I’m a little tea pot

Random thoughts - pancakes and gunpowder, seasonal allergies and Jergens, round toothpicks and spoons, documentary helpers and penis enlargement, water running down my back and palm trees - I’ve got this itch that I can’t quite scratch.

I think it’s got something to do with feeling like you’re not who you used to be.

I don’t know who I am… a ghost?

On this Memorial Day, I remember the lives of all those who died in hopes of protecting the lives of the people of this country.  I remember the lives of all those who did not die, but were injured in the same aim, whether injured in body or in spirit.  I mourn all the loss that has happened, and I hope that not one more life be taken.  May their sacrifices not be in vain, and may we all make sacrifices so that no more wars happen.

including pictures of my trip down from Berkeley.

In the lobby of some San Franciscan hotel, that made me profoundly uncomfortable. IT WAS TOO QUIET. THERE WERE TOO MANY CHANDELIERS.

We ate here. It was so exciting! Everything was vegan except a few random items: one entree, coffee with milk, stuff like that. The food wasn’t that good. What can I say? I’m not enamored with meat substitutes, and this restaurant seemed to center around them. It was worth it for the vegan ice cream, though.

And then we were on the road. I kind of enjoy the drive down to L.A. via the 5.

I realized while looking at this sign that “the United States of America” is not the people who live in it. It is an idea, perpetuated by its government and by complacency. I regret that any Armed Forces died in defending ideas they may or may not have agreed with, and I regret that any Armed Forces of our country killed any other people. I regret the necessity of armed forces. I regret that we fight wars motivated by politics and greed, and enabled by fear.

Oh, hey guys,

BUTTONWILLOW!!

For those of you who are not Amanda or Naomi, Buttonwillow’s allure is in nothing but its name. (For those of you who are Amanda or Naomi, truck convoy! truck cooonvoooooy!!!) Buttonwillow has legend status, despite what it is. C’mon guys, I’ve been there, and all Buttonwillow has to it is a gas station or two or three, a Starbucks and a Subway. Correct me if I’m wrong.

Look at what we’ve made! Colors and metal, wires and roads. I don’t really want to say anything else, except… look at it.

That’s all I got. I leave you with this.

I heart your horrible smile.

Postscript: I apologize for the underwhelming post.  I send love to all of my friends from all over, especially far away Berkeley ones.  I miss you!  Yeah, you!  Tee hee.

I can’t help but feel that the past few months have wound back and voided themselves.

But I have had a beautiful day. Absolutely beautiful. I am imagining pink and purple horizons while I write. (I can’t quite deal with this)

I mean ocean sunsets. Land’s end and then nothing solid for your feet.

I’ve had a beautiful life.

In the LAPL suspended reading room with L. Kinney and transient friends.

The microcosm mirrors the macrocosm.

Typical L.A. weekend. Lots of commotion. My dad’s a windbag.

There is a hidden mercury deposit in this house, and they have all been breathing the fumes.

I am heading home early tomorrow. This place is blighted.

Some lamer has been running denial of service attacks all day.

Bertrand Russell appeared to me as Jiminy Cricket.

“Boy, analytic philosophers are English number hoppers”