i have a headcold. that's the name for it. my sinuses are clogged. i feeeeeeeeel like my nose is running constantly, but it's not, cause it's stuffed up. the taste of the sickness is hanging dank in my throat. feels like there's something in there that if i only pushed hard enough i could make it come out. i'm tired and the hot-coal in my shoulder is burning like hell.

my mom is coming to town for the derby show. i had to reserve her an airport shuttle, cause we're gonna be practicing when she arrives. i hate being sick. the simplest things get hard when i'm sick. and singing ain't no breeze, neither. no sir. luckily my vocals can be a little raspy and squeaky and still fly. evan-tastic. wee-haw.

i like raccoons. those suckas are freaky rat-monkey hybrid creatures with the mysterious eyes and picky fingers. walkin' with the hind legs a little bit higher than the front. runnin' with the stiffness AND grace. trippy little thieves. kinda big little creatures. i wanna find a baby runt and bring it home. raise it with love and kindness and let it sit on my shoulder. vaccinate the beast for rabies so when it bites the hand that feeds it, a bitch-slap will suffice. no choppin' off heads or rabid juli's and shit. i got love for the 'coons.

---

yeah yeah yeah.... so i'm a hippy. so what. everybody needs to read this....

On Love
(An excerpt from "The Prophet" by Kahlil Gibran)


Then said Almitra, Speak to us of Love.
And he raised his head and looked upon the people,
and there fell a stillness upon them.
And with a great voice he said:

When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest
branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them
in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant:
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire,
that you may become sacred bread for God`s sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you
that you may know the secrets of your heart,
and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life`s heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only
love`s peace and love`s pleasure,
Then it is better for you
that you cover your nakedness and
pass out of love`s threshing floor,
Into the seasonless world where you
shall laugh, but not all of your laughter,
and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself,
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed:
For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say,
"God is in my heart," but rather,
"I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course
of love, for love, if it finds you worthy,
directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart
and give thanks for another day of loving:
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love`s ecstasy:
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in you heart
and a song of praise upon you lips.

---

You are a neurotransmitter. You believe in the
good-naturedness of man's biology and soul.
You're happy, everyone's happy, and no one will
ever take that away from you. Or else you'll
make them go insane.


Which Biological Molecule Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

things get confused. i don't really know which blog is for what. i got a livejournal. i got my own column. i got a web forum. i got a job. i got the band site to tweak. i got the calendar and news to update. i got emails to which i haven't responded. i got plays to direct. i got a mother i don't call enough. i got a boxing trainer who misses me. i got a sick boyfriend. i got myspace and friendsters. i got a car and an apartment. i think i got shit. i think i got something. i got a band i believe in. i got friends i love. i got a smile on my face and a taco salad. all is well. all is well.

so so so.... sunday august 1st was my birthday. i turned 29 years old. i am now in the last year of my twenties. i don't really feel much of nothin' about it all, since i've felt like a nerdy 13 year old ever since i was 10. what can ya do?

there's certain birthday's that i'll never forget: my 21st on the corner of 9th Street & Avenue C in Manhattan, downstairs from my apartment at the RedBar, then BarCode, now who the hell knows... but there's still a bar there. I know that because when the clock struck midnight this year, I happened to be in Manhattan, in the midst of one of my more jackass adventures, and went for a walk down to my old corner...

the bar is there (under new management) the pizza joint i used to have deliver when i was too fucked up to take the stairs 3 flights down is there too, the chinese place i blamed for the mouse epidemic... there's a ton of new cafes and fru-fru digs down on C these days. the puerto rican panderia is gone, but the laundry is still there and there's more public gardens, making trees happen in the cement. it's alright. some things change and some remain. la dee dah.

we stopped in a Waffle House in Ohio on the way to Chicago from NYC the next night and Chaorta played me happy birthday on the jukebox. that gesture made the birthday stick in my mind. i'll remember where i was for 29.

i experienced homesickness for the first time on this trip. full-on. mighty pangs. homesick, lovesick. there's no place like home. (ironic that i even drove through kansas, twice, on this trip) there is no place like home. didn't even know for certain that i had a home till i went away.

i had a friend who used to say, "let's leave so we can come back"... i always liked that. the homecoming is a good thing. the heart exercise of missing everybody was good. the hard work and horrors of the road were spiritually edifying. i will take much from my journey, learn the lessons it offered up, have no regrets... never fear. walk away, stay put, whatever, whichever. nothing matters. it's all good in the hood. gravy, baby. let me be at peace. 2 weeks of sleep deprivation will now come to an end. g'night my friends.

 


the lord is my companion, i shall not fear.
 
what can any man do to me?

my favorite kind of lover (and it don't happen all too often) is the kind that is also your best friend, your trudging buddy, and your partner in crime. the kind of person you can fuck up in front of, laugh so hard that liquid shoots out of your nose, get mad at and then drop it a second later like a forgetful goldfish, touch 'em whenever you feel like it, tell 'em what's on your mind, be fearful and fearless in the same moment, wear funny hats and play dumb games, have a healthy on-going competitive streak, respect the hell out of them, find them both awesome and humbling, both like and poke fun at each other's friends, be each others greatest fans and honest critic, and at the end of the day curl up like two peas in a pod, enjoying the feeling of being seen and being known by another human being.

my friends, i think i may have found a keeper. for as long as it lasts, till the wheels fall off.

i like him.

look at the beans.

freaky freaky beans.

clicky the freaky beans.

pool shark julio throwin' down the mad skillz in switzerland, for your viewing pleasure.

the prodigal donkey returns

---

The Evangenitals have a ritual... and we're not ashamed to admit it!



Every Sunday round about 9pm you're pretty sure to find us (often after a nice fish dinner) sitting down round the televisor to watch Vincent D'onofrio laying it down Columbo-style on Law and Order: Criminal Intent.

Like me, you may have had your first encounter with Vincent when he appeared as the tubby young psycho Private Pyle, taking soap-beatings, gettin' gun crazy, and blowing his brains out in the latrine in Kubrik's Steel Metal Jacket.

Now, he's still fucking crazy... but he's a crime buster. And we love him.

So. We're adding a link on our links page to this great site we found, dedicated 100% to the unsinkable Vincent D'onofrio.

Check it out.

---

we all got our own blogs now!
check out brett's and lisa's blogs.
this one is pretty much mine, mothasuckas!

don't forget to come to the show.
this is pretty much your last chance before I take a month off for the PhD think-tank in Switzerland adventure. however, I'm sure I'll be bringing back all sorts of crazy new ideas to sing about, so it all pays off in the end.

to be sure. to be sure.

haikus on mike kelley

mike kelley speaks of
postmodern art in navy
blue and spectacles


he was, at one time,
a most important pants man.
funny animals.


if you haven't heard
the music that he once made
you didn't miss much

---

You are lost and forlorn because you dwell in a world of words.
You feed on words, you are satisfied with words when what you need is substance.
A menu will not satisfy your hunger. A formula will not slake your thirst.


if you are satisfied with the world where words are enough, you cannot enter the Kingdom of Sounds.

---

Here's a fun & dorky thing to do!!!

If you happen to be on Friendster(tm), you can be Friend's with the Evangenitals!
Here's a link to us: http://www.friendster.com/user.jsp?id=6521951
We use the bulletin board feature to post shows.

If you want to add us, here's the info:

First name: Evangenitals
Last name: Inc
Email: julio@evangenitals.com

If you are not on Friendster(tm) and would like us to invite you to join... drop us an email and we'll reach out and touch you.

we love you already.

---

IT'S FANCY TIME, MY FRIENDS!


COME JOIN THE PARTY!!!!!

---

---

The Pangs. The Fucking Pangs.

There is a whole Opus Pistorum to be written on The Pangs.

The feeling: a sort of reverse-nostalgia.

A bittersweet, memory-like longing for something that hasn't yet happened. The girl you never knew that broke your heart comes to the party in the skin of a woman you've never met... will she ever understand that you already love her? Deeply, truly, thoroughly. Is this love any less valid because it exists in another dimension and has nothing to do with anything real* (*i.e. having any connection to that which actually happened in this lifetime)?

The relationships of the mind, whilst listening to songs, whilst watching the sun go down, whilst watching movies, sitting in the tub, are so full, so beautiful, so sad and perfectly imperfect. Inside of these images of imaginary love affairs, cinematically painful, slowly and quietly intense and dramatic, we always look beautiful when we're crying. Our faces are never red and puffy and pathetic, and if they are, they are adorably so, intensely so, sweetly so. Pain is a pang, a slide-guitar gut sensation, a minor note felt in the aorta, a heart choke. Eyes blink in the soft light, tears roll down the cheeks, always in slow motion, with a sound track, slow, with ringing harmonics which die away, open tuning, the sound of the metal rattling on the fret. Imperfectly perfect, and slow.

Behind, above, surrounding it all, there is the glowing specter of a heart, full to bursting with love, that grows and grows and grows.

The people-in-general, the hoi polloi, the vox populi go on about their business. Another day, another nickle. Back to work. Me too. Here I am. Senor Cog: Welcome to the Urban Junkyard! Your Civic Duties await you! Please report to the office and place your Cog in the Machine. Although the System runs quite smoothly without You (it is, in and of itself, a self-propagating, self-copulating, self-emulating machine) We sure do like having You around. All is Better Back in Line, waiting for your side-order of fries. Here we Go.

Need to get simple and monosyllabic for a minute. Yes, no, good, yes, ugh.... simple simple. Even simple has two-syllables. Too Many! Need the Ones: Plain. Good. Girl. Boy. Beach. Sky. Sea. Camp. Walk. Sleep. Read. Light. Dark. Beef. Fish. Eat. Love. Joy. God.

It is time to cry. Really cry. Not just weep that bittersweet lovesick weep that's burning in the throat 24/7, but fucking WAIL. Wail to the heavens in a combination of a "thank you!" and "why? fucking why?" A question and an exclamation. Why is she so beautiful? Why can't it last forever? Why would I want it to? Why do I deserve such light? Such feelings? Such a friend?

I love those days when one knows, beyond a doubt, that happiness is right here. Nothing more is needed. I could live in a dirt shack chicken coop, and so long as the face turns toward the sun now and then, happy is here.

And yet, simultaneously, that thought horrifies me.... this is it? this is all you want? this is happiness? no no not enough never never never enough.... I am the bitch of ambition! I am the slave of the self talking mind! I am the hog-tied POW of "not enough" "less than" and "falling short", and am a shit sandwich with a side order of failure and a self pity shake.

Those are The Pangs, mang.

PSA:
This is a Banner Ad.
If you click on it, it will take you to Newgrounds.com
On that site, there are a lot of games and fun stuff
This simple game, however, is mesmerizing.

I've never been a "gamer" and this is probably a good thing.
I'm a rather obsessive girl, and I can see how that stuff could quickly get out of hand.

I played The Sims once, when a roommate at Grad school had it on their computer. I constructed my whole life on there. My friends, my lovers, Kurt Cobain was our neighbor, I had the trick code for unlimited money, and an underage houseboy named Enrique. One day I sat there chainsmoking and drinking a gallon of blush wine watching a little simulated me wake up, go for a swim, read a book, paint a picture, have a dance party, make out with Kurt Cobain, cook meals, play pool, exercise, read another book, sit in the hot tub (with Kurt) and go to sleep.... my roommates left that morning for school, and when they came back I was still sitting in the same spot, watching a simulated me do everything that I wanted to do that day.

Upon their return, the horrifying realization set in. A flash-premonition of a matriqued future in which we all humanity sat in little cubicles witnessing our virtual lives as our useless meat-sacks turned to jellylike mush and only our fingers, grown long like talons, remained capable of motion ... click, click, clicking away at our little mouses (the only remaining companion)

I freaked. Bulldozed the house. Deleted the personae. And I've never played again.

Beware the Game, my friends.

Behold the Muzak.