On the phone today, my mom told me that she and my father thought “throw some ds [on that bitch]” meant “get [that bitch] d-cup breast implants.”

It doesn’t get any better than that, but if you want, you can continue on to read or sort of read about the following:

susy and hank

mike and carissa

dream house

jams

raekwon playing scrabble against mos def

(more…)

Essential Pete Seegar

cover dudes

DB

Lindsay Daen 

10 yr old Joe W’s skate dude. 

TI 

TI page from Apple and Banana

Current events 

I finished my loft last week. My room mural is ongoing. I am working on a drawing zine with Travis, who was kind and visionary enough to start it and send it to my court. I cooked delicious vegetables tonight and Jamie came and visited. I spent a weekend in Ohio. I have Netflix now and have seen a lot of dumb movies and two good ones. I started working on suspended shelves for my stereo speakers and next week I’m building normal shelves for my collapsing piles of floor junk and records. This weekend is The Cabin and I’ll be out of town for a few days for that. The following is Beam Halloween stuff. Real true stories coming soon.

My mom called me yesterday and said “It was six years ago that you called me and said you spent Labor Day by yourself and that you walked out to Wendy’s to get a cheeseburger by yourself.”

After Susy and I ate breakfast we drove over to her old house on Osage. For years people have been telling me that my eggplant allergy isn’t an allergy, just my saying that I have an allergy. We opened the garage and I took Allison’s dresser and put it into the trunk. We closed the garage and got back into the car. I felt a dry feeling in my throat and began to cough. Soon I opened the door and threw up (silently, says Susy) a little pile of falafel in the old driveway. There it was, my mark of two years spent on Osage: the keys left on a table, the dresser gone, an old story realized and left to dry in the afternoon sun.

It’s hard to make a list of things that happened at camp, or to parse them in normal life terms. I’ve been much more conscious of my diet and exercise patterns since getting back. At first I was disappointed at how quickly I thought I had fallen back into my normal schedule, but it’s at this exact moment that I’m realizing how I haven’t. My workday has normalized into a “project period” that runs from around eleven until around five, I actually have been eating more than once a day, and I actually haven’t been up later than two more than a few times. I worked on my room and my house and my walls every day since I’ve been back and have biked and cooked plenty. Am I actually more motivated, capable and temporally aware than before? Isn’t that what I said I was trying to get out of camp?

I did highs and lows yesterday.

Tomorrow I’m playing brain jammerz with Ben and Clint of Wilde Stallions as an opener for Sunburned Hand. I’m going to finish-finish the camp comic on Wednesday, and when I do, I’ll scan it in and mail you one. Travis and I are going to start a new one as soon as I mail him fresh drawings. I’m going to New York as soon as I find time.

Not that I think it matters much or anything but in this continuity-crazy wikiworld I was just thinking that maybe the trick with Roadrunner v. Wile E Coyote is that they aren’t specific characters. Like how not every lion on animal planet is the same lion in some new weird scenario, where he starves or eats his young or something and then comes back next week to try to beat the drought again. So it’s not one tenacious coyote who never learns but a thousand ill-fated cousins who all get one grim attempt each, etc. When I was little as I probably mentioned on at least three blogs already I used to hate when he would try to kill the roadrunner in such a way that he wouldn’t then be able to eat it. I wrote the coyote a letter wondering if he had thought of this himself afk;dlsafk

You be the judge of what any of this has to do with my month at camp, my new house or my work. You’ll know whether you were right or wrong tomorrow or the next day when I’m not too tired to tell you.

I have a lot of new things to show you and I’ll do it soon.

My eyes watered and my nose ran all through the Murfreesboro night. I woke up in the early morning in the dark, soundproofed band room – next to my amps and the beer I had spilled on them – to steal wireless and update websites for work. I was swimming with Patrick and Mike in the 3am Susquehanna two weeks earlier. It may have been that morning, after making a panic-stricken left into a Kentucky Waffle House, positive that the local sheriff several cars ahead was displeased with my pushing through a yellow light, that my mother called to tell me that someone had drowned. A ninth grader, she said, who was fishing with two friends off of the island, swept away by the river. I can’t stop thinking about that poor kid and how he couldn’t float. I think about him every time I jump.

I swam in a pool for the first time this summer. It was yesterday, in West Chester Pennsylvania. Late last night I swam in it again. The sky was clear and the moon bright and full.

Susy and I are driving south to Asheville tomorrow, by way of Richmond and back through Columbia and Savannah. With any luck, this will be the first year I see fireworks since 2001. With a reasonable amount of luck, an orchestra will be playing the 1812 Overture while they explode. With inspirational levels of world-bending outluck, an orchestra will be playing either Sister Ray or your choice of songs from Versatile Arab Chord Chart.

I had elevator dreams last night and another set of dreams from “the worried castle.” The elevator had no roof and no apparent suspension, like a floating ski lift chair with an open back. It flew diagonally through a room that slanted upward, somewhere between a nubby carpeted floor and an invisibly distant, black ceiling. Tall white windows, each hundreds of feet high, let in gray light that didn’t illuminate any more than the texture of the carpet. I could see from how high I was that the floor was shaped as if in a gigantic staircase, with each step at least twenty feet high or more. Four other people were in the elevator with me when it left, down a shaft that seemed like a bucket into a well, but there was only one with me in the room with high ceilings. I can’t remember who it was; we didn’t speak. I found a notebook from early 2005 while I was emptying my room on 49th Street and it had early references to The Reservoir. These new-fangled dreams have nothing on The Reservoir or the dream-locales of yesteryear. I hope I finish with this indoor crap and can get back to the waterways before I leave for camp.

Life.

Write it in your phone and then watch it become true in just one year or less. What they don’t tell is that the deer snort and the wild dawn dogs run free.

All-time worst nightmares last night. I’ll tell You about them some time.

Wile out, do jumps, do gantma, bust guns, squat the land, lose the game, bugs got it, bridge-burner, spork, we eat what we like, you win this round, the yellow particular to (reserved for?) highway-side Adult Bookstore signs from Michigan to Tennessee, serving those content to live life on their own terms, The Destroyer.

At the bad habit swap meet I traded a nine year killer for graffiti, which I am now totally serious about. Attention cops, look for my tags, appearing on buildings everywhere starting next week. My tags will be the following:

“Hilarious”
annnnd
“Noise Music”

Also I saw a little guy tagging from an electric tape shelf as ambulances rolled by in the night, you better catch him. And the cat that used to sit on my car was born in my hands.

Not cryptic: We played in Lancaster the other night, it was a blast.

Wine-life on the anti-frontier: My brother and I watched Raising Arizona and I drank 30% of the liquid contents of the house. The weather is nice and the food is plentiful and the river is high. We lit a fire tonight. Nobody played Scrabble but I finished a crossword while my dad watched Borat The Movie, regularly farting and being smug about it.

Uh let me see, what are some good inside jokes and allusions to things I did with one specific person who, if they were reading this, would be the only person who could possibly know what I’m talking about that I can put in here this time?

Been manufacturing the new myth in the early hours, dreaming it and then waking up and finding that it’s all so suddenly real. Rambling life action: can’t control my hands or my eyes or my mouth when I’m asleep, wake up regularly with calluses from sleep-guitar, no voice from sleep-reciting, red eyes from wide-eyed at dreams. Wake up and all of the food is gone except for a neat plate of leftovers, and how did I learn to cook and arrange so well in my sleep, and at what store did I find those ingredients in the night? It’s simple: I am that persuasive in my sleep. I talked my way in and bought them from the usual grocer, who closes at ten but was persuaded to let me into the blue morning light store 5am early, and to put on the record of my choice over the store’s public address system while I shopped (Velvet Underground self titled). Wake up and my clothes are all mended and my fingernails are trimmed, wake up and my work is all done and my drawings all finished, wake up and my recordings are mastered, videos finally shot and trips all planned, baroque sketches for the future on bedsheets, legs sore from hundreds of miles of bike riding up on the long path to the river where we swim and play in the mud, summers of the future stretching out like perfect tigers languid full and lithe

Revised schedule:
- Driving to Chicago in three weeks or so, possibly driving further to Madison, gone maybe ten days
- Band tour of the northeast end of April / beginning of May
- Moving out of the house, back to the street end of May
- Two week band tour 1st half of June
- Family vacation / various obligations 1st half of July
- July 21 – August 21 camp
- September coalescing?
- October band tour

At Fez restaurant with Susy two or three weeks ago I heard the record that’s the basis for every tape loop on Muslimgauze’s Jebel Tariq.