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Dance or Die
Posted on 2009.01.21 at 10:35
I'm feeling: optimisticoptimistic

I have been on the run from myself for the past two weeks. The internet is sparse for this modern day carnie. I've been traveling so much, its hard to write or photograph when you are not sure what your next move is. Moments, and memories are hard to capture, it is the mundane things that are the most striking to me, so all this excitement doesnt phase me. in the midst of all the hallaballo I am looking for the small things This is a year of change I can feel it. I am headed somewhere and the journey is enticing and palpable. I cant wait to explore this insane messy existence and the swirling of the cosmos with my friends and family.

Day 1- New Years day - I am sitting on a ledge both physically and metaphorically this year is about taking the leap into the next phase of my life. Lets hope I land on both feet.

xmightylittlemanx

Day 2 – Experience LA day – View from perishing square, just around the corner from my temporary apartment.

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Day 3 – Disneyland day – Clock at Wilshire, looked cool in the fog and at night.

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Day 4 – No leaving apartment day – I smoked too many cigarettes and played to much xbox today.

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Day 5 – Observatory day – Went to Griffith Observatory today, I learned all about space and had some face time with James Dean.

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Day 6 – Blast from the Past day – Met up with an old friend from middle school today. Spent some time thinking about the past and watched the sunset over downtown from the roof.

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Day 7 – Self portrait day – I have been experimenting with self portraits recently. I need to get a shutter release thingy but for now I have to hit the timer button repeatedly.

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Day 8 – Pirate bar day – Went with Mitch to our favorite bar only to find that the hipsters had invaded it requiring a long wait after the art walk. He took me to another bar a few blocks away that had a pirate theme. Awesome.

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Day 9 – Rolling fog day – A heavy fog rolled into downtown and everything looked all eerie, went to the roof and took some more photos.

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Day 10 – Haunted hotel day – Wondered around the hotel today, some rooms and floors are completely abandoned, It was too creepy and I scared myself a few times. Took some out of focus pictures of Duncan.

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Day 11 – All for me day – Packed my stuff to leave for Sundance, took some photos in bed cause I was feeling saucy.

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Day 12 – Full moon bond day – James Bond party and the moon was full. It looked perfect in a way that my camera cannot capture. The clouds and the light were just incredible.

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Day 13 – Starfish beach day – Went to the beach with the brother, a very nice way to end my trip. Under the boardwalk we found a starfish, Duncan took it and returned it to the ocean. This is the biggest ripple I have ever witnessed, I feel lighter. Today reminds me of how beautiful the universe can be.

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word.



Day14 – Arrival Day – I arrive in park City and it is beautiful. Get all situated with Sundance and get a really nice condo for the festival. I explore with my roommate and his friends. Meet some cool people, its going to be a good two weeks.
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Day15 – Warehaus Day - A stack of New York Times in front of the warehouse that I have to deliver as part of my job. I usually arrive about 15 minutes before the rest of the crew, perfect time to take photos before the sun comes up.
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Day 16 – Delivery Day – Make more deliveries, go to an advanced screening of a documentary, enjoy the mountain air. People keep stealing the pallet jack from the warehouse, so we brand it.
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Day 17 – World Premiere day – I see two world premieres in one day, here is a photo from the audience, you can pretend like you are here.
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Day 18 – Hungover day – too much to drink at the bar = miserable day. After work I take photos while I am waiting for the bus. Here are the instructions for a propane heater.
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Day 19 – Shot tree day – Walking to lunch I discovered a grove of shoes. I got so caught up I was late to work. There must have been hundreds of shoes in these trees and no explanation. I wanna go back at sunset…
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Day 20 – Latin Lover day – Ran into the Spanish actor again, I didn’t know he was also in the devils backbone…flirted…again, saw some movies, took this photo walking down main street, the blue lights seemed cool.
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I 5 days i return to Vermont. I am excited by the possibilities that the spring promises. This winter break in the left coast has opened my eyes to things I need to work on, things I need to let go, and finally released some sexual frustration. I am ready to get my shit together and stop worrying about the little shit. Watch out Vermont, I am coming back and taking over!

Dance or Die

Artsy fartsy

Posted on 2009.01.18 at 18:31
Yo. I started contributing to a photo blog. You all should check it out. it rules. that is all.

http://365photographyproject.blogspot.com/

Dance or Die

January on the Left Coast

Posted on 2009.01.10 at 14:55
Inspirations waxes liker perspiration seeping through the pores after philosophical confrontations with creative believability
family roots tangled at the shores of left coast blues bars, leaving the magical kingdom too trivial to pursue
Apartments eat artists alive through the night gnashing their teeth at visions of abandoned windowsill fornication leading to the release of master elations
Opinions carved into chests, defacing the appearance of reckless abandon
Adrenaline fueling subjective fashion held forever in tricolor captivity
Mexican buddahs in yawning ceiling hums that blanket the floor
Fairytale doorways alone on linoleum platforms invite enticing eyes to partake of wood grain delusions
Open doors channel past pockets poets adding to dissatisfaction connections beneath the old moldy conductors thru synapses speaking in desperation of moonless nights
We never have our shit together
so much for birds of a feather
secrets scribbled inside locker doors and down pale hallways
Filled with the shimmer of possibility
The road never stops so obviously desperate to prove we are not lost I keep moving to remember that a rolling stone gathers not moss
Spiting broken teeth into crowds, a harlequin clown asks for the time but my hands are stuck in clocks and calendars
Gentlemen slip me five spots in back alleys to show them where fire burns
But we breathe the kinds you breaths you breathe with your lips to cool your insides
The universe talkso me in soft translucent whispers in my sleeping ears
A thousand fingers are stuck in my eye but a fool looks at the finger that points to the sky

Dance or Die

The yellow bird I've been waiting for

Posted on 2008.12.28 at 10:23
Surface cracked, and torn skin
Memories set, in trash tins
You looked at me, and saw my soles
The music was all wrong
It was wonderful
I looked for you at the traffic light
Held my breath
to avoid a fight
But now I have lost my way
inside my veins
While you left me there
Through a window pane
I don’t know myself
when I hear phone
And your absence hurts
Its tone leaves me all alone
I’m glad that you got away
But I’m still stuck out here
I have turned to stone
To try and hide the tears
The end of paralysis
Death sticks for lost souls
I’ve been a wanderer
no alms in my bowl
So now I make my bed
Behind my mask
While you hold her hands
And make her laugh
So I repeat mistakes
and You find new bands
My heart is made of glass
I am not a man
when I turn the key
It all gets reversed
Til I’m home again
To sing another verse
We were fooled by love
But now you’ve turned away
Days turn out as months
We’ve been led astray

Dance or Die

welcome back bukowski

Posted on 2008.09.28 at 23:07
I leave the northern coast of California because the suffocating presence of my family requires my immediate departure. I hitch up to Redding where I stay in the most asinine hotel room haunted by the ghosts of strangled prostitutes. I find a tooth under the covers and subsequently have insomnia thinking of what outlandish scenario could have placed my ivory trinket beneath my sheets like a modern day princess and the pea. I wake up early and catch a bus north. I lose my coat in Fresno. I stop in Weed California which is just as hilarious as it sounds. A one stop town that, as far as I can tell, makes its revenue by selling t-shirts and memorabilia with “I heart Weed CA” to middle class suburban kids who pass through on their way to ski resorts. I buy two postcards and a shot glass. I like to buy local. In Portland I meet a nice boy on the bus who comes on to me talking about rugby and asked to come visit me in Vermont, the Oregon of the east coast he said. I take down his number, but I don’t call. I visit old friends and am surprised by how much I love the city. I watch “streets of fire” with other hipsters in a bar / movie theater and walk off my buzz over the bridge caching glimpses of the beautiful summer skyline. I hitch out with an ex-forest ranger who is late picking me up and has a car packed like a sardine can. He and his two friends are heading to Rhode Island by way of Denver. I have never seen the northwest and of it, I can only say that it is like getting hit in the face with a stick of gum. The air is so crisp. I see the center of the universe which is located curiously in Wallace, Idaho, which is also where Dante’s Peak was filmed. Coincidence, I think not. I ask for directions to a cheese shop at a supermarket in Missoula, Montana and am laughed out of the store. In Yellowstone I see old faithful which I am convinced is a conspiracy to get tourists to come and get them to buy merchandise. There is no way I will believe that a geyser goes off so routinely. I witness the sunset on the Grand Tetons, where a crow perches next to me on a piece of drift wood, and tells me that the future is going to be dark but exciting. The anticipation is palpable. I eat ice cream in Big Piney, Wyoming for my birthday, and follow it up with a truck stop breakfast where I wear an absurd ten gallon hat while minimum wage mothers sing a corporate song of celebration. I land in Denver with both feet running. I scour the parks and streets for a friend of a friend who came from Africa to lead me. I find him with other anarchists who, after giving me the serious size up, welcome me into their fold. I suspect they think I am an informant, and so to prove myself to them I work hard, and while I am not an anarchist, I find something valuable and interesting about the lifestyle. They teach me things about cooperation and community that previous jobs never could. I get swept up in a sea of public dissent. I am maced on my birthday and have a mild panic attack. The police looked like storm troopers and I think about the power of the state and am scared for my future for we are allowed no mode of discourse and are so effectively shut down with such brutality I begin to think that Gandhi and non-violence is bullshit. The anarchists offer me a place to stay, which is good because I hear the cops are picking up people sleeping in the park. I find a typewriter in a tree, stowed away for a special day, it doesn’t work. I am taught by a freedom fighter how to patch and repair a tire of a fixed gear bike. Hipsters and anarchists aren’t that different after all. A man, who saw me with a flat, can’t help and so instead returns 10 minutes later with some chocolate, which I promptly eat. While preparing food for the march I am harassed by anti gay protesters, who apparently link punk and anarchists with homosexuals, a link that befuddles me. So in reaction, we all walk over to the men with mega phones and had a big gay makeout party. Then Jesus shows up and all hell breaks loose. I am interviewed by a reporter from the associated press who wouldn’t email me the photograph he took of me because of liability reasons. I am irritated by this. I make a sign out of cardboard and tape it to my chest advertising that I need a ride to St. Paul and that I am desperate. It attracts many people who need rides themselves and I subsequently become the patron saint of travel. I find a guy who offers to give me a ride in exchange that I listen to his manifesto, I have no other options and reluctantly agree thinking perhaps it will expand my mind. His off kilter enthusiasm makes me uncomfortable and I spend the rest of the day acting out hitchhiker death scenarios that my mother so graciously implanted within my psyche. I rescue hopeless souls from the purgatory of the rideless and organize a little caravan. I chain myself to a bike for a protest against cars. I have never been tied to anything before. I work all night long with anarchists to prepare 2,000 burritos for a march, all the materials are stolen from dumpsters. It is amazing the amount and quality of food that we throw away in this country. I fall asleep in a pile of flour tortillas. Performance art, and commentary, beer and friends are central to an anarchist variety show that marks the close of a good week. Two boys are asked by a man to drive his van from Denver to New York and in turn ask if I need a ride. I say yes. My attempts to ditch the manifesto writer fail and so we smoke some pot hoping that will mellow him out. He talked of paranoid schizophrenic visions in the twilight of the Midwest and asks if we are prepared to die. This question strikes me, and I can honestly answer, yes. I smoke too much pot and become nervous that people think I am writing about them in my journal. While the others embrace slumber, I embrace funyons and Pepsi and the long road through midnight with another rucksack wanderer as a companion. As the sun rises over Iowa, we eat at a diner and I am reminded of high school and all the trials and tribulations that I escaped to make it out alive. I feel nostalgic and concerned that I am not as young as I once was. The idea suddenly dawns on me that this might be one of my last great adventures. I was filled with sorrow over coffee and eggs. We arrive in St. Paul to stories of people arrested at their homes during the night. Secret police lurk around every corner. More and more I envision the empire. Compatriots of ours sent ahead to scout out the scene are already in jail, and people are being collected off the street. Thank god I don’t look like an anarchist. Again we search for housing and end up with a girl with pink dreadlocks. We sleep on the floor near hypodermic needles but I adopt a don’t ask don’t tell policy. She has never been part of any demonstration before so we took her out on the first day and promptly get her arrested. There are many more people than in Denver, and as a result more police, national guards, CIA, FBI and secret service. Protesters fight back hard, and at every turn are crushed by police. The Gestapo cut off all the access to downtown and arrest everyone inside. My friends are arrested, so is Amy Goodman. I take photographs and run into the AP reporter again. I believe this is fate so I tell him I am studying to be a photojournalist and get his card. I ask him again for the photo to which he still says no. Immediately following our conversation he gets pepper sprayed. Karma, I think to myself and snap his photograph to send him later. My justice nerve spasms, I no longer know the difference between right and wrong. I am discouraged and frustrated at the supremacy of the state. The media, the police, the roads all controlled. I stand with my brothers and sisters with our hands in the air blockading an interaction demanding the release of our friends and the right to protest near the republican army. We are shot at, and gassed. In a mass of confusion, with my eyes watering and bombs going off, I think this is what freedom fighters in other countries the US has invaded must be going through. And in that moment our spirits are linked and I feel part of a kindred revolutionary movement. I scream the name of my friends and searched for them out as the smoke builds and builds. I can’t breath, I can’t see, I can’t hear, I can only yell and feel my way with my hands. Police snatch people who get to close and drag them, by arms or by hair, screaming into smokey alleyways. I find my friend who has been maced and attempt to clean his eyes before we are both shot with rubber bullets by a line of police moving in to arrest us. He loses his glasses, and I lose my lunch. We run and run and run some more. We make it out of the battleground, scared, tired, sick and disheartened. We were never meant to speak out. It is all a song and dance. The media does not even report it. After four days of the same narrative, I leave Minnesota and head south to Chicago. I reconnect with old friends again and realize that nothing can stay the same. I say goodbye to the younger version of myself and embrace the adult. I am removed from my childhood and have seen much in my time. I feel detached from my peers for they are stagnant. They remain still and I zoom along. I am surrounded by slow-motion mannequins everyday. I board a plane in Philly, return to Vermont and no longer know who I am.


Dance or Die

But still the road goes on...

Posted on 2008.09.20 at 17:34
This is long overdue.


I crash landed in rainy northern new England where I learned about lights and love and moving vehicles that take celluloid reflections and turn them on their heads. I slept in close proximity with the marrow of life and tasted its forbidden fruits, Still, I had to walk away, for I can not let myself be at rest. I bared my mountainous soul to a room full of strangers and teachers only to feel parts of my self torn away, put under microscopes and labeled revolutionary. I was ridiculed for my passion but stood firm in my beliefs as a result I was lost before I even got to the road. I ate up the desert to be reminded of duty, honor and the power of commodity love. I can’t even buy American shoes anymore. The guilt of weighted holidays pressed in and so I left with scarcely a note attached. Headed north to see the great unknown and to connect with other rucksack wanders at the end of their journeys to confirm the beginning of mine. I saw the center of the universe set in cement so that it can’t be stolen. Mountains of fresh chewing gum aroma and the pines that go on longer then my heart. I have never seen a car packed so tight in my life, and while dogging projectors and remnants of dumpstered breakfast I contemplated the meaning of it all beneath my world worn shoes. Tourist traps are always that, disappointing, but the sun set over lakes and crevasses is just as good as a game of twenty questions. Twilight lanterns stretch the highway further than the sun rising over corn fields. With a boom the expanse of the west collides with the power of the state. Black buster officers with shields and swords attack the youth with ideological rhetoric and bombs to boot. Pepper belongs in food not eyes. Amidst people together for the common good and messages of hope and peace turmoil was building, and in the city of twins I saw the future. Like a feverish dream the clamoring for a new kind of dialogue people upon people pleading for some semblance of rationality we were fed pamphlets like food, and though my knowledge has increased I am left stricken by a intellectual famine scarred that the bottom rushing up at us in unpreventable and while I shrilly scream that the end is coming not one person will turn their heads from the flicker lights of an instant message text machine to see that the world is all around us and that god is trying to get our attention. We are caught up so much in 24 hours infotainment that we cant see people as people only bobbleheads. I saw freedom disappear under clouds of smoke and explosions. I escaped in time to savor the last bit of liberty before heading home. Upon return I have felt lost and confused and older than I should. Like a sage that has returned form a quest into the world I find the more I explore the universe to find more of myself the more I alienate people from me because they don’t have the same experience. They are further removed and each step close to my salvation puts me a step further away from humanity. In light of this all letters from across the pond fill me with both joy and heartbreak for I know that I can never be with the people that move me and though they remain prominent in my life I am unable to remove the heart from my sleeve. I am glad the silly bitch didn’t die. And so now I remain connected to the ground in an attempt to come back to clocks with the same math and once the wanderlust fades from memory to legend I will have rooted to my place and like a tree absorb the energy from the earth and provide shelter to my friends again.

Dance or Die

A List of Fat Movies

Posted on 2008.08.16 at 03:30
A special thanks to the cast and crew of Boundaries of Attraction for helping compile this list.

Ten Things I Ate Around Noon
How to Eat a Pie in Ten Ways
Total Meatball
Vanilla Chai
Banana La Mancha
The Man who Ate to Little
A Fridge too Far
How Stella Got Her Food Back
Fondue the Right Thing
Mission to Marzipan
Mars Bars A Snacks
Animal Cracker House
A Mid Suppers Ice Cream
Episode II A Snack of the Scones
Full Sugar Packet
Lord of the Onion Rings
One Stew Over the Chicken Breast
That Thing You Stew
40 Year Old Extra Virgin Olive Oil
Under the Turducken Sun
How to Succeed in Business Without Ever Even Frying
Seedless in Seattle
Cheese the One
Stand by Meat
You've Got Kale
Miracle Whip on 34th Street
Fat Times at Rigdemount Pie
She's All Fat
Field of Dreamcicles
Soy Story
Munsters Inc
Toastbusters
Lox, Streak, and Two Smoking Bagels
Scone Alone 2 Lost in Stewed Pork
The Inedibles
Swiss Cheese Family Robinson
Operation Gumbo Drop
Much Ado About Stuffing
Chasing Gravy
Pearspray
No Country Fried Steak for Old Men
I am Ham
The Ham Shank Redemption
Natural Corn Grillers


Thank you.

Dance or Die

Sad Sappy Sucker

Posted on 2008.07.18 at 10:31
Current Location: 2nd fl Computer lab...
Tunes: Your Best is the Worst
I am looking out the window of my large Boston apartment surrounded by grey steel walls that should make me feel safe but the truth is I couldn’t feel anything less. Every nook and cranny feels more like a prison and is a constant razor sharp reminder that I am bound to the material. I want to transcend the experience and frolic through fields of daisies. I can almost feel the sweet summer kissed breeze across my bear chest as I lay in fields of hay and contemplate the movement of the planets pondering the workings of fate. I can count shooting stars on my fingertips pointed skyward yearning for kindred spirits in festivals of light and fire to follow the pied piper to the ultimate freedom. The moon full of carnal rage and sensual sexuality pulsating forth like a growing organism, messy and desperate moving forward with the beat of the planet. Pavement slapsticks to the bottom of my world worn shoes and I hit the dusty trail with laughter and plunge into caverns with just flashlights and love not knowing if I will ever see the light again. I want to feel the freedom of the open road and the wind at my back. I hear the tales from other gypsies and collectively remember what it is that we forgot, communal visions of the future and the meaning of the underbelly of you and I and everyone under the sun with no SPF red tape to hold us back. We will bust forth like a breaking levee and rush the earth and cover the ground with our cold hands and remember the warmth of the soil. My heart is brimming with brine of love and passion. I want to share myself with everyone, I want to peek at the big everything and connect in the giant electrical motherboard of human reality and relationship. I want to build and burn bridges and to keep journals and journals of poetry to read to my loves in bed while blowing kisses across naked chests. Summers sleeping breaths make music in the night when I hold the present embodiment of my craving close to me and whisper it will all be alright. To stand in the rain and feel it upon my face, to burn in the sun and revel in it’s dangerous bite, green green growing grass tickling my toes letting me know that the earth has a firm grip upon me and leads me to speculate that one day I will go careening into the clouds. Another year has passed and full circles have come to mean less than the great unknown. Haunted by visions of red clad warriors, and the possibilities of the future I flee, to towns, to people, to the great unknown. I have made my choice and I can not be contained, I must seek truth and knowledge. I must find my fate, for I feel it will lead to treasure. It is all happening and I am ready to take the plunge, for friends of a feather flock together, I grow more impatient as each day goes by, I am stifled here but in a half a moons time I will be out on the road to find adventure, to find freedom, to find the sweet elixir of life, and suck it dry…

Dance or Die

Th ew alkin gundea d

Posted on 2008.06.27 at 12:46
Is it weird to compulsively lock the bathroom door in my empty apartment while I am taking a shower because I am concerned that while I am taking a shower hordes of the undead will come crashing into the bathroom and feast upon my flesh and I don't want to be "that guy", the naked zombie?

Dance or Die

Sometimes You Can't Go Home

Posted on 2008.06.24 at 12:31
A new Mix I made for those times when you want to flee...

1. La Valse D'amelie - Yann Tiesen

2. All I Want Is You - Barry Louis Polisar

3. Infinity's Lips - The Impossible Shapes

4. A Kiss At the End of the Rainbow - Mitch and Micky

5. America - Simon and Garfunkle

6. Joan Jett of Arc - Clem Snide

7. Just Pretend - The Bens

8. Devices - The Terrordactyls

9. But When The Little Fellow Came Close And Put Both Arms Around His Mother, And Kissed Her In An Appealing Boyish Fashion, She Was Moved To Tenderness - I Can Make A Mess Like Nobody's Business

10. Spit on a Stranger - Pavement

11. New Friend Song - Ben and Bruno

12. Snow Day - The Honorary Title

13. Why Do You Let Me Stay Here? - She & Him

14. The Big Guns - Jenny Lewis With The Watson Twins

15. I Wanna Be Ignored - Ezra Furman & The Harpoons

16. Absolutely Sweet Marie - Bob Dylan

17. When The Heart Breaks Deep - David Dondero

18. The District Sleeps Alone Tonight - Jonna Lee

19. Think I Wanna Die - Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin

20. Not Going Home - The Elected

21. The Start of Something - Voxtrot

22. Kiss - Scout Niblett


ahhh the loneliness of summer...


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