getting my old record player to work again, seeing shows of rock and roll, riding my new bike through the streets of my new city, hanging in any park i can find, soaking up sunshine whenever possible, crashing parties, kicking ass, taking names, taking numbers, blowing up your pager, flipping coins with the homeless, treating my animal well, traveling, diving, swimming, hiking, figuring shit out, the raw body of america itself
anybody feel like going around to chelsea galleries with me on tuesday oct 9th? i'll be in town- and i want to see ingrid calame at james cohan, chris ofili at zwirner, jules de balincourt at zak feuer, tucker nichols at zieher smith, jon kessler at the drawing center.
hollah at me if you'll be around!
birds and batteries, lali puna, the notwist, iron and wine, m ward, mos def, sam prekop, les nubians, do make say think, pants pants pants, ojo, yo la tengo, pinback, les savy fav, johnny cash, bobby d, patsy cline, wilco, flaming lips, MIA, chet baker, johnny coltrane, the be good tanyas, neil young, janis joplin, lauryn hill, aesop rock, old madonna, shit like dat. has anyone heard the new talib?
city of god, wild style, the lives of others
strangers with candy, on dvd! i ain't got no tv.
i'm in love with jack kerouac.
'in the earlier days i'd been to sea with a tall raw-boned fellow from louisiana called Big Slim Hazard, William Holmes Hazard, who was a hobo by choice. as a little boy, he'd seen a hobo come up to ask his mother for a piece of pie, and she had given it to him, and when the hobo went off down the road the little boy had said, "ma, what is that fellow?" "why, that's a ho-bo." "ma, i want to be a ho-bo someday."'