I like moonlight. Especially the night of my birthday, and ESPECIALLY at Pyramid Lake. Probably also some other pretty fun stuff that would be good to watch someone else do, too, in case I'm feeling lazy. I enjoy zero-fading loop points, cleaning up bad audio, and generally making love on a microscopic level to most any kind of sound. The only time I feel whole is when I'm playing live or riding the momentum of a really good conversation, you know?
Music
If you please, go to my site Myspace band page and listen to my version of music. My band has a pretty good EP on a friend's label. It's pretty musical, but it doesn't open up a fissure to another dimension like I had hoped it would.
www.junkstand.com
Myspace.com/lullabelle
myspace.com/veryproper
Movies
I do require spectacle. Please invite me to go with you if you are going to the movies to watch speciall effects adventures. I used to try to go to the movies for meaning and insight into the human condition, but product placement and irony make me angry to the point of crying. Did I mention I love special effects? Probably my favorite movie star is the ghost child from 3 Men and a Baby. I sat through that piece of shit maybe thirty times, sitting quietly, just waiting for the ghastly moment when you first see him just standing there, staring down the back of ted danson's head and his hot mom. I heard it was a hoax, I don't care, it chills me like seeing the virgin bloody mary in the mirror at midnight.
Television
The Electric Company taught me how to be smooth, how to whisper, how to wear bell-bottoms, how to spell.
And seriously, I fell in love with Arnold Horshack's sweet smile when I was about 7 or 8, I had a small sexual crisis when I figured out just how attracted I was to little Scott Baio and his wide leather arm bands. I was always freaked out about the few child stars that were destined to remain the same cuddly size, even into adulthood. You know who I mean. I can't enjoy Bonanza anymore, not since I found out that Dan Blocker died because of a botched stomach stapling. Now, whenever I see him on the telly, I just think of him grimacing and whincing in pain, and the magic dies away... I secretly hated my mom and dad for trying to get me to enjoy Battlestar Galactica, 'cause they thought that I'd like it 'cause it was like Star Wars, which I never did. Seriously, how can you like a show whose catch phrase is "Frack?" Also, the whole premise of trying to get back to earth? C'mon, what kind of creative shortcut was that? I could think of a thousand better plot devices, and I did. I also started my lifelong hatred of Robin Williams at around the same time, because at school, the other idiot kids kept regailing me with a daily dose of "Shazbot" and fucking "Nanoo, nannoo." I also secretly hated anyone who made the Vulcan salute, as well as the Mork hand. I loved Happy Days, until I realized that it only applied to non-Mexicans. My mom filled me in on that one... Though wasn't the Fonz some kind of foreigner? I pretended he was, that's why he was my favorite. Chachi, too, see above.
Books
I tried to learn esperanto when I was 13, to create a secret cult of my own, but my brother didn't want to learn, and my sister already had a budding following... I also tried to learn conversational Lakota, but again, no one wanted to learn with me. I prefer text books as I grow older, I like diagrams and stories that make me feel smarter as I read them.
Heroes
Aaaah, heroes... Marc Almond, who showed me how to be terribly off-key and shamelessly triumphant. Spalding Grey, because he offed himself in such a way as to prevent mourning. Jello Biafra, till I realized his voice wasn't ever going to change. Chewbacca, because little Mexican kids don't have any real heroes that are smart and hairy, unless you count Juan Epstein, see Television, above. Kid Koala because Chinese Canadian kids don't have any real heroes that are pudgy and badass. Donatien Alphonse François de Sade, because he's harder than any of us, including you.
About me:
I'm a vehement anti-theist who specializes in sniffing out, isolating, sponging up and savoring those tiny red rivulets of shiny magic within the vast pan of the pragmatic, who never shies away from making fast fun of the veils while accepting my own tendency towards obsession and f-f-f-foolin'. Who nveer wierors too mcuh aobut bneig oqlbiue or otverly personal (pumpkins).
I used to be more defined by my lack of faith rather than those few things that I truly believe in, but recently, I do find it's okay and maybe even downright preferable to have a good set of philosophies on hand that prove accurate and supportive, to add to my happiness. Whatever.
I enjoy dirty, dirty sex with relativelty clean people, dirty, loud, awful talk about taboo subjects that get me kicked out of even the shittiest bars and brothels, that get my friends in almost legal trouble and often rquire me to defend myself to strangers...
My real friends get me.
I'm sick of trying with new people, but I refuse to give up, so, if, upon meeting you, I seem just a little predatory, it's only 'cause i'm hungry, not 'cause I don't like you...
If you see me twitching, it will most likely be from the years of maddening nerve damage that my incommensurate medication fails to apprehend.
I'm scared of recordings of ghosts. I watched a special on ghost recordings and it really got in there, really spooked me. I had a recurring nightmare when I was a growing lad that involved this girl devil doll that was full of unquenchable rage. She would show up and be all sweet, like she wanted to play with me, then, as we were at the beach, making sand pickles, I would notice that her arms and neck were separated from the rest of her body. I would get a tingle over my spine and start to slowly back away from her as her expression would harden, and then she'd show her teeth and I would run away for several hours. I guess it was actually probably three or four seconds. I grew up in a cult (really) and I wet the bed (sleeping bag, actually) till I was 14. I want to learn how to draw better, just in case I fall from grace like Ram Dass and have a bad stroke, then I can draw my answers when someone asks me a hard to formulate question about what I want for breakfast. My favorite sex fantasy involves ribbons, glitter and the cast of Cirque Du Soleil, all wearing body bronze and humming like during evening prayers. They all bring alot of money and drugs, too.
Who I'd like to meet: Every reflection in the mirror through all these years. Every time I looked at myself long and lost, and, instead of seeing a sweet, vulnerable, growing-up boy, I saw an under-jawed neanderthal or a thick-browed unlovable caveman. I'd learn quick hypnosis and meet myself all and cast myself a new spell each time, anew me, to wake up from every meeting with every mirror.
Probably I'd like to meet a pegasus.
I would really want to reach up and brush her mane, you know, admire her immortal glowing wings, but unless I could somehow disguise my own mortal stench, it probably wouldn't work out.
Also, whoever put up the Easter Island and Olmec heads, 'cause, that's a lot of work and I really admire that much planning. Have you ever seen a diagram of the layout of Easter Island? It's crazy. A giant frog, made up of thousands of tiny frogs would be interesting to see, as well. I'd like to meet a hill giant who lives in a cave of chocolate, who guards the chocolate, but would share with only me.
I heard you were in school. Let's write an essay together. Or deconstruct some social nuance. Or just be groovy and do laundry. I'll try to bug you soon, and you do the same, and we'll hit it on the mark sometime soon!
Happy birthday you slippery bitch!!! I love you and miss you! Come visit me in Santa Fe before you forget how to speak Spanish from gringo over exposure in the Northern region!
