he must know something, but he don't say nothing.

southern gothic

"The past is never dead. It's not even past."

- William Faulkner

waking up and the thaw

the seasons are mixing and moving, but it's mostly spring now. we went to the woods last weekend for the vernal equinox and it was beautiful to sleep in a circle on the ground with lights in the trees and pancakes and tea over the fire and the voices of my friends all around me. i am awake after months of hibernation and it's startling and good.

but every night my dreams pull me around and i wake up exhausted. last night i dreamt about a camping trip in the woods with long lost st. christine's classmates and their babies and husbands and mini vans. but first ferdinand and tony and i took a strange detour to a sleazy kentucky motel where the staff and customers were all slimy KKK members who were there for sex and gambling. we holed up in a musty dark room where i watched the lobby warily from the window while ferdinand took photos. then suddenly i fell to the ground and reality split into layers and layers parallel to the sleazy motel, and in one of them i was working for tony soprano and there were motorcycles and hit men and ominous plans. we drove into the woods and found an elaborate system of tunnels and domiciles made from sticks and stones scattered with relics from some long-gone residents. there was some feeling of doom or dread hanging over every adventure as reality continued to couple and split. i flickered in and out of someone else's large family gathering with plates and plates of delicious food. my father was there and we feasted on pasta and salad and fried chicken and took naps on the couches. then everything was reduced to virtual reality again and i watched it on the windshield screen of a motorcycle parked in the motel's lot. i drove it down the block and found tony soprano installing a taco truck in another empty lot, so i advised him in its placement. then i woke up, in real life this time, and there was snow on the ground.


time is flying by and life is a countdown again.

cast your gaze into the moonlit clearly

 it is a beautiful, hazy & prophetic friday night in september.

and this is one of my favorite songs ever.



happy weekend.

bangarang!!

my neighbor came to the door to give me some errant mail.
i just realized i was wearing warpaint during our interchange.

it's been a long hard day of fighting the man. i fall asleep to the sound of sirens and have long twisty dreams about being unjustly arrested by swarms of policemen. as my faithful comrade in chaos cousin tony would say, fuck the five-oh.

it's the first day of fall and i am joyous and unruly! i win!

equinox: balance in nature

Time drops in decay,

Like a candle burnt out,
And the mountains and woods
Have their day, have their day;
What one in the rout
Of the fire-born moods
Has fallen away?

-william butler yeats

america the beautiful: david lynch's interview project

in the glorious folkloric tradition of this american life and storycorps, david lynch's interview project is a treasure trove of characters encountered during a 20,000 mile road trip across the united states. a new 2-3 minute episode is posted every three days, chronicling the marvelous stories and amazing soul-moving resilience of people. oh america. someday, someday-- i will have my own wonderful version of this project. mark my words.

my favorite interviews are #10 jim carter, #24 mrs. dennis, #26 john d. montgomery, #28 jefferson orwell opal, and#32 joseph l. king. but every single one is pretty epic.

InterviewProject.com