2013

i forgot mbv, but hey who is perfect!

DAY MAN

scenes from a former namesake

russian heels

stretch canyons of kentucky

worthy invention

borrowed from crib sheets

of match make nostalgia

tear duct make up

and salt dry liner 

curried to election

and traced back downward

i don't want to be the interpreter

impervious to guilt

after facts are prominence

and she's just an inheritance of heels

abandoned flats

packs of empty 

tobacco reservoirs

leftover place settings

unlikely reception

for midnight callers

i don't want to be the interpreter

impervious to guilt

after facts are prominence

and she's just an inheritance of heels

every nervous welcome coming

when the sheets are torn from turning

and the hues are who's concerning

and the pills are en't here

i don't want to be the interpreter

impervious to guilt

after facts are prominence

and she's just an inheritance of heels

stretch canyons of kentucky

worn invention

and the satellite fills          

dew.

trembling paleography
and former selves in the spotlight
finding ways back to the breadcrumbs
shelter, oh keep discovering stray inverse

i could write you back
keep repeating mantras
time-pressed solutions
common interests

but in this moment of our parallels
we must still divide our recourse

'someone once said..'

you could be the fossil fixture on my bedroom wall
reminding and remainder
to all deft but irrefutable lingering

options. octave. often.

raise the stake, push the blade.
bandaged less, forthright and impulsive

we live in a state of promises and tell tales
tall ships and breath baits
all to finish sooner than we took to finger shoelaces.

pastebin pastiche

egadz + sick balloons - pulse.

new POLVO!!!!

keep suggesting motion

two great bands. two great records. years apart.

ghosts and satellites.

most beautifulest.

currently fermenting...

when we move away
from this murmured graze
you're a score of thieves
no blonde remains
behind the 'trolmans reach
and darling youre to blame

washing all the easels
watch
before we set them on fire
falsifying idols
stars
before we burnt out inside

washing all the easels

watch

before we set them on fire

set them on fire

set them on fire

set them on fire

of all this masonry
im a row of teeth
scalding creeks
and childish actresses
that linger from beneath
the quiver of your balm pressed lips

washing all the easels

watch

before we set them on fire

falsifying idols

stars

before we burnt out inside

washing all the easels

watch

before we set them on fire

set them on fire

set them on fire

set them on fire

in the meantime, revisit the elders...

drop

hapless hearts and measuring cups.

dictations and expectations

settlements and suggestions.

it all ends badly.

and you, YOURSELF, are only to blame.

we're so beautiful.

like beating a dead horse.

we're in the process of recording new material, but in the meantime, revisit, or perhaps discover the wonderful home-fi that is 'prague over brooklyn.'

there is a god.

and he's at the del mar fair.

luna makes me smile.

non-alcoholics know nothing about insurance or disease.

i had a flurry of odd dreams last night.

one of them involved being in a building i swore i'd been to before. as you walk in, pillars of are corralled by glass cases showcasing some of the most amazing looking donuts you've ever laid eyes upon. i take a once by, following the display as it wraps to the right, until i reach the end, which opens to an open cafe area (though there are no chairs or tables to be seen). i follow my trail back to the front, while taking stock of all the donuts and carefully laying out my choices and questions in my head, as i do regularly at any place of consumption.

there are all the favorites of mine, chocolate glazed old fashioned, maple bars, sprinkle cakes and the host of endless cousin-related pastries. the attendant is young and indifferent, his hair cut close to his temple, only showing wonderment when inquiry from myself about one donut in particular.

this one is the greatest of all, like a massive croissant-like donut, adorned with chocolate and what seems to be slash strips of strawberry glaze.

i ask the kid what it tastes like. he is uncertain. next thing i know, the donut is torn at the front, a piece in his hand and another in mine. the taste of soft buttery chocolate and strawberry with flaky aftertaste makes my mouth insatiable. and then i wake up.

(waking up with no donuts and no access at 3am is not a welcome feeling).

the second dream i had as soon as i fell back asleep took place in a big grassy field, not unlike one you'd see at a grandiose musical festival. there is a hugely elevated stage, where amps of disproportionate size and equipment are set up. and behind the stage is a huge two story staircase, which ends at and connects to the stage.

at one point i find myself on stage with my friend and guitarist, frantically trying to get sound out of the speakers to no avail. all i keep thinking is, 'why are we doing the sound check so close to when we should be performing?'

suddenly, i find myself back on solid ground, navigating my way to the rear of the staircase/concrete structure, which is greeted by more people, beach umbrellas and flip flops.

i see this random guy who keeps arguing and pushing his way towards someone i know. i immediately intervene, and all i keep saying to him is, 'shut the fuck up and leave it alone.' this happens a couple of times and i repeat to him again,'shut the fuck up and leave it alone.'

he pushes his way again to the point that i finally ask, what the hell his problem is. he muses, 'your friend told me, non-alcoholics know nothing about insurance or disease.'

importance in the form of people

The Resurrectionists are a band out of San Clemente, CA that i've had the pleasure and privilege of sharing a stage with a handful of times. they are all brilliant guys and as far as i'm concerned, the most important band i know right now. do yourself and go to one of their shows and experience them live.

Email newsletters for bands at ReverbNation.com

unclear

band aid girls
bend the rules
of ceremonious trites
and meant to be's

stale crates
full of blurry polaroids and miniature pets
we gave names and split the house
without cards or sleeves

this is what we foresee
and continue to earn
held close to hurt
to be born another wound

you're a maze, less amazing
living short stories out of conversations
we shared attempt-
fingers worn like notes i couldn't play

i'm with the park bench people
wallflowers and bar corners
strange like the company kept
or the uninvited fatherers

these are babymaking days
men of morsels
or better yet-
we never quite made mountains
out of meant trails.

even still...

every day we don't talk
is one day closer
to feeling like myself again.

and knowing you won't call
makes it that much easier
to expect anyone to miss me
et al.

stale skates

we used to clip our nails
and sift through dusty worn out sleeves
looking for that perfect soundtrack to our
best written version of our lives

i'd write liner notes to your approval
swarms of pastebins and scrabble inspired breach
shared baths and inched admiration

droves of metallic bands and wet paint
here lies the last of the galvanizing head hunters
i could never have been so close to expect retracted inhibition

the pastors have all gone to lunch
and the ideas of an arranged coexistence
salt on your shoulder
sweat on your binds

we wrote the letters
we took back the novels
and rearranged the furniture
clothes in trash bags
cut tongues and noteworthy feet forward mute locks

divvy up the dance hands
jackal bartered beer bellies
and shock put ankles

we'll all walk away from these things
well read and got it all figured up

procurements for the stag dads
bookishly well esteemed pebble drifters
kicking away at the dust clouds.

another familiarity

uneven palpitations

this is a hoax

used.

after having a pint at a local bar the other night i started to think about a handful of places that have come and go, only to be revamped under new management, even though it's pretty much the same concept (or far stretch from the previous).

i find myself regularly calling these places 'used to be'-

i've been around so long that i still call costco, price club, and still think may company and walker scott's.

it just struck me as odd that i never really learned or acknowledged these new establishments, and wonder if one day we'll be referred to as an afterthought.

speck.

today i lose again. and nothing could make things better or worse than knowing that the fight i've fought was nothing less than a second rate emotion that no one cares to acknowledge.

mock prine

short-lived fancy from a freelance purveyor.

i'm an abandoned tray fill, perverse fort cross-
fame-tinged tremolo kick, 
canned for nitpick'ed and filtered trash talk.

swash and swim, buttoned down for the winter. 

we all take turns shifting grocery tangents and mock tile aversions. 
shift change, 
hula hip----

trans-vent ceo's and celibate thoughts, 
staggering lines, last before first, 

farewell badgery, no wears for thing wavering. 

untied shoes and callous hands, 
smoke befitted gallants and trim trunks of treasuries unfounded. 

oh we shave our beards and board our balances, 
true unto true face, festered with the reminder that fallacies weigh more 
than we could ever slate. 
clean slate. 
clean slate. 
clean slated periphery.

louis ck is still my favorite comedian (as of the last 5 years)

today feels broken.

happy anniversary Port Brewing & Lost Abbey!

some of my favorite beer & people!

chartered from the remnants of our survivalist fits.

' i.

love.

crazy.

chicks.'

she smiled speculatively, and took a sip of her bourbon.

'but i'm not crazy.'

i can't pretend to know you, anymore.

i can't pretend to know you anymore.

i read more about you and what you write more than conversations or appearances may provide.

i'm just an onlooker, still admiring, still piecing myself together.

and you are unavailable, in the sense that you have no time for me.

so let's stop bargaining chips and call it what it has been.

a passerby.

no more quotations, exclamations, hyperbole, excuses, partitions, wanderer's remorse.

love, in a house.

love these guys. Guy Chadwick's voice is in the same greatness as Tim Booth and Pete Fijalkowski for me. these are all from their 1988 Creation Records self-titled album.

piece

'and then we wrote our feelings on scissored leaves of paper, threw them into a hat, and one by one, handpicked our conversations like cut-n-paste pastiche...'

sunday bat day

viles on exile.

i'm a telephone wire-
strung and electrified
one way toll collect can kids
never busied
held in working order
never busied

my hands are overextended
quite often awkwardly met

(with empty dictations) 

you're a curator waiting for the painter
modern day damien-

i've just muddled too many colors in my watering mug
too youthful and expectant
never outgrown these deer parks
wandering, shot, trot ridden, marsh pills

phantom prancers, derby steeds

task mannequins, the day-to-day

businessmen guised in vintage band sleeves
working nines to rent quarters and welcome mats

never home
always working daughters
never home

exhausted continuance
necessary distraction

no commitment.
no commitments
this is no remittance.

staycations and train stops.
complaints and day spas.

i'm.

just.

trying.

to.be.

someone.

into which the discontent shrouded our masquerade

here i lay in the swallows of an unmade bed
amended from the warnings of an empty dusk recovery
no averted dreams
scarce repression

days stretch as far as my mind wanders
hovering manic distress like drum passages and
carefully plucked fingerings

from the lo-fi passengers in my head
whispering the decay of quiet
as resonance fills the air
and slits of sun specks devour the dark

i prefer my free time kept away
from the troubles of hapless screws
and trivial dull spurts
but the gems of solitarily intended calm
become inevitable casualties of emotional restraint

i need to see. people being seen.

i need to drink.

to remind me to enjoy silence and seeping alone.

too much time with mirrors, only cast shadowy followers
forcefully revolving doors, that whirlwind with circulation

constantly late to the dinner party,
perfectly content with standstill while in lieu of,
only later to regret the void of circumstance.

happy record store day!

i'm sure i don't need to advocate the importance of supporting record stores, as they are indeed a dying breed in this lurking internet age, and provide a service most downloads do not. do yourself a favor and visit whatever friendly record store is nearest to you today, for free live music and/or special limited releases from some of your favorite artists. i'll be at my friends' shop, SPIN RECORDS: and of course, what would a RSD post be without a shameless plug for my recently released record, 'prague over brooklyn.' GET IT!!!

sad & beautiful world.

olde friends

jammy smith

match makers

packed bags

i'm leaving. this. alone.

i'm dealing with the reality that you don't have time for me, or us.

(whatever form of us that exists in my mind or fact).

overextended and alone.

it's no longer enough to hold onto your breadcrumb trails.

i've got records to make, life to rearrange, people to call, shows to attend.

but i do love you.

but you knowing has been the problem all along.

in waiting, i've continued to keep myself, sick as inevitability dictates.

pete & terry

Pete Fijalkowski (Adorable, Polak) and Terry Bickers (House of Love) have collaborated on an album that i'm absolutely ecstatic about in its anticipation. Pete is one of my personal heroes musically, so seeing him crawl out of the darkness that is musical hiatus is nothing short of a relief. here's a few videos from their previous output:

ghostface still killin' kids...

please cherish great rap like this....

miss spells and musings

we have nothing to do with (sic) waiting, but we remain sick balloons. come see us next thursday for our last show (for awhile). FREE before 9PM.

farewell leucadia pt II

romanticized travels

we're re-recording this with the full band for an upcoming release later this year...for now enjoy the home-fi version. camper band balloons

gifted...

adrenaline brushes

the follies are all aflutter
damaging personas and asking prices
we will, with our sterile plans full of bottlecaps and wet mouths

speak all thee plagued and temperate of succumbed settlements and forthright left field decisions

beginning at zero, work your way backwards,
until the future is but a speck in the eyes of our mortality

then you will wonder, where oh where did my youth spark digress?

i am art bandages worn and susceptible to bends and folds
barely held by the fishermen's knots
rolls and fancies
skulls and ambulances
still here after the medicine wore off
quarterly fines and pharmacies closed

this is the fix, to be plain in sight and out of minds.

what i've been listening to the last few days...

go grab this next tuesday. i most certainly want to! he's playing the Casbah april 12th!!!!

cyclical wash tunings

farewell leucadia...

new telekinesis record is damn good!

Telekinesis- Dormarion

you're so borrowed blue

bus charity charades

i've been riding the bus for the last three weeks off & on.

i always feel weirdly curious about new experiences, especially when thrown into inevitability.

with a set of new and impending circumstances i've already grown accustomed to this new ride situation, and let's face it, riding my bike is giving me (new)found exercise that i've needed back in my life.

while sitting in the comforts of the now fully functional interim charter buses (designated in lieu of the indefinite period of sprinter-less travel) i found myself without headphones, or an ipod for that matter- lost a week previous by my own lack of recognizance, leaving me to the suitably and often strange music of conversation.

one of my best friends dani, just the other night, encouraged me to ride said transportative states, (ear)bud-less, rallying me towards the odd turns that are mouths engaged.

on this particular pilgrimage back to my mom's house, i caught pieces of two gentlemen's chat, resulting in casual braves about whether they had been to hawaii before, diets and weight loss (with the accompaniment of steroids) and the grand revelation that one of these fine purveyors of public transportation had NEVER been to a Chili's before.

this is a bit puzzling to me, especially living in a city where the Chili's restaurants have spread thin, but nevertheless are still somewhat a prevalent eatery, as far as money and food shaking hands.

this particular man had boasted about sunday Olive Garden stints, Applebee's, but no trace of Chili's, nor had he ever stepped foot into Claim Jumpers. he claimed to have weighed a sizeable 250 pounds before his divorce and then with the aforementoned help from steroids and diet, he pared down to an unforeseeable slimmer figure (of which i did not confirm as to save my anonymity).

this is where the conversation died for me, as i poured myself back into my book of strung words by david berman, because, well, he says funny things to me. 

my travels ended in a brisk walk to mums house, only to leave minutes later, down the road to make money and prove myself once again to the world.

drail

i wish a lot of things at this time of night.

i wish i had my guitar.

i wish i had a car to drive me to the store for a can of canada dry.

i wish i had all the words in the world to tell you everything i wish we shared.

but i know you are an enigma and i, your admirer.

things never work out how we want them, but we keep trying.

i feel placid, complacent, misdirected.

spurts of romantic leisure and homely desire.

kept underlined and marked for breath.

strange unsaid fervor

count your hands worth and throw it all to the fire

i've deviated my path

made another fuck all bait downward spiral.

drab, pucker free.

i only smile with you and it confounds you, i know.

you're not in the mind of being someone's thoughts.

free and perverse and oblique, no mere handle.

hardly a novice, unconventionally naive

if all to be your own and only for yourself

doing all the things we spoke about

you drink copious amounts of caffeine and stay up til 5am

while i fall asleep from boredom.

the cards are burned and trails are seeded with breadcrumbs

and all i long for are the simpler things

ginger and fruit

dry and be soons.

hollowed carvings and misnomers

i had a dream the other night that i read one of your stories. and you used words that i'd never heard of and yet instinctively knew their meaning within the context of their dictation.

and i thought of the words i had chosen, never quite felt as built up for the language that we bore. i've always constantly tried to live up to the works of my peers whilst maintaining a voice of my own, suitably guised in vague repositioning and alternative composition.

a far stretch from my everyday vulgarity and commonplace 'likes.'

i'm constantly fixated how my heroes create, and in all honesty maturation comes with diligence and patience, both of which i'm more of a visitor within realm. i have a certain imbalance of ADD and OCD, which can work wonders given the right split.

i see friends with great ideas and i regularly change my mind on directional facilitation.

i'll continue to write but i am not certain i will understand all the components of good writing until i'm lost in it.

and what is this, an exercise in manual cognition.

pollard pause

swoon.

another song from our new record, 'prague over brooklyn.'

jane fond_of

we've got a new record out, 'prague over brooklyn,' the first of (we hope) many releases this year. this is the first song off the EP.

i am.

dtt-hh

new Detective!!

warble.

my life, the ark of no suffice
wandering stars and petty little dimmers

winter comes, square and evident
i'm the warrant, fruitful travels
you're remissant, well informed

all the factories have closed
minimal fingertips
touch screens
drive thrus
thermostats
water jugs

hand made hugs
and portraits relieved
sculpted and scarce

dare you not, the weather it changes
clutching coats and waistlines

we all could use the fresh icicles
and warm blooded certainty

soccer moms and termites
ageless faces and mal retort
reservoirs
creeps and failings

disbanded.
reminder. reminder.
dust. duck. warn.
replaced with estates.

lilys.

this band makes me smile, through and through, to this day, and is one of my big influences.

deal.

i've f*cked it all off.

and all i have to show is this lousy sea vert.

stars in bars

we're playing with The Tractormen in less than two weeks. Jason plays bass twice this night. buy him a drink!

susceptible alternates

detective.

set. match.

telephones and graveyards
pitbullied pastors
wild soothsayer forsakers

vilified research

young concrete failure
sticky veins and parallel lives

walk me to church
drop me off for recess

absence

locks

lines

derail, rebound, no time for sound advice

we can run, rest, then watch ourselves to sleep
bury names with the questions that bare complications

no other witness to the slave of nighttime,
careless whimpers of past forlorn roundabouts

i'll keep trying, you keep your pride inventively trim.

ingredients for a great night.

3 old fashioned's
2 shots of fireball
one moscow mule
2 shots of jameson
one wayne coyne & katy
one jane heathen
one michelle & jay romo 

one part giddy college geeked out kids

setyabacksetyabacksetaya

drill.drill.drill

spill all the takeovers
tangents and policies
scrapes with nature
beauty pageants and posturing

mild survival
tactical stratagem

here's my semblance
heroes and podiums

dancing with the gravel
emory boards and dually tempered melodies

you're a metal detector
a misinformed detective

entering a bid on your indecisiveness

pot stripped pacifist
tailgating with bible revivalists

steer clear of the post suffering
down on your bruises
one episode away from dismissal

this all means nothing in steps
frivolous spending
no return on your efforts

bought.sold.exchanged.

trail away.
pale and immunities in discourse

this is not the dream of pastels.
we shade our dignity with dissappointment
and reluctant ingenuity.

barbers, barkers of tree found aspiration
stay in your clothes for the moment
out of your skin
barely breathing thin
wafers of waistlines and absentee smokes

magic on your fingertips
haze on your beards, fuzz on your complexion

i'm not archer, no lingerer of future tense
headed dull mind shriller of strength

bend at bill
collect the rent
stop.stop.stop.

reinvent.

noted

we can sit and romanticize these things

but in our day's last gasp, 

we both know it's all purely 

witticism and disneyland fantasies