.one too many.

…

this thanksgiving,

instead of eating birds and beets,

i thought i’d spend the day fighting crime in Tijuana.

10 baja state police officers, 5 kilos of shit weed, 1 automatic machine gun, 8 arrests,

12 bags of tina, 11 bags of white horse, 3 night walkers

and 1 skeleton mask later

the streets were crystal.

oh yeah,

and then in a dramatic show of force

(which i might have mistaken for boredom)

we bonfired the weed.

…

why??

what was so great about your thanksgiving??

…

…

firestarter

foreverever.

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dear california,

once again i write to you from a dark place.  as usual i have a glass of dark spirits in my hand and a dark cloud over my head.  the bar is dark, the sky is dark and the future is dark.  and as usual i write you this letter from a place that is not You.  for what feels like the 100th time in my 30 years, i have run from You.  this time, it was a monday.  it was early in the evening.  the sun was low.  i walked out of You and i walked into somewhere else.  and as usual, i left behind a mess of destructive sticky residue and old chewing gum (i’ll miss you too watermelon trident!!).  and just like every other time You were my home,  friendships perished, responsibilities scorned, productivity ebbed and love suffered.  for some reason, the holy trifecta of moneypowerrespect (aka good health and balance) always seems to elude me within your borders.  for some reason, the unholy trifecta of blackholeblack (aka black) always seems to find me within your angles.  curious, cause everyone else seems to love you.  for me, i thinks it’s just more rubiks than that.  anyways, the word i am looking for is rock bottom.  it is always been the nature of our relationship.  believe it.  go ask my mother.  you are my archnemesis(aka i will be crying bonanza at your funeral).  on paper, we are just not meant to be.  you are all sunshine and health-consciousness.  i am a connoisseur of overcast skies and pizza-in-bed days.  you are the beach.  i am a fireplace.  you are a social butterfly.  i, on the other hand, am a misanthrope (although i do like invitations).  you are dolphin art and i am a cannibal.  let’s face it.  it wasn’t meant to be.  we were forced together via the long tumultuous ugly decision-making processes of my parents.  like i said, go ask my mother.  Nina will tell you.  from the very moment i arrived, so did vomit.  on the first day of our relationship, i puked all over your so-called disneyland.  the second time we met, i broke my arm under the Santa Cruz pier (dont ask).  the third time, and this stretch lasted 4.5 regrettable years, was hell-a-sish(sp?).  (i have seen my dad cry once.  i was thirteen.  it was august.  boston’s logan international airport.  at the gate, with a cigarette in his hand (glory days!!), he says,”goodbye son.  see you for christmas.  you can come back anytime you want.”  i cried the whole way to san diego.)  and then, the time after that, i murdered the first love of my life inside Your uncomfortable embrace.  and the time after that, i managed to mindfuck someone else’s love of their life inside Your uncomfortable embrace.  and this last time, well… i’m doing my damnedest bestest to suppress that black hole.  and so, in form with a cycle i am not proud of, i run.  and really.  i’m not proud.  no one likes rotations that go happy sad happy sad sad hap sad runaway!!  but alas, it is my circle and i embrace it.  i’m half broke and half-broken but it is meant to be so.  and this glass of dark liquids is half empty because i drank most of it already.  and i run cause my feet are strong and i can purge almost anything with sweat.  more than anything else, i leave with the knowledge that our terrorball is far from finished.  i will be back, california.  just know that.  in the deepest regions of my canepari, i love you.  and it is unconditional forever.  believe it.  go ask my mother.  Nina will tell you.  You and I are as unresolved as ever and lord knows, i am a fan of resolution.  plus, i think beating a dead horse can be fun.  so don’t You dare write us off cause that would be suicide.  especially as i am a firestarter and You, last i checked, are flammable.  on that note, threats and promises aside, i’ll see You when i see You.

done da da.

caneparidoesitbetter.

…

…

…

thanks for nothing.

gobble

gobble

…

…

eat less, drink less, sleep more, save money, life insurance, synergy, health insurance, 401K, aerobics, kombucha,

no smoking, vitamin D, granola, recycle, nature, love, soft thoughts, dentists, zinc and newspapers.

you thought things might get better.

you were wrong.

trick

or

treat.

…

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you need a job.

…

…

so its official

this blog sucks

and you suck for reading it

and i suck for cutting a pumpkin alone at night outside my RV

and we both suck for not cutting pumpkins together on a porch while drinking sea breezes

…

still i blame you

its just easier that way

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…

……………

…………

i need a job

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no matter what anyone says,

a seabreeze is not a chick drink.

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that’s why they’re called ‘funny’ sunglasses.

go away.

…

…

with a steamy cup of thermaflu in one hand

and a snotty kleenex in the other,

i have never been further from india than i am,

right.

this.

instant.

…

…

it’s better than nothing.

right?

…

…

rock bottom smells like lighter fluid and sockless feet.

it drinks black void and spews death rattles from it’s opposable mouths.

it’s color scheme is octopus orange with swaths of old grey crackle napkins.

it’s shape is asymettrical octagonal and it is a passive-aggressive self-mutilator.

it’s face splinters like tree bark when it smiles and its hands are withered like dried fruit.

its innards are confused…

stomach has become liver.

lung has morphed with spleen.

heartbeats sound like crying babys.

it hasn’t enjoyed sex since the carter administaration

it hasn’t had a nibble of nutrition since it ate it’s own leg.

it used to carry a sledgehammer but it grew too heavy.

now it carries a keychain.

…

most will look at it and see the pain of the world.

most will whisper, stare and cringe in it’s presencene.

most will shudder and move closer to their loved ones when it passes by.

but not me.

not me.

…

it is mine.

and it will be mine until one of us dies.

i not not you not possible.

…

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the interior had hepatitis.

…

…

this might be love.

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stay tuned.

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…

below is the cover of the new PDN.

the photo on the top left is by JONATHAN TORGOVNIK.

the photo on the bottom left is by BENJAMIN DRUMMOND.

the photo on the top right is by JAMES NATCHWEY (maybe you’ve heard of him).

and.

and.

and.

the photo on the bottom right is by…

MOi.

can-o-peez.

yip.

……

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some days are better than others.

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it’s just more fun here.

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did you know,

venice beach is a tsunami zone??

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