firmly against her slender back, burning with want.

She's leaving, anyways...

I could have kissed her, I think, but then she is like a droplet of unfallen spring rain, and I am rien que "bonbon pour les yeux" to her.

C'est la vie...

Air Conditioning

2006-06-27T12:29:00.000-07:00

He was a man amongst gods, a spark amongst pyres, a word amongst writers.
In his midst there existed only energies; a swirl of violent, passionate electric vibrations comforted and tormented him.
He sought a sword with which to slay these demons yet continued to nourish them.

He knew the day would come. The day would come that Chris D. would be a rock star, that Willie would own a flourishing limo business, that he would pay his rent with slam poetry, that Sacha would find peace.

Awaited... he did, await, neglecting grammar and placing foot after foot in front of the other through the maelstrom of aforementioned energies,

looking for the eye of the storm,

but even at his most peaceful moments,

he still missed her touch.

Still Young

2006-06-19T09:56:00.000-07:00

She asked, "Why do you do this to yourself?" and gave me a half-assed kiss before she left. All that remains of her presence is an unfinished bowl of mac & cheese and man does she have a good memory.
I think I know what she was talking about, what she did, but all is forgiven of course. I can't seem to bring myself to let go of this one. Didn't expect the call at half past eleven but when it came I jumped out of bed, man, I was wide awake and stirring those Kraft noodles with all the precision of a sushi chef.
So it all flooded back, I let it all flood back into my veins as our mouths met in reckless passion the scar on my half-healed heart opened up and now it's bleeding. Bleeding for her long, beautiful hair, for her slight frame pressed against mine, for all her angels and even for the demons that torment them.
I couldn't even read her a poem, I just couldn't because it would have been so wrong. A corruption of my own art, even... and we're glad it wasn't taken that far,

but I really wanted a long kiss when she left this morning.

Myself...

2006-06-15T09:14:00.000-07:00

...enjoying a rare moment of peace

The Sky is Falling

2006-06-15T09:02:00.000-07:00

Please excuse my lack of poetics.

My ex is spending all her free time with my once-best friend, who is potentially high, taking the shards of shattered freedom into his nose for some relief. She spent the good part of an hour refusing to leave my porch yesterday, pounding on my door and yelling obscenities because... she's mad at me for getting dumped? I don't follow. My four closest friends are in Oklahoma, New Orleans, Japan and Berkeley respectively, so where the fuck do I turn?

The Gift still speaks on it.

Trees are still green, the sun rises yet, and hip-hop still courses warm and filling through my veins.

"I'm just wondering where my time went, it pulled a dissappearing act /
and every single assistant I ever had got sawed in half"
-Sage Francis, Escape Artist

Apt

2006-06-04T13:34:00.000-07:00

apt, rolls off your tongue like cool menthol smoke wraps its vapors around the thin air, wispy wild and wanting more than to be tossed aside still smoldering...
lost disguises litter my last lingering table and I watch the sighs drift; I watch them float away.
in all this divine rhythm and harmony the occasional thump of bass drum seems solitary like my lost love, the only girl,
not months ago left by me to drift as she would, unexpectant of karmatic justice,
not knowing that I would be just as rejected on a cold thursday afternoon
when she walked onto my porch to smoke a cigarette and came back inside just to ask, "why?"
and I couldn't tell her.
maybe the shadows were too bright, I said, maybe I'm just a fucked up kid,
but I left her drawing on my wall for months,
that nonsensical bunny rabbit who gazed into my eyes with nothing but love.

and love is like a cigarette lit too soon after the one before it that hurts your throat,
so you put it out.

but some people save their half-smoked ones for later.

not me. I just throw them away.

Ack.

2006-05-23T09:22:00.000-07:00

My Dad's called me for the last few days and I still haven't called him back, which puts him in the same category as my friends Gray, TJ, Andrew and everyone else I've left hanging lately.

I've been busy; what with taking care of Julie's neighbors' kids (who rock), catching up with my roomate and, get this: working. I got a job at N'awlins, a local restaurant owned by Barry, a local man who owns some local restaurants. It's pretty fun, chaotic and disorganized as the restaurant business tends to be, which I absolutely love. It's like the customers are on land, utterly oblivious to the massive, wild tectonic activity going on just a mile beneath them.

And so... I have a menu to learn, a dress shirt to buy and plenty of coffee to drink before I go in at 3:30. Oh, and my girlfriend's father comes into town tomorrow. Good times.

Peace, love and, can I get you anything else? Hehe.

Nervous Horses

2006-05-15T09:14:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I'm a little nervous. I fly home tomorrow morning to interview with Continental Airlines for a position at Oakland Airport. The day I get back I have an interview at Nawlins (a local restaurant) to serve tables. I still haven't made up my mind one way or the other whether I want to move back to the Bay Area. The choice is a big one and it's definitely on my mind.

I'm also broke. It occurs to me that I could be about $70 richer had I gone for a basic cheapo cell phone. Instead, though, I opted for the sleek, sexy Motorola RAZR. I've always had a bit of a thirst for the finer gadgets in life, and I found this particular piece of hardware completely irresistable. Hmm.

I have two new poems finished, ready to be performed. I want to read them at some massive venue in the Bay. We'll see what I can pull off, right?

So, I'm nervous. The coffee didn't help, either.

Growl of discontent.

Tacit Song

2006-05-03T20:40:00.000-07:00

celery bitten um.. does that rhyme?

beautiful, can you let yourself be...
my demons want to be friends with your demons. do you think they'd get along?
if you can let my secrets alone, I can let you be sad.

...aren't we all?

night breeze tastes like that first lick
of a summer ice cream cone,
I want to be that free.

the propane fire burning in the cavernous depths of my
little gas grill
might last longer, but you know what elle dit -
whatever will be, will be.

or is it, "I regret nothing"?

man, the flavor of my nights, that always seems to be the topic. trippin off heights, like the man said, wondering what's next, gray skies or a hot summer, frozen catfish or, like, skyscrapers man and the energy of millions coursing all through my flesh till it vibrates my bones... know what I mean?

but there's energy coursing through my flesh right here, little electric shivers when she traces her fingers across my chest, hairs on my neck perking up to hear what all the excitement's about but it's silent.

silent, whole, perfect and complete.

whole like the crescent moon is whole -

whole on faith.

"The Network"

2006-04-29T09:52:00.000-07:00

One night, a few years ago, my friend and I ate a bunch of mushrooms and started wandering the Berkeley hills. At some point during our travels, my cell phone rang. Rather than answer, I stared at the thing like it was some alien artifact for a few minutes, then started talking. I launched into this whole tripped-out speech about "the network", how we're all connected by satellite and such, and the fact of our utter dependence on various forms of long-distance (meaning farther than a yell) communication. My words have come back to haunt me.

I dropped my cell phone for about the sixteenth time on thursday and it finally bit the dust. It turns on and off, but I can't hear anything, it won't ring and the screen's blank. I think this is its final stand against the abuse I've put it through.

So I went to T-Mobil's website and ordered myself a nice new phone. Only thing is, the purchase price has yet to be charged to my account, and the tracking number they gave me is invalid. So by all evidence, "something happened" in the twisted little web of T-Mobil's site, and my phone's not really coming after all. Of course, I can't call and bitch until monday.

Here I am, now, utterly dependent on this phone for... what? I live in a small town, there's plenty of phones I can use and I've acquired most of the numbers I want. Even so, I feel out of touch. What if Publisher's Clearing House calls? THEN what??

I even paid for the express shipping. Grr.

Lazy Sundays

2006-04-23T15:33:00.000-07:00

she told me not to leave the house on Sundays, and it seems today I've listened...

words wrap their meaning around my lack of inspiration, wondering if time will bring a thunderstorm or even something soft and curvy my way, waiting,
waiting for purity to find me,
and what is this?

he's not sure, not certain like the lamb about whom he wrote, once,
on a plane to New Orleans that brought him to
a new life,
a fresh start already tainted with old habits and cigarette butts,

The Dark Crystal awaits,
alone
in its little plasitc shelter
for her,
or did I mix up my subjects again?

maybe my grammar's become rusty or maybe I'm hopeless,
hopeless destined to wait
wait

...wait for beauty too real to grasp,
too sweet to taste,

wondering?

um,

wondering,
but if you'll excuse me,

I have to go wait.

Market Street

2006-04-16T10:27:00.000-07:00

Silver

2006-04-14T22:55:00.000-07:00

I finished a poem today.

The extent of my relief is almost too great to convey with words, though ironically that very act is the source of said relief.

Jazz, death and perfect curves blend together in the magical melting pot that is my life, reminding me to remain ever-present and aware of my own intuition. I wonder sometimes if every time I forgive is another time I will be forgiven. I like to think so.

The taste upon my lips is so sweet... a striking contrast to the bitterness I once endured. I stash rays of sunlight to help me find my way...

Not much to say, I suppose. My windswept house was my womb today as I birthed new art. It was beautiful.

Have a magic night.

Don't Ever Fucking Question That

2006-04-13T12:57:00.000-07:00

Mon rêve familier

Je fais souvent ce rêve étrange et pénétrant
D'une femme inconnue, et que j'aime, et qui m'aime
Et qui n'est, chaque fois, ni tout à fait la même
Ni tout à fait une autre, et m'aime et me comprend.

Car elle me comprend, et mon coeur, transparent
Pour elle seule, hélas ! cesse d'être un problème
Pour elle seule, et les moiteurs de mon front blême,
Elle seule les sait rafraîchir, en pleurant.

Est-elle brune, blonde ou rousse ? - Je l'ignore.
Son nom ? Je me souviens qu'il est doux et sonore
Comme ceux des aimés que la Vie exila.

Son regard est pareil au regard des statues,
Et, pour sa voix, lointaine, et calme, et grave, elle a
L'inflexion des voix chères qui se sont tues.

-Paul Verlaine

The Fire in the Skies

2006-04-11T12:40:00.000-07:00

he had always been this way, he mused; it wasn't necessarily a masochistic streak that drove him so much as an underlying faith in humanity itself, a blind belief in the goodness of people.

even having been proven wrong, he couldn't shake the feeling that purity's form would be found with a distinct curve about her waist. the uninjured animal, the unbroken heart, surely these must exist on the very earth upon which we walk.

oft-discussed are the human traits of destructiveness, of hatred, of deceit. too much overlooked, though, are the innate capacities for kindness, love and honesty. perhaps too terrified are we to bear goodness in a world of supposed evil, where it might be stripped from us, never to be recovered.

still though he bore his soul, in all its goodness and all its evil, that it might be offered to the universe in hopes of greater care than he himself could provide.

this trust came from the knowledge that all the day's unrest would faithfully bring twilight tied to its tail,

in which he could bathe himself,

and be,
for a moment,

pure.

tired,

2006-04-10T02:37:00.000-07:00

and the taste of Sound Tribe lingers on my tongue like
a caught drop of rain in,
April?
and my legs are sore from electric music flow through my limbs have to MOVE,
I think they call it dancing, well, maybe not when I do it,
butevenso Tempee was gorgeous sonically at least and met a hundred beautiful souls with arms open toward the stage and damn that girl could move,
danced like a hippie,
tripped over ghosts floating over strobe lights and basslines
vibrate my spine up to my ,
quiet ,
nothought or anything just bodymove and jello liquid flow musical fucking genius,
and I am NOT the splinter, tonight,
not tonight.

so I had no camera but I wrote some words,
might have made a picture,
dreadies and that show smell of beer mixed with cement,
cigarette smoke sticks to clothes and the occasional
whiff
of marijuana, in the air,
and girl and boy sweat mixing into just sweat, seperate bodies like, I don't know
serpentine fire, maybe,
maybe not but in all honesty my legs are sore and
she just wrote me an email and I wrote back and it hurts my fucking heart when she
hurts herself,
but my legs are sore.

good night

Prepares to Spring

2006-04-08T23:01:00.000-07:00

It's April 8th.

Springtime, warmth, John Moore & Associates then Janine called and I wouldn't go to lunch, a couple games of pool in its stead and kids just have that light in their eyes... they GET it.

These are my friends Blame and Leanne, they lived on Telegraph Avenue when I took this picture. I think they're headed to Bisbee, though, for the warm spring maybe! ...maybe,

and it may be a story about rabbits but she was enraptured, utterly absorbed like me in her eyes and I ate some yogurt and there was cold pizza in the fridge too, tasty. The movie store to no avail and big plans turned into soft touches and I absoultely cannot spend another moment in the presence of
her hair is too sweet to touch, to taste to want to have,
but it's far too soon in a hundred different ways and I still love the angel that lives inside the creature called Janine, I've decided, there is an angel there and I LOVE HER.
hairandskinlikesilkandpurityitself,
but I still love that angel, I'm a wreck, I can't youknowbewithorwhateveryouwanttocallit ANYONE...
desire,
that most delicious desire,
touch,
but don't taste.

And that was my April 8th.

2006-04-07T12:06:00.000-07:00

Spittle Fizz

2006-04-06T21:28:00.000-07:00

The morning prior to this one, or if you want to be all crude about it, yesterday morning, I woke up feeling a little off. The act of swallowing roused within me an overwhelming desire to cut my own head off, and when I got up to get some water, I walked into my coffee table (which, damnit, had moved itself about three inches to the left) and fell on my face. Looking at the evidence, I decided a visit to the ol' doctor wouldn't be such a bad idea. Unfortunately I am as yet uninsured.

So, I got a friend of mine to drive me to the hospital. After a couple of friendly nurses and two litres of saline pumped into my arm, I was informed that I have a rare form of strep throat that is untreatable and inevitably fatal.

Kidding. I was given some cheap antibiotics and a not-so-cheap bill and sent on my merry way with orders not to return to work until Saturday. This is friendly news since I work for tips, not salary, and just paid my rent and all my bills, which leaves me with... well, only enough to feed two or three third-world villages. Poor me.

Some time alone in my house gave way to volumes of introspection, mostly on the topic of my beautiful and by all reports quite devious ex-girlfriend. I always miss her when I'm sick, but news of her doings comes my way and then I can again resent her. Very warm and cuddly is anger.

Good, true friends have cooked me pancakes, kept me company and otherwise made my life colorful over the last couple of days, which is nice. Only now we've run into a problem: one of my closest friends seems to be utterly intolerable to most of the rest of my little crew. Such is the way, I suppose, and in my experience girls seem to have a hard time playing nicely together, especially in co-educational situations. Whole dramatic catastrophes unfold to which we men are completely oblivious until later informed.

Can't we just get the fuck along? I mean, seriously. If I like six out of ten people in a given group, I'll hang out. Maybe I'm easy. I say we all eat an apple Pop-Tart and make our peace.

In all seriousness, though, I'm going absolutely nowhere with this so I'll wrap it up with a quote. This metaphor, to those who understand what the hell I'm talking about, is the epitome of my last relationship. Drink up.

"as relief pokes his head around the corner
at me like a little kid,
skittles slid from my palm at that age
and paid homage to the creature I now chase
but never want to catch,
but fetch riddles rid of warmer
to confuse me
warning spittle fizz that there's an insect in it --"

...and to all a good night.

I'm out of Pop-Tarts

2006-03-27T08:35:00.000-08:00

I had the most absurd conversation, argument even, with a girl I work with yesterday. She seemed so quiet & mild-mannered until we broached the topic of spirituality. It's been a while since I've met an atheist with her amount of passion. A true born cynic. She reminded me of myself.

I had some awesome conversation last night with a new friend of mine. I wonder sometimes if I don't lay around and mull, but I always feel better afterwards, especially talking with someone who can relate.

Back on the banquets for the next few days... I have this friday off, and I say again, I can't wait to perform. But fetch riddles rid of warmer.

Oh, by the way, I'm out of pop-tarts. I really want one too. I like the frosted cherry kind, and the brown sugar & cinnamon are good too. They used to have a green apple pop tart but I can't find them anymore. I mean, whoever came up with these things is a genius. The pop-tart is truly the Rolls Royce of toaster pastries. Sure, toaster strudel is pretty good, but nothing can match that unique crunchy-yet-soft experience of pop-tart consumption. It makes me proud to be an American.

I'm almost completely better, except for a little cough. I need to hike soon. They say it's going to snow more, though, which makes Thumb Butte a little slippery. In fact I just need some nice boots. But I want skate shoes, too, and I don't get paid as well as you think. I gave T-Mobil like two hundred bucks along with rent & a Best Buy bill which is now completely paid. Never incurred any interest, either. I paid two-thirds of my utilities for the previous month as well, on account of some changes in my living situation, so I'm basically rich right now.

I guess I should go get ready for work. Yay, banquets! I'm so excited.

Awesome day to all.

Timeless Cost

2006-03-23T23:22:00.000-08:00

Lot on my mind tonight...

Just had sort of a moment of truth and made the right choice, for once. I'm not certain I had the opportunity to make the wrong choice but it sure felt like it.

Got home to a bunch of missed calls and my cell phone service is cut off, guess I forgot to pay this month, oh well. It's back in two hours supposedly but I think it might be my friend who has nowhere to sleep and needs a couch, and I can't call and find out.

Janine left me a sweet message during the meeting. I worry about her still. I miss her still. Oh well, I made my bed, right? Just that no girl has ever felt like that in my arms. I still love her. If only...well, no amount of "if only"s will change anything. You get used to hearing someone breathe next to you at night. It's nice.

Saw an old friend tonight, saw a lot of old friends earlier today. I'm one of the few it seems. I came to this town with a lot of kids and most of them have left my life on bad terms. It's sad sometimes. I miss Justin and Bama and even Cottam, the whole old crew. Brian L, Kyle McClure...jesus. Awesome kids. But I'm breathing.

Poetry's goin down soon, Adrian's writing, I'm giddy like a little kid. Can't wait to perform. It's been too long. I need some freedom and I know that I need to perform Flagstaff Nights to get that. That and helping other kids where I can.

Mostly I just try to be good, and maybe if I can be good enough then the part of the world that huddles around me will shift and be good too. Maybe if I love enough I'll find the kind of love I'm looking for from another. If I give enough someday maybe it'll all come back.

As of now, though, I'm still in karmatic debt.

Off to pacing and the occasional hour of sleep...

Rustling of Each Purple Curtain

2006-03-13T23:03:00.000-08:00

The adjective used to describe said curtains hits home in the heart of our hero, causing him to ask and ask again of himself what might have been done differently, what might have been done earlier and what might not have been done at all...

He climbs out of bed, confused, lights a cigarette and contemplates his evening's events, mulling over details that fluctuate between utter pointlessness and supreme significance. His computer screen glows back as he attempts to sort his racing mind into some kind of coherent writing. The thought of a screenplay he had once begun entitled "The Demise of Glen Harbor" drifts through his head and stings a bit. The protagonist, Glen, is a heartless bastard and our hero begins to wonder if Glen is in fact a deep seated part of himself, slowly and terrifyingly beginning to manifest in his life.

All this and more floats down my little river, and something so insignificant as changing person mid-blog bothers me not. My night has been far from what I expected of it.

Even so, sleep calls like a little siren I once knew, so climb into bed I shall...again...

Good night.

Snow So Soft it Broke Birches

2006-03-11T20:09:00.000-08:00

Cool white flakes drift peacefully earthward outside my window, oblivious to my so-called plight.

I've made mistakes, big ones maybe, in my life and even in the last week or so, but I vow to learn from them. I'm learning again that every sword is double-edged and that I can't hurt anyone without also hurting myself. Perfect justice. It took me a long time to believe in it.

Even so...well, even so I believe that all my experiences can one day benefit others. I believe that every mistake I make is one that someone else won't have to somewhere down the line.

I'm performing at Cuppers on the 31st, 8-9 pm. Good things.

I don't think my heart's broken. I just don't think it's full-grown yet.

Good night.

Lovers Lost

2006-03-03T08:21:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I broke up with the only girl I've ever loved.

I have a lot of reasons, most of which are issues that I need to work on in myself and in the way that I relate to other people, but I don't think it's respectful to get into it here.

The fact is I am still in love with her and this hurts like no other pain I've felt.

In the long run, though, I'm convinced that it's the right thing for me to deal with my insecurities before I inflict them on someone else.

For a little while I think it's just going to hurt.

Much love to my family.

Evan

Mardi Gras!

2006-03-01T09:16:00.000-08:00

A tidbit for the uninformed: a short while ago I was offered to accompany my roomate, Daniel, to New Orleans for a little series of parades they call Mardi Gras. Needless to say I accepted and have been here in Louisiana for the past week. I fly back to Prescott tonight.

Happy Mardi Gras! I'm told this year's festivities aren't quite the same caliber as past times, but I was impressed nonetheless. Surrounded by loving city spirit, flying beads and wild youth I nearly shed a tear, before I was distracted by my overwhelming compulsion to yell at passers-by and scream for throws. My heart lives in the East Bay, but for the record, this city knows how to get down. Last night we made the obligatory trip to Bourbon Street, from which the locals apparently steer clear for obvious reasons: it was a tangled mess of drunken bodies, bare breasts and generally lewd behavior, which was entertaining for a while but got old fast.

I also worked while I was here, for my friend Mauricio's father who owns a good number of Shell stations in the area. The wage is nothing short of insane compared to Prescott and I got to meet a strange little cross section of the local populace. Good times.

I had another powerful experience here, but not of a strongly positive nature. Daniel brought me to the Ninth Ward where the levee was ruptured by a mighty storm known as Katrina. Houses rested in shambles in the middle of the streets, blown off of their foundations from several blocks over. A massive barge sat on dry land, having been washed by the rising waters and deposited in the middle of a residential neighborhood. Cars sat crushed with houses resting on top of them like something from the Wizard of Oz. Personal possessions were strewn about the scraps of houses, stuffed animals, shampoo bottles, bookends, an unopened bottle of shaving cream packaged with a razor: mundane, everyday items cast terribly out of place amongst the wreckage of what once were homes. I did shed a tear for the people who once lived in this storm-ravaged place.

All in all, though, I had an awesome trip. I never get to hang out with Momo anymore so that in itself was a lot of fun. Daniel and I don't get too much time either, what with the traveling, and it was cool to kick it with him.

Now back to my little mountain town, hard work and warm girl await and I'm kind of excited...

Oh yeah, it's Lent. Maybe I'll give up the internet for forty days.

Evan

Dude, I'm 21

2006-02-13T14:57:00.000-08:00

Yeah. Let's start a band.

Why am I such a cynic?

I'm not certain where it comes from, but I have a set of ideals that I ruthlessly hold up next to real life, stirring discontent in my belly. I don't mean righteous, moral ideals; I mean concepts of how x or y should be. The ideal friendship, the ideal job, the ideal apartment, the ideal relationship, the ideal family, the ideal path in life, the ideal pizza...without relent I compare my ideas to reality and it makes me a sad panda.

I know I've only been alive for twenty one years, but if I've learned one thing, it's this: in my experience, changing the world around me does very little to change how I feel in my heart. My instinct is to devise and plot and impulsively change everything around me. Make new friends, move to new cities, find a new job.

The Grouch says "love what you got or lose what you have". It's the truth. I've felt like this before. It passes.

I once wrote, "my sighs hang heavily in the mist rising from my mind's mire".

I don't live in a swamp. It's just that my sense of smell isn't always the best.

My Last Poem

2006-01-25T21:27:00.000-08:00

Where'd she go?

Until recently, feminine pronouns in my poetry always refered to inspiration, which I think of as a female entity. In more recent works the word "she" refers to a particular person, tangible and able to be held in my arms, from time to time. What on earth am I getting at?

Every touch evokes a slight sound... even so I put the pencil down and will it to move, but no amount of will ever seems to let me sleep sound. I have a feeling I'll sleep well tonight, though. I'm looking at spending far, far more time at work, as I may be getting promoted. Ack can't stay focused!

Common Sense, back when he was Common Sense, wrote a track called "I Used To Love H.E.R." on the album Ressurection. It's one of my all time favorite hip hop tracks. I suggest a listen.

Anyways I'm talking to David and my sister so I'm gonna wrap this up.

Enjoy the stars...

Better Daze

2006-01-20T16:02:00.000-08:00

After an intense talk with my good friend Adrian this morning I ventured up to the Butte in hopes of some solace from my racing mind. Burning bushes on icy trails reminded me that I create my own reality, based greatly upon my willingness to accept whatever floats its way into my world. When I love my own insanity then I am no longer insane...

Writing dark pieces and where's Abraham? For that matter, no idea what lies in store for the evening but Zach's in town and he might need to buy me dinner.

Love is like happiness, throw a few conditions in there and brace yourself for unrest. Let it flow its own magical way, though, and it brings untold warmth to frigid souls.

I've gained an unpaid therapist, Alex who works at the coffee shop is providing invaluable insights into the workings of the female mind. The female mind, it turns out, is not something that can be figured out or predicted, but this knowledge alone is revolutionary to me. Much love to the music and its offspring.

Caw! I'm hungry. There's really no food in my house. Yeah, it's lookin like Zach's gonna have to feed me. Us, maybe. We'll see.

Good things & good evening to all...

"but I'ma take her back hopin that the shit stop / cause who I'm talkin bout y'all, is hip-hop"
Common Sense

Imperfection

2006-01-18T12:37:00.000-08:00

"Never given more and got back less
but not that stressed I tell myself..."

I wrote those words on the shuttle to Sky Harbor a few weeks ago. Everything's in order but, there's a but, that I can't put my finger on, or maybe it would take a whole hand that I don't have because...

Hmm.

Why do I feel constrained, as though my wingtips press against the inside of some huge glass box, a prisoner of invisible boundaries? Is this the fault of some old guy shooting dope with a blunt needle or this nasty flu that's been going around or hand hallucinations, or is there something deeper? I may never know.

All I want is to be reciprocated, no, to feel reciprocated, to feel like I'm being loved in the same way I'm loving. Am I a selfish person? Is that too much to ask? Is there something more I could DO or must I just let life flow its course?

All I know is there's something that got me here in the first place, so I suppose I'll just wait for it, pray for that spark to come back, for that passion to reignite itself...

Now to lunch.

Glass Noses

2006-01-12T21:21:00.000-08:00

Love, poetry and where to head from here...

Sometimes I feel like I walk alone. Sometimes, standing in a dimly lit lounge bearing my heart to twenty people, most of whom are very close to me, I feel like I walk hand in hand with the spirit of the universe. Sometimes I feel like everything is perfect and I'm grateful; sometimes I imagine impending doom over my left shoulder and I'm afraid.

No one really knows me. Certainly I've become very close with some people, I've shared most of my deepest fears and dreams and longings, but no one person really knows me. I can't seem to let myself allow that. I feel like if I didn't have my little core to withdraw into from time to time I'd lose my sanity. I refuse to let myself be completely vulnerable. These knees are used to being sore, remember?

Even so I take step after step and I love most of it. I'm a blessed person, the proverbial phoenix, and I have to remember that. Even so I feel cursed sometimes. If you only knew what demons haunt me yet...

Don't worry, though, unless you're into that. I'll keep my head up and keep writing and living and loving and doing all these things I do. I don't expect to be rid of the cross on my back until the day I die. But I know as well as anyone that day could be tomorrow, and determination keeps me moving despite the weight on my shoulders.

Or maybe I'm just having an off night. We'll see in the morning.

God knows I've prayed for sleep...

Good night.

Not Alone

2005-12-29T20:40:00.000-08:00

The warmth of great friends, good food and good conversation flows through my blood, almost enough to offset the slight chill of missing her felt upon my return to under the covers.

She wants to move back to Boston, my first love, and perhaps that's the right thing for her. Regardless of her possible departure being months in the future, that same future that I cannot predict, I still wonder about the idea of permanence. Permanence is a very human idea in that it has no foundation in observable reality. What ever remains the same, left to time's mysterious devices? Only the heart of the universe itself. I was told once by a good friend that everybody I meet will either change, leave or die. Unsettling news at first, but upon sinking in, that fact takes on the divine perfection of our whole world, ever-changing, ever-flowing.

Unfortunately I don't always see life in divine terms. When something feels good, especially something as good as being in love, I want it to last forever. The nature of life itself, though, prevents this; even my own existence lacks permanence.

So here I sit and I feel good, as good as good feels I suppose, and I long to hold my lover in my arms and I long to perform poetry for the world and I long for perpetual inner peace, but all I have is right now, this moment, which is whole and perfect and complete independent of my perception of it.

Faith, I mused earlier, is trust in the face of betrayal, love in the face of hate, hope in the face of hopelessness and calm in the midst of the storm. Faith is something like believing when I don't believe, if that makes any sense.

This all arises from the knowledge that I'm growing; I must be growing because I hurt and I don't know what's hurting. I have a strange unsettlement, as though unfinished business stirs restless in the back of my mind. I miss home but I don't want to move back, I want to write but I don't know what, I'm deeply in love and that terrifies me...

Even so, I keep my head up on faith's account. I do what I need to do and more, I'm there for my friends and family, I stride forwards always because I know I'll find the bottom of this rainbow someday, I'm certain of it...

So dream good dreams, keep good company and enjoy your breaths, I think they all count more than we know.

Good night & good luck and to those I miss, I miss you.

Falling Back in Love

2005-12-27T21:29:00.000-08:00

...with the East Bay, with my work or at least the act of sharing it, with music and maybe even the sky here. Not with Janine, though, as my love for her has been unbroken.

I went to the Bay for Christmas. Just arrived in Arizona today and I already want to return to Berkeley. Christmas was good, much love for my family and all the extensions thereof, especially my sister. I got to see the infamous Rob Thornhill, in person over delicious prawns and green tea. Good to catch up and be reminded that I'm not alone in my occasional lust for calamity.

Nagged lately I've been by the feeling that something might be slightly off, but I can't put my finger on it. More time spent persuing spirituality won't hurt, I'm sure. I intend to hike up to the Butte tomorrow and get some perspective and clarity that nature is only too happy to share. I think I'm just tired and torn between two states.

I miss my girl. Climbing under the covers I want nothing more than to hold her in my arms and run my fingers through her hair. I suppose absence makes the passion burn brighter, though, so her return to me in a few days will be that much sweeter.

It makes me warm inside to know that I have an audience; I was really happy to hear that a few of my family members and friends are diligent readers of this blog. I'm going to write here far more frequently, I hope, now that I've been reminded that there are those with interest in my doings.

Um living situation floats in the air above me, love these lonely moments and they turn warm in my palm, dripping like divine nectar into my lap with a perfect lack of permanence, um tired, uhh wondering and the moon has the answers, the sun's set, there's a kitten sharpening her claws on my pants and I want to meditate or uh, something...

Check out the stars tonight, shorty. Maybe you see the same ones I do.

Live life, walk with your head raised because this is your world... good night, good luck and to those I love, I love you.

Smells like Snow

2005-12-04T22:47:00.000-08:00

Cold icy wind like camping sunrise, awaken, thought I'd write. Spoken word swirls in many minds like mine is the only one, the only one who can save me, she, asleep in my bed reminds my chest what it feels like to be loved and so I write. Abstract though I mix up the order often, heart before soul or is that backwards or maybe both converge in some vast cosmic maelstrom to bring my wanderer back to his center, this warm bed or swarm of red locusts devours the sweetest corn of my torn shirt and tongues can't unwrap half these mysteries.

Histories sung fast make more sense than books, rap music and George Bush combined so I sit back unwind and this gaseous inspiration makes vague my highest intentions, inventions of idle hands that might have planned untold sacrifices, but I am good.

Walking down Whiskey Row I think that if it snows I'll be blisfully cold like Mr. Winter, mysteries exposed by poems spoken and I wrote a piece the other morning that too was cloudy, a professional slam poet maybe, if anyone would give me a few dollars for my thoughts.

Saw Walk The Line, an inspired dark warm tragic love story that was wholly uplifting once it depressed me, but a well done rather beautifully shot story that might have had to have been told. My name might grace that screen someday, I hope, not next to the phrase "Based on a True Story", but rather glorious prose moment frozen in heart-time while you eat popcorn, deliciously salty like the climax of the second act leaves you spitting kernels.

Complete sentences are for novelists, I think, even poets but certainly not bloggers, if that's the stigma tattooed on my back next to my list of sins that only I can read even though I can't see through my chest for I'm much too thick-hearted.

To my family, this is as coherently as I can write tonight after crawling out of bed with every intention of crawling back into it, but hopefully this might make some semblance of sense to said sect, or at least my sister.

Looking forward to it, or up to it when need be, freeze me in this moment and let it linger on my tongue, please, just for tonight or maybe more, desperately content...

Good night.

Home and Back Again: Part I

2005-11-28T17:36:00.000-08:00

Just in from the most beautiful place I've ever come across, the Bay Area, California.

On Tuesday night me and Matt discovered that we weren't scheduled to work until today, Monday. He asked if I wanted to drive home for Thanksgiving. There was no hesitation.

Got there on Wednesday and stayed at Loth. Most of the elves had gone to their respective homes & families, but Abraham was there. We shared some poetry and had some good conversation; it was really good to see him.

The following morning I had coffee with my stepdad, a miracle in itself, then went over to my parents' house for familiy and turkey. It was so good to spend a relaxed thanksgiving with my mom and Michael, it truly warmed my heart. The company and the food were excellent.

The next day I went up to Telegraph, got some milk tea and just wandered in beautiful Berkeley. Upon returning I met up with Mathea, my little sister in spirit for whom I have nothing but love. We talked about times past and times present, remembered some crazy nights from another life and generally caught up. I'm so happy that she's doing well.

The present moment beckons, so I shall continue the story of my adventures in the Bay soon. Stay tuned...

Firelight

2005-11-19T22:23:00.000-08:00

Awoke around seven to see my beautiful girl off to Phoenix. Fell back into very strange dreams that I believe involved Alex Rush-Woods.

Got up around nine thirty and decided after coffee that sick though I was, a hike up to Thumb Butte would be a good idea. Made it up but not before running into Tamela, Lizzy Nutt, Liz and Nikki. Small town Arizona, indeed. The hike, though strenuous, proved well worth its effort. Today was gorgeous, sunny and cool but not cold.

Got home feeling a very satisfied exhaustion course through my muscles, quickly became bored and decided to venture out again. Stopped by Show Buisness and the barber's before becoming decidedly famished. Went over to St. Michael's for my almost self-disrespecting lunch of iced coffee and a scone. My choice of locale proved ideal, though, as I ran into Case and Ivy. Had a good talk with Case about random happenings, including Kyle's recent release and improved condition. Love goes out.

Returned home, did some reading and decided to hit a meeting before the party. Went to the Alano of all places and was surprised to hear incredible wisdom. Got a ride from there to Alaina's.

The party felt so warm, and not just because of the fire pit. I hung out with folks all night, ate tri tip and had some awesome conversation. Pretty much everybody I'd want to see in Prescott was there. Music, smores, lighter fluid and cigarettes provided more than an ample forum for good connection with old friends. Strange that I call them old friends, as the arizonans are my most recently gained companions, but that's how it feels in my heart. I've been through it all with these kids.

Arrived home minutes ago feeling warm, happy and tired in a really good way. Looking forward to sleeping in and seeing Janine tomorrow.

As long as I never forget where my home is, I'll never be lost. I remembered where my home is today. Friends, family and art. That's where the heart is.

Never forget, sleep well and to those of you who need it, good luck.

Ignorance

2005-11-15T12:04:00.000-08:00

The mighty predator.

My computer fell violently ill for a few days and is just presently awakening from its coma. Hence I've been unable to keep up to date with my little online journal.

A lot's happened since we last met. Unfortunately, most of it shall remain unpublished. Notably I've written two more spoken word pieces and read one of them at the Linguist. I'm getting to really like the softer, more subtly expressive style of spoken word as opposed to slam. It tends to flow more easily in times of content and mellow headspace.

I'm now a beautifully anonymous member of my hotel's banquet staff. Work no longer follows me home. It's awesome. I really like the kids I work with and I get to actually labor, rather than sit in a chair for eight hours daily. The pay is better, I'm having more fun...can't really complain. The hours are a little strange, but then again so am I. It works out.

In case any locals are listening, I'll likely be reading tomorrow (wednesday) night at around 9:30. It depends somewhat who makes an appearance. Maybe art shouldn't be sacrificed for such subtleties, but such is the way of things.

I'm off to idly muse and possibly track down a friend or two. There was some talk of a nap, but it seems to have trailed off.

Marvel, relish, be awestruck for those who have forgotten how.

Good day then...

The Bliss Fisherman

2005-11-06T20:20:00.000-08:00

Much love to the Gift.

Where's Christopher?

Moving on...I spent the night watchin football with my folks so don't expect me to get all poetic right now. It was good times, quality food and really chill company. The Eagles are lettin me down, but I can forgive. Gotta have faith...

Regardless, Oakland's breakin my damn heart, but I keep comin back for more. They'll be back on top, just you wait. We got that undying spirit, and win or lose, our fans'll kick your fans' asses. Recognize, kid.

In truth I haven't been following the season at all closely, but I'm always down to watch a game and eat some wings. Seein Mike C and Matt and Frank and all those kids was cool as shit, too. It's awesome that these dudes are stickin around. My keyboard just got all crazy on me! I can"t type periods anymore!

Well it"s a good thing I"m so damn excited to be writing this blog! Cause it"s all exclamation points from here on out baby!

Wow I don"t know how much more of this I can take! I"m gonna get some coffee and maybe write some: possibly read a little!

Have an awesomely incredible night everyone!

Spoken For

2005-11-02T22:20:00.000-08:00

Amazement. Awe. As I sat myself back into the warm chair from which I had risen, I felt a great weight float from my chest back into the warm air.

Incidentally, it has again sunken.

I read the piece tonight, THE piece mind you, and it hurt but it felt so perfect. Perfection is a moment, remember? In two weeks I'll journey to Phoenix for a slam competition, my main motivation being not to compete but to have the opportunity to move that many more people.

I am presently in constant motion of the mind, body and heart. If I sit still, catastrophe may ensue. I'm not always sure why. I know that I was born to write and I know that my freedom is found when I connect to that vibe of art-spirit and commune with the heavenly presence that I felt tonight.

My nights are warm even when chilling breezes cut across my skin.

We stood at the turning point...

Glen Harbor is on my mind. I'm not sure if any of you readers know who Glen is; he's the protagonist of a film I have yet to write. He is our masculine culture embodied. He is beautiful pain. He is every part of every brother to which I refuse to relate.

Regardless...

I am satisfied. I took a long drink of cool poetry this evening and it made me whole. I can't describe the freedom. They say lightning never strikes the same place twice, so I'm not afraid.

I'll listen to some music and smoke some cigarettes and hopefully curl up with my sister, for whom I have so much love (not as much as I do for you, though, Elise). The scent of hip-hop entices me...I must follow.

May your evening contain as much love as you can stand...

Something Poetic

2005-11-01T21:14:00.000-08:00

My own devotion amazes me.

I am pacing carpet that should long since have been cleaned, reciting over and over a piece that I intend to perform tomorrow night, guzzling Pete's coffee, restless still because I have not achieved perfection.

Perfection is a moment, not a state of being.

Performing my art creates a spiritual communion with me and my audience, it brings me ephemerally into perfect harmony with the river of the universe, for a few minutes I'm able to stop swimming upstream. It's beautiful and complete. If I touch just one heart, if just one person tomorrow hears what I'm saying, feels what I'm feeling, that is what I live for.

Every night I die and every morning I am reborn.

I've never written a poem like this before. It's spoken-word rather than a slam, which is just to say that it's far more mellow than the majority of my work. I'm excited.

Vegoose changed my life. Not the festival itself, but the experience as a whole, surrounding circumstances included. I feel as free as Che was.

Tomorrow I may or may not be meeting an old, um, friend for some coffee. No idea where this is headed but I'm willing to sit in my canoe and go with the flow.

That was my break. Back to pacing, now, until I perform this piece perfectly and earn the right to sleep.

Warm things, cuddlyness, passion, live it all, love what you can and the rest will love itself for you...

good night.

VEGOOSE!

2005-10-31T04:53:00.000-08:00

Day One, mild trepidation.

Having had been dumped the previous night, I decided to go ahead and spend the weekend in the sobriety capitol of the nation, Las Vegas. The ride out was long but the excitement built steadily. Ivy's folks; Ashley and Casey are definitely some real chill kids. Laura & I get along with pretty well too, so the ride out was basically just vibin to the music we had yet to hear.

Night One, I spent on the strip. My girls couldn't hang after our buffet experience so I wandered the strip by my lonesome and saw all these really posh hotels that I've always heard about.

Las Vegas is so incredibly alive. It is this giant, filthy, glamorous animal that thrives on lust and greed and love alike. The energy there was almost overwhelming. I donned a suit and tie, which prompted offers of just about every good and service of which one could concieve. I declined politely. At this point it's becoming clear to me that in my quest for the light I am compelled to seek shadows. I'll soon discover why, I think. But I digress.

I described the shakedown as a "self-sufficient world". It was amazing. If the strip is alive like an animal, this festival was alive like a God. As many people were offering doses and hash as conversation and love, it seemed. Maybe I'm just a hopeless optimist, but I feel as though I connected with some cats out in that tent village.

It's four A.M., I just got back to my room, I'm going to be brief.

The music. I caught the second half of Blackalicious. Gift was on fuckin fire, he dropped a sick freestyle and topped off the set with Alphabet Aerobics. It was quality but I wasn't that close.

Atmosphere rocked my world. Slug had so much heart in it I couldn't believe it. I was right up there too gettin down with the best of em, can't help it with so much energy crackling through the air. Slugs set was basically ridiculous. I was exhausted but too stoked for Talib to care. I volunteered for cleanup to get front row for Talib, I was like three feet away from this cat.

Talib changed my fuckin life. There's no other way to describe the power of seeing him live. He played every piece I wanted to hear, dropped a freestyle over Too Late, spat that shit like he meant it. When he ended the set with Get By I had tears in my eyes.

Chilled out to Beck for the rest of the night, then Justin and Katie stayed in our room, they're definitely chillin cats. Casey and Ivy went and saw moe and I got some sleep.

Next mornin (this morning kind of except I've been awake so it's monday now) me and Laura and Ashley wandered the strip some more, grabbed some eats and rolled out.

I got there just in time for Lyrics Born and fought my way to the front, this dude was on fire. He's got mad stage presence, like he knows how to move a crowd. Threw Callin Out on the table, with heart, so goddamn sick. No Talib or anything but definitely awesome.

Went to the Wharf Rats tent after that. No words can describe the experience. It's like, I'm in this slightly shaken headspace, show up at drug mecca, find myself at a meeting right in the eye of the storm. It was MOVING as all heaven. These dudes had time too, there must have been around a hundred years in that tent. It gave me so much perspective on my life and what's important. I'll be honest, I'm a little heartsore, but the only power that can heal that is the sunlight of the spirit. No person, no substance, no act. Just the universe itself. It really blew my mind to be amongst sobers at the festival.

So after that I grabbed a hot dog or something and saw Digable Planets. The ROCKED. Hands down. I've never danced like that in my life. So much energy. Cleopatra was like, in the zone, they were all just gettin down. You could tell that they were vibin off each other's energy as much as off ours, it was just so much power, chanting "peace, love, happiness" in the midst of truly classic hip hop. Totally touched my heart.

Drove back (as in I personally drove, it was sweet), got home. Put my freshly-washed sheets on my bed and go to sleep. Tomorrow I'm thinkin Thumb Butte and probably a meeting of some variety. And write, baby, this spoken word piece is coming together really well.

Thanks for reading, kids, I know this one's rough written, but if you wanna hear the real shit, come to the Linguist this wednesday. I'll be throwin some words on the table.

Love always, right now baby, good night.

Fearless on my breath

2005-10-28T00:53:00.000-07:00

I've surely never rested.

I was crashing from my recent copious consumption of speed. I had cut third period to go to art class to see Sacha Maxwell. I felt a misery that maybe few feel, a deep emptiness in my soul that nothing could fill. Sacha took one look at me and handed me her discman. I put on her headphones and she played a song for me. It's held a deep meaning for me ever since that day, so many sunsets ago.

The walk there was far worse than the walk home. I wrote in my mind endless novels of treachery and deceit, but in the end the only story I heard was the truth. All the love in the world couldn't have nourished that third animal.

She walked with me long enough to tell me secrets that I've always known, then she departed, crying, into the depths of what has been another beautiful Prescott night.

If I had it within myself to be her friend, I would.

I wrote the events of this night in a poem, two days ago. I don't necessarily believe in psychics, but sometimes I just know. I could tell you the exact moment I knew, but my fingers would tire.

Perhaps I've allowed a human presence into a part of my heart that can only be filled by my muse. She's back, by the way. I can write!

Tomorrow I'm taking a slight detour to the great state of Nevada to go see this show: http://www.vegoose.com. Talib, Gift, Slug and Lyrics Born live baby! I can't wait. This will be my fist show sober. It's gonna be an experience.

I honestly couldn't have wrapped this up better myself. Time to do some work, kids. It's been time. It's been time for a long time. I've been avoiding this one like the plague, though.

Ever been slapped in the face, become enraged and then realized that it was time to wake up?

The alarm clock's ringin, boy.

I'm goin to sleep.

Beautiful

2005-10-26T17:36:00.000-07:00

Another piece. This one I like because it was written in a matter of five minutes while I was very intensely experiencing the feelings that I hope found their way onto the page. Enjoy...

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what are you supposed to say?
that you're beautiful?
that I sink in your seductive stare and
drink life,
that I melt in your fragile arms clutching my back?
that you're beautiful?
that I cheated, that I had an affair
a torrid passionate rip my clothes off for the world to see affair
and she is called
pencil and paper
and she is called
create
and she is imperfectly complete fragmented unity
and the shards of her sweet soul stab my heart and it hurts
but I crave her,
I crave create
like thirsty in Phoenix summer sun baking my back and she is a babbling brook...

what am I supposed to say?
that you're beautiful?

The Same Stars

2005-10-25T21:06:00.000-07:00

It was the sort of moonlight that carried a soft, soothing melody into which he gently melted. The scent of the forest in the morning before sunrise is divine. This must be what peace itself smells like.

At the top of Thumb Butte at six in the morning, when the sun hasn't quite crested over the far hills and the sky is a magical fiery violet, when the first few rays of dawn are warm on your face but the cool starlight still caresses the back of your neck, while the currents of night air course through the rocky mountaintop like some angelic chorus, at this particular moment, the world is beautiful.

My mind was silent this morning, my breath was taken, my soul nourished.

I still can't write.

I look for direction and the signs point down the path of the spirit. If my relationship with the universe is cultivated and kept strong, my art will craft itself. I must simply wait, and inspiration will curl up with me, alone in my bed, and whisper sweet nothings into my ear.

"Out of everybody I met, who told the truth? Time did."
-Common

No Human Power

2005-10-21T22:05:00.000-07:00

...but still I chase the taste.

Let's talk about the good times, though. There's this tree outside the gazebo that has changed color into golden brown autumn. Ohio's the most beautiful fall I've ever seen. That was in eighth grade, I was innocent yet, able to appreciate the majesty of the near-winter forest as only now I can begin to do again.

I'm all over the place right now.

Ran into Chris S. tonight, quality shit. He gave me the MF Doom & Dangermouse album that Elise was telling me about. I didn't even ask about it, he just offered it forth. A gift of the universe I suppose.

So, there was lasagna, and I caught up with some kids who are folks from back in the day. Frank, Willie B, TJ, Michael, Rachel, Leela (the cool one), Gray Boy, Adam, Matt B, Kristen...so qual. I remember when Leela was sobbing because she was so scared to go to a job interview. She had never worked before. Now she's all smiles and doing great over at Albies. Wild shit man, I witness lives change around me constantly.

Snatch your shelf spot!

Cherry's in town! We're about to kick it on the FR (that's the for real for ye unlearned) in the near future.

Poetics elude me. I started another piece last night that I probably don't even intend to finish. I do that when I'm hurtin to write. I might watch a movie to kill time. Her taste lingers in my mouth. Maybe I'm hopeless. I wonder sometimes.

And though it pains his heart of hearts, the artist lifts his hands, awaiting miracles from up above or buried in the sands...

Here I am! Where's the beef? Simily, Newspeak, Star...one has to wonder about these kids and what became of them. I am being obscure right now.

Um I like Hugo's chips. They were good with lime squeezed on them. And salty. Like, Morgan style. Morgan's a really chill girl...I hope she's all right. In fact I hope she's having an incredible time. I miss Morgan. Such, though, is the way of the ten thousand things...

Mos said, "Is this the pain of too much tenderness?". Excellent question. Feeling good hurts sometimes. I'm bordering on being overly honest right now. I won't run, I promise you that. I refuse to run again. Prescott winter nights keep me warm...

So, whatever the hell I just said, hope it means something to someone. This is how I think. It's actually pretty awesome to be me most of the time. Sometimes my skin crawls and my heart hurts but most of the time I can laugh and sit still.

Wish me dreamy dreams...

Momentary Presence

2005-10-19T21:58:00.000-07:00

Traffic. Incredible film.

Oh, wait, before that.

I awoke early to see an much-underslept J off to work, then fell back into soft dreamy bliss. I got up to find my roomate and his newfound friend horsing around and being idiots, an activity in which I find great joy. We met Mo at St. Michaels and had some excellent espresso and a delicious scone as well as some easy conversation. Today was glorious, an expanse of bright blue with vaprous puffs of wispy cotton gliding gently in the cool breeze. I do prefer stormy, except not when I'm flying a plane. But we'll get to that.

Got back home and pizza was discovered, uneaten for almost a day. Unacceptable. We decided that with pizza and soda a film was in order, and I had borrowed Traffic at the party last night. Incredible film. Javier's dream is realized and none of the children have any idea how much blood was spilled to give them light. Beautiful moment.

Took a shower, Dale shows up. He'd never heard Black on Both Sides. Incredible album, Mos is a poet in my opinion. We threw that in and went to get coffee. Ran into Scott and Byron, the mostly-unseen, shot the shit real breifly. Byron bought me coffee, the bastard.

I feel like there's a lot of kids here who are folks, like we go back, but we're just on different pages right now. I miss them, but it's sort of good, like it's how things should be. It's cool that I can walk around this town and always run into friends. Also with kids like Scott, we don't really kick it anymore, but if he were ever in a tight spot I'd drop my shit and get his back. That's just how I am. I don't think bonds are broken by time.

Next stop, the airport. Checklists, explainations, then the SKY! It was fucking amazing. Dale asked me afterwards what I get out of flying. I told him the truth: when I'm up there, I am completely present in that moment. I don't think about anything else. I am totally aware of my body, of my surroundings, of the world in its perpetually ephemeral glory. Dale did some sort of dive and I was weightless for like ten seconds. I have never felt that before, it blew my mind. I was just physical feeling during that time, just my body with no mind and no cares or worries. I got to fly the plane most of the time, too, it was so cool. It just totally absorbs my attention so my mind can't wander at all. Beautiful feeling.

Came back, went to the Prescott Group. It was a pretty amazing meeting. I really have nothing to worry about in my life. I decided to come home afterward and hang out with Evan. Between work, Daniel, J, parties, Sarah, Cliff and everyone else, I haven't had any time alone with myself for a while. I think (hope) that it's the reason I can't write. I definitely need a little while to just sit with myself and get centered.

I wouln't trade my life for anything right now. I'm so open to whatever happens at this moment. It'll pass, I'm sure, but for now I'll take it.

I'm going to go talk to myself (I do that regularly) and maybe pick up a pencil. And sleep, sweet sleep for whom I have so much love...

Hmm...content. =)

She Alone

2005-10-18T18:15:00.000-07:00

I've been debating whether to post any poetry on this blog. My best work is created to be spoken and performed rather than read. This piece, however, stands out in my mind. It's a very honest poem that I've probably shared with two other people. It was written about a particular person, months ago, but now its meaning to me is much more personal. Tell me what you think.

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it started with a furtive glance
and ended with a stare.
through sordid corners dared I dance,
but I was barely there.
I darted to and tasted and
retreated from her careless arms
that might have held elixers
made of whispers woven through her hair,
but I would never know the secrets
sleepless in her pretty eyes
and I would never hear the silver sweetness
of her pretty lies,
for many lives I've spent in seeking
porcelain pure perfection
pictured virgin marble surfaces
and grappled in the darkness for direction --
but yet I face my naked form
distorted in perception
chase forgiveness since the day was born
awaiting ressurection
hardly less than fate is torn do I with simple heart remain in stride
for though it tears from time to time,
at least I'd know I tried.