Monday, February 1, 2010
The internet on the internet
I woke up this morning and went online, like always. I signed in and saw a face that I dreamed sex with, over and over, that very night. My imagination had remade her in the dream, taken away her away from Farmville. Facebook objectively said "not worth sex, ignore your impulses, she just has this one frozen expression and these few words, not worth it."
Later I lost a friend, I realized only because I 'clicked' on her profile, to see what user generated content she had grown in the night, and was greeted with the closed green 'add friend' door.
I channel my father, I drink and I dissect what's in front of me. I like an honesty that can only happen when you're unattached to your sense of self or your words, wherein it just spills out, so many unattended bastard child ideas to claim partial responsibility for.
I want the institutions and prevailing opinions of my environment to crumble with the same pitiless certainty that any sense of stability or self has for me crumbled. It's not that I want destruction, I just want no man to be able to tell me things are knowable again, and I want everybody else to be as starved for philosophical salvation as I am.
I realize historically people only get this privilege in a society where 80% of people get permanent marginalization, toiling in fields, but I am enrolled in an institution of the remaining 20, and we're all acting a surf.
Or turning eachother off. I lament the death of this friendship, even if all that's died is my sense of detachment and independence from facebook. Now I have to act differently to real life people because of decisions made in that arena, and it makes me feel smaller than a computer.
The "city of wonder" in Rihanna's Disturbia is clearly web 2.0. I will elaborate on this claim in real life, if there is any remaining tendon between that place and this place, such that these ideas and you and I can meet up and discuss while absorbing vitamin D, and not minimizing windows and self selecting a sensory experience of reinforcement and boring.
I love lies too though, don't get me wrong.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
two days
The storm took a long time to subside. I had a mini-hibernation this morning, out long enough to wake up depleted, exhausted, finished.
Thursday had a paper and an impending weekend, interrupted by a call from Adam. We drove to Felton, four hands sharing a steering wheel, a sneak a toke, and some cigarettes. It was the sweet soul music, rain and redwoods.
I finished my paper that evening, no problem. Found a room to print it, Halloween orange and black redwood canopy is not insulation. Brr. Beer. Bed.
And then class, coffee, ciggies. I got suited and dropped LSD afterwards because I wanted to transcribe all those pictures and movies onto the scene. Adam and I drove up the Pacific coast highway, rainbows and hail and all sorts of Neptune shit. I got good at opening the hood and charging the battery, the alternator was not down for the speeding beach tripout driving party. Johnny Cash's last one, Personal Jesus.
Peaked at like, in-n-out in Daly City. The man cutting the fries gave us a resolute thumbs down as we jumped the car in the drive-thru. Proud fry man was shaking, I was shivering, the burger came in all of its seperate component pieces, limp on top of one another. I made myself eat it, made myself stop before crossing the boundary into Adam's fries, and found that I was Mick Jagger at the end of the 280, She's So Cold.
Adam walked me to where he was to perform Tony N' Tina's Wedding that night. Fucker made out like a bandit with it, playing a disheveled hippy uncle or some shit, a departure from his true self by like, three and a half inches. The Swiss Louis was alive with neon, I let Adam go and had a crisis of deliberation, crisis of freedom. Coit tower looked at me and I looked back, climbing from the pit of overheard foreign banter and mall replication that is Pier 39 up into the moneyed European Concession of North Beach.
Gorgeous tho. French family with a kid that has that awesome arc nose to where I imagine my ancestors as hawk people. Gross, fighty, hawk people. The view South from Coit tower was gorgeous. In further pursuit, I found a place down that street where one can sit over an undeveloped lot, the city a bowl of starry lights and art deco promise, honeyed porridge. I breathed it in along with more ciggies than advisable for a good hour or so, walked down towards Broadway. Single room occupancy unit tenements line the broken car-free streets overhanging that neon vice district, Chinese of all ages.
I remember around Stockton that I like comfort just as much as adventure, and walking in pursuit of neon and overheard insight into the Chinese people can't bring me comfort. Washington Square Park, corner of Union and Stockton, a bench overlooking all of those cafes with the expansive ceilings, great Parisian halls of a neo-Belle Epoque; and their less glamorous sister restaurants, the type dependent on hustling doormen convincing passersby they're family. This bench was great, people dress good on Friday. Fellow travelers, albeit more homeless, ghetto blaster equipt came by with some Disturbia dancing display that I was all about, albeit not visibly. I followed them off the bench, but not so far as to risk exposure. It was getting to be time to go back. Up Coit tower again. More European gentry walking their undersized dogs around the concession, having phone conversations in which they agree to meet their friend down by the church, izza easier for'uh you and me. Mexico was right to disallow foreigners from owning property, Greece is right to insist on less than 50% foreign ownership to this day.
I got back to Pier 39 after a second in-n-out run. Adam had just exited stage, it was obvious it was a stage and not a dinner. For one thing, the costumes were elaborate and unusual enough to make it a room full of Withnails. For another, these people outnumbered audience members. I came in and sat down because Adam had to wait for his paycheck. A table of hen party atmosphere chatted us up, he about his character, me about my suit and lack of character. I kept being asked my age. They kept asking each other to guess my age. My lap was sat on. frozen hands to my side embarrassed. Exposing myself in the parlor in front of elder patrons, 88 dollar tickets. Adam kept up an argument with some elderly probation officer about pot, but eventually got his check. We left, but had to come back, as Adam had forgot to validate his parking. The lap sitter saw me, was with a new friend, gave me a kiss and her friends face immediately constipated and overspiced, "Oh my god but you're married". I related this story later to somebody unfamiliar with LSD, she asked "so wait did that really happen?"
We got back to Sebastopol, I stayed with my friend, he had beer ponging crew in the house, but I got sleep eventually, three hours of it. Breakfast with mom. My friends left me in Emeryville, I walked to the Ashby BART through a part of Emeryville that seemed to be home to a lot of warehouse space, and consequently, edgy young white person dream businesses. Two trucks drove by, carrying billboards on them, that you read, favoring a particular cell phone company. Telecommunications in this country is the wet dream for corp. execs I'm sure, wild west mentality, development at a time when money writes its own legislation, an extension of its right to free speech. Hence, the daring dude who decided billboard space is less expensive (and I find this too to be particularly magical) than just running a truck around a busy area all day, in terms of exposure. America has its priorities right, long term.
Thursday had a paper and an impending weekend, interrupted by a call from Adam. We drove to Felton, four hands sharing a steering wheel, a sneak a toke, and some cigarettes. It was the sweet soul music, rain and redwoods.
I finished my paper that evening, no problem. Found a room to print it, Halloween orange and black redwood canopy is not insulation. Brr. Beer. Bed.
And then class, coffee, ciggies. I got suited and dropped LSD afterwards because I wanted to transcribe all those pictures and movies onto the scene. Adam and I drove up the Pacific coast highway, rainbows and hail and all sorts of Neptune shit. I got good at opening the hood and charging the battery, the alternator was not down for the speeding beach tripout driving party. Johnny Cash's last one, Personal Jesus.
Peaked at like, in-n-out in Daly City. The man cutting the fries gave us a resolute thumbs down as we jumped the car in the drive-thru. Proud fry man was shaking, I was shivering, the burger came in all of its seperate component pieces, limp on top of one another. I made myself eat it, made myself stop before crossing the boundary into Adam's fries, and found that I was Mick Jagger at the end of the 280, She's So Cold.
Adam walked me to where he was to perform Tony N' Tina's Wedding that night. Fucker made out like a bandit with it, playing a disheveled hippy uncle or some shit, a departure from his true self by like, three and a half inches. The Swiss Louis was alive with neon, I let Adam go and had a crisis of deliberation, crisis of freedom. Coit tower looked at me and I looked back, climbing from the pit of overheard foreign banter and mall replication that is Pier 39 up into the moneyed European Concession of North Beach.
Gorgeous tho. French family with a kid that has that awesome arc nose to where I imagine my ancestors as hawk people. Gross, fighty, hawk people. The view South from Coit tower was gorgeous. In further pursuit, I found a place down that street where one can sit over an undeveloped lot, the city a bowl of starry lights and art deco promise, honeyed porridge. I breathed it in along with more ciggies than advisable for a good hour or so, walked down towards Broadway. Single room occupancy unit tenements line the broken car-free streets overhanging that neon vice district, Chinese of all ages.
I remember around Stockton that I like comfort just as much as adventure, and walking in pursuit of neon and overheard insight into the Chinese people can't bring me comfort. Washington Square Park, corner of Union and Stockton, a bench overlooking all of those cafes with the expansive ceilings, great Parisian halls of a neo-Belle Epoque; and their less glamorous sister restaurants, the type dependent on hustling doormen convincing passersby they're family. This bench was great, people dress good on Friday. Fellow travelers, albeit more homeless, ghetto blaster equipt came by with some Disturbia dancing display that I was all about, albeit not visibly. I followed them off the bench, but not so far as to risk exposure. It was getting to be time to go back. Up Coit tower again. More European gentry walking their undersized dogs around the concession, having phone conversations in which they agree to meet their friend down by the church, izza easier for'uh you and me. Mexico was right to disallow foreigners from owning property, Greece is right to insist on less than 50% foreign ownership to this day.
I got back to Pier 39 after a second in-n-out run. Adam had just exited stage, it was obvious it was a stage and not a dinner. For one thing, the costumes were elaborate and unusual enough to make it a room full of Withnails. For another, these people outnumbered audience members. I came in and sat down because Adam had to wait for his paycheck. A table of hen party atmosphere chatted us up, he about his character, me about my suit and lack of character. I kept being asked my age. They kept asking each other to guess my age. My lap was sat on. frozen hands to my side embarrassed. Exposing myself in the parlor in front of elder patrons, 88 dollar tickets. Adam kept up an argument with some elderly probation officer about pot, but eventually got his check. We left, but had to come back, as Adam had forgot to validate his parking. The lap sitter saw me, was with a new friend, gave me a kiss and her friends face immediately constipated and overspiced, "Oh my god but you're married". I related this story later to somebody unfamiliar with LSD, she asked "so wait did that really happen?"
We got back to Sebastopol, I stayed with my friend, he had beer ponging crew in the house, but I got sleep eventually, three hours of it. Breakfast with mom. My friends left me in Emeryville, I walked to the Ashby BART through a part of Emeryville that seemed to be home to a lot of warehouse space, and consequently, edgy young white person dream businesses. Two trucks drove by, carrying billboards on them, that you read, favoring a particular cell phone company. Telecommunications in this country is the wet dream for corp. execs I'm sure, wild west mentality, development at a time when money writes its own legislation, an extension of its right to free speech. Hence, the daring dude who decided billboard space is less expensive (and I find this too to be particularly magical) than just running a truck around a busy area all day, in terms of exposure. America has its priorities right, long term.
BART was stopped for police inspection. I was not the runaway felon but I wish him luck. Most people got off at Fruitvale. The southern part of the East Bay is beautiful. I waited for the bus from Fremont and quickly was chatted up by a wheelchaired man named Nony. I know all about Nony.
L. "Nony" Kaizer was born in El Dorado County in the early 60s. At the age of 13, on vacation with his family, he ate some acid with a 16 year old girl in Camp Meeker and went into the Russian River naked, an event which he would reference several times during our conversation. Nony enjoyed a liberated existence at this time, embracing rock and roll acts wholeheartedly, chasing women, and hitch-hiking into Berkeley every weekend. Nony got into a car accident on January 23, 1975 which injured his spine and left him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. It is unclear to me what happened to Nony after this to make him decide to put down some money to buy property, but this is what Nony did. Soon he would own five houses in El Dorado county, making money in real-estate and tiling for the next few years. Nony follows sports closely, collecting Warriors memorabilia as well as old playboys and T-shirts. He showed me one from Yellowstone (which he refered to as Yosemite and as being in Montana, alternately) and another from the playoffs the warriors were in. Nony managed to get pictures of himself with Elvis, Emmylou Harris, and attend many notable parties. He has family all over, his sister started the blog-turned-book Spontaneous Smileys, and his rock and roll buddies have relocated all over the world. In this he sees an opportunity, knowing from visiting them things like the price of Pork in Bangkok, the rent in Krakow, and generally good things about Buenos Aires. He gave me a buisness card for some Trattoria that I might have very well walked past in Emeryville with his info stamped on the back. He explained the address was his mothers, he did not want the law coming to him if shit went bad. "Artist, GLOBAL FUN travel tours".
Nony was taking public transit because after leaving a friend he visited in Davis, on the way to deal with tenancy issues in El Dorado county, he incurred a debt to society that he is now repaying. Once this is done, he will be ready to live. The relative proportion of ones life lived per day being larger and larger as one ages. He was now seeing the girl he had swam with that morning in Camp Meeker. She wasn't as fast as she once was. 6-10 hours a week she gives him, he says. She taxis him about and if they go by Costco or Trader Joes, they will stop and he'll get her food. Sometimes, he complains, the 20 y/o daughter is hungry and they have to stop for fast food.
I told him about my stuff, girl wise. He said I wasn't being sleazy in any way. He said "Love the one you're with". It meant a lot to hear that, even from a guy like Nony. I'm looking for a more solid foundation. As ridiculous as this weekend was, I got a nice pair of skin I get to wear. Comfortable in it. Cold wet leather like the leaky shoes I won't throw out. I love the San Jose-Oakland-San Francisco Consolidated Statistical Area.
L. "Nony" Kaizer was born in El Dorado County in the early 60s. At the age of 13, on vacation with his family, he ate some acid with a 16 year old girl in Camp Meeker and went into the Russian River naked, an event which he would reference several times during our conversation. Nony enjoyed a liberated existence at this time, embracing rock and roll acts wholeheartedly, chasing women, and hitch-hiking into Berkeley every weekend. Nony got into a car accident on January 23, 1975 which injured his spine and left him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. It is unclear to me what happened to Nony after this to make him decide to put down some money to buy property, but this is what Nony did. Soon he would own five houses in El Dorado county, making money in real-estate and tiling for the next few years. Nony follows sports closely, collecting Warriors memorabilia as well as old playboys and T-shirts. He showed me one from Yellowstone (which he refered to as Yosemite and as being in Montana, alternately) and another from the playoffs the warriors were in. Nony managed to get pictures of himself with Elvis, Emmylou Harris, and attend many notable parties. He has family all over, his sister started the blog-turned-book Spontaneous Smileys, and his rock and roll buddies have relocated all over the world. In this he sees an opportunity, knowing from visiting them things like the price of Pork in Bangkok, the rent in Krakow, and generally good things about Buenos Aires. He gave me a buisness card for some Trattoria that I might have very well walked past in Emeryville with his info stamped on the back. He explained the address was his mothers, he did not want the law coming to him if shit went bad. "Artist, GLOBAL FUN travel tours".
Nony was taking public transit because after leaving a friend he visited in Davis, on the way to deal with tenancy issues in El Dorado county, he incurred a debt to society that he is now repaying. Once this is done, he will be ready to live. The relative proportion of ones life lived per day being larger and larger as one ages. He was now seeing the girl he had swam with that morning in Camp Meeker. She wasn't as fast as she once was. 6-10 hours a week she gives him, he says. She taxis him about and if they go by Costco or Trader Joes, they will stop and he'll get her food. Sometimes, he complains, the 20 y/o daughter is hungry and they have to stop for fast food.
I told him about my stuff, girl wise. He said I wasn't being sleazy in any way. He said "Love the one you're with". It meant a lot to hear that, even from a guy like Nony. I'm looking for a more solid foundation. As ridiculous as this weekend was, I got a nice pair of skin I get to wear. Comfortable in it. Cold wet leather like the leaky shoes I won't throw out. I love the San Jose-Oakland-San Francisco Consolidated Statistical Area.
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