School Library Posting (I found a chair)

I didn't manage to catch the SOTUS last night. I was Too busy stealing bad political acronyms to listen to a tired old man remind me that we are awesome. I tried parking in the new garage this morning at the Junior College, and if cars were honey, that was some richly flavored baklava, thick full. Maybe if we built some goddamn infrastructure instead of just incrementally accommodating for more cars, because the economics of it dictate that by doing so more cars is just what we're going to get. I want an Obama administration to build us some fuckin' rails and shit.

Continuing to make my car into the car I want it to be (as without it I am not an American), I finally replaced the wiper blades, in a twenty minutes circus of error for the neighbors with windows. Riding that pride I went in also for the headlight, but was unable to get the fucker out. My dad saw that my hood was open, and came out to ask what was up and get something from his car. I told him without looking directly at him, and he said that it was a good thing to learn how to do. I looked at the Accura manual one last time, it was as useless as he had been in teaching me to do anything with that car. My dad went back inside, and I tried a variety of tools in a variety of places to unlock the light bulb.The painter guy saw what I was doing, came out, and wrestled loose some wires and bits with his giant, Big Mac growth hormone enhanced hands. I guess my dad never had that kind of dad either. I emptied my car of everything but the leaves and dusts too small for me to feel accomplishment as I scoop up and out. It is now 100% legal to ride, and is flying the Obama flag from the right rear window.

The school library is full of people deliberately not noticing as I stretch my neck to look frightened at them. They're sitting in various stages of wetness, headphones and pencils allowing their sensory addicted minds the ability to sit and do for a second. Keyboards be tappin' and pant legs are rubbing up against one another as the books remain on the shelves and kids keep to themselves. I'm sure they're all passively looking for sex, maybe half of them know it. There's a horse head at the end of the computer terminal, Terra cotta like Sun Tzu, but less interested in staying relevant. It's balanced in such a way that it's chin sticks out towards the window, mouth agape like it's mid-charge. I don't think horse people would like this horse. But then, i don't know horse people.

I bought some cannabis yesterday, planning on making it the last time in a while, not sure how that's going to work out. I feel like I'm buried in layers of foreign chemical influence at this point, probably because self-medication is in a sense burying things. I mean I like the view from here, I like the tints and the skews all of it brings to my outlook, like some astronomical phenomena turning a still sky rippled. I just feel no sense of urgency, and I wonder how to connect with people who see the same sky as blue. My sister says I just gotta get up and do, and that it will all go from there. Most of the time I wake up cold and wet, and I undo. I feel a deep sense of shame for not wanting what she wants from me badly enough to to be that person. I believe, and she says (that sentence originally read she says and I believe) that I've been too coddled growing up, but I think that knowledge isn't helpful. Romulus also had original sin, and his mom was a bitch.

This writing is all public because it's easier than apologizing to everybody individually. I feel like expectations own my life and that the second I tell anybody I have interest in doing something is the second I die and am replaced by a mission statement. AM I CRAZY OR JUST A TEENAGER???

I uploaded these puppies before leaving the house at like 7 this morning. I forget what the one that isn't Abba or the Abba cover is, but quality noise right here.



http://www.sendspace.com/file/tup1v6

http://www.sendspace.com/file/vz0a8t

http://www.sendspace.com/file/88y3pp

Weekending Again

It's a different moral universe. Things unacceptable during the week are the routine of the weekend. Hence, my current situation, watching the ants dart across my desk and alternating between a sleeping foot and a foot with adequate blood flow like I were Hapi, periodically flooding and draining the Nile so that some kind of order may prevail. It's dull, timelessly dull.

I went on a drive with my mom up the coast to eat Indian food. It was clear at the beach, but my stomach was still empty and we were listening to Closer, so even as it was beautiful I just sat silently, looking at Macclesfield. The restaurant was cold inside, like they hadn't reached the necessary number of customers to decide it was economically reasonable to turn on the heat. Everyone who worked there was in fleece and a face of petrified indifference. I ate, and it was better.

That was also more or less the theme of Saturday, when I had the hang over gang over, and the first half of which was devoted to sleeping. Barack's speech made me cry (I was also on the pot), while Hillary's speech implored a fluctuation in volume that by the third time she did it, made me turn her off out of discomfort. Such contrasts I try not to think about it, in case she ends up the nominee. Friday had two completely unrelated halves, both of which began by talking with Isaac Boyd on the phone. To begin with, the guy is in the neighborhood. We get danishes, and I drive him home. The Danish a distant memory, he calls back at maybe nine, and tells me that he's planning on going to the city with some kids I knew from high school. I agree to join them, and down enough coffee to feel the need to talk about it. I hop in the backseat of a large late 90's Ford SUV, sitting next to an old skater kick box and 15 cans of Budweiser.

These kids drive like they have never been pulled over. I mean, I suppose it was only one person driving, but I picked up no terror but my own as we tailgated all motherfucker despite downpour status. The 101 was closed, and we inched our way around everyone else's unthinkably long workday for the purposes of thankless leisure. We stayed most of the night at our point of arrival, waiting to go to the party until the shame of diluting such an event with 12 boys was effectively drunk out of our concerns. Getting there we fit all the boys in, blasted the rap as though our car wasn't now filled with illegal passengers, booze, pot, and being driven by an underage person on the drink. I was in no position to do anything if a cop pulled up behind us but stare helplessly at them out from between my legs, my face inches from the trunk windshield. My ass wasn't on the line, but I did have front row seats for any potential spanking.

Once there, we stole Sparks and I remembered the extremes young adults have to go through in terms of image cultivation to survive in their world. Plenty of the White out. I danced after a couple because I remembered that dancing was something I loved doing (oh, shit, yeah!) but it wasn't the greatest. Three other people on the dance floor all of us playing the I'm blacker than you game, two of them with black skin. The women who show up see my spastic flailing and decide to slowly grove with one another. I get self conscious, (did they just call me Hitler?) and go drink this wallflower into a blossom.

Then it's time for the obligatory run down the street and message to my ex-neighbor to see if she's awake and has my shoe, complications- The dudes I'm with have been drinking sparks and enthusiastically say that they want to go too, not knowing the destination. Isaac comes with, the other dude gets a burrito, she's not home, and we're back to Sebastopol. Only the 101 is closed as far North as Novato, so we go back to San Rafael and through the West. At this point our driver is going well under the speed limit and ignoring dividers. We stop for Gatorade. It's restorative properties apparently do the trick because when I wake up again we're back home.

I'm pretty much caught up with life shit, like renewing my license and attending traffic school. Staying on top of homework would mean I might one day soon be free of all this weight. Real vernal renewal motherfucker type stuff. Springtime for the cynicism machine.

Could employment be so far away? (Yes.)

Stay tuned. (who?)



I know nothing about these people. Aren't parties nice?






How about you? How about your crew?

http://www.sendspace.com/file/cxb4y6

http://www.sendspace.com/file/t3f4q7

http://www.sendspace.com/file/hlfayr

Kirkland Signature Orange Soda

Is the peak of the excitement of the now. So many interesting questions are raised. Where did it come from? Why are there only four of them of a six pack in my refrigerator? What would it taste like, were I to drink one? What would I taste like after having done so? Irreparably different?

As I left the scene of so much unexpected frivolity and imitation citrus, I saw the remainder of the Kirkland variety pack on the kitchen floor, sitting on top of a box of Duraflames. My dad now trusts Costco deeply enough to allow them monopoly in his non-caffeinated beverage and frozen lasagna purchases. I am perfectly willing to drink the grape and orange flavors, but lemon lime and root beer are empty of symbolic value for me, as they are not as embraced by the black community. I just have simultaneously higher expectations than my parents as well as lower chances of fulfilling them, starting with a soda that projects the identity I want. I feel this is reasonable.

Dinner came from the same refrigerator, down freezer town lane. I'd go out, but then I'd have to replace my front headlight, Muchachos. It's hard to not feel I'm channeling Jim Anchower with those types of excuses (or just the Muchachos bit), but there it is. I find the prolonged adolescence our culture encourages to be super. I observed eating ritual around tacquitos, avocados, and salsa. Two cans of orange drink to wash it down.

The rain is keeping up. Good day to stay inside said the Press Democrat. I take their reporting seriously, and did so. I also registered for Traffic School (next Saturday, Marin County) and dealt with outstanding landlord bullshit. All done with. Homework is tomorrow, and then maybe tell the lady who over the phone took a breath in as she said "The senator..." when referring to Obama why I haven't been returning her calls about the precinct data she acquired on my behalf. She is the worst person of all right now, according to the latest polls out of the Hillaryland of my liver. That is the place where one can rub me in incorrect ways.

I hate the rain. Makes me remember all the times I was a lover and crave cheese danishes. Reptilian mind on display right now. If the Lizard were king:









http://www.sendspace.com/file/9pwk5n
http://www.sendspace.com/file/tzo49k

http://www.sendspace.com/file/1vvl0b

CIA * MIA

Odd vanity license plate, and yet there it was, driven by some (understandably) non-CIA looking middle aged lady, coming into Sebastopol from the East. Hah, the Spell Check suggests Sevastopol. I will consider that, Spell Check. Perhaps initiating some civic initiative towards that end. Real-estate agencies and civic institutions might then be able to market this place as the precarious outpost of high prices, retired people, and a civic government bent on petrifying expansion and pretending we are like Europe (we are not) by licensing wine bars and encouraging pedestrians. Other benefits to living in one of two cities in America with a Green Party majority on the city council include:

-the installation of multiple new pedestrian crossings with signals, sidewalks extended further into the street, blind people crossing awareness foot dealies, and a guaranteed sense of shame one feels when the cars stop just by virtue of your standing near the damn thing (this happens often).

-A police force that implores both hybrid cars in it's fleet and solar power in it's headquarters. Jerks can't buy my goodwill with carbon credits, but I'm assuming that's what's up here. They're still jerks, as of my finishing this sentence, though I am open to hear their side of things.. Any cops reading? Oh, right, cops don't read.

-I'm not really sure what to fill this third bracket with, I should pay more attention to where I'm living. Writing this has been an eye opener.

In other news, I am on my own for dinner. I am thinking drive through burrito. The volume on my computer keeps fluctuating, it's really unbearable, I'm having to listen to records. My default with this much rain and a shirt this dirty (I was unaware until after it was on) is to just put on The Idiot, and that's exactly what happened. Then I got mad rutty with the cheese the guy painting my dad's house gave me, and I thought I liked Tiny Girls a lot.

http://download.yousendit.com/EAB4E0DB7E524680

School was pretty Tokay (thanks for that suggestion too, Spell Check). Class consisted of the usual series of draining rhetorical questions that were at best silly and amusing, and at worst inscrutable. Afterwards, I stood for a minute to talk to somebody from high school. Then there was some girl in neon green stockings and a light blue dress talking to a guy with long hair and a dress shirt tucked into pretty tight jeans. Clearly evolving his style into something, but as it was it just all seemed more stuffy than any given classroom this time of year. I guess that's probably where they both came from or were going, but still. They clean interrupted the conversation, and when we returned it was necessarily about neon stockings. I then walked to my car wondering if what I was feeling at the bottom of my foot was coldness or wetness, I don't usually wear these shoes. This was in the CD player (finally working again) that I was thankful for. Burning CDs in the morning is the gift that keeps on giving.

Farolito Santa Rosa, I wish your chips weren't so salty, and I didn't occasionally find cartilage in your carnitas. Otherwise you are a rough provincial approximation of the mission burrito and therefore the only Mexican food worth eating in this county. And the drive through? Pure genius. Living in the future is living alone, preferably by vehicle... Unless it's just in constant search of water.

My shoes are still on, and the ambiguously wet or cold feeling is real, folks.


http://download.yousendit.com/9AF126D25E42AED6

http://download.yousendit.com/B7B4153B46705EE7

http://download.yousendit.com/3D0B7F300315DC9F

http://download.yousendit.com/EF66460A1A6E5DC9

That's the exit for burritos. It is also where I am certain I have seen battered poor people emerge from when riding my bike in that area. Invisible suburban poverty is sad when you think about it (yes it is). It is in no way connected with my acquiring a burrito by way of a twenty mile drive from my house. And besides, I saw some workers out there cutting all that excess grass by the side of highway 12 earlier this week. That has to be a good thing for those people, I'm sure.

Swastika eyes

So! I haven't been watching this season of Curb Your Enthusiasm, possibly because I don't actively assert myself in much of anything these days unless I'm absolutely certain to easily succeed, (I would lose at Curb?) but I've certainly enjoyed what I have seen of the show. Much then was my delight when this interest of mine overlapped with my interest in Baltimore club music. I'm not posting the Primal Scream song which shares the title of this post, but instead decided swastikas were sufficiently crazy to replace the word crazy. I just don't remember how it was actually spelled in the episode. Something about optometrists.

http://www.sendspace.com/file/jhclm4

Also, a big of bombastic mid-morning New Zealand audio-self doubt. And yet kinda uplifting. The nun keeps flying through time and space. Sonoma County so long as my eyes are open.

http://www.sendspace.com/file/t8z756

I should go to school now. Sandoval gonna be all vague and shit, but with the actual essay assignment. I will draw motherfuckers and think noise at him until kingdom come.

Hi I am Benny!

SO, Hi. Big fan of the PBS show "Frontline". Last night I dutifully watched Tuesday's report, something about kids growing up online. Made me feel as though I wasn't doing enough of that. It also made me want desperately to visit New Jersey. The answer was obvious: though I could not immediately travel to New Jersey (school, no genuine desire to do so, despite prior claim), I could start an mp3 blog, and thus contribute publicly to this great cultural cross pollination the internet has fostered as of late.

I thought I'd initially just put up the two songs whose lyrics I blatantly stole from in the formation of this website, because what is the west if not the place of parroting heretics? I think you may have heard these, Target Audience:

Sonic Youth's Tuff Gnarl- I'm going to be able to put this on forty years from now and remember exactly how it felt to be twenty. I mean, I hope. Especially if I had kids or am a teacher or encounter young people regularly.

http://download.yousendit.com/800E6FED370ADDBF

The Fall's Your Heart Out- It's like meeting M.E.S. for the first time for a poetry reading, but more bouncy than New Puritan. Equally valid as a mission statement for the band as Printhead, from the same album, Dragnet!

http://download.yousendit.com/CB725EBA35EE209B


In other news, hoping South Carolina doesn't go disproportionately along racial lines, thus doing what Obama has managed so skillfully to avoid doing so far, being marginalized as the black candidate. I woke up all sweaty in thermals this morning. Some bullshit I must've been thinking last night, to set myself up for that misfortune. The resurrection involved too earnest karaoke renditions of Isolation and From Safety To Where, coffee, and leftover pizza.

You are reading about what it means to accept duty and responsibility. The tip of my wallet, where it is most worn, looks exactly like snake skin. Poisonous snakes keep our credit cards and stretch our butt pockets. We have all kinds of butt pockets in California.


-Michael Paradis,
1/24/08