ay bay bay

i know ill be hungover tomorrow
and i know ill be eating steak for breakfast

as long as we still don't count seeing a representation of something on a screen as actually seeing it, we should all be doing just fine.

technology will never stay the same and certain forms of digital memory storage are doomed to be obsolete, so when its yours you better hope to god you back it up or that the generation after you will even care to because when they take away your card readers and laser pointers, its bye bye pictures and adios musica. probably the most valid reason to press vinyl now for recording artists, so they can preserve themselves. and id rather have prints that crumble in my hands then disappear when i can't remember the url.

to sum up the evening,
derek came by and dereked me up - ha!
and then i had a bowl of lamb and spicy noodles
dove into the dark room and emerged with two contact sheets and seven prints! used my fingers for tongs, ate monkey troubles during my break without warshing and uh... i may or may not have listened to... blink... one... eighty... i cant even say it.

see you guys tomorrow!

MIDDAY UPDATE:

i went to san mateo today.
san mateo is the greatest display of civilization throughout the course of human history.

i also finished 'tropic of cancer' about four minutes ago, and i want to slip inside henry miller's arms and bury myself in his jacket.

Joe Cocker On LSD.

and the re-performance after everyone in the audience was like, "dude, did you see joe cocker on acid this morning? please lets make him do that again and give for the love of god, can we get this guy better back up vocals?"

viewing recommendations: full screen this one, put on your headphones, and as you watch it, pretend youre him.

as i type this i am chewing on a delicious piece of lamb i pan fried with butter, cajun powder, black pepper and lawry's. fuck yeah. you know, i dont think i could ever be a vegetarian because to be quite honest, i like the idea of another thing dying just so i can put it in my belly. if big baby jesus didnt want us to eat our fellow inhabitants on his green earth, well, he shouldnt have made them so fucking delicious.

so like, yesterday or something, derek and i got bmx bikes, stole an AE-1 program and shrek fudge pops, built a fort and watched monty python in it. and this was all after the most successful errand run of my life which i dont need to elaborate on, but for those of you semi-adults in the world, how good is finishing five tasks on that mental to-do list that seems to haunt permanently after the age of 21?

phil: EMILY YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS http://cgi.4chan.org/s/src/1190096714616.gif YOU HAVE TO SEE THAT



i have good friends.

i can not even convey how fuckng last night was to me.
but an attempt:

my guiltiest non edible pleasure hands down is graffiti. i know no one my age besides white guys with headphones likes it, and half of them dont even appreciate it as a whole. just write their names get up have fun. and thats cool, but sometimes egos get in the way of giving kudos to someone better.

that being said, i wanted to say what i consider to be the BEST in the graffiti world, for sure its AWR and MSK for crews and everyone in 7th letter is like simply 'this is art and you cant touch it' kind of shit.

so when i was halfway through telling saber in a drunken haze, 'for sure thirty years from now if theres an art history book about this time period you wont be able to talk about anything without mentioning graffiti. its undeniable at this point, and you wont be able to talk about artists in graffiti without mentioning your name. youve outlived yourself. fuck you because youre immortal, how the fuck did you do that?' and caught a glimpse of jose who was about to crash into me i was like, FUCK THIS IS AWESOME.

and when we went back inside and RETNA was breaking down for me his thought process when he creates letters, taking out his sketchbook and actually demonstrating it, how an 'E does the same thing as an S', i was like FUCK THIS IS AWESOME.

oh and when he wrote my name for me tore it out and put it in my purse, which would later be sitting next to one of the cans they used that night AND an eighth saber put in it, it was like a souvenier that says FUCK THIS IS STILL AWESOME.

everyone i hung out with last night has at one point called me to say 'what the fuck?'.


did that mexican midget really start worshipping luis' pee in the tenderloin like it was mayan gold?
where did we get all those tiny apples?
what the fuck just happened?

"doesnt RUGGISH mean 'like the rug, kinda'?"
-Paul Choe, on the Thuggish Ruggish Bone

do androids dream of electric sheep? yeah, just barely.

last night i had a dream that katrina turned to me and whispered 'we have to get out of here. we have to move. we are moving.' and she crawled on my back like it was a eucalyptus tree and i carried her across a survivor-style obstacle course, a thin bridge made out of rocks and fallen tree trucks covered in slick moss in a shallow river, not too dissimilar from the scenario outlined by my prog rock playing physics teacher ilkka koskelo a few semesters ago as he tried to highlight varying degrees of friction on a given surface, as i marched, slipped and inched my way to the goal, an old metal handpainted sign with blinking light bulbs, the contest (with no other contestants that i was aware of) began to end. they* started dismantling the course as i moved across it, and soon i found myself begging to simply finish, waving my rights to the prize. when i was denied i made up my mind to simply steal it, and with katrina still on my back, who was growing and shrinking in size, at the base of a small rocky almost vertical slope i snatched it and we ran off.

elements of the dream were to be later re-enacted with my arms spread like the wingspan of a bi-plane, a record bag in the hook of my elbow like one propeller and my bookbag acting as another, as i braved a mini-construction site in china town that was planked off from society via falled electric poles.

im in new york and have been for quite some time. i had the dream in my brother's brooklyn apartment on an aerobed a mere two feet away from him, so i was able to regale him with the tale as soon as my eyes opened. i also told him about the fake roomate i had in slumberland, a black guy named wardell who fucked up my sandwich order at safeway while my back was turned and took nine dollars out of my wallet to pay for it. man that pissed me off something fierce.

oh wait, thats totally fucking boring.

so heres some EMILY ACTION NEWS

day one in new york would be more aptly labeled early-as-fuck/late-as-shit one. i met two boys from chicago in long island and we rode the train in together from manhattan. one was 6'5 and the other no more that an inch or two above 5'. the duo were some sort of media photography thing (i never really got what they did, they were shadier and more elusive than paranoid coke dealers) and would later smoke me out that week and take me gallery hopping in chelsea.

the first ACTUAL day i spent up here was in an abandoned pool getting DOWN to a free 'ghostland observatory' show during a midday thunderstorm.

*heres where the asterisk comes back: dreams always have a "they" in charge pulling all the strings, an accepted logic that guides you through the movie. i like that, its like a narrator that never speaks.

i was scheduled to fly back last sunday and.. looking around.. yeah i guess that didnt happen. how can i? theres WAY too many record stores that i simply havent dug through and theres WAY too many dee-licious treats to gorge myself on. too many knock off sunglasses, too many flea market finds, and too many works of art that i dont even deserve to see.

i got mad hoes in this neckka the woods, my grandparents, the amazing oliver halsman rosenberg, raul, todd and allie briefly and if i play my cards right and text message the right sweet nothings, dave choe will be out here so we can teach our younger siblings a thing or two in binge eating. heh.

and neopan 1600 is 3.99 a fucking roll at B&H. so yeah. remember all those times i was holla'd 'westside til i die'? sorry 'pac, but im converted.

im getting this record player
and it has USB hookups so i can like rip the LPs/45s to mp3s i guess
i want to make a blog so i can put the songs up for other people to download/listen to.
cuz i have awesome shit i can never find on bit torrents and search engines for whatever reasons, like its just not popular enough or never made it to cd/digital format.

so does anyone know how i go about doing this? i know youre all smarter than me.

attn: ryan/sean/the internet savvy read my comment on this entry

i just woke up a bit past 4 in the afternoon. 4:17 to be exact and the minutes are rapidly ticking away past, and its driving me fucking crazy, only because its sunny out and i feel i should be taking advantage of it or getting something to eat, but who fucking cares.

san francisco has so little to offer me lately, and im not going to sit here and just make things up for me to do in it. only because i just can't anymore. i said it to omar last night, "i dont mean to sound bitter but i feel like ive looked under every rock." and thats really where san francisco has me right now. its this huge potential to be something amazing, and you feel that when you first get here, and youre all excited then you explore the little neighborhoods divvied up like frontier land, tomorrow land, and toon town on a fucking disney map, but it only takes one day to go on all the rides, which ARENT THAT GOOD, and the food is priced for tourists that should have been saving up their money for something a bit more worthwhile than a $40 dollar taco meal to fuel their family for half an afternoon.

of course i would be saying that sentence to omar walking out of an amazing free to me movie at the castro, which is a beautiful theater and not having anything to wake up for in the morning and no responisibility. i am a fucking brat, and i probably always will be until someone sets me straight. i walked omar to the bus stop last night and then walked home. earlier i had walked to the theater. its san francisco's only redeeming activity right now, just walking. biking = locks, figuring out hills being judged by people with stupid tiny hats and constantly having to be en route to some place.

the walking thing got on my good side an afternoon or two ago when i was waiting for a bus at powell and market. the financial district had just let out a session, the hyphy kids were out of class, tourists were going bananas and the city was in full effect.

this woman with a black pvc cap that resembled either a satanic nun on catwoman rode by me on her slick black cruiser and gigantic silver basket full of apples and a newspaper. and i had seen her before the day earlier a bit further down the street, and i fumbled through my backpack to find my cell phone so i could take note, and figure out if she was getting off work, and begin to imagine what she does all day. routines and patterns are easy to predict. and when she rode off i kind of just followed her with my gaze and saw down market past civic center, van ness and the beginnings of the incline that leads to the intersection at church. and the rental cars were honking at F trains, and boys were yelling at the girls who were screaming at the crackheads who were shrieking at the floor and it all looked so retarded so of course i had to walk from there. because even though you can figure out how to spot corporate yuppies with a fetish over and over, there's a lot that happens that you just can't clock.

and market street served as the perfect human zoo almost immediately. at 5th and market i saw a gypsy from chile named cristobal, who i had met at a party on treasure island. he was making his way through san francisco by airbrushing t-shirts in front of walgreens and grown a beard to look older than he was. gripping it tightly like reigns on a pony was a four year old girl with the longest black hair sitting on his shoulders. with one hand was securing a flailing leg, and in the other a three-tier bag of take out, i didnt want to stop and chat and make the journey back even longer for him. but already something in me wanted to thank him for giving me that little picture to hold on to in my head.

after he the parade continued with a full-wheel unicycle powered by what appeared to be a sentient pile of dreadlocks, an over-the-shopping-cart conference between a prostitute and her pimp, "is he worth it?", and underage mexican couples canoodling on the street. my attention to my surroundings drifted in and out as i started making up songs, judging the effectiveness of bus stop ads and scolding myself for whatever reasons i hated myself that day. i sneered at the stores with overpriced "vintage" furniture, and scores of restaraunts without absolutely anything you could call tasty, and began chastising society in my brain for allowing this to happen in an american metropolis, soon my overanalytical mind wandered to international waters and i was breaking down myspace for forcing people to define themselves in media categories and document themselves through digital pictures from an ultra slim 8 megapixel digital camera that fits in your purse. do you REALLY want EVERYONE to know how drunk you were?

anyway, i was drifting. it all came crashing down when i found myself staring at the REYES on the end of that wall that boost mobile sponsored over by flax. i had walked by when they were painting it, and deer-in-the-headlights'ed it when i saw them. it was so beautiful. the colors, the balance, the texture wall underneath the brushstrokes, fuck yeah, the calculated imperfection of knowing what paint should be allowed to drip, and what should be cleanly contained? and i guess thats all bundled up in what you call "style" but it was still fucking hot.

and you know this was a wall that all those scrappy kids with paint cans were fighting on for forever, which i would love to laugh at on the bus ride home as the disses just grew worse and worse, but seeing this here now in its stead, it was like a technicolor gem.

mmm, what was i talking about again?



fuck it. i feel better.
bring on the breakfast beer!

i think we would all like to be able to get excited over something again, like we used to, to really care, but we just dont have it in us any more.

wheatpasting is like jazz in that 90% of it is atrocious.

anyone not working on tuesday want to go to this?

The San Francisco Film Society’s SF360 Film+Club, a monthly social screening series, returns to Mezzanine with a program of selected highlights from the uniquely entertaining Wholphin, a quarterly magazine collection of rare and unseen short films, about to release issue No. 4.

The featured films of the night are:
Two Cars, One Night, the first film from New Zealand director, Taika Waititi, whose feature film, Eagle vs. Shark, played at the 50th San Francisco International Film Festival and is in theaters this summer. Waititi is currently working on developing Two Cars, One Night into a feature-length film, which will feature more cars, more nights.

An excerpt from Lynn Hershman Leeson's Strange Culture (SFIFF 2007), an unconventional documentary that follows artist and professor, Steve Kurtz, after the FBI falsely accuses him of bioterrorism, because his artworks, which incorporate genetically modified food and bacteria, are mistaken for WMDs.

Chris Waitt's Heavy Metal Jr. a documentary about a band of Scottish nine-year-olds preparing to perform their song, “Satan Rocks,” at their county fair.

Andrew Zuckerman and Alex Vlack’s High Falls, starring Maggie Gyllenhaal and Peter Sarsgaard as a couple keeping secrets from one another. High Falls is also being expanded into a feature film.

Toby MacDonald and Luke Morris’s Heavy Metal Drummer, the story of a Moroccan teenager whose passion for heavy metal music sets him apart in the Arab world. Morris’s inspiration for this film came from “a story of 14 metalheads who’d been arrested and tried in Casablanca for moral and religious crimes, essentially, wearing Metallica T-shirts and having a penchant for death metal.”

Olivo Barbieri’s Site Specific_ LAS VEGAS 05 featuring mind-bending aerial video footage that makes Las Vegas look like a model. Barbieri's Site Specific series includes films on Rome, Shanghai and Seville, and New York will be added next.

Doors open at Mezzanine at 7:00 pm, program starts at 7:30 pm.
Complimentary Damrak and Agavero cocktails and tasting from 7:00 – 8:00 pm.
Tickets are $8.00 at the door or $5.00 if reserved in advance by emailing info@sf360.org.
Must be 21+ to attend.
For more information, www.sffs.org.

guess what ive been doing.




also i wanted to recommend to all you late night crusaders and straight up loners (like myself, so dont take offense), i found THE most amazing channel on youtube. so amazing that i did not actually know that there was channels on youtube until i discovered this.

http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=GottfriedGeist

its an incredible collection of author interviews spanning decades and continents, ranging from science fiction to poetry to philosophy. the kurt vonnegut one is THE FUCKING JAM. its broken down into eight parts and are uploaded in backwards order, so dont click the first one listed, yadadamean? i was about to say that 'its seriously fucking worth it' but if i did that no one would hit it up. so. take it or leave it. but if you leave it, you're gay.

the shitty weather as of late has me planning a lovely evening indoors, and missing my home town [buffet] at the same time. i dont know whats gotten into philliam either but i suspect the same, that or some kind of low-burrito-intake.

ciao bellas.

alright ladies and gents, its sunday night and like the good lord i aint got shit to do. i just finished lapping up the meat-juice-salt residue off a salad plate that once housed my dee-licious dinner. and now i welcome to what promises to be the most fantastic update session of the year.



first of all, for anyone who hasnt seen me in persona, i gave myself a funny haircut that started in my brothers brooklyn apartment, reached its height in my bathroom at four in the morning before i picked up david massey from the hospital after undergoing surgery, and continues to be an ongoing process everyday. if theres a mirror and something sharp around... here i am pictured in the trademark marlboro sweater of derek paul davis who was so kind as to lend it to me when he went to our states only continental rival in cheese production.

so one of the many delights of my former city of residence is getting to drive my mommas car all over the god damn place. today i drove halfway across the county to my favorite menudo spot, twice to fashion valley, and to and fro from karina vaginas.


blablabla

heres the point

car = radio = new single obsessions

theres this song that has an old ben e. king beat and i have no idea who sings it but it goes

'you got me suicidal, suicidal, suicidal' over and over

so i tried to search for it, and i found this awesome list of songs about suicide.