ramblings

Music is the most diverse, eclectic thing in the world but is the most consistent thing in my life.
Also, I will try anything new but still afraid to sleep the opposite way on my bed. Things always sound so much more remarkable when your high.
Bron-Yr-Aur by Led Zeppelin makes me tingly.

Psychedelic Pop Nuggets

New Yorkers, who remembers the radio station 89.1 that used to have a late night show called "The Marshmallow Dimension"? OK well if you don't allow me to recap for you. Groovy, far-out, psychedelic nuggets. Over use of the fuzztone and wah-wah distortion along with subliminal euphoria was obviously created to accompany surreal visuals caused by massive LSD hits and bong rips. I'm sure back in the 60's the two went together better than Sonny and Cher, but today I find music has a much broader psychedelic feel to it. Butthole Surfers for example, if around in the 60's could have definitely broken the mold for the avid acid-tripper's auditory hallucination. Or perhaps Old Marilyn Manson and the Spooky Kids demos or any form of Mike Patton. I still love Jefferson Airplane and all the efforts of the psychedelic nuggets era, so for all your newbs I recommend you at least take a wild trip back in time and let nuggets fill your headspace.

currently listening to The Monkees - Porpoise Song

The John Leguizamo Experience

Is there ever a smell, or a song, or just something in general that shoots you back to a certain place and time in your life?
When I listen to Siamese Dream by the Smashing Pumpkins or smell this roll on glitter stick in "tropical twist" I got from Bath & Body Works, I could almost close my eyes and be 15 again. It reminds me of getting ready before school 1999, 10th grade. My hair was dyed black with purple streaks and everyday before school I would do my makeup, which usually consisted of Joan Jettesque black eyeliner and purple glitter. The days when I would cut school and either take the bus to Amy's or Heather's. I remember the first time I ever tried tofu in Amy's old apartment, we would smoke weed and watch TV on her broke ass TV set that we held up with our feet. Listening to Hole in her room, trading stoner opinions on how strong Courtney Love's voice was. I remember when her little brother Aaron was about 12 and she made like 8 nasty scrambled eggs and forced him to eat it all LOL

time out, she just called me... haven't heard from her in a couple of weeks but she decided to call me as I'm writing about her. Weird. She must be zoning in on my brain waves.

Back to old stories. The same day she forced Aaron to eat 8 eggs, she also dropped a jug of grapfruit juice on the floor and yelled "Aaaaronnnn!" The kid came running in with a mop to clean it up, and to this day I'll never figure out how he knew to bring the mop, but holy shit that was one of the funniest things I ever saw. Tiny Aaron getting bossed around by Amy.
That was around the same time I started becoming obsessed with Led Zeppelin. I would come home and put on Early Days and Latter Days on my headphones and stare at my ceiling with my blacklight on.
Every weekend I would take a 5 dollar cab to the Little Neck woods and meet up with all those kids. I usually went with Heather. When we got there we'd smoke, then leave everyone to walk around the manor by ourselves. We used to say that an evil cloud hung over the manor. Heather and I always made up our own little weird traditions. We had this really fucked up idea once that incase we ever got shot we'd have to form a reflex that would counter-act the person shooting and shoot back. Ok that sounded confusing. Basically we would hit ourselves in the head and simultaneously pull a pretend trigger. I told you it was fucked up LOL. Heather and I used to get sooooo blazed that we would sit in her room having laughathons. We put on the movie Sleepy Hallow but never actually watched it cuz we laughed the entire 2 hours.

Yea I love memories, as you can tell. I just get this way when I listen to my old tunes. OH and Slayer - Divine Intervention brings me back too. Ok I'm gonna stop rambling here. If I have anymore strange flashbacks I'll make sure to come back and jot them down here. This picture below was taking in Flushing in 1999 at some drugstore, I think I was stealing. Amy and I cut school that day to go get her tongue pierced. She bought me a philly cheese steak right after she took this picture. I was 15 she was 16, she didn't end up getting it pierced that day cuz after she bought me that cheese steak she didn't have enough money lol what a friend. The top picture was also taken by Amy in her old apartment, I have no idea what I was doing.

The Pill versus the Springhill Mine Disaster

Of course my favorite poet/novelist would have to be someone as bizarre and offbeat as Richard Brautigan, a schizophrenic alcoholic, who's poetry was mostly a diverse collection of his everyday outlandish thoughts. He had a brilliant way of taking your tiny everday epiphany and creating a much more true to form description. I wouldn't call him a tortured soul more than I would a fucked up weirdo, but damn, the man could really give you a wild perspective.

That is probably my favorite aspect of a human being. Someone who has the ability to paint a different picture in my head. I have my own whirlwind of graphic detailed thoughts and Jackson Pollock like visuals of splattered colors, but when somebody else hands you a type of clarity you couldn't perceive on your own, it is like stepping onto another planet and breathing in the freshest air you've ever inhaled.

Unfortunately almost all my heros are dead, and Richard Brautigan is one of them. He shot himself in the head with a 44 magnum the same year I was born. It is said he left a suicide note which read "Messy, isn't it?"

"The sun was like a huge 50-cent piece that someone had poured kerosene on and then had lit with a match, and said, "Here, hold this while I go get a newspaper," and put the coin in my hand, but never came back." -Richard Brautigan

James Dean for a day

Oh Patti Smith how I love you, and yes if you are a Patti Smith fan you have noticed I have paid homage to her quite a few times already.

These days I have found if you wear a certain hat or go to a certain part of the city to eat, you are what the faddish call "hipster". I only recently started hearing this term and even in my short time of familiarity I have been called one. The reason for this is because I was wearing an oversized flannel shirt and what resembles a poorboy hat. Funny isn't it, 2 articles of clothing and I am thrown into this giant pool of stereotypes. Its ok, this happens to everyone on a daily basis they probably just don't even know it. Some of those same people actually try to place themselves somewhere in those same giant pools of indistinguishable faces . I heard a story about some dude who was hooked on the chiva, stating that it was "romantic, because Lou Reed did it!" When you are claiming your self induced drug addiction is relative to the feeling of romance and enchantment, maybe you've been drowining in one to many closed eye visuals and 70's psychedelic rock lyrics. Thats about the time you need to check yourself (and not just into a clinic) mentally and go "HEY, I'm a drug addict!" "This isn't romantic, I have track marks, no money to pay my bills, and sometimes wake up in a puddle of my urin!". But hey when rockstars do it, they end up writing the greatest ground breaking material of their careers right? Well I guess its all relative to what path you choose and how much time you spend creating a false persona. I can only hope for that dude and people like him that his gravestone will at least say "he was cool".

Back to me. I was born in late 1984 from 2 baby boomers raised in the Bronx during the 50's and 60's. My mom was an eccentric, freedom loving, child of rock and roll, and my dad was a reckless Vietnam vet, folk music buff, who fell hard into the drug aspect of the counter-culture. Both my parents were heavy into the music of their time. So when I was born it should come as no suprise to find that the gene was passed right on to me, along with an Iggy Pop cassette tape and all the musical knowledge my parents vinyl collection could convey.

Believe me when I say this isn't a rant about how I am "The True Hipster" and all those who found music through an Almost Famous soundtrack or a wikipedia search of Fall Out Boy's musical influences, are just vacant carbon copies with no real passion. I'm sure most of this new breed of stereotype came from a similar background as I did. I respect peoples taste in music and clothing. However, I just can't get over this avant-garde, drug consumed, bullshit generation that finds their mystique persona on a pricey rack in Urban Outfitters.

So I leave off saying Fuck you, fuck all you wasteoids who turned something with depth into some bullshit mask you wear. You tax the average person of credible uniqueness on first glance.

Fuck myself for even documenting this thought. I'm sure I fit into a bullshit category some asshole made up anyway, and fuck him too.

Listen to Patti Smith - Birdland

Willie Mays

crooked teeth

Porcelain bones
And a penny nose
A smile with a glitch
Colored palettes make witches with mallets
And my fever made me twitch.

shiny red tractor

• friends connecting
• wonder
• snow in my courtyard
• going to L'amours
• smoking in front of Bryans
• musics authenticity
• sleepovers
• smoking cigs by my window
• denim jacket
• bayside trees
• bike rides
• the woods
• pile-ons
• nagchampa
• walks in the village

if the past wasn't so incredible, I wouldn't be living in it.