Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Flying my daze away


SDC10252
Originally uploaded by faultyplans
Enter this wetland area where no man can walk. Flying over it, feeling like now you're truly in the thicket. Anchorage was in the middle of the woods. Naknek, this town of two hundred, is buried in nothingness. Listening to the hum of the engine, as you would listen to the hum of a harley.. listening to this hum is hypnotic. I hear the tape recordings my mom would leave me as a child. The ones that were used for falling asleep without sucking a thumb. The little induced state where my best friend, a lucky star would come and fly me around. I imagine the sound of her voice as we bank in the turbulent air. I close my eyes as the tape directs. I close them, and relax my arms and legs as we fall through the clouds. The greens of the landcape, the green of best-friend-star-nebula. The green of the blood moving through my eyelids.
Suddenly, I'm not reminded of this star, but my attachment back home. My little one. The love, the cake. The lovecake. I am reminded of her, but she is busy doing her, living my future four hours before I can. My toes tense up and the plane falls steadily towards the ground. A controlled free-fall to the fly fest below. Pick up my cup as I open these tired eyes and chew off my stress. Crunch the ice between my throbbing teeth. Chew the cup. Chew the cola too, but it falls out my mouth and speckles my sweater. We make another bank. And I think about purples and greens. I think of fairy girls bopping about. The Scottish horse fairy. The drowning horse in the river that all men with kind hearts try to save. The same horse nays and drags the quasi-heros body beneath the surface. Drowns the helpless humane human and goes about his day. The horse that steals men away. The fairy that murders. I close my eyes, think of the star. The horse shaped star. I think of lovecake.
I close these eyes of mine, i ponder divinity and death. The plane nears the ground and the nostalgia of anchored life leaves. Be it focus, be it game-face. Maybe even the high and adderall. Close these eyes and think of the succubus horse. Reactive mind bomb he said. Reactive mind bomb she left. Shouldn't have called maybe. Maybe it was her focus, her game-face. Maybe it was her high or the adderall, but the conversation stood stagnant, and I felt more alone. The hypnotic voice of my mother left me. The hum of the plane's engine left and we end the taxi. The damn best-friend-star-buddy-leading-me-away-from-sucking-my-thumb-as-a-little-child left. And alone as I call, I am left.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

drunkard walk on


SDC10192
Originally uploaded by faultyplans
spent some time drunk the other day. about 16 hours.. it was interesting at least. start a frantic night (the dusk period where the sun makes you think it'll be dark soon, but you know he's just a punk)... start this frantic night with a closed liquor store and brilliant comrade along with lefted comrade are feeling antsy. is it the pot? is it those pills? dark shadows only get so dark when the light always shines down on them.
around the corner we went, trotting along to the beat of some blow out speaker cell phone. i think the song was from the 80's. i think the singer died of coke abuse. hit the corner of spenard and benway. recoil to the sight of something new, unseen in such a place. recoil to an ambulance flashing lights and multiple policemen. wait... why shudder back us? we're no vagabonds. no griswald, but definitely on the lighter side of the force, and the force is strong with these ones.
finally destination beautiful has arrived. rather we arrived on hand and foot, as we mimicked the meese. hold open the door and fall into five by five box of four hundred different bottles. brown. green. a lot of green. more so than yellow, the color of porn in china.
head to the secret passge in the back, pull the lever and fall through the floor. damn crafty korean expats in alaska... at least the slide was enjoyable. better than our political conversations. better than ice cream eating contests where all the female contestants are naked, and all the men are blindfolded, unable to see the voluptuous bosoms. destination arrival now, unexpected pit of death. unexpected refridgerator full of arbor mist and MD2020. banana delicacy. strawberry orange bomb. sip sip and before we could escape the pit of doom, we're drunken for 3.99, a price suitable for both kings and pauper.

damn meeses


SDC10348
Originally uploaded by faultyplans
i see you mr. head bob, bobbin your head to the beat. it's okay with me, you can bob your head, even when it's horrible and unrhythmic. you can continue on, moving off-beat, shaking my bus seat. shaking it so methodically that a frequency so bad ass make the stars align and the deflate like old sun baked basketballs. venus, mercury, earth and then flat tire. the earthquake in sichuan wasn't really a seismic disruption that collapsed more than half the metropolitan area. it wasn't plate-tectonics that took a quarter million lives in one week. it was actually some twerp on the 301 to downtown that decided it would be enjoyable to get his groove on, stick in some ear buds and bob his cranium to Abba Gold.

Monday, June 15, 2009

day....smthn


SDC10194
Originally uploaded by faultyplans
day four
a bit cool for my liking
or i am still chilly from last night.
shorts, t-shirt, alaska...
three words that dont complement each other.

hit me in the face,
the blunt hit harder
and all i did was strike up a friendly drunken conversation
topic: religion
reason: to these daze still unknown,
suspected terrorist cell dubbed grim hellion
grim.

tk put his head down.
taller that a god,
darker than hershey special dark
my camera felt dumb as it left two people out of the picture.
tk raises his head
hit him in the face,
the blunt hit faster.

go on spontaneous thought,
binge binge re-binge...
then purge.

a day of sitting is always something to be admired
unless you've no ability to walk,
for that, i lack empathy, but understand your envy.
ouch.
ouch.

ouch.

lakers and magic
ulu blades flying daggers
flaying hide
and here i sit basement side purple painted wallflower,
ignoring the outside.
sit sit and for billy's/holmes/simpleton-texan/ sake,
re-sit.

read a book.
read the web.
recuperate and rape...
the fridge got raped.

we went walking,
but the post dramatic stress from such a carnal fridge ordeal..
well, it made me forget.
bum. lover of those lazy days.

tomorrow will be big.
but no bigger than other days

Sunday, June 14, 2009

alaska day three


SDC10011
Originally uploaded by faultyplans
day three
hanging low and strong.
and all because america is america
no matter what part of america you go to.
no confusion when everyone is worried about kate and jon

china has different cultures, customs, characters
each place, a different story,
every location, a piece of the puzzle, but oh so different.

but come to the american land,
come to the melting pot
see the faces of two hundred odd nation states,
and feel like main st. here is main st. there.

the churches are all too gaudy,
the restaurants all too few.
eating is the key to mans' heart
religion is the key to mans' hatred.

in alaska the green is super green,
the trees are super trees,
and even the water glistens better,
though it looks like a dell running WoW.

took a walk to the edge of anchorage
anchored to the edge the mounty state,
anchored to the edge of the americas
took a walk to the edge and realized the edge..
well, it resembles the center

and all over america it feels the same,
clean american air is american air,
not delaware nor maryland's.
neither texas nor cali's.
just us grade a air.

but here there is a difference.
those who live in the city,
those who bop to their own beat,
they cant really bop to any other beat but
the only beat to bop.
translation: the hobo's here dont got a goddamn escape plan

Saturday, June 13, 2009

alaska day two


SDC10083
Originally uploaded by faultyplans
eleven eleven rolled me out of bed,
made a wish to pass back out,
my wish didn't come true.

called the father to aleve his worry,
called the dad to ask for guidance.

they say it's cold with cold showers in naknek,
i think about that as i take my warm shower.
i think about chinas cold winter,
china's no HVAC heating
china's chilling shower.
i think about that as i take my warm shower.

up and about, time to walk,
but material and music is on my mind.
clouded by this, we walk
destination: capitalist wastebasket
translation: Walmart
Sam walton would be proud i mentioned the all-american name
especially in the last american frontier.
the final american frontier.

continue on this walk to the woods
destination now: east bound
i mentioned diablo 2
he walks to the east, always the east.

arrive to 'roger woods,' current destination
arrive to misleading development
community of mass-populace
private gated community with no guards.

goose lake thrills mild the tension
paddle boat mayhem killed the high
mosquito mayhem killed the cool

the right sided comrade was upset his shorts weren't skeeter repellant
right sided brilliant comrade was upset
left sided scitzo swallowed sweet "i told you so's"

return to this home, the hostel
there, it was quiet
smelling of swedish pan fried chicken
smelling of pasta and salmon fillets.
must escape... the content, full belly grew inpatient
whens the next meal arriving sir?

to the park to meet the merry men of marijuana
they weren't around, therefore drunken was the next goal
destination: arrival, earlier than expected.

sitting drunk there
and sudden appearance of simpleton texan
he's called billy,
i call him holmes.
but thats what i call all the faces.

wasting away in the middle of the disk golf course
golf clap, golf clap and re-golf clap
stop for a moment to let the mosquittos catch up
and while we waited for our blood sucking buddies to finish their meals
we watched the drakes and other mallards meander about

that far mountain,
peaked with its sno-cap candy covering
looks tastey
so i divise my plan on how to eat the landscape.
left sided comrade complains eating isn't enough,
sitting is where it's at.

the glimmer from the lake,
majestic and polluted
population control some call it.
peda cries blasphemy!

tecken arrvies.
tecken leaves.
our sudanese friend
our comrade in cannabis culture

the night before he took us to the point
a cape.
a place.

the american west.
the final frontier.
the... list continues
and here, where the eagles dare,
we smoked.

sudanese refugees meander about
pushing pebbles around with his air ones and true religion pants.
air one: $100 (a conservative guess)
true religion: $250 a pair.
true americans, real consumers.

sudanese boy said, "you could shoot them down"
american paranoia raged, "terrorist!"
sudanese boy said, "you could shoot them down they are so low"
i said, "thats what i want to do for a living"
i meant flying.

where the airplane flew low,
we fired fake rifles into the air.
those pricks flying that plane didn't want to play imagination.
business is business
and work kills kids.
even in the final frontier,

alaska, where the orphaned boy drew the flag.
alaska, where the sun never sets while graham is looking.

that sun... that jerk.
until tomorrow i think
mr. yellow dwarf said not so fast.


until tomorrow...