Today, 120 years in the future, a man sits on a park bench, mesmerized by his surroundings.
Is it flying cars he sees, or ash?'
Reading: Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
Monday, November 17, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
To Act
This weekend we head back that dream of a place, Caroline's house, to film our short movie. I am acting the dramatic lead, a role which may or may not be beyond my talent radius, but I am endlessly excited.
The Asians hired the Mexicans to remove a tree yesterday, and today sunlight shone through my window uninhibited by green, swaying leaves and old, sturdy branches. Ah, how nature obstructs.
Reading: The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Wondering: How long the blog will last this time.
The Asians hired the Mexicans to remove a tree yesterday, and today sunlight shone through my window uninhibited by green, swaying leaves and old, sturdy branches. Ah, how nature obstructs.
Reading: The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Wondering: How long the blog will last this time.
Monday, September 24, 2007
English Coincidences
Four days ago a girl named Natalie turned 20 on the 20th. Today a woman named Fran turns 24 on the 24th. I live in Boston, and I dated, fell for, and was left by both of those two English girls. I met them at the same time in consecutive years at the same over-night camp in a very rural section of Pennsylvania. And it just so happens that the date corresponded with each of their ages in the same year, in the same month, my birthday month.
Life is full of oddities that seek to feign connections where there are none. But it is tempting to believe.
Life is full of oddities that seek to feign connections where there are none. But it is tempting to believe.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Failed Blotters on a Monday
My first foray into the land of psychedelics has tragically failed, but, as the Greeks say, tommorow is a new day to trip balls on acid that you found in your fridge when you moved into your new apartment.
Danny DeVito leads. I follow. Check out It's Always Sunny in Philadephia if you haven't already.
Danny DeVito leads. I follow. Check out It's Always Sunny in Philadephia if you haven't already.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Blog Discoveries on a Sunday
Today was a great day: nothing but football, greasy food, and pure, unadulterated relaxation. The beauty of Sunday is undeniable and always worry-free.
Prose rarely floors me, but M. John Harrison's did just that when I stumbled across Viriconium at a Barnes and Nobles about a year ago. It took me awhile to get down to that rather hefty collection of novellas and short stories about the far-future, decaying city of Viriconium, but the payoff is yet unchallenged in greatness by any other book I have read. His prose is crystalline, deceptive, always controlled and surgical, and humbly epic. I always recomend the Viriconium stories, and am looking forward to reading other works by Harrison soon.
On that subject, yesterday I discovered that Harrison has a blog called Uncle Zip's Window (search for it on Google), and it's full of quirky posts about anything he seems to be thinking of at the time. Also highly recomended.
Reading: The Twin Serpents by Ronald Scott Thorne.
Looking forward to: Monday Night Football-Eagles v. Redskins
Prose rarely floors me, but M. John Harrison's did just that when I stumbled across Viriconium at a Barnes and Nobles about a year ago. It took me awhile to get down to that rather hefty collection of novellas and short stories about the far-future, decaying city of Viriconium, but the payoff is yet unchallenged in greatness by any other book I have read. His prose is crystalline, deceptive, always controlled and surgical, and humbly epic. I always recomend the Viriconium stories, and am looking forward to reading other works by Harrison soon.
On that subject, yesterday I discovered that Harrison has a blog called Uncle Zip's Window (search for it on Google), and it's full of quirky posts about anything he seems to be thinking of at the time. Also highly recomended.
Reading: The Twin Serpents by Ronald Scott Thorne.
Looking forward to: Monday Night Football-Eagles v. Redskins
Saturday at Hempfest 2007
Today I obliquely found myself at The Massachusetts Cannabis Reform Coalition (MassCan) freedom rally in Boston Commons. The scent of weed was dense in the air, a single cloud rose from the rally. Bands, such as the incomparable Robby Roadsteamer, rocked a large Grecian columned gazebo in the center of the park. The crowd was diverse but unified and the clothes were colorful and patterned. We all brought out our most pot suggestive garments for this special day.
Unfortunately, I was under the impression that I was to attend a reggae music concert where people happened to be smoking. When I found out that the entire function was in fact solely devoted to cannabis, my expectations widened exponentially. Fortunately, I was lucky enough to had ripped two ‘biggy-boi’ bongs hits prior to the engagement and was appropriately baked for the occasion.
50-something men gave lectures like college professors on cannabis legalization. It seems little progress, if any, is being made on the weed front. But don’t count on that to dull their blazing spirits. They fight like they have a real shot, and who knows, maybe they do.
At that magical hour, 4:20 PM, the mass formed into a thick ball and lit up in every way they knew how. Boys and girls swayed in the warm fog, looking for the ground, wandering through the human maze. And before we knew what hit us, we were stuck, like duct tape to the world. Everyone smiled, and fell back.
Unfortunately, I was under the impression that I was to attend a reggae music concert where people happened to be smoking. When I found out that the entire function was in fact solely devoted to cannabis, my expectations widened exponentially. Fortunately, I was lucky enough to had ripped two ‘biggy-boi’ bongs hits prior to the engagement and was appropriately baked for the occasion.
50-something men gave lectures like college professors on cannabis legalization. It seems little progress, if any, is being made on the weed front. But don’t count on that to dull their blazing spirits. They fight like they have a real shot, and who knows, maybe they do.
At that magical hour, 4:20 PM, the mass formed into a thick ball and lit up in every way they knew how. Boys and girls swayed in the warm fog, looking for the ground, wandering through the human maze. And before we knew what hit us, we were stuck, like duct tape to the world. Everyone smiled, and fell back.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Natalie Portman loves to inhabit my dreams
Natalie Portman has been in 2 of the last 3 dreams I can remember.
In the first, I just happened to meet her at a beachside resort where she worked at a Juice Bar/Lone Blackjack table. I walked up, confident as a dream stud, placed a 9,000 dollar chip on the table (I've never seen a 9,000 dollar chip either), and, in the blink of my third eye, I lost. Can't remember what the cards were, suffice to say, I busted. She was nice about it, seeing the loss of innocence in my dream eyes, and offered to return the chip. I said I couldn't except it, because that's what you are supposed to say right before accepting it. She said It's no problem, and I accepted it. Time passed as it does in dreams, and, days later, I found myself again at the Juice Bar/9,000-chip-accepting blackjack table. Me and Natalie formed quite a friendship by that time and in the middle of a conversation, of which the beginning I can't recall, she asked if I could get her wallet from her hotel room. I said sure, and she handed me her keys. The hotel room door was unusually large, too wide and square. On it was a collage of Superman posters, and I made a mental note to tell her that I loved Superman. The door opened about 6 inches and abrubtly stopped at someone's foot on the ground. Somebody with a latino accent said sorry, opened the door, and, to my dream suprise, it was Gael Garcia Bernal, Natalie's on-and-off boyfriend. He was in a towel, looking as if he just woke up. I said I had come to get Natalie's wallet and he fumbled with his words and talked much like he did in The Science of Sleep, which I told him I liked. Looking for the wallet in Natalie's bedroom, I chanced a quick glance at a photo album she kept on the table. Instead of family or friend pictures, however, the ablum exclusively contained more pictures and drawings of Superman. Could she be as obsessed as me? I was eager to find out. After finding the wallet I returned to the living room to find Gael fastening his cufflinks, still mumbling. I said goodbye and left out of a normal sized door...
In the second, a few of my friends from school and I were walking down Commonwealth Ave. towards Kenmore Square and Natalie Portman just happened to run into us. And, normal as anything she gave me a giant hug, held my hand, and walked with us to a place I did not know. As we walked, she couldn't refrain from kissing me on my neck and cheek and lips. We all laughed and talked and kept walking. Karim, my roomate, (or perhaps somebody else) said: "This is the place," and we stopped to turn into the restaurant it seemed, and I realized we were going out to breakfast. The place was below ground level, as many things are in Kenmore, and while the others headed in, Natalie and I sat on the steps, talking and kissing. She put her hand down my elastic sweat pants, giggled and said "I can't wait until later." At which point we stood and made our way into the restaurant...
There you have it. Who knows what will happen next in the adventures of Me and Natalie? Not me. The weird thing about these dreams was I woke up feeling like I knew her, and she knew me, as close friends (or more). Like if I called her up now, we could talk about these instances that happened in a fantasy dream world. But that's nonsense. Or maybe she's dreaming the same thing.
In the first, I just happened to meet her at a beachside resort where she worked at a Juice Bar/Lone Blackjack table. I walked up, confident as a dream stud, placed a 9,000 dollar chip on the table (I've never seen a 9,000 dollar chip either), and, in the blink of my third eye, I lost. Can't remember what the cards were, suffice to say, I busted. She was nice about it, seeing the loss of innocence in my dream eyes, and offered to return the chip. I said I couldn't except it, because that's what you are supposed to say right before accepting it. She said It's no problem, and I accepted it. Time passed as it does in dreams, and, days later, I found myself again at the Juice Bar/9,000-chip-accepting blackjack table. Me and Natalie formed quite a friendship by that time and in the middle of a conversation, of which the beginning I can't recall, she asked if I could get her wallet from her hotel room. I said sure, and she handed me her keys. The hotel room door was unusually large, too wide and square. On it was a collage of Superman posters, and I made a mental note to tell her that I loved Superman. The door opened about 6 inches and abrubtly stopped at someone's foot on the ground. Somebody with a latino accent said sorry, opened the door, and, to my dream suprise, it was Gael Garcia Bernal, Natalie's on-and-off boyfriend. He was in a towel, looking as if he just woke up. I said I had come to get Natalie's wallet and he fumbled with his words and talked much like he did in The Science of Sleep, which I told him I liked. Looking for the wallet in Natalie's bedroom, I chanced a quick glance at a photo album she kept on the table. Instead of family or friend pictures, however, the ablum exclusively contained more pictures and drawings of Superman. Could she be as obsessed as me? I was eager to find out. After finding the wallet I returned to the living room to find Gael fastening his cufflinks, still mumbling. I said goodbye and left out of a normal sized door...
In the second, a few of my friends from school and I were walking down Commonwealth Ave. towards Kenmore Square and Natalie Portman just happened to run into us. And, normal as anything she gave me a giant hug, held my hand, and walked with us to a place I did not know. As we walked, she couldn't refrain from kissing me on my neck and cheek and lips. We all laughed and talked and kept walking. Karim, my roomate, (or perhaps somebody else) said: "This is the place," and we stopped to turn into the restaurant it seemed, and I realized we were going out to breakfast. The place was below ground level, as many things are in Kenmore, and while the others headed in, Natalie and I sat on the steps, talking and kissing. She put her hand down my elastic sweat pants, giggled and said "I can't wait until later." At which point we stood and made our way into the restaurant...
There you have it. Who knows what will happen next in the adventures of Me and Natalie? Not me. The weird thing about these dreams was I woke up feeling like I knew her, and she knew me, as close friends (or more). Like if I called her up now, we could talk about these instances that happened in a fantasy dream world. But that's nonsense. Or maybe she's dreaming the same thing.
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