i was just instant messaging with a friend of mine who is living in the basement of a house in Missouri, working on his graphic novel that we hope to make a feature film out of some day. he hasn't been getting out in the sunlight too much, and has been celibate for the past 16 months.
from where he's sitting, my life sounds like a shining shining success. what's funny is, a lot of folks think that, and on good days, i myself think that as well. what's also funny, is that i don't have enough money to put gas in my car or buy any food. tomorrow, however, is a new day. everything is going to be different tomorrow. why? because tomorrow is pay day.
i made brownies for my man this evening. i though it would be cool if he came home to brownies. unfortunately, i didn't really know what time he was coming home, and now they've been sitting in the oven "cooling" for almost two hours. i'm afraid they may be kind of hard. hard brownies, still, are better than no brownies, methinks.
i'm very excited about some upcoming theatrical ventures. it looks like i'm going to be collaborating with christine from smartgals.org on her christmas project, and in turn she's going to be the furies in my upcoming orpheus and eurydice piece at the 24th street theater.
i'm very excited about a lot of things, these days.
these days.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Saturday, September 24, 2005
sometimes it feels like every other blog is an apology for not blogging enough. what a vicious circle!
how is life today? life is good. i am tired and broke and have a slight cough, however, my dog sleeps soundly by my feet, so how bad could it be?
i have a dog. doggie dog dog dog. i think i could pass most of the day at the dog park if there weren't the needs/desires to make money, eat, create. it is highly entertaining, very satisfying stuff.
my dog has a good temperament, which was a score, considering we rescued him from the Baldwin Park animal control, and he had been there for quite some time. he is big and energetic and super playful, which could irritate a lot of folks. fortunately, i am big and energetic and super playful as well.
he has not yet tried to hump me whilst playing, and for that i am grateful. for i have a pretty well known phobia about dogs with penises and their sexual advances. it's a long story, which i summarized in a series of very short stories that i will try to locate. they deserve another run of publication.
as far as the band goes, our rhythm seems to be kinda off lately. ever since i got back from school, things have been going at an awkward tempo. first brett left the sex emporium, then lisa, then brett started school, now lisa is in school. sean sullivan died, jeff jones broke his hand... and now we're playing a show without him. weird. just odd.
i was thinking this morning that if the band weren't so magical and special and meant to be, it could really just drift into memory. luckily, brett, lisa, jones, and myself have the philosophy of keeping coming back. back to the source. return. yes yes yes. sometimes a week goes by and we don't get together. sometimes somebody is not in the mood. our rhythm is off. we don't feel the magic. yet, we abide. we come back and try it again. we accept each others oddness and awkwardness. and somehow, we play.
it's important that it's called PLAYING in a band. that should always be the case.
my house is a mess. well, hell... it's not really my house. my boyfriend's sisters house is a mess. there's been renovations going on since June... white chalk dust everywhere, no kitchen, the fridge is in the living room, and the pool is green because the pump got turned off for over a week. it's finally back on, and today is cleaning day. i cleaned the pool and put chemicals in it, but the magic hasn't happened yet and it's still green. i stepped in dog poop taking out the garbage. it wasn't my dog's poop. my shoes are drying outside. i need to clean... REALLY clean, yet it's hard to get it up to do it, considering that everything will be dirty again, with a thick layer of chalky dust, by tomorrow morning. but still, i need to clean. i promised david i would do it.
i got a promotion at work, but no word of a raise yet. can it really be called a "promotion" if there is no raise? wouldn't that just be a lateral move if the pay is the same? when oh when will the capitalist regime end?
i want a hybrid car. my inner hippie is about to leap out of my bowels with a tommy gun. the world is freaking me out. apathy makes me furious. all the people who think it's too late to save the world and stop the madness can eat my ass. better yet, they can eat the dog poo out of my front yard.
i wish noam chomsky and the dude that wrote "cradle-to-cradle" would get together and make a to-do list. which reminds me, i gotta buy that book "plan b". david promised me he'd read it.
wow. that was a ramble.
ramble on ramble on.
how is life today? life is good. i am tired and broke and have a slight cough, however, my dog sleeps soundly by my feet, so how bad could it be?
i have a dog. doggie dog dog dog. i think i could pass most of the day at the dog park if there weren't the needs/desires to make money, eat, create. it is highly entertaining, very satisfying stuff.
my dog has a good temperament, which was a score, considering we rescued him from the Baldwin Park animal control, and he had been there for quite some time. he is big and energetic and super playful, which could irritate a lot of folks. fortunately, i am big and energetic and super playful as well.
he has not yet tried to hump me whilst playing, and for that i am grateful. for i have a pretty well known phobia about dogs with penises and their sexual advances. it's a long story, which i summarized in a series of very short stories that i will try to locate. they deserve another run of publication.
as far as the band goes, our rhythm seems to be kinda off lately. ever since i got back from school, things have been going at an awkward tempo. first brett left the sex emporium, then lisa, then brett started school, now lisa is in school. sean sullivan died, jeff jones broke his hand... and now we're playing a show without him. weird. just odd.
i was thinking this morning that if the band weren't so magical and special and meant to be, it could really just drift into memory. luckily, brett, lisa, jones, and myself have the philosophy of keeping coming back. back to the source. return. yes yes yes. sometimes a week goes by and we don't get together. sometimes somebody is not in the mood. our rhythm is off. we don't feel the magic. yet, we abide. we come back and try it again. we accept each others oddness and awkwardness. and somehow, we play.
it's important that it's called PLAYING in a band. that should always be the case.
my house is a mess. well, hell... it's not really my house. my boyfriend's sisters house is a mess. there's been renovations going on since June... white chalk dust everywhere, no kitchen, the fridge is in the living room, and the pool is green because the pump got turned off for over a week. it's finally back on, and today is cleaning day. i cleaned the pool and put chemicals in it, but the magic hasn't happened yet and it's still green. i stepped in dog poop taking out the garbage. it wasn't my dog's poop. my shoes are drying outside. i need to clean... REALLY clean, yet it's hard to get it up to do it, considering that everything will be dirty again, with a thick layer of chalky dust, by tomorrow morning. but still, i need to clean. i promised david i would do it.
i got a promotion at work, but no word of a raise yet. can it really be called a "promotion" if there is no raise? wouldn't that just be a lateral move if the pay is the same? when oh when will the capitalist regime end?
i want a hybrid car. my inner hippie is about to leap out of my bowels with a tommy gun. the world is freaking me out. apathy makes me furious. all the people who think it's too late to save the world and stop the madness can eat my ass. better yet, they can eat the dog poo out of my front yard.
i wish noam chomsky and the dude that wrote "cradle-to-cradle" would get together and make a to-do list. which reminds me, i gotta buy that book "plan b". david promised me he'd read it.
wow. that was a ramble.
ramble on ramble on.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Our good friend Sean Michael Sullivan, man-about-town and sunshine spirit, creator of Ben the Canary (www.benthecanary.com) and other amazing spectacles, was taken from this earth by a couple of really beautiful angels on August 20th 2005, while playing with friends on the Kern River in Kern County, California.
Before he left us, we wrote a song for him.
It's called "The Sun is Shining in My Eyes"
It goes:
I can't tell left from right
I can't find the same place twice
I don't hear what they say
But I know it doesn't matter anyway
Because the Sun is Shining in My Eyes...
I don't know what's in front of me
I open up my eyes but all that I can see
Everything is light
And anything that happens, baby, it's alright
Because the Sun is Shining in My Eyes...
Sean will be greatly missed, many more songs shall surely be inspired by his smile and singular gait, and The Evangenitals have decided to release an EP of all of the songs we were writing for Sean's Ben the Canary project, that we had the honor of playing for him before he was sublimated into 100% pure golden soul.
Thank you, Sean.
We
Fall
Down
Sunday, August 21, 2005
alright i admit it. i want to be rich.
perhaps what i really mean is that i want to be famous, or a rockstar, or something along those lines.
i want to be willie nelson without the beard and the bankruptcy.
i want to buy a van, travel the nation, play shows with my band, and have enough people come to the shows that we continue to get gigs and travel and eat food and have places to stay and sell albums and we can support ourselves with muzak, sweet muzak.
i want to have a kid at some point, and be able to take it with me on the road. i want my hubby to be able to chill in the tour RV with the kid whilst i play. that's teamwork, man.
i want to take guitar lessons, buy more guitars, have more time to practice.
christ, this is a bad way to blog, because i want a lot of things.
i want to play a show with tenacious d. i want to play the drums. i want tenacious d to make another friggin' album. when does the next ween album come out?
i want the renovations of the new house to be finished. i want 2 dogs from the pound that do not have terrible psychological problems.
i want a pony.
hehe.
perhaps what i really mean is that i want to be famous, or a rockstar, or something along those lines.
i want to be willie nelson without the beard and the bankruptcy.
i want to buy a van, travel the nation, play shows with my band, and have enough people come to the shows that we continue to get gigs and travel and eat food and have places to stay and sell albums and we can support ourselves with muzak, sweet muzak.
i want to have a kid at some point, and be able to take it with me on the road. i want my hubby to be able to chill in the tour RV with the kid whilst i play. that's teamwork, man.
i want to take guitar lessons, buy more guitars, have more time to practice.
christ, this is a bad way to blog, because i want a lot of things.
i want to play a show with tenacious d. i want to play the drums. i want tenacious d to make another friggin' album. when does the next ween album come out?
i want the renovations of the new house to be finished. i want 2 dogs from the pound that do not have terrible psychological problems.
i want a pony.
hehe.
Monday, August 15, 2005
man... this weekend was dope. housewarming madness. and let me tell ya, the houses are WARM, my friends!
the genitals played two housewarming parties, for our producer-friend Blair (who is responsible for the quality tracks Gasoline, Never Again, and QueeQueg on the WE ARE THE EVANGENITALS album) and an extra special house was warmed for our dear left-handed genital BRETTSKY BRETT P. LYDIUS LYDA (so fresh and so clean) cool breeze, esq, the third. i love the guy. i love how he's growing and changing and spreading his wings and flapping like a hairless chicken. it's gorgeous.
now it's monday morning and i'm tired. all this rain, or all the dust from renovations at both home and work, or something, has given me allergies for the first time in my life. sneezing is fun, but the itchy, dribbly nose and scratchy throat action isn't so grand. nope.
i joined netflix not too long ago, after my boyfriend bought a plasma screen wall-mount television, and i've been catching up on all the films that I should have seen but didn't, for one reason or another. in the past few weeks i've seen spellbound, napoleon dynamite, memento, rashamon, DIG!, donnie brasco, garden state, the office (the british one, season 1), arrested development (season 1), dogtown and z-boys, apocalypse now, i heart huckabees, and some more stuff that i can't remember right now. it's been good, cause i love movies, and it's a miracle that i'm actually able to sit down and watch 'em.
i have this panic disorder thingy (not really, but kinda) wherein i find it hard to commit to sitting down to a movie. i think it's fear of death, with a hint of commitment phobia. though i love movies so, i can't help but feeling that there's something else i should be doing. like reading a book, practicing the guitar, writing a play, exercising, something.
more heinous is that i've recently gotten into playing video games. i blame psychonauts. it's just too friggin' cool. and now i'm tweaking on katamari damaci. rolling a gravity thing-collecting ball around is fun. i never knew. the good news is that the evangenitals are absolutely going to cover the theme song to this game. it is bad ass. with a capital b... but i'm trying to lay off the capitals today. i used 'em all up on brett's name game.
so that's the news from my tired ass. i'm excited as all hell about the Derby show on Wednesday. we're breaking out a bunch of new tunes, and the set is pretty well balanced, old and new, rocking and mellow.... i'm stoked. we're playing with amazing people (pink mochi, ukefink's eddie french, natural disasters) so, what more could a girl ask for?
the genitals played two housewarming parties, for our producer-friend Blair (who is responsible for the quality tracks Gasoline, Never Again, and QueeQueg on the WE ARE THE EVANGENITALS album) and an extra special house was warmed for our dear left-handed genital BRETTSKY BRETT P. LYDIUS LYDA (so fresh and so clean) cool breeze, esq, the third. i love the guy. i love how he's growing and changing and spreading his wings and flapping like a hairless chicken. it's gorgeous.
now it's monday morning and i'm tired. all this rain, or all the dust from renovations at both home and work, or something, has given me allergies for the first time in my life. sneezing is fun, but the itchy, dribbly nose and scratchy throat action isn't so grand. nope.
i joined netflix not too long ago, after my boyfriend bought a plasma screen wall-mount television, and i've been catching up on all the films that I should have seen but didn't, for one reason or another. in the past few weeks i've seen spellbound, napoleon dynamite, memento, rashamon, DIG!, donnie brasco, garden state, the office (the british one, season 1), arrested development (season 1), dogtown and z-boys, apocalypse now, i heart huckabees, and some more stuff that i can't remember right now. it's been good, cause i love movies, and it's a miracle that i'm actually able to sit down and watch 'em.
i have this panic disorder thingy (not really, but kinda) wherein i find it hard to commit to sitting down to a movie. i think it's fear of death, with a hint of commitment phobia. though i love movies so, i can't help but feeling that there's something else i should be doing. like reading a book, practicing the guitar, writing a play, exercising, something.
more heinous is that i've recently gotten into playing video games. i blame psychonauts. it's just too friggin' cool. and now i'm tweaking on katamari damaci. rolling a gravity thing-collecting ball around is fun. i never knew. the good news is that the evangenitals are absolutely going to cover the theme song to this game. it is bad ass. with a capital b... but i'm trying to lay off the capitals today. i used 'em all up on brett's name game.
so that's the news from my tired ass. i'm excited as all hell about the Derby show on Wednesday. we're breaking out a bunch of new tunes, and the set is pretty well balanced, old and new, rocking and mellow.... i'm stoked. we're playing with amazing people (pink mochi, ukefink's eddie french, natural disasters) so, what more could a girl ask for?
Monday, August 01, 2005
Today marks the 30 year anniversary of me, Juli Crockett.
There is a great absurdity surrounding this particular age-leap. Thirty is already 3 years past my life-expectancy.* Never did I think I would BE this person. I woke up this morning in a suburb of
It is horrifying, yet exciting; a threshold/crossroads/turning point marking the transition to another dimension; the day after yesterday, the day before tomorrow, just another day in the life. No big deal, yet something special. Good lord I wish I could say something profound and poetic about this whole thing. Unfortunately, I’m feeling a lot simpler than that about it. Like a kid at Christmas, I’m giddy with the knowledge that at least one of my friends has reported that they have gotten me an actual present. How cool is that? PRESENTS!!! Simply for not dying, yet.
*I always said I would drink myself to death by 27 years of age.
Miraculously, at 26, I stopped drinking, and thusly I live on today.
Glory be.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Did you know that I have a brother? It's true!
He's my older brother. 4 years older to be exact. And today is his birthday.
He's one of the most talented people I've ever met in my life. An amazing visual artist: painting, drawing, photography, whatever. And he's funny. He can get you rolling for hours.
His photography has taken him up to Parson's in New York City for Graduate School. We Alabama Crockett's have come a long, long way, my friends.
For his birthday... I thought I'd share his art with you. As a gift, I'd like you guys to barrage this site's message board and tell them what you think of his work.
Here's the linky: http://www.sixfingerrecords.com/art/crockett/
So, Happy Birthday to Big J the Monkey Foot Hustler.
I love you, bro.
He's my older brother. 4 years older to be exact. And today is his birthday.
He's one of the most talented people I've ever met in my life. An amazing visual artist: painting, drawing, photography, whatever. And he's funny. He can get you rolling for hours.
His photography has taken him up to Parson's in New York City for Graduate School. We Alabama Crockett's have come a long, long way, my friends.
For his birthday... I thought I'd share his art with you. As a gift, I'd like you guys to barrage this site's message board and tell them what you think of his work.
Here's the linky: http://www.sixfingerrecords.com/art/crockett/
So, Happy Birthday to Big J the Monkey Foot Hustler.
I love you, bro.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Monday, July 18, 2005
NEW PLAN FOR THE B DAY!
My 30th birthday is starting to feel alot like my high school prom... regarding which my mother claimed if I didn't attend I may regret it forever.
And because I'd rather regret something that I did, rather than something I did not do...
I have decided to officially celebrate the actual day of my birthing 30 years ago in the old fashioned way... at Chuck E Cheese's pizza parlor and party town in Pasadena!
If you live anywhere near there, your presence is humbly requested.
(Formal attire is optional)
PLEASE COME AND WHACK-A-MOLE FOR MY BIRTHDAY!
It will be short and relatively painless. If you could make it, that would be cool. Feel free to bring a friend and the spirit of skee-ball.
When:
Monday Aug 1st 2005
at 7:30 PM
Where:
Chuck E Cheese's
3737 E Foothill
Pasadena, CA 91107
Last years birthday pic:
Waffle House. 4am. Somewhere in Ohio, I think.
My 30th birthday is starting to feel alot like my high school prom... regarding which my mother claimed if I didn't attend I may regret it forever.
And because I'd rather regret something that I did, rather than something I did not do...
I have decided to officially celebrate the actual day of my birthing 30 years ago in the old fashioned way... at Chuck E Cheese's pizza parlor and party town in Pasadena!
If you live anywhere near there, your presence is humbly requested.
(Formal attire is optional)
PLEASE COME AND WHACK-A-MOLE FOR MY BIRTHDAY!
It will be short and relatively painless. If you could make it, that would be cool. Feel free to bring a friend and the spirit of skee-ball.
When:
Monday Aug 1st 2005
at 7:30 PM
Where:
Chuck E Cheese's
3737 E Foothill
Pasadena, CA 91107
Last years birthday pic:
Waffle House. 4am. Somewhere in Ohio, I think.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
My birthday is coming.
Strange as it may sound, I'm turning 30.
On August 1st I will be as old as Jesus -- 3 1/2 years before he died.
It feels weird. Just another day, but not really, because I have WAY outlived my life expectancy. Never did I really think that I would some day be 30. It feels like a big deal, and it doesn't. It feels like I should do something to "honor" this day, this self, in some way... but I just want to sleep in and hide.
Luckily I have some friends on the other side. Folks who I see coming into their self-ness and walking with the strut of confident becoming. It looks lovely. I hear good news about the 30's. My mom insists that the 40's are even better than that. With every decade shedding the gawky adolescence of the previous becoming. Thank God for process oriented living.
August 1st is a popular day for birthdays. Myself, Lisa's boyfriend, Addi the Balloon Guy, Herman Melville, Jerry Garcia, Francis Scott Key, uh... Dom DeLuise... fucking Tom Leykis of all people.
My boyfriend's mother also shares the August 1st birthday. Weird, eh? Same day, 40 years later, her potential daughter-in-law (if she has her way!) was born. She's turning 70, I'm turning 30. Nemecia. Her dream house is finally finished -- atop a hill out in Fallbrook, on a 5 acre ranch filled with avocado trees and honey bees. She's having a housewarming party on the 30th, which she intends to serve as a joint birthday party for the two of us as well. She wants me to invite my friends.
Now, I'm not feeling too enthusiastic about trying to get my friends to come down to Fallbrook. Maybe it's low self esteem and not wanting to be too much trouble. Maybe I'm just not the birthday type. Hell, I love presents as much as anybody and possibly more, however, receiving them makes me feel weird and embarrassed. Conflict. There's a permanent kid at Christmas inside of me, always excited on each new day for the potential bounty that it could bring... always seeking buried treasure.... always looking at the ass-end of rainbows for something shiny. I have rubbed genie-lamp lookin' teapots. I have tried to make contact with the spirit and alien worlds. I did a lot of drugs. I think it's all the same impulse for me. There search for something else. Something amazing, I guess. I'm happy as heck that I'm still alive, but the self promotion that goes into birthday parties makes me feel like an asshole.
So here's the birthday pitch: The good news is, in Fallbrook it's beautiful and there's gonna be really good food. Mexican style. Bad news is that gas is expensive and it's far. Like Temecula far.
If you feel like a mini-vacation, let me know and I'll give you directions. We can even make carpools happen. Caravans.
You're all invited, and you're all excused.
How's that for low pressure?
Strange as it may sound, I'm turning 30.
On August 1st I will be as old as Jesus -- 3 1/2 years before he died.
It feels weird. Just another day, but not really, because I have WAY outlived my life expectancy. Never did I really think that I would some day be 30. It feels like a big deal, and it doesn't. It feels like I should do something to "honor" this day, this self, in some way... but I just want to sleep in and hide.
Luckily I have some friends on the other side. Folks who I see coming into their self-ness and walking with the strut of confident becoming. It looks lovely. I hear good news about the 30's. My mom insists that the 40's are even better than that. With every decade shedding the gawky adolescence of the previous becoming. Thank God for process oriented living.
August 1st is a popular day for birthdays. Myself, Lisa's boyfriend, Addi the Balloon Guy, Herman Melville, Jerry Garcia, Francis Scott Key, uh... Dom DeLuise... fucking Tom Leykis of all people.
My boyfriend's mother also shares the August 1st birthday. Weird, eh? Same day, 40 years later, her potential daughter-in-law (if she has her way!) was born. She's turning 70, I'm turning 30. Nemecia. Her dream house is finally finished -- atop a hill out in Fallbrook, on a 5 acre ranch filled with avocado trees and honey bees. She's having a housewarming party on the 30th, which she intends to serve as a joint birthday party for the two of us as well. She wants me to invite my friends.
Now, I'm not feeling too enthusiastic about trying to get my friends to come down to Fallbrook. Maybe it's low self esteem and not wanting to be too much trouble. Maybe I'm just not the birthday type. Hell, I love presents as much as anybody and possibly more, however, receiving them makes me feel weird and embarrassed. Conflict. There's a permanent kid at Christmas inside of me, always excited on each new day for the potential bounty that it could bring... always seeking buried treasure.... always looking at the ass-end of rainbows for something shiny. I have rubbed genie-lamp lookin' teapots. I have tried to make contact with the spirit and alien worlds. I did a lot of drugs. I think it's all the same impulse for me. There search for something else. Something amazing, I guess. I'm happy as heck that I'm still alive, but the self promotion that goes into birthday parties makes me feel like an asshole.
So here's the birthday pitch: The good news is, in Fallbrook it's beautiful and there's gonna be really good food. Mexican style. Bad news is that gas is expensive and it's far. Like Temecula far.
If you feel like a mini-vacation, let me know and I'll give you directions. We can even make carpools happen. Caravans.
You're all invited, and you're all excused.
How's that for low pressure?
Friday, July 01, 2005
The Toilets of
Luckily, when one goes looking for death, it is not hard to find.
My first idea was to write about the cat. I saw it in the bushes, next to
An art-goers rule of thumb: Installation art is always good for a cheap thrill. If I can touch it or be touched by it, contribute to it, move it, mess it up or kick it around some childish part of me is engaged. Play ensues. I howled and intoned with the noise of a wind tunnel, compliments of the Russians, I think. I kicked little metal balls around in a huge stone room, creating disruptive echoes in the traditionally silent gallery environment. I was scolded for touching a toy tethered to a wall. What perversion is this, to display a TOY that cannot be TOUCHED?
I had to use the bathroom. A portable toilet provided an odd entertainment. Unlike the “pits of despair” of the United State’s port-o-potty’s (wherein the human refuse falls from the anus to a pile beneath, with nothing to obstruct the view) the Portable Toilets of Venice had an additional bit of technology added: a sheet of metal on a “conveyor belt” of sorts, with a bowl-side handle that one pulled like the arm of a slot machine to dispose of the waste. To speak plainly, when a rectal load is dumped on the conveyor belt, the “dumper” then pulls on the lever and the “deposit” slowly makes its way to the underside (the pit of despair, obstructed from view by the metal slab) whilst a cleaning fluid is sprayed on the conveyor belt. Ingenious portable toilet design! Interactive and fun! Never a more satisfying dump! Shit! The death cast forth from my bowels!
In the French Pavilion I experienced some art. I sat for over 30 minutes, watching the full cycle of the second room of Annette Messager’s 3 room installation, based on the story of Pinocchio. Her installation took me to that place of child-like wonderment to which I love being taken. Slack-jawed awe and eye-candy delight.
Picture an entire room full of red silk pouring in from an open doorway located far away, in the center of the back wall. A fan blows air, with differing force and rhythm, into the silk, causing it to billow and vibrate, oscillations and waveforms, rivers and oceans of blood, uterus walls, heartbeats, desert landscapes, alien lands, chiasmic unity, surges of chaos, primordial ooze, the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end of all things. Lights shone from above, orbs glowed below, pulses and patterns of light.
My favorite part was in the dark. All the lights were out. The eye adjusted to the darkness, and the blowing of the fans was quite low. A room full of liquid silk shivered and rippled. I sat on a bench with my silent companions watching an ocean of blood, pouring out of a doorway to oblivion, to more oceans of blood. I wanted to swim. It was cool and quiet. I heard the fans get stronger. A huge billow of silk built up behind the door and surged into the space. The lights rose, the face of a clock projected in the doorway. Time returned. No swimming in the bloody seas of death today.
My next bathroom adventure came on over at the Armory. James Hussier, my companion for the day, followed the man stick figure and I followed the woman, both the stick figure, and an actual woman in front of me. She and I found ourselves in a HUGE room with one toilet and one sink. After some moments of confusion, she asked me to leave so that she may relieve herself. I waited outside the door. When it was my turn, I entered the giant room. An enormous brick room had been divided by a thin partition, separating the men’s room from the women’s. The partition did not reach all the way to the ceiling, and the acoustics in the room made it so one could hear EVERYTHING happening on the other side. This meant that as I sat on my tiny toilet in this most beautiful yet awkward room, I could hear poor James having a time of it with his irritated bowels. We both took to infectious giggling, as James held his business until I had departed from my side.
Everything in the bathroom was contrary to expectation, and slightly inconvenient. The toilet paper was around the corner and just out of reach of the toilet. The water knob for the sink was out of reach of the sink. People would follow each other into the restroom, expecting stalls, confusion and embarrassment resulting. The experience was humorous and humiliating. I feared that I was being videotaped, and that later in the day I would see myself projecting. To top it all off, neither James nor myself could get the toilets to flush, and we feared that perhaps we weren’t actually supposed to shit in this particular installation.
Monday, June 20, 2005
I'm back.
Hello. How time hath flown, eh? One month of absence, rectified with a 12 hour flight. What magic there is in this world.
The trip was overwhelming, chock-full of busy-ness, mentally exhausting and stimulating. I was up in the Alps, studying with some of the greatest artists and minds alive, at the European Graduate School.
Incredible connections were made. New projects being developed. I saw a lot of great movies. Elia Suleiman, Claire Denis, and Atom Egoyan showed their latest works.
I got to study with Jean Luc Nancy (just before I left for school I became nervous that perhaps he would die). He did not die.
School is located in a tiny Swiss ski village located high in the Alps, right by the tallest mountain in Switzerland. The town is called "Saas-Fee" and it is surrounded by 13 mountains, so every direction that one looks, there is snow-capped goodness. It is mostly populated by cows and sheep.
I sat with a brown cow on a hillside for half and hour, petting it whilst it chewed its cud. It burped in my face.
I wasn't feeling extremely social or energetic this trip, with all of my energies going into the studies and some quick rigorous hikes thrown in here and there. Most of the folks at school like to drink all night and cheat on their significant others, it seems. I liked to read, write letters (actual letters!) to my boyfriend, play my guitar, and sleep. I woke up early every morning and never missed a class.
The air is amazing and clear, the water is freezing cold and wondrously drinkable... It comes straight off of a glacier up in the mountains.
On the last day of class, after the final lecture concluded at 10:30pm, we had to grab our bags and board a bus that took us to a night train to Venice, Italy. On the train we "slept" 6 to a cabin, stacked up on either side. It was crazy small. And short. Me and 5 gents bunked like stowaways on a midnight train.
The train ride was about 7 hours. When the sun came out, most of us lined up at the windows in the aisle-way, watching the fields pass by. We arrived in Venice around 8am and went to the Biennale Art Show. The Arsenale was one of the most amazing SPACES that I've ever seen. It is now my dream location for directing a piece of theater. My favorite piece of the exhibition was a room by Annette Messager, filled with red silk, and a big fan. Simple, and awe-inspiringly beautiful.
Venice was beautiful. Streets of water, it's really true. Little boats everywhere. Great food! Espresso that feels like a horse kicked you in the face. And the light.... the LIGHT! As the sun was going down, and I was heading to the train station on a boat, and I saw the light. I SAW THE LIGHT. The light which explained to me WHY so many painters and photographers and artists in general would go to such a place. The light was beautiful.
I spent the night at this bizarre hostel, which was actually a campsite, with a pool and a disco and a bar and RV's and hundreds of teenagers and 20-somethings backpacking through Europe. The "room" was actually a tent. A tent, with 2 small cots inside, and a small padlock for the zipper. It wasn't bad at night, but once the sun came up it was like sleeping in a plastic garbage bag in the sun. Hot.
The whole next day I did nothing but sleep and swim and suntan (in my underwear!) and plot ways to get home sooner. How much would it be to change my flight? Should I take the train to Frankfurt instead of flying, just so I could start moving? I was ready to GO! I didn't WANT to do any more exploring of Venice. I made a decision that I will return. I will return with my boyfriend and my band. Venice is one of those places that I want to SHARE with someone. It's too hard to try to explain it, so I'd rather everyone just go see it for themselves.
The food, man. The coffee. The light. So good.
So, after 24 hours of transit (taxi to the Marco Polo Airport, flight to Frankfurt, 6 hour layover, most of it spent in really long lines, 12 hour flight to LA, 1 hour of customs and baggage claim, 1/2 hour of hari krishna) I got home. I spent my first night in my new house, in my new "living-together" relationship. It was good. So good.
Yesterday I went swimming in my pool. Now I'm back in the office. Ain't life sweet?
That's the factual account, more or less. In a bit I'll start feeeeeeeeling stuff and tell you all about it. My head is still spinning, and I'm tired as hell. I've been *sighing* all day. Deep sighs. Good for the soul.
Hello. How time hath flown, eh? One month of absence, rectified with a 12 hour flight. What magic there is in this world.
The trip was overwhelming, chock-full of busy-ness, mentally exhausting and stimulating. I was up in the Alps, studying with some of the greatest artists and minds alive, at the European Graduate School.
Incredible connections were made. New projects being developed. I saw a lot of great movies. Elia Suleiman, Claire Denis, and Atom Egoyan showed their latest works.
I got to study with Jean Luc Nancy (just before I left for school I became nervous that perhaps he would die). He did not die.
School is located in a tiny Swiss ski village located high in the Alps, right by the tallest mountain in Switzerland. The town is called "Saas-Fee" and it is surrounded by 13 mountains, so every direction that one looks, there is snow-capped goodness. It is mostly populated by cows and sheep.
I sat with a brown cow on a hillside for half and hour, petting it whilst it chewed its cud. It burped in my face.
I wasn't feeling extremely social or energetic this trip, with all of my energies going into the studies and some quick rigorous hikes thrown in here and there. Most of the folks at school like to drink all night and cheat on their significant others, it seems. I liked to read, write letters (actual letters!) to my boyfriend, play my guitar, and sleep. I woke up early every morning and never missed a class.
The air is amazing and clear, the water is freezing cold and wondrously drinkable... It comes straight off of a glacier up in the mountains.
On the last day of class, after the final lecture concluded at 10:30pm, we had to grab our bags and board a bus that took us to a night train to Venice, Italy. On the train we "slept" 6 to a cabin, stacked up on either side. It was crazy small. And short. Me and 5 gents bunked like stowaways on a midnight train.
The train ride was about 7 hours. When the sun came out, most of us lined up at the windows in the aisle-way, watching the fields pass by. We arrived in Venice around 8am and went to the Biennale Art Show. The Arsenale was one of the most amazing SPACES that I've ever seen. It is now my dream location for directing a piece of theater. My favorite piece of the exhibition was a room by Annette Messager, filled with red silk, and a big fan. Simple, and awe-inspiringly beautiful.
Venice was beautiful. Streets of water, it's really true. Little boats everywhere. Great food! Espresso that feels like a horse kicked you in the face. And the light.... the LIGHT! As the sun was going down, and I was heading to the train station on a boat, and I saw the light. I SAW THE LIGHT. The light which explained to me WHY so many painters and photographers and artists in general would go to such a place. The light was beautiful.
I spent the night at this bizarre hostel, which was actually a campsite, with a pool and a disco and a bar and RV's and hundreds of teenagers and 20-somethings backpacking through Europe. The "room" was actually a tent. A tent, with 2 small cots inside, and a small padlock for the zipper. It wasn't bad at night, but once the sun came up it was like sleeping in a plastic garbage bag in the sun. Hot.
The whole next day I did nothing but sleep and swim and suntan (in my underwear!) and plot ways to get home sooner. How much would it be to change my flight? Should I take the train to Frankfurt instead of flying, just so I could start moving? I was ready to GO! I didn't WANT to do any more exploring of Venice. I made a decision that I will return. I will return with my boyfriend and my band. Venice is one of those places that I want to SHARE with someone. It's too hard to try to explain it, so I'd rather everyone just go see it for themselves.
The food, man. The coffee. The light. So good.
So, after 24 hours of transit (taxi to the Marco Polo Airport, flight to Frankfurt, 6 hour layover, most of it spent in really long lines, 12 hour flight to LA, 1 hour of customs and baggage claim, 1/2 hour of hari krishna) I got home. I spent my first night in my new house, in my new "living-together" relationship. It was good. So good.
Yesterday I went swimming in my pool. Now I'm back in the office. Ain't life sweet?
That's the factual account, more or less. In a bit I'll start feeeeeeeeling stuff and tell you all about it. My head is still spinning, and I'm tired as hell. I've been *sighing* all day. Deep sighs. Good for the soul.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
[enter net]
(part one)
In order to prepare to edit a documentary I shot last summer (and was too emotionally frazzled and/or biased in the aftermath to edit at that time) my editor has asked me to explain the genesis of the project. How it came to be. Which, I realize, requires me to explain the genesis of my relation to that wonderful thing allowing me to communicate this to all of you right now: The Internet.
As late as 1995, I still had no real experience with the net. My use of computers was limited to word processing and some really lo-tech games. I preferred pinball & shooting games (where there's a "real" hand-held "gun") to any video game, save for an arcade version of Mrs Pac Man, which holds a special place in my heart, surely having to do with the fact it is one of the only games that I'm actually "good" at. (High Score at the late Pac Man Arcade, Pasadena (RIP) circa 2001)
My first insight into the wonders and possibilities of the web came in 1996 when my boyfriend at the time told me that he had seen the most awful thing of his life online. What he had seen was a series of photos taken by a girl and her lover... after they had murdered her husband, they proceeded to cut off his head, hands, feet, and genitals, and pose the parts in different humorous tableaus, smiling and posing with the various pieces. The guy posting the pics was a right-wing Christian, militant about the first amendment, and believing it to be important to show the hideousness of this sinful world in all its ghastly glory. My boyfriend told me that I did NOT want to see these images, no matter how much I may think I did. I believed him, and by the time I changed my mind, the pics had been taken down, and replaced with the autopsy report for Nicole Brown Simpson. No pics. I was disappointed.
In '97 I moved to Los Angeles and got a job working for an internet sex toy company, JT's Stockroom. It was actually the first adult toy store on the web, starting as an all-text e-catalog around 1988. At this time the shop was run out of the apartment of the owner, and everybody did all the jobs. I worked in shipping, leather manufacturing, and customer service. Part of my job was linking the site to other sites, so this enabled me to spend a good amount of time searching the porno-web.
It was at this time that I first discovered the Stile Project, a busy hive of all things porno and gore, with some flash-animated games and random jokes thrown in for good measure. It was there I encountered the Random Image Generator. It was there I discovered a most strange masochism in myself.
I'm a sensitive girl who has always played tough, in an effort to flex the much-needed muscle of toughness that sensitive people, such as myself, seem to need to develop in order to not be annihilated by the breeze of this world. Or, perhaps I'm an incredibly insensitive girl, who, still able to experience a shred of feeling, seeks to obliterate it from myself by force.
10 minutes a day on the Random Image generator was my formula. There was no way of knowing what I was going to get. Sometimes a beautiful woman, sometimes a close up of a healthy vagina, sometimes a close up of a diseased and festering vagina, sometimes a man with a metal post rammed through his skull, sometimes a man with his face blown half off, sometimes a joke, sometimes a cute kitten. Thank god for the kittens.
Everything that I do in my life has to fulfill a certain criteria of interestingness, and there are always multiple motives, conscious and unconscious, for everything. For example, my working at the Stockroom was, quite simply, a way to make money, however, it was also borne from a desire to work in the sex industry, and working in the sex industry was a way for me to explore things within myself. It gave me a certain access, and it also went over well in storytelling. Really, what I did was work an office job, however, an office job at a sex toy company is immediately more interesting than an office job at an insurance agency. And mine is a life that has been extremely preoccupied with making the "most interesting" choice in any given situation. Both for my own experience of living, and for the sake of others. Who are these others? The audience. Those that may see or hear the stories of my life.
The working at the sex toy company lost its "interesting" status when I started graduate school for Theater direction and amateur boxing, simultaneously. With these new, and most physically active, developments in my life, the Internet job, and the Internet itself, was almost completely deserted. Maybe I was occasionally using email at this time, but not often. Occasionally researching or image searching. Word processing.
Following an injury which took me out of boxing and made me realize the value of health insurance, I returned to the Stockroom full-time after 3 years of absence. 3 years of internet abstinence.
Full time. Working on a computer. Paying bills. Working on a computer. Sitting there. Working on a computer. Same spot, all day long. Working on a computer.
Again, I was responsible for linking the Stockroom to other sites and generating traffic by any means necessary. Again, I had a free pass for searching the porno-web. Exploring and exploiting its now vast reaches and resources. This time I would fully enter the net. I would get caught in the web. Obviously, I haven't' gotten out yet.
(part one)
In order to prepare to edit a documentary I shot last summer (and was too emotionally frazzled and/or biased in the aftermath to edit at that time) my editor has asked me to explain the genesis of the project. How it came to be. Which, I realize, requires me to explain the genesis of my relation to that wonderful thing allowing me to communicate this to all of you right now: The Internet.
As late as 1995, I still had no real experience with the net. My use of computers was limited to word processing and some really lo-tech games. I preferred pinball & shooting games (where there's a "real" hand-held "gun") to any video game, save for an arcade version of Mrs Pac Man, which holds a special place in my heart, surely having to do with the fact it is one of the only games that I'm actually "good" at. (High Score at the late Pac Man Arcade, Pasadena (RIP) circa 2001)
My first insight into the wonders and possibilities of the web came in 1996 when my boyfriend at the time told me that he had seen the most awful thing of his life online. What he had seen was a series of photos taken by a girl and her lover... after they had murdered her husband, they proceeded to cut off his head, hands, feet, and genitals, and pose the parts in different humorous tableaus, smiling and posing with the various pieces. The guy posting the pics was a right-wing Christian, militant about the first amendment, and believing it to be important to show the hideousness of this sinful world in all its ghastly glory. My boyfriend told me that I did NOT want to see these images, no matter how much I may think I did. I believed him, and by the time I changed my mind, the pics had been taken down, and replaced with the autopsy report for Nicole Brown Simpson. No pics. I was disappointed.
In '97 I moved to Los Angeles and got a job working for an internet sex toy company, JT's Stockroom. It was actually the first adult toy store on the web, starting as an all-text e-catalog around 1988. At this time the shop was run out of the apartment of the owner, and everybody did all the jobs. I worked in shipping, leather manufacturing, and customer service. Part of my job was linking the site to other sites, so this enabled me to spend a good amount of time searching the porno-web.
It was at this time that I first discovered the Stile Project, a busy hive of all things porno and gore, with some flash-animated games and random jokes thrown in for good measure. It was there I encountered the Random Image Generator. It was there I discovered a most strange masochism in myself.
I'm a sensitive girl who has always played tough, in an effort to flex the much-needed muscle of toughness that sensitive people, such as myself, seem to need to develop in order to not be annihilated by the breeze of this world. Or, perhaps I'm an incredibly insensitive girl, who, still able to experience a shred of feeling, seeks to obliterate it from myself by force.
10 minutes a day on the Random Image generator was my formula. There was no way of knowing what I was going to get. Sometimes a beautiful woman, sometimes a close up of a healthy vagina, sometimes a close up of a diseased and festering vagina, sometimes a man with a metal post rammed through his skull, sometimes a man with his face blown half off, sometimes a joke, sometimes a cute kitten. Thank god for the kittens.
Everything that I do in my life has to fulfill a certain criteria of interestingness, and there are always multiple motives, conscious and unconscious, for everything. For example, my working at the Stockroom was, quite simply, a way to make money, however, it was also borne from a desire to work in the sex industry, and working in the sex industry was a way for me to explore things within myself. It gave me a certain access, and it also went over well in storytelling. Really, what I did was work an office job, however, an office job at a sex toy company is immediately more interesting than an office job at an insurance agency. And mine is a life that has been extremely preoccupied with making the "most interesting" choice in any given situation. Both for my own experience of living, and for the sake of others. Who are these others? The audience. Those that may see or hear the stories of my life.
The working at the sex toy company lost its "interesting" status when I started graduate school for Theater direction and amateur boxing, simultaneously. With these new, and most physically active, developments in my life, the Internet job, and the Internet itself, was almost completely deserted. Maybe I was occasionally using email at this time, but not often. Occasionally researching or image searching. Word processing.
Following an injury which took me out of boxing and made me realize the value of health insurance, I returned to the Stockroom full-time after 3 years of absence. 3 years of internet abstinence.
Full time. Working on a computer. Paying bills. Working on a computer. Sitting there. Working on a computer. Same spot, all day long. Working on a computer.
Again, I was responsible for linking the Stockroom to other sites and generating traffic by any means necessary. Again, I had a free pass for searching the porno-web. Exploring and exploiting its now vast reaches and resources. This time I would fully enter the net. I would get caught in the web. Obviously, I haven't' gotten out yet.
Friday, June 03, 2005
i had written something long, and then it was lost.
now i have to go to class.
in the lost document, i describe the town, my whereabouts, my bed, and the noise (or lack of noise) in this region.
i spoke of a coming tide of revolution. a beautiful one.
the last line was something like this:
here, in switzerland, you can drink the water.
that is all i can relate right now. i must go up the hill to class. i'm the TA for this one. Victor Burgin is the teacher. Author of "The Remembered Film" and In/Different spaces.
it is a hike to the school. high atop a mountain it sits. next to some sheep. one sheep has a bell on its neck. rind a ding ding all day long. how can that not make a sheep go mad?
now i have to go to class.
in the lost document, i describe the town, my whereabouts, my bed, and the noise (or lack of noise) in this region.
i spoke of a coming tide of revolution. a beautiful one.
the last line was something like this:
here, in switzerland, you can drink the water.
that is all i can relate right now. i must go up the hill to class. i'm the TA for this one. Victor Burgin is the teacher. Author of "The Remembered Film" and In/Different spaces.
it is a hike to the school. high atop a mountain it sits. next to some sheep. one sheep has a bell on its neck. rind a ding ding all day long. how can that not make a sheep go mad?
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
I am Nomad
Yesterday I turned in the keys to my apartment and got my security deposit back, in full, from my lovely and fatherly landlord who was sorry to see me go. I'm moving away from my sweet, sweet solo abode where I shared a wall with my best friend/bandmate lisa dee and a courtyard with gentle brett lyda of the evangenitals. 5 people from my workplace lived in that building. 5 people that I actually liked. Out of 21 units, I called 7 of them friends. That's 1/3 of the building!
I have moved all of my belongings into a house in Duarte that is under renovation. Everything will be dusty upon my return. The garage is being rebuilt, the pool is being sandblasted, the backyard will be dug up and planted with grass, the kitchen will be gutted and re-done, a wall moved, a bathroom added. It will be a new house upon my return.
At 7:10pm this evening, god willing, a plane will be leaving LAX with me on it. That plane is headed for Milan, Italy, where I will find my hotel, spend a night, and take a train the next day to Saas-Fee, Switzerland to spend a wee bit shy of a month tucked away in the Alps studying Philosophy.
This term I'm supposed to pitch my definitive dissertation topic. I'm seriously stumped on this at the moment, as there's about 5 billion things I'd like to research/think about/write about and at the same time I'm plagued by this feeling of the unimportance of all things, excepting faith and love and health and cleanliness and happiness and wellbeing and taking care of each other and the world. There is some shame that comes with being such a bleepin' hippie at heart.
There is a book. It is called "Cradle to Cradle". I'm recommending it to everyone I know. It has brought me such a sense of excitement and hope it is wonderful wonderful. It is the future. It contains a solution. How to grow, thrive, consume, experience, build, expand, explore, create, and do no harm. It is something I've been struggling with for a long, long time. Brett turned me on to an interview in Newsweek with the guy and I just about crapped my pants with glee at the vision for a mo' better future that he has.
Limitless expansion. A broad road of happy destiny to trudge. That's what I got from his words. We don't have to "cut back" and "conserve"... we need to make better, kinder, more care-full any loving decisions, and run wild and free with the happy joyous and free energy of children. Do no harm. That's the mantra that's been rolling through my head and heart. Do no harm. Can I write a dissertation on that? Been thinking about Gandhi. Do no harm. It's hard not to step on ants and other people's toes sometimes. Do no harm. Progress not perfection.
I am off. I will miss my boyfriend. I will miss my band. I have my small guitar in hand, and I will be working hard to make myself a better everything for everyone. Especially me. I'm a selfish turkey.
Yesterday I turned in the keys to my apartment and got my security deposit back, in full, from my lovely and fatherly landlord who was sorry to see me go. I'm moving away from my sweet, sweet solo abode where I shared a wall with my best friend/bandmate lisa dee and a courtyard with gentle brett lyda of the evangenitals. 5 people from my workplace lived in that building. 5 people that I actually liked. Out of 21 units, I called 7 of them friends. That's 1/3 of the building!
I have moved all of my belongings into a house in Duarte that is under renovation. Everything will be dusty upon my return. The garage is being rebuilt, the pool is being sandblasted, the backyard will be dug up and planted with grass, the kitchen will be gutted and re-done, a wall moved, a bathroom added. It will be a new house upon my return.
At 7:10pm this evening, god willing, a plane will be leaving LAX with me on it. That plane is headed for Milan, Italy, where I will find my hotel, spend a night, and take a train the next day to Saas-Fee, Switzerland to spend a wee bit shy of a month tucked away in the Alps studying Philosophy.
This term I'm supposed to pitch my definitive dissertation topic. I'm seriously stumped on this at the moment, as there's about 5 billion things I'd like to research/think about/write about and at the same time I'm plagued by this feeling of the unimportance of all things, excepting faith and love and health and cleanliness and happiness and wellbeing and taking care of each other and the world. There is some shame that comes with being such a bleepin' hippie at heart.
There is a book. It is called "Cradle to Cradle". I'm recommending it to everyone I know. It has brought me such a sense of excitement and hope it is wonderful wonderful. It is the future. It contains a solution. How to grow, thrive, consume, experience, build, expand, explore, create, and do no harm. It is something I've been struggling with for a long, long time. Brett turned me on to an interview in Newsweek with the guy and I just about crapped my pants with glee at the vision for a mo' better future that he has.
Limitless expansion. A broad road of happy destiny to trudge. That's what I got from his words. We don't have to "cut back" and "conserve"... we need to make better, kinder, more care-full any loving decisions, and run wild and free with the happy joyous and free energy of children. Do no harm. That's the mantra that's been rolling through my head and heart. Do no harm. Can I write a dissertation on that? Been thinking about Gandhi. Do no harm. It's hard not to step on ants and other people's toes sometimes. Do no harm. Progress not perfection.
I am off. I will miss my boyfriend. I will miss my band. I have my small guitar in hand, and I will be working hard to make myself a better everything for everyone. Especially me. I'm a selfish turkey.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
holy moly.
it seems in my financial desperation i pulled the
ultimate boner...
i put the wrong address on my $5 plea.
anyone who sent a check, you can be expecting it back,
because i am a whimsical retard who didn't proofread
my writing.
sorry bout that.
if anyone wants to try again, you may grace the
mailbox of my new home at this exceptionally accurate
and proofread'ed address....
Juli Crockett
1303 Fairlee Ave
Duarte, CA 91010
sometimes i amuse myself.
other times, i annoy myself.
either way, i am, unavoidably, myself.
yours truly,
juli crockett
it seems in my financial desperation i pulled the
ultimate boner...
i put the wrong address on my $5 plea.
anyone who sent a check, you can be expecting it back,
because i am a whimsical retard who didn't proofread
my writing.
sorry bout that.
if anyone wants to try again, you may grace the
mailbox of my new home at this exceptionally accurate
and proofread'ed address....
Juli Crockett
1303 Fairlee Ave
Duarte, CA 91010
sometimes i amuse myself.
other times, i annoy myself.
either way, i am, unavoidably, myself.
yours truly,
juli crockett
Friday, May 13, 2005
I'm back to the old piracy impulse again....
Trying to make money makes me sad. When my focus is on finance, I'm just an irritated girl. It sucks. I always start to try to make money, and quickly burn out. It sucks, having that be the drive behind my action. I can't handle it. I just ain't motivated enough by the money, property, prestige. I'd rather take a walk and scrape change together for food. I wouldn't cut it in wall street.
I watched a documentary about Enron last night. It made me feel all claustrophobic and suspicious. People do some really shitty things sometimes. Listening to the assholes joke about turning California's power off, and all the money they cost us, and how they got Gray Davis booted out of office.... And then the extention of it all.... The unmentionable intentional nine to the eleventh. Scary poop.
There are many options. Staying small. Living large. Trusting god. Fighting the power. There have been many songs written about these options. Many books written. Many a pamphlet, pamphletted.
someday I'm going to have children (if the creek don't rise and the sun don't fall and my ovaries aren't bunk) how to deliver a world that doesn't blow ass? I don't know.
All's I know is that it has something to do with NOT being the guy who's willing to do evil.
My new neighbor's are Buddhists. I'm excited about that. For the first time ever if my neighbor's ask me if I want to go to church with them, I may say yes. That's exciting.
There is some dark shit going on in this world of ours. Darker than we can imagine. I was thinking about the fucking holocaust last night. How when it was happening, no one believed it. Nobody could imagine that people could be so evil. Guess what?
They can and they will. That are and they do.
I'm feeling all bunk and hopeful.
I love that wacky mix.
Trying to make money makes me sad. When my focus is on finance, I'm just an irritated girl. It sucks. I always start to try to make money, and quickly burn out. It sucks, having that be the drive behind my action. I can't handle it. I just ain't motivated enough by the money, property, prestige. I'd rather take a walk and scrape change together for food. I wouldn't cut it in wall street.
I watched a documentary about Enron last night. It made me feel all claustrophobic and suspicious. People do some really shitty things sometimes. Listening to the assholes joke about turning California's power off, and all the money they cost us, and how they got Gray Davis booted out of office.... And then the extention of it all.... The unmentionable intentional nine to the eleventh. Scary poop.
There are many options. Staying small. Living large. Trusting god. Fighting the power. There have been many songs written about these options. Many books written. Many a pamphlet, pamphletted.
someday I'm going to have children (if the creek don't rise and the sun don't fall and my ovaries aren't bunk) how to deliver a world that doesn't blow ass? I don't know.
All's I know is that it has something to do with NOT being the guy who's willing to do evil.
My new neighbor's are Buddhists. I'm excited about that. For the first time ever if my neighbor's ask me if I want to go to church with them, I may say yes. That's exciting.
There is some dark shit going on in this world of ours. Darker than we can imagine. I was thinking about the fucking holocaust last night. How when it was happening, no one believed it. Nobody could imagine that people could be so evil. Guess what?
They can and they will. That are and they do.
I'm feeling all bunk and hopeful.
I love that wacky mix.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Okay. Here we go.
The latest idea is that I'm going to start telling you guys about books that have the ability to rip my heart out of my ass, and you guys hopefully go buy that book by following the little linky that I'll provide, and then the Evangenitals get a percentage of the sale and we get to go on tour and live the dream of doing what makes one happy and making money doing it.
In the meantime, you'll get to hear about a lot of great books, and we can discuss them too, because this friggin' thing has a comments box, ya know. Oh yes it does.
So, first up: The Light That Failed by Rudyard Kipling
My friend Michael Blackman lent me a copy of this book. The cover had been torn off, as he had throw it across the room several times whilst reading it and kicked it down some European street in a fit of anger after finishing it. This book is totally and utterly unfair. It is as unfair as life often seems to be. Yet it is beautiful. It made me shake my fists at the heavens in rage. It did not make me cry. It is not a sappy, emotional book. It is harsh. And it's about art, so if you are into harsh and/or art, you will appreciate this book.
It's fucking great. Read it. Let me know what you think.
The latest idea is that I'm going to start telling you guys about books that have the ability to rip my heart out of my ass, and you guys hopefully go buy that book by following the little linky that I'll provide, and then the Evangenitals get a percentage of the sale and we get to go on tour and live the dream of doing what makes one happy and making money doing it.
In the meantime, you'll get to hear about a lot of great books, and we can discuss them too, because this friggin' thing has a comments box, ya know. Oh yes it does.
So, first up: The Light That Failed by Rudyard Kipling
My friend Michael Blackman lent me a copy of this book. The cover had been torn off, as he had throw it across the room several times whilst reading it and kicked it down some European street in a fit of anger after finishing it. This book is totally and utterly unfair. It is as unfair as life often seems to be. Yet it is beautiful. It made me shake my fists at the heavens in rage. It did not make me cry. It is not a sappy, emotional book. It is harsh. And it's about art, so if you are into harsh and/or art, you will appreciate this book.
It's fucking great. Read it. Let me know what you think.
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