sigh

Ever fall in love with someone based on a short span of time, and experience, only to have that time end and life move on but you're still stuck, in love with an idea, and with a memory, that no longer exists and maybe never did; and even the object of your affections has changed or is in a radically different place than they were at the time you fell in love with them, and you can even spend time with them and see, objectively, that they are not the icon you hold so dear in your heart; but still the ghost holds you, and you can't seem to shake it?

I never feel that way.

Nope.


oh we kissed only once
in your stripped-out apartment
you sold all your furniture
so we kissed on the carpet
it's like a whaling ship being on tour
you know next day you gotta set sail
in your 350 Ford
oh but you.
You were my Fiji.
Believe me.
Those hours with you, they
only expand...
and you're a stripper now in New Orleans
fucking whale sank my van and
took my shipmates into the sea...
-john vanderslice, "you were my fiji"

Ever wish you had a tv?

My book's not working.

peep



Oh yes. The Peeps are here.

From the website above:

"Conclusion: The synergistic effect of smoking and alcohol in Peeps produces a rapidly exothermic oxidation reaction, leading to a chemical and morphological divergence from the wild-type Peep phenotypes.
"Assistant lab members described these divergent Peeps as "less sweet," "crunchier," and "gross" when compared to the Peeps which used either alcohol or tobacco, but not both. For these reasons, it is our strong recommendation to JustBorn Corporation that they supervise young Peeps and educate them of the risks associated with smoking and alcohol."

I can hear the rain starting in Los Angeles....

I want something amazing to happen in my life. Don't I try enough random insane shit that something amazing should have happened by now?

Well, to be fair, I've had many amazing things happen. But I need a *new* amazing thing.

Get on that, will you, people?

And I can't sleep for the life of me. Fucking insomnia. Will a team of you work on that, too? Thanks.

More pictures...



Normal and I at Patrick and Ben's Fondue Party, enjoying the libations; my street in the sunlight.



I have the coolest friends. Vanessa in her spork dress, with the Mouse Head Hat.

sometimes I post poetry here, and not here


my heart
she is a house
I need an exorcism

gat cat

This makes me so happy I could explode.

Getting drunk at home alone is NOT the worst thing in the world.

I actually feel as though it's RESPONSIBLE.

For instance, I'm NOT operating a motor vehicle, nor do i have to work in the morning. No one gets hurt. I inconvenience no one. My car is parked somewhere where I'll know where to find it in the morning. No one else is here, no strangers are around. It's really quite grand. Its' the ultimate in non-impactful inebriation.
...


Oh my god.

Wait.

[...]

[click...pause...click...clunk...pause]

Tana [my fantabulous roommate] just got in. I know cos I heard our door open, close, and then her door open and close.

Oh shit. I can assume she has to work tomorrow, and that can't be fun, cos it's 3:34 a.m. right now. Yuk. I'm so glad I took tomorrow morning off.

Tana, I love you. I hope you are not tired when you read this. I heard you come in, but didn't want to bug you [no one wants an effusive roommate at 3:35 a.m.]. So, much in the manner in which you are currently going to sleep, I am as well, since I just polished off the dregs of a bottle of shiraz I bought at TJ's about two weeks ago (I feel like I'm getting better, drinking them in MORE than a week, rather than in the span of two nights). Goodnight. Yay.

I also feel like I got the killradio benefit thing ironed out (we got a headliner!!!), and so, yay.

Schleeeep.

I luv Jenna


On V-Day night, Jenna and I and a few other singletons went out and painted the town a strong shade of mauve, if not a complete red:



...and there we are.

There are a few more pics from the camera phone, but as I've just discovered I have to pay 45 cents every time I email one pic to myself from the phone, I'm going to peruse them with a more critical eye before I post.

It's my birthday today.

I bought myself a garnet ring.

I'm getting older...

...and nothing can stop it.

I'm realizing, I spend so much time getting ready for things in my life--things I plan to have happen or plan to make happen. Things I want. Things I look forward to. But there's something coming at me--I don't know when, I don't know how--one thing I can't escape, and that's the Big Trip. Death.

I won't need to pack a thing. There's nothing I can take with me. It is simply an issue of setting my affairs in order. Of being truly ready to go.

Honestly, I can't think of a life better spent, than living with the goal of making it a-ok to exit this world in peace, to drift off feeling like everything is gonna be okay.

I think I've found a tiny little answer to the bigger bits of me that needed solving as of yet.

weird friendster links

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who REALLY cares...

So on my way home from work last night Normal called me and wanted to go out. So we went out.

We often go to the Short Stop, a bar on Sunset near downtown that's awesome for its cheap draft PBR, its bartender who likes Normal and calls her "Farrar," its pinball machines, and its fan-FUCKING-tastic photo booth, the images from which are just great--black and white, high contrast, very clear, slightly antique-looking. Once there we were immediately accosted by the guys from the band 400 Blows, an excellent and uncategorizable LA band whose sound I just simply can't compare to anything else out there these days--you either really appreciate it, or hate it. We all hung out with Scot, Christian, and Ferdie, and took pictures--the tradition has become to accost others and demand they take pictures with us, and we shall continue in this grand tradition until we break that fucking machine.

So once I scan those pics in you'll see 'em here.

Then we went down one block to the Little Joy, a bar with one letdown of a name (I mean, if you had a bar, wouldn't you want to call it Stupendous Happy Thrilling Joy? weird) and a ladies' room with more graffiti than Jim Morrison's grave (although my fave is still a ladies' room in a bar in Prescott, AZ). Just inside the door someone had scrawled in black Sharpie, "WHO REALLY CARES?" and then created a numbered list. Subsequent visitors to the restroom had filled out the list until it almost--almost--reached the floor. On the list were names like Ralph Nader, Michael Moore, Julian Casablancas (guy with good hair, from The Strokes--oh wait, that's not very descriptive), KXLU (great LA college station), Carrow's ("Carrow's Family Restaurant Cares!"), Hans Blix (UN Weapons Inspector), John Peel (music dude), etc., etc., etc. Someone even wrote "Thanks Santa!" We liked that one.

Well, Normal and I felt obliged to make one little addition. See, we know who REALLY cares.



Miss that? Here's a close-up:



We were immensely satisfied with ourselves after that. :)



So visit the Little Joy, and see a memento to MattShaw's caring soul enshrined within.

Hee heee heeeee.....

Le Barometer de Mood

You're inside the finest little space
And the slightest sound just
Makes you want to close your eyes
And hold your breath
Seen too much for all they care
And been around, and seen what's there
And you can't bring it back anymore
-unbelievable truth.



I vow that it's goodbye. I vow that it's goodbye and God bless.
Why did I have to assume we're exactly the same? Oh no, talking about yourself.
I vow that it's goodbye to the old ways. Those stories were a good read, they were dumb as well.
I could never be seen falling down on my knees crawling, oh no, talk about a sell.
Oh, but as the heavens shudder, baby, I belong to you.
Oh they said you get what you deserve and all they said was true.
So is this what it's come to? Am I cold or just a little bit warm?
Oh, well, just give me an easy life and a peaceful death...
-the sundays.

A picture is worth a thousand words, and every one of them is "Huh?"

From a Wells Fargo ATM on Glendale Boulevard, about a block north of the Tee Gee bar. Torrey and I (HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY, TORREY!!! Sorry I was a dumbass and missed your party on Friday! I had to work early early early the next morning...) had stopped in around 9 or 10 one night to get cash. And the ATM offered me the option of English (default), Espanol, or...





Hmm.

Okay.



That noted, it was also the weekend of Really Loveable Pets:





Diva the Divine Dalmatian; Scooter the Stupendous Kitty.

BEST. PETS. EVER.

And then there's Josè...I can't forget Josè...

Where's my picture of him? Hmm.

while you were away

if I was your vacation
would you please remember me
a place you plan to return to
some day

drugs can be bad*


It's midnight and my upstairs neighbor is VACUUMING.


Fuckin' tweekers.








* - Note that I did not say they ARE bad, categorically. Oh no no. Only when they make my upstairs neighbors want to run large noisy household appliances.

the Rorschach that is my car

Contents of my car include but are not limited to:

1 framed cardboard icon of the Virgin Mary
1 Japanese Super Lucky Cat
1 necklace won during a stripping contest at Burningman
1 "not responsible for lost items" card stolen from a room at the Stardust in Vegas
1 big silver tai chi sword
1 fire sword with imbedded wick for soaking in gasoline
1 ballerina costume with light pink long tulle skirt and pink bodice, pearl-beaded collar
1 pair army-issue dust goggles
1 survival kit with supplies for two days
flashlight
crowbar
1 business card from tattoo parlor in Arizona with map scrawled on the back
1 small card with Virgin Mary on one side, prayer in Spanish printed on the other
1 decapitated head, about 1 inch tall, from tiny kitten figurine, gift from Laura
1 small baseball bat, solid wood, painted green
1 can camping fuel (white gas)
2 empty bottles of tequila (in trunk)
1 empty bottle of Chuck Shaw merlot (in trunk)
essential oil of cinnamon
essential oil of tea tree
bag of white chocolate chips
lots and lots of maps
straw cowboy hat
large black trench coat with tear on one sleeve, mended with staples
1 pair kitten-heeled red pumps with retro stitching detail and wraparound ankle straps
yoga mat
tent, rolled up
sleeping bag, rolled up
comforter from my bed, placed in car three months ago with every intention of immediately taking it to the cleaners...has not yet been cleaned
bag of mixed nuts
several small rocks
spray perfume
bandanna and breather for use during dust storms and political protests
six half-consumed bottles of Diet Coke


I think that's all I can remember for now.
Anyone who came across the contents of my car could be forgiven for thinking I'm certifiably insane.

I find this amusing. :)

ow

Kidney stones are back....

fuck.

go away, go away, go away.....

God Bless Vicodin.

life is often very pretty

past and...future

I just went through all my photos from when I was in Italy, and it made me cry, to see what I'd managed--to get myself, all alone, over to Italy when I was barely 21, 22--and how much I enjoyed it--

I had some moments there when I abandoned my usual cynicism and agnosticism and truly believed--no, KNEW--that God existed and had made those days just for me.

Looking at the pictures now, years later, seeing me with nothing in the shot but my feet exuberantly, triumphantly in the Mediterranean breakers, the sand wafting up beyween my toes in the current; the mountaintop I climbed to as it was begining to rain over Tuscany, the fields of sunflowers fanning out and away from under me like an unfolding golden relief map, latitudes travelling south and away, with lakes lining up to the west; the gelato I ate in San Gimingiano (limone, fragole, tuttibosco--you ALWAYS wanna get more than one flavor, like the locals do), me beaming from boat decks and low-arched briged in Venice--I am realizing something very important.

God didn't make this happen for me.

I did.




and if I did it then, I can do it again...