intersection

I walked past this intersection the other night.
It was dark and cold and even though it wasn't quite nine p.m., I looked over my shoulder frequently, remembering another night.
This night though, I looked up, at a streetlight glowing like some kind of fantastical sun.
*
I'm still scared a lot. I worry, I trip, I agonize.
Sometimes I talk about it, and see recognition in a friend's nod.
The sinister awaits us everywhere.
What makes us valiant and courageous is that we walk past this intersection and continue on, and we create, we laugh, we make bets, we tell each other bad jokes, we masturbate, we howl, we eat and drink and we snooze.

today I joined the newhive. what is it? I dunno yet. the embed code is a mess, though.

pepsquad

motivational graffiti, from a bathroom stall in Ballard.

freeky

I saw Die Antwoord perform in Seattle last night.
The sold-out show was such a physical expression of joy and rage and sexual dynamism, I hesitate to even call it a performance. Kids moshed, girls wept, Ninja crowd-surfed, Yo-Landi romped the stage in tiny shorts and sang like a demented vision and among the smoke and the strobes a shirtless Hi-Tek spun and danced.
The whole things felt real and raw, like rock and roll should.
If rock and roll was South African Zef.
These kids are sick for sure, sick and stylish and sexyugly and talented as fuck.
Check out all their videos here. I fink you freeky:

no words only love

Well another February 14th has been survived, gotten through, endured.
Sorry Hallmark, but this is probably my least favorite day: we lost my mom on this day, eight years ago. I still miss her a lot. You'd think it gets easier, but you think wrong. The hurt just becomes more familiar.
*
So much heart stuff going on.
Some big losses suffered by people I love--an aged grandpa and a young man. There are no words, are there. Only love.
And: marriage equality in my state--wilkommen to wedded misery, my lovely gay friends!

I was watching M.I.A's new video and came across this one, what an explosion of gaudy beats, color, and style. Peep it now: XXXO

waiting for the perfect

what's pragmatism and what's "settling?"
this has been on my mind, as I look around at the people I know best and who are knowing me best.
it's been a tempestuous week, again.
I'd call it a fucktard-of-a-week if I wasn't afraid of offending someone.
oh well.
nearly every artist I know is struggling, not futile-ly, but working, pushing against the suffocation of civilization, the urge to not-work, to not-be-alone.
but, what's a good play/work ratio? what's success?
*
ctfo, a pal tells me. chill the fuk out.
I snapped this foto sometime this week, somewhere in seattle: no big deal!