On death and dying

On death and dying-I used to replace your pages in my library. That seems like a million years ago.


Some people have a gift with words, they know just what to say in any given situation. They can write beautiful touching memorials on your facebook wall, lovely things remembering you and how you danced, your joy, that you're missed but now around us. I can't write crap like that. For some, I'm sure it helps; for me, rambling on this blog about how much I miss you, it wouldn't.

You were someone with a wholely unique voice, and you had a way with words that put me in awe. I'm so happy that I knew you. It's weird to be so happy and devasted simultaneously.

Wish I had the magic of your words or I knew what to say, wish I wasn't writing this on my phone, but suppose it's fitting considering I found out about your passing via facebook. Mostly wishing I wasn't trying to write something about you not being in the world.

I don't have the words, all I can say is you impacted how I look at things and view the world, and you did it by just being you. That's fucking amazing. Especially since we never lived in the same town and didn't know too much about the other except that you were instantly my friend, and one I knew I had for life.
Although I feel cheated of adventures I knew we wouldve had, I'm so glad we had the ones we did. Roadtripping in the melting heat to Tom Waits, running in monsoon style rain in LA (god that was barely a month ago) and all the other things we shouldn't have had, yet did.
Thanks for being a kindred spirit and making me see silverfish whenever I see cattle.

I miss you geoff and I'm thrilled that your words live on, http://geoffjohnsonlives.webs.com/

bastards of young

i was listening to pandora radio, the replacements station, and matchbox twenty came on and i almost threw my phone at the ground. so pissed, i had gone like 8 years not hearing that band. it was also just pointed out to me that when i just told that pointless anecdote to my friend, that i said matchbooks twenty. oh fuck i hate that dick that sings in the band, what the fucks that fucks name? rob thomas? fuck.

that said, reading "killing yourself to live" and just read about chuck klosterman's visit to the apartment bob stinson was found dead in.

i want to go on a road trip. instead i will be flying to reno for one day only, to see the lovely cassie on her 25th bday. she's the one that turned me on to the replacements to begin with.

see a theme here?

to quote repoman, "its like when you're thinking about plate of shrimp, and someone says plate or shrimp or plate of shrimp"

pants on fire

liars in reno by troy, who has at least two doppelgangers running about los angeles.

sisterworld?

saw angus at coachella, became wide eyed and giddy, then promptly sprinted away.
such is life.

heart of glass

so glass keeps breaking in my hands, and i'm unsure as to what it means (as if it means anything?)
like it's some great foreshadowing to something, as if foreshadowing exists in real life. i think it only does in retrospect, seen in the eyes of one that lived it and can make all the connections that didn't exist before, but that only exist after the fact.
is that what makes those connections powerful?
am i rambling? have i been drinking wine?
yes, yes, and yes....

maybe listening to this heats is getting to me, maybe its gluing together the fragments of my childhood garfield glass, and then having to glue together the fragments of my childhood piggy bank that are getting to me. (not from huffing glue, i'm not from sun valley. can one even huff elmers?)

both i accidentally smashed this year, destroying things ive had since before i can remember. i cant throw the shards away, even though both are actually broken beyond repair. they'll never be intact again.

as if it means anything; searching for meaning in a world without one. le sigh.

in summation, it be rad if everytime i picked up a glass, i didn't half expect it to break in my hand.

update: and a fucking glass broke again in my hand today at work, thats two this week. either i have the pointless super power of breaking glass! or we shouldn't stack the glasses.
also now preparing for the mocking from boss friends, as i was shouting "aw fuck!! i just drunkenly blogged about breaking glass!!!!" and they were like, you have a BLOG?!?!?!?!?! and rolled around on the ground dying of laughter. oh joy.

drug penguin

i love annie hall

All we ever wanted was everything

Sigh.

Love life, always messy and hilarious and heartbreaking and good, all at once.

That and days spent by river throwing found 9mm bullets into it til one explodes, skinny dipping in pools, attending banksy's exit through the gift shop premiere, seeing liars and nights out in pouring rain with long lost friends, means that lifes fucking good.

As mr brainwash would tag/rip off/ hire someone to tag "life is beautiful"

updated my flickr with some things, see?

first date, last date

You took me on a date, driving, weaving in and out of the rush hour traffic. We had forgotten the time; though listening to music while we tried to decide where to go made it bareable.
I was enjoying the ride too much to really notice anyway. It'd been awhile that I was able to talk music, and you'd written a fucking script about mixtapes, instantly making you The Man of My Dreams.

You played me the song you were obsessed with, blasting "a sky for shoeing horses under." I took it as a good indicator that you were passionate about music; had songs to be lost in, covered and washed away in.

But at ice cream, I realized that mutual love in music does not make a relationship. All those things you said about not talking to your family, and numerous references and poorly veiled anger towards your ex couldn't be washed away by even the greatest of songs.

But damn, that was a perfect moment for a second, listening to your song as loud as possible, the blur of passing cars, feeling that anything was possible.

love is a mixtape

this i firmly believe.

partly because i'm a sap, but also because there is nothing more wonderful, or more thoughtful than a well done mixtape. conversely, its pretty easy to make a lousy mixtape. just slap a bunch of shit on there, and throw it at a person.
which mix cds all seem to be these days, its just so easy to skip that track you hate but a mixtape, well, you're fucked. might as well throw that shit out or re-record over it.
its also super easy to make a tape that shows off your obscure music tastes (i am so fucking cool, FACE!) or just stuff you like and forget that ____(insert name here) hates that joy division song, but you love it, so you put in on there anyway.
maybe that's why a well made mix tape is so fucking magical, the time it took, the thought process and flow of the songs and why each was hand picked to be used on it.

i've also been reading "love is a mixtape" by rob sheffield and "cassette from my ex" edited by jason bitner, which is a collection of people talking about mixtapes, from, you guessed it, their ex. read "love is a a mixtape," its heartbreaking and funny and wonderful and one of those rare things that reminds you why you love music, and why you even bother with relationships.

so, without further rambling (okay, we both know thats a lie) here are some rough sketches of potential relationship ender tapes (let the tape do it for you!)
one being, the i fucking can't stand you tape (which why make the effort to make a tape? because you hate them that much?) and the i totally love you, but this shit just cant work and it sucks tape (cry on this instead of my shoulder)

the "its not you, well, actually, it is you" tape (aka, why we're breaking up)
limp-fiona apple
lover i don't have to love-bright eyes
unsatisfied-the replacements
fireman-jawbreaker (dreamed we were still going out/woke up to find we were not/its good to be awake)
i only love you slightly less than i used to-the smiths
after school special-a john henry memorial (what you say and what you do are two completely different things...)
what's a girl to do?-bat for lashes
heartless-kayne west
love connection-casiotone for the painfully alone, cover of parenthetical girls
take-wet and reckless
then end with fucking limp bizkits "nookie" the part about doing it all for the nookie on loop if you really really don't like them. or some song that they hate, because why waste more time than you already have on this person?

the "its not you, its everything else" tape (you sort out the order, i'm being lazy)
i am trying to break your heart-wilco
love will tear us apart-the swans, gira version, cover of joy division (can't get down on the jarboe version, lovely as it is)
reckoner-radiohead (although "true love waits" kills too, but this just gets me...)
i need love-ll cool j
the world has turned and left me here-weezer
she's got you-pasty cline
everlong-foo fighters
not too amused-sebadoh
i will never forget you-husker du
something in the way-nirvana, unplugged version (now twice as a sad sounding!)
nothing compares 2 u-sinead o connor
hallelujah-rufus wainwright, cover of leonard cohen
true love will find you in the end-daniel johnston (bittersweet! ahhh! this is where you cry your eyes out)


so then i started to listen to "the children" by yeasayer off odd blood and kinda am giving up on this for a bit. also forgot to eat, so there's that.

magic magical magic

meet me in saint louis, louis,

meet me at your crumbling mansion, half filled with what's left of a lifetime of memories. of autograph requests, ball invites, and newspaper clippings you must have either lovingly cut out yourself or one of your staff did for you. either way, you cared enough to keep it all, and it's rotting away in a trash bag, or where i left them strewn about that bizarre 70s style room.

its strange to walk through a home filled with memories of people that you've only seen on the screen or read about, and see that their shit is just as worthless in the long run. maybe thats why i hold on to things, that maybe the previous owner is still lingering and not quite forgotten in my appreciation of whatever object it is.

despite that, there are no words to describe how fucking happy i was to be there, to see it, and to be in such good company, documenting the whole thing.

can't help but wonder why your lovely home is left to rot and fall apart. and what had been painted on all those canvas' in the yard...

the proofs in the photos ....

night bus!

not the harry potter one, either.

dude spotted with fake leg that had broken off at the knee and he had replaced with pvc pipe and duct tape. he hobbled on board with his giant plastic stump, assisted by a crutch, reeking of Night Train and carrying a small purple bag covered in a kitty cat print, all while transit tv was playing jay-z 'empire state of mind'

damn los angeles. oh taking the bus and the shit you see.

go read 'rainbow stories' by william t vollmann and learn more about Night Train here

hugs!

stop me if you think you've heard this one before...

oh hey there, its been awhile, hasn't it?
how've you been? living well i hope.

oh yeah, things have been grrrrreat here. not drinking as much (last call?!), fitter (due to only being able to afford to eat out of a sack of rice for a while there) happier (a job i like! that doesn't give me zero dolla paychecks! go fuck yourself zara) more productive (cleaned up hollywood and now painting shit that isn't shit), still badly referencing music lyrics.

my walkman now has a friend in the form of a shiny new discman, so mix cds and, more preferably, mixtapes can be sent to me, at my new digs, not to that depressing falling apart apartment, where my landlady would break into to clean my floor that the sink threw up on to. oh god, that sentence will give you nightmares, apologies my friend.

yeah, so you know... more to come.

keep it real friend,

_______