the town is pocketed in an intersection between two highways, off I-90 to Seattle, hidden amongst valleys, huge snow capped mountains and americanism that is unintentionally tacky and predisposed to tourism.
The main street is speckled with wind chimes, club house sandwiches, book stores, and pieces of small-town history, including a large cross-sectioned slice of a tree, and ancient trains stretching for blocks that housed the tortured body of Laura Palmer, from Twin Peaks.
We followed the rustic sign to Snoqualmie Falls, and arrived at a vast amusement park-like parking lot, immediately turning the experience sour, as RVs, sight-seeing buses, and family sedans were unloading squawking tourists, as we fought for a space to park our car. We joined the mass waiting in line for viewpoint A, viewpoint B, and viewpoint C, mingling with children on leashes with names like “nugget” or other exotic names that are only decipherable if one spoke spanish, grunts or whistles.
We followed with the movement to a half mile trail that declines to the bottom of the falls, where we stood determining whether or not to continue down watching people that looked so juxtaposed onto nature, as they exasperatedly climbed with their alien-eyed sunglasses, cellular devices, and coyote and eagle print faux velvet blankets. Such a crowd never looked so out of place to me in my life, totally alien. At ground level, people were merged into a single file line to see viewpoint D, this line stretched along for several minutes, and I couldn’t help but to laugh loudly, almost manically, as two chicas screamed and singed hot breath on my neck and squealed at their gatorade guzzling chicos, yards in front of me. I peered over shoulders to see a view of the falls, it was almost like we were at the vatican. The best view I had was through a camera’s LCD screen.
Leave it to man to turn a natural landscape into a Disney-Land like experience, one where you even forget you are in nature, altering your reality and time, much like that of the Twilight Zone.
If anything, its nothing like what I was expecting, and I guess thats something.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
both my feet are asleep.
i am sitting on the floor, in an empty room that was mine. every key i touch echoes off these white walls, its completely empty. theres people yelling in hebrew downstairs in between mouthfuls of latkes and kosher wine. they are celebrating hanukkah.
i am in between lives, in a dead space. the old is growing sour and is quickly expiring with every bash of the hebrew hammer, the new is inevitable, but perhaps not desirable. it seems like a cobweb den of staleness, one that i will hunker into to escape nuclear attacks without any distractions of the outside world.
this last morning in my old space, i woke with four, (three on my arm, and one on my neck), spider bites, so much for the chesnuts. maybe its a sign. if there is one thing i am happy to escape from, its these god damn carbuncles that i periodically get over my body from such arachnids.
anyway, good bye south sun, sticking my head out of the window while showering, having a living room in my bedroom, secretly not having bought toilet paper, a solarium (however frigid in these winter months), stairs, a mentally-ill neighbor who screams about hamburgers and cutting off penises in chinese at all hours of the night, elaborate colored walls, having a pig in the basement named jim, and my roommates, who are now graduated with honors in math and who are pulling through a severe breakup.
good bye.
i am in between lives, in a dead space. the old is growing sour and is quickly expiring with every bash of the hebrew hammer, the new is inevitable, but perhaps not desirable. it seems like a cobweb den of staleness, one that i will hunker into to escape nuclear attacks without any distractions of the outside world.
this last morning in my old space, i woke with four, (three on my arm, and one on my neck), spider bites, so much for the chesnuts. maybe its a sign. if there is one thing i am happy to escape from, its these god damn carbuncles that i periodically get over my body from such arachnids.
anyway, good bye south sun, sticking my head out of the window while showering, having a living room in my bedroom, secretly not having bought toilet paper, a solarium (however frigid in these winter months), stairs, a mentally-ill neighbor who screams about hamburgers and cutting off penises in chinese at all hours of the night, elaborate colored walls, having a pig in the basement named jim, and my roommates, who are now graduated with honors in math and who are pulling through a severe breakup.
good bye.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Friday, December 4, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
suicide rates go up
another plausible screenplay:
Wynston was a loner, but his head was full of a vast array of knowledge. He had long gray hair that hung off his head like a coat thrown over a chair. He was a product of the hippie culture of the 1960s. This 64 year old man was taking his van down the Oregon coast, on a trip he made regularily to visit his friend in Eugene. Before the altitude hike through the Cascade mountain region, Wynston stopped to check under the hood of his van at a gas station. At the gas station was a school bus full of high school cheerleaders dressed in camoflauged mini-skirts stopping to buy some licorice on their way to a competition. Also at the gas station was a lone cyclist who had a mysterious air about him that Wynston noticed as he filled his tires. He was on the road before Wynston could get a second look at him. About an hour later Wynston took to the road, climbing the pavement up through the Cascades listening to a song about a woman named cocaine when he saw the lone cyclist making a turn down a dirt road with a sign beside it that said "viewpoint." Wynston smiled and drove on, when moments later a gunshot echoed through the trees. Wynston turned to the direction of the viewpoint where dark silhouetted birds flew overtop of a bright full moon.
Wynston was a loner, but his head was full of a vast array of knowledge. He had long gray hair that hung off his head like a coat thrown over a chair. He was a product of the hippie culture of the 1960s. This 64 year old man was taking his van down the Oregon coast, on a trip he made regularily to visit his friend in Eugene. Before the altitude hike through the Cascade mountain region, Wynston stopped to check under the hood of his van at a gas station. At the gas station was a school bus full of high school cheerleaders dressed in camoflauged mini-skirts stopping to buy some licorice on their way to a competition. Also at the gas station was a lone cyclist who had a mysterious air about him that Wynston noticed as he filled his tires. He was on the road before Wynston could get a second look at him. About an hour later Wynston took to the road, climbing the pavement up through the Cascades listening to a song about a woman named cocaine when he saw the lone cyclist making a turn down a dirt road with a sign beside it that said "viewpoint." Wynston smiled and drove on, when moments later a gunshot echoed through the trees. Wynston turned to the direction of the viewpoint where dark silhouetted birds flew overtop of a bright full moon.
sunday bus ride.
a round man with magnifying glasses in front of his eyes got on the bus with a petite blond french woman. he was describing to her what SUV's where. sports utility vehicle he would repeat over, and over, like the needle of time was caught on a speck of dust. he showed her what ford SUV's looked like, the sports utility vehicle.
a woman and her daughter, both dressed compltely in black got on the bus. the daughter also had glass in front of her eyes that magnified a blatantly evil presence within her. she loomed at us as her mother grabbed her hand and proceeded to massage it as they took their seat at an angle in which they could watch us. the mother took out a little pocket size bible and started to read it as the daughter stared right through us demonically. her legs disappeared, then her torso, the only thing left was two dark brown eyes that were tearing me apart.
a woman and her daughter, both dressed compltely in black got on the bus. the daughter also had glass in front of her eyes that magnified a blatantly evil presence within her. she loomed at us as her mother grabbed her hand and proceeded to massage it as they took their seat at an angle in which they could watch us. the mother took out a little pocket size bible and started to read it as the daughter stared right through us demonically. her legs disappeared, then her torso, the only thing left was two dark brown eyes that were tearing me apart.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Saturday, October 31, 2009
building deception, altering perception.
Recently I lost my friends Contax T3 camera that she let me borrow. I now owe her $900 unless I find it. She doesn't know that I no longer am in possession of it. Here are some pictures that I took before it vanished:
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Casinos have higher payout rates
some possible screenplays and characters I made up:
The nicotine-stained blinds were swaying in the dark, moonlit night in a small town in Oklahoma; it doesn't really matter where. Peg reached into the anatomically correct heart shaped ceramic dish which housed some spearmints that she collected from Italian restaurants, spare buttons, hand-change, and pulled out the keys to her dark brown Buick. She made it to the door, ran her fingers through he hair and checked her breast pocket for her cigarettes and stepped outside. The sound of crickets engulfed her, she could think of nothing else, until she saw the moon. A large, white full moon was beaming down at her. She lit a cigarette and smiled as she felt her way through the dark to her car, knowing full well that at Silver Dollar City, the casino where she was to spend the rest of her night had higher payout rates on days where the moon was full; the moon emanating a silver dollar in the sky. As she was driving down the dirt road, she was thinking of the sound of coins hitting metal in between two gray-haired women playing two machines at once, when she saw what she thought was two silver coins coming straight for her car, head on. As they approached she heard the honking of a freight truck.
The nicotine-stained blinds were swaying in the dark, moonlit night in a small town in Oklahoma; it doesn't really matter where. Peg reached into the anatomically correct heart shaped ceramic dish which housed some spearmints that she collected from Italian restaurants, spare buttons, hand-change, and pulled out the keys to her dark brown Buick. She made it to the door, ran her fingers through he hair and checked her breast pocket for her cigarettes and stepped outside. The sound of crickets engulfed her, she could think of nothing else, until she saw the moon. A large, white full moon was beaming down at her. She lit a cigarette and smiled as she felt her way through the dark to her car, knowing full well that at Silver Dollar City, the casino where she was to spend the rest of her night had higher payout rates on days where the moon was full; the moon emanating a silver dollar in the sky. As she was driving down the dirt road, she was thinking of the sound of coins hitting metal in between two gray-haired women playing two machines at once, when she saw what she thought was two silver coins coming straight for her car, head on. As they approached she heard the honking of a freight truck.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
epileptic moons
some possible screenplays and characters I made up:
epilepsy
Harry loves television, he gets home from work and sets himself up for the love of his day. His conversations with coworkers are about what he's heard on it, his mannerisms are borrowed from it, he shares his life with it, he's married to it: television. One night he was flipping through the channels, stopped at the news who were saying its a full moon tonight, then Harry changed to the shopping channel who were selling a Sylvia Plath Easy Bake Oven. Harry reached for his new red rotary telephone to order the oven, he stood up and walked to the window knowing he would grow restless being on hold, and peeled open the blinds letting in the moonlight. He dropped to the floor clenching his teeth, foaming like a broken dandelion. Harry was having a serious epileptic seizure brought upon by the full moon. He was slipping in and out of consciousness while the woman on the shopping channel was slicing into a fresh, moist chocolate cake.
epilepsy
Harry loves television, he gets home from work and sets himself up for the love of his day. His conversations with coworkers are about what he's heard on it, his mannerisms are borrowed from it, he shares his life with it, he's married to it: television. One night he was flipping through the channels, stopped at the news who were saying its a full moon tonight, then Harry changed to the shopping channel who were selling a Sylvia Plath Easy Bake Oven. Harry reached for his new red rotary telephone to order the oven, he stood up and walked to the window knowing he would grow restless being on hold, and peeled open the blinds letting in the moonlight. He dropped to the floor clenching his teeth, foaming like a broken dandelion. Harry was having a serious epileptic seizure brought upon by the full moon. He was slipping in and out of consciousness while the woman on the shopping channel was slicing into a fresh, moist chocolate cake.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Monday, August 31, 2009
the exchange
a man boarded the number 8 bus going downtown through the rear doors, sneaking on at main and east georgia. by this time its just me and the east side residents, so the group was fairly small and smeed to know each other quite well. They chatted as the one who sneaked on rummaged through his oakland raiders jacket. he found the attentive item and withdrew it from its captive state, I, still unable to see what it was. He spoke to his other groupees assumingly about purchasing the hostage item. The older gentleman in front of me with a blue baseball cap refused politely and exited the bus. He then asked the baggy pants guy accross the isle using the same head bobs, motions and grunts. he accepted, and there was the rummaging again only this time something came out: a large, moist, orange brick of cracker jack cheese emerged from the jacket, about two feet long, an industrial sized brick of cheese. Up it went in the middle of the isle raised by a singular hand slowly tilting towards the man in the baggy pants. As fast as indiana jones, the cheese was replaced with a blue five dollar bill, and the exchange was over. I then exited at hastings via the rear door.
gotta go gotta go gotta go right now.
there i was with my oversized box of photo paper and two backpacks sitting on main and hastings smelling the pungent air of old tent, stale booze, and rotten body odor. I had been waiting at the stop for nearly half an hour, but by the lower east side standards that's nearly three days. i was watching all the people go by followed by a rather round native lady saying "excuse me" in the softest voice, as if she was nine, and slumped down on the bus stop bench. I then heard a deep cavernous growl which turned out to be her letting out a long, full fledged beer burp, followed by her nine year old voice, "excuse me" and a laugh that I couldn't help but joining in. She used her cell phone and left. A bus came by, not mine, and did the transaction of people. A man wearinga grey tank shirt was dragging a totally inebriated native lady who was half his size and missing half her teeth. She couldn't stand or sit up without the aid of a wall, arm, or a solid object. The man said his name was either "Power" or "Five" ( i cannot remember which) and pounded my fist with his own as if setting this mess next to me was a gift I should be thankful to receive. To my surprise, after she finally got comfortable sitting next to me, he left, leaving the woman next to me, squirming and mumbling to herself. I noticed she had spill stains all over her shirt, and pants. She did manage to attain enough energy and balance to put on her jacket and then fall back down on the bench. This must have strained something, or released a valve or kickstarted something normally controllable by most humans because she raised her legs apart in the child birthing manner and released steaming urine splattering through her jeans and onto the pavement, that was already covered in spit, moldy chewing gum and articles of trash. I slowly stood up and crept to the street and stood starting in the direction of the bus, waiting with the sound of pattering water in the background.
july 28th 2008
july 28th 2008
old notebooks are fun
give me that suburban flavor. you know the sour belch of yellow neon on fresh tar drive-ways, yeah that's it.
have many children, god loves children.
I lived near a girl who said she would bite my hamster twice as hard if it ever bit her.
Mariah Carey was a fan of physics. her new album is called E = MC 2. Featuring her single, "touch my body".
overheard in seattle:
"I's seen Kansas man. All it is is sunflowers and sons of bitches."
have many children, god loves children.
I lived near a girl who said she would bite my hamster twice as hard if it ever bit her.
Mariah Carey was a fan of physics. her new album is called E = MC 2. Featuring her single, "touch my body".
overheard in seattle:
"I's seen Kansas man. All it is is sunflowers and sons of bitches."
this morning
The day started early, like a fresh lick on the wrist, on a cold windy day, anticipating the windchill.
In the funny farm
that would be a rehab center with oh gramma jo.
for once i feel good about coming all the way out here.
forgetting to call is like forgetting about your children. oh that's a mall too?
way down deep somewhere where you haven't thought existing before and you just go ooooooh. natural childbirth, your body is ready, lean into the knife feeling.
me and you will make it big time, just catch a cab, were on the express bus, oh fuck.
overheard chit chat on the bus
for once i feel good about coming all the way out here.
forgetting to call is like forgetting about your children. oh that's a mall too?
way down deep somewhere where you haven't thought existing before and you just go ooooooh. natural childbirth, your body is ready, lean into the knife feeling.
me and you will make it big time, just catch a cab, were on the express bus, oh fuck.
overheard chit chat on the bus
my mind drains with the gutters
a girl near my house was hit by a cement truck. pink mist was her result. The highway was closed off for eight hours as the police and search and rescue hunted for her parts that scattered all this way and that in the near by ditch. I do say, clean this highway, rid of her, so this man on my bus will quit complaining and get to work on time.
so hot its green
a homeless man told me today that the sun is actually green. He has stared at the sun long enough, he states to be able to realize this. It is so hot that it is actually green. He then shows me an easy way to see it. He holds a leaf over the light of the sun. It shines green.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
- - - - - - - - - - - -
A death couch. At the ER-an underground music venue in Vancouver, since shut down by the police.
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They dont mean anything.
I need to borrow the scanner again to scan the rest of my film from my trip. But in the mean time I am going to show you some of the hundreds of pictures I like that I have been holding onto that I have taken over the passed few years.
Friday, August 21, 2009
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