28 July, 2013

Sunday Afternoon Maudlin and the Elite Tribe Who Will Speak Kindly Of Me When I'm Gone

She said she was the penultimate, and then explained that she meant she would be the last before I settled down.

I told her that I was not sure I'd ever settle down and that I was glad to have her as a member of my "elite tribe", and that I hope they would be kind to me in their remembrances should they out last me.

She called me goth-y. I quoted Elliott Smith. My mind wandered, thinking about other women. A world without jealousy expanded in my mind, but it always turned sour. Conflicts arose and slowly poisoned Utopia. In my dreams, as in my real life, I found myself managing others' emotions and juggling their expectations.

This is why we can't have nice things,...

I wonder if my Dad steered me toward "A Stranger in a Strange Land" in my precocious, fumbling youth to convey something about my congenital wandering eye and love of lust. He was transitioning to the arms of another. Perhaps he wanted me to grok this.

I have yet to grok it fully, relative to his life or mine. His first marriage is still a bone of contention, but I do not carry ill will to any of the members of my tribe, even the ones who deserve it (you know who you are... especially you, KW).

I try to spend less time resenting. I must not think bad thoughts.


I shall soon discuss elsewhere how I lost a contest where I put in hundreds of dollars and hours of labor, as did my also-rans, losing to someone who rolled up cheese in sausage and wrapped it all in bacon for pennies to my dollar, seconds to my hour.

I guess you still can't beat cheese stuffed, bacon wrapped.

It was a tony affair, a proper affair with ladies and gentlemen and dick jokes and boozy ice cream drinks and lots of whiskey, public displays of affection and even more public displays of gross gluttony.

There was bacon deep fried in bacon fat, as it should be.

There were ex lovers and also-rans.

There was a pig face mask. Fuck it up, pig face. Fuck it up.

It marked the halfway mark in a year of kept promises: be with your friends, don't hold grudges, don't harbor regrets, take care of yourself but have fun. Don't presume, don't take for granted.

In the last few years I've lost too many.

I forgot what else I was going to say. Now it's time to soak in a hot bath and to go be with friends, and maybe find a way to say "I love you" without it being too sentimental by half.


You cast your shadow everywhere like the man in the moon.

09 June, 2013

How To Fail At Life And Have A Great Time Anyway: preface

I'm going to fix everything!
oh, louis… we all said that at first
"i'm gonna fix these damn alerts!"
Naw I know I'm not going to fix everything but at first I want to jump on everything to get a feel for what I can ignore.
ok ;)
you'll get a feel alright
write up what you've observed in notes for eugene in 10 minutes and we'll handoff to him a little after 10 when he gets settled, k?
You goti t
*got it
I'm going to get started with my laundry, be back in a couple
haha ok :)
now i'm going to start my Psych marathon
I'm keep you updated on the developments with Julie and Shawn's relationship, and whatever silly stuff Gus says.
Great man I sincerely appreciate that.
last week (a couple months ago, I'm really behind), Julie kicked Shawn out when she discovered that his psychic powers were a fraud.
Oh no she didn't!
Well, he father lied to her her whole life, so honesty is really important to her.
ah I see
Well honesty is pretty important in a relationship
yes, it's key to make sure the other person thinks you are being honest
i'm writing a self-help book
oh yeah?
"How to Fail At Life But Have a Great Time Anyway"
working title
haha that actually sounds funny
Good luck with your book!
9:57 AM

Let me know when you're ready for someone to proof read

17 March, 2013

a story for @sab

January 22, 2013, 09:37 PST

the premise of the story is vignettes of what people are doing the exact moment your heart stopped. starting with your neighbors, then random people in oakland. maybe a few of the many people around the world you knew, that very moment. some stories are longer, some short - then we go to a montage. then finally to your poor bewildered dog, licking your hand.

21 February, 2013

seal rap


I am riding the 33 Stanyan - I get shot - I become a ghost - I am a bad ghost, an ineffectual ghost - I retreat to the ocean - I am reborn as a seal - a rapping seal - the most famous seal rapper.

24 January, 2013

Goodbye, Emily

My garment bag - Seigel's Fine Clothing - looks like a body bag. My minds eye can see your grinning face asking "can I fit in it?" and trying to zip yourself up. You probably could, you were 90 pounds soaking wet carrying 5lbs of bricks.

Now I lay it with care across my chair, over top my guitar cases, so that if I manage to bring myself to leave the house any time soon I can get my dress jacket and shirts dry cleaned for your memorial.

That will be two weddings, two funerals. I wish I could erase the death by dousing it in gasoline and setting it on fire.

Your size was the only small thing about you.

I'll never forget sneaking out of the dorms for study hours and you being a fixture misfit in the computer lab most nights - all of us forming a ragtag tribe of proto-geeks. What was it you were always typing? I never knew until later the depths and breadth of your wondrous creativity - only that your joy was infectious and your curiosity boundless and that you had a hilarious sense of humor.

Later, I was touched to see how brave you were in the face of all the struggling and suffering you endured in your short life. I am awed at how many lives you did manage to touch, but not surprised.

"She was a real dame, old friend, a real broad." -Leo McGarry.

I will miss you like crazy. Love always.

Emily Sara Salzfass, February 1, 1976 - January 21, 2013.

09 January, 2013


(fictional) Letter to a friend:

You're not in the doghouse, per se.

Well, certainly not with me. But you have made your bed, and there you shall sleep.

It's a thing with you, it's a pattern.

I mean, you tell me - you say, "oh I can't date an alcoholic," so it never quite worked out with Mischa. But then you turn around and poach Jake from Lauren. Drunk Jake, that's his nickname for fucks sake. Don't tell me they were broken up - it's more complicated than that. That's cover, you're justifying it to yourself. Its a lie you tell yourself and you believe it so well you actually had the gumption to get indignant TO ME when I suggested that maybe he didn't tell you exactly the truth about that.

You talk about love, true love, sweep you off your feet romance, as if you have any idea what it means, or would recognize it if it lived with you for three years in Chelsea. Yeah, I went there.

Remember when you left Ron for Patterson, and I was like, what the fuck? Did that wedding and all that mean more to me? I mean, were you really done, you and Ron, or are you the cheater you so revile? And a military man? You picked a state-sponsored killer over the sweet, sensitive artist/scientist. Did being treated well bore you?

I mean, here's a guy who goes all over the world and confirms every stereo type of the gun-toting foreign service thug that so many have about American "State Department" black-helicopter types right down to the dozens of bastard children and proclivity for whores. You are lucky the worst you got from that was a case of the clap.

You're damn lucky he didn't get tired of your ass and leave your corpse in some jungle, frankly. And even then you had again the audacity to get mad a ME when I told you I thought this guy was all wrong, all wrong for you.

So, no, that doesn't make me eager to shift around my social obligations, which are hard enough -- you know how I am and the difficulties I have -- so that I can slot you in without exposing you to the dozen or so people who you've pissed off with your current relationship status.

As for Mischa. I get it, he's a drunk too. But he's honest, and he cares, and he probably would have treated you like a queen. You remember we talked about his girl trouble, the issue with Valerie getting too close. You couldn't grasp it: how dare a boy reject the advances of a women, and at the same time bed her? But that's the deal they had, and it was straight-forward: no twists or turns or intrigue about it. She chose to break the rules and he had to distance himself - for both their good.

He's an honest broker, he's not going to lie and tell you what you want to hear, but you always choose what you want to hear over what you need to hear. Don't you?

You have so much tunnel vision that you can't see what's going on around you. I don't want you to be hurt by Drunk Jake but he has a pattern just like every one else and you'll get caught in it and spit out of it and then come to cry on my shoulder about it (and it's there, promise, but not without a long talk and a long hard look at why this keeps happening).

Maybe I'm wrong, you've found true love and will be happy forever. I'd love that.

Let's get lunch soon.