Loose Fur. A BBoys v Jaz-Z mashup from The Gil.

Spent the gorgeous summer dusk aboard the Spirit. It took us out into the Bay past Alcatraz, under the GGBridge and then back to the Embarcadero. We were cruising along and the seagulls soared just behind us, floating fast. It was supposed to be a networking event where I tell people what I do and they tell me what they do and we figure out if our companies can exchange funds, goods or services, but we were on a boat. In the Bay. On one of the first nice days in seventy two days and eleventeen weeks. People were taking photos, talking, drinking and eating and I'm sure some deals got done, but not by me. We were on a cruise with slow bartenders and good food and all I could do was enjoy it all.

The one question I leave you with is one my friend Heather asked me just today: isn't it weird how we clean up for parties, for people coming over, and then they get there and mess it up and we have to clean it all up again? And she's right. If we just agreed to be the first five or six people over for each other, everyone that came after us would just think the place had been mussed by those of us already there. But really, we wouldn't have done a thing to mess it because the mess didn't have to go away in the first place. Then you'd just clean after everyone was gone and no one would be the wiser. Or something like that. But we did clean and we are having a party and I sure as shit hope our neighbors don't freak out when they see how much fun we all like to have.

Alright, I leave you with this: A man witnessess a minor car accident while leaving a voicemail for work, and hilarity ensues.

So damn tired today. I was nodding off at the computer and having trouble making the calls all afternoon. Yet, sitting here at home, I'm torn. Part of me wants to stroll off to the bar, have a pint on the patio and read the paper for half an hour. On the other hand, the concept of moving anywhere besides to the bed next to me is absolutely ludicrious. I'll probably compromise: move a bit further along to the couch in the living room, bring the paper, bring a beer and see how far I get through either of them before nodding off. Head back, though, not slumped forward. I've learned how dangerous that is.

Haven't heard anything either way about Butterfly Explosion, but my buddy Craemer recommended Rose Hill Drive. Gave a listen to a few songs they have up online and they've got a nice hard edge and some killer guitar work. Check'em out.

Sleeping and eating are the two other activities I've got on my mind, so take a look at Millenium here in SF. Gourmet vegetarian food. We're going there for my wife's birthday tonight. I'm an omnivore, but I tell you this, the meals at this place are absolutely stunning. If you live here and haven't been, GO.

As for sleep, this is all I've got: Slumber Inc. Click around, you'll figure it out.

The net is teeming with creation. Breakthroughs and weirdness and ideas and tools are frothing together in the digital chaos. I am buffetted by the flows of information, by the projection of thoughts upon the void. I know there is amazing art because all my life, music and movies and photographs and every other medium available has--at one time or another--completely blown my mind.

And now with the net, it's all so much easier to find. More to dig through, too, but we humans have always been good at making shit up.

A movie I haven't seen: Darwin's Nightmare. Seems to be about how we impact the ecosystems of earth, and how we create our own deadly exchanges as well.

Music I just found: Butterfly Explosion. Unsigned. Downloaded and listened to a few of their songs, and I think I like it, but I need my friends to tell me if I'm right or crazy. It's just better to know either way.

Software: Kismet gave this link to me. Luncheon at the Hyatt and it came with a goody bag. There were some weird bits in there, but the flashdrive was sweet. Then immediately upon returning to the office, I found this list of programs for a flashdrive, right at the top of digg. I'm going to load up as many of them as I can fit.

If you try any of the programs let me know what you think. If the band sux I'd love to hear that, too. I'm pretty sure that the film is solid, but getting to actually see it could be difficult. First one to watch it wins!

Pain. There's no denying it when you feel it. The experience of pain is an intense sensation. Love is strong, too, but it's a little more nebulous. Physical pain is specific and easy to identify. This hurts, here. For several days now my neck and shoulder on the right side have hurt powerfully. It put me in a bad mood only moments before seeing music I love last week. It made work a chore today because my focus fixed on the discomfort within and removed me from the task at hand. Even sleeping hasn't been easy with my neck is like this, and sleeping is as simple as it gets. Last week I dozed off in bed watching TV and then slumped forward for hours snoring blissfully away. The next morning was agony. But whenever my neck feels like this, there is more to it than just a pulled muscle.

Emotional pain is harder to identify than physical pain, but no less real. Stress is a wound to the soul, and the pain of stress always comes back to live in the deep muscle that attaches my head of thoughts to my burdened shoulders. Where hopes wrestle with facts and ideas tangle with fears, my soul spasms and aches. They are burdens no greater than others'. They are fears no different than those that we all face equally, daily. But like my skin sliced open on a slip of paper, or a limb snapped in the snowy throes of adrenaline, the burdens and fears of life are real and mine and I must find ways to soothe and heal. Love is the antibody for wounds of the soul: the other body, other's bodies, other people, friends and family that help to heal the hurts that do not bleed and you cannot band-aid. If I can ease the stresses and ice the shoulder, I should be good as new in no time. Until then, though, I'll survive.

We are powerful monkees that work together well to create incredible things. But of all our abilities, that we can love ourselves and each other to heal the gashes of the spirit is truly incredible.

Oh and our music is pretty fucking great, too. Sometimes, so good it hurts.

Wilco was excellent tonight. On stage they were thoroughly enjoying themselves, and the crowd was rapt. Kinda funny to see such a devoted audience at the rather random Starland Ballroom in Sayreville, NJ. But they knew where they were, and props were given to Bruuuuuce and to the original NJ hometown hairband. Although Tweedy sometimes sounds like the Boss, they never do Jovi, and I'm good with that.

You already know Pandora, but here's another social music site: last.fm. Don't know much about last.fm but I'm going to give it a shot. And once I figure out how it all works, I'll give PandoraFM a shot, too. It seems like PandoraFM uses the technology of both sites to do something even better. Exactly what, I'm not sure, but I am intrigued. Finding new music has become a mission for me. These sites will help.

Drove from CT to NJ yesterday, and the day before that I just finished 1776 by David McCullough. Great read. So interesting to hear the specifics of what happened in that fateful year. It's almost hard to believe that those insane events occurred on the hills and bluffs and rivers and roads of these immediate lands. I felt a powerful connection to the birth of this country as we drove over the Tappan Zee Bridge over the wide, wide Hudson. If you enjoy history in the least, check it out!

found and admired: A nutty intersection in India. Watch for the pedestrian trapped b/t scooter and car on the right side, and the white car that drives the wrong way on the top street. And here are some maps of the religious demographics of the US.

Just got back from hanging with my first and best friend ever. We moved in across the street from him. I've been his friend since I was three and he was four. In some ways I feel I know him better than my parents.

Eventually he and I figured out all the ways through the yards of the neighborhood. Six ways around either side and the sneak route through the back hedge and behind the Gunther's pool. It was their property, but with our travels and battles and chases and games, we made their land our own.

Culture is the external world we live in. The place where laws, customs, ideals and art, food and commerce, knowledge and transportation all intersect. The way we let the world and each other live, as we choose it every day. It is the English we speak to one another. It is the music that undulates through the hot city air. It is the paint in the frames on the walls in the buildings, and it is the spraypaint on the walls of the brick city streets. Culture is what we agree on and share. And that it is shared is the most valuable part.

The net makes that easier, and these are some sites that have embraced those ideals: The BBC Archive, a remix central and of course a how-to on putting it all together.

Me and Mazur remixed the back yards of our 'hood into our own private adventures. I take the things I see and read and hear and bring them back to my wife and friends. In moments of perfect alignment the Big Lebowski emerges for a moment and The Dude tells us exactly what should be said.

Humans live in a culture of creation, and to progress we must share ideas and echo thoughts and test the shape of the world against our fears. For culture to thrive we must play.

The world is sharp and hard. It's better to not fall, not bump, not get cut on the edged corners. Curbs leap from streets, eager to trip. Cars zoom, the velocity a force to be reckoned with. I look both ways even on one way streets. I slow around corners when walking, avoiding collisions. Stepping from the sidewalk into stores, I do a headcheck in the direction I plan to move so that someone doesn't get crushed. The only way to win is to pay attention to the world around you. To do otherwise is to end up broken and bruised, sliced by the blades of reality, bluedgeon by concrete and metal.

And for when you are walking or out and about, Webaroo has the most important parts of the web preloaded for use offline. But if you do have a connection and need to find nearly any piece of digital information, the Internet Archive is a good place to start.

One nice thing about the web is that you can go a lot of places mentally and you never have to risk physical harm. Although there's something about that that toubles me. If you risk nothing but time and idle thoughts, nothing holds you back. Perhaps that explains some of the darkness that lurks everywhere online.

The yard behind our apartment is turning prehistoric. I'm slightly frightened of the calalillys back there. They are large enough to drink wine from.

I can't figure out what I like more: the soundtrack of random awesomeness that my iPod pumps out as I commute to work, on foot, on train. Or, the brilliant lively sounds of a gorgeous summer day cascading over the city. It's wonderful to have the perfect tune match the changing walklight and the flow of traffic to the right. To feel my steps hit beats and lyrics in tune with the developing moment. And yet... and yet as I feel that, I see others with tiny speakers in their ears and I see us all passing each other, fast. The video to the music we each enjoy. Extras in our personal movies as we escape work, hide from friends, chase elusive dreams. The music in my ears fulfills the sounds of idle plots. But I'm bubbled, contained, alone. And I don't always like that.

There's something about the sunlight that makes me want to take off my headphones and talk to everyone I see. Find out what their deal is. Wish them well on their delightful day. Maybe share a smoke or a joke or a second of laughter at the wild whimsies of the afternoon. After days of rain, today I went headphone free on the way home, and it was good.

Found and admired today: The SFist. Good local interest blog with sites for lots of other cities, too. And here's Yelp! It's a community review site for restaurants, bars, doctors, things to do, anything really. Sign up and start telling people what you think.

Books are my lifeblood. The only problem is that when I read, I don't write. And an even bigger problem is that although writing is the release I need for the rattling thoughts that careen through my brain, it is the words already printed and bound between covers that truly set me at ease. The more I write, the more agitated I become. With the words preloaded into novel form, however, I descend sweetly into the author's language, surrounding myself with a universe of context, a world of imagery, the unspoken sound of the voices of characters that live and breathe and hope and dream within the pages of a book that echoes in the folds of my mind. Books consume me, yet I always feel ready to explode with words.

If there was a way to do both at the same time, I would.

Two books I've never read I found out about yesterday and I'm eager for them both. One was recently out of print but just might be back, according to this article. It has a fantastic name: The Foxbat Spiral. Mal Karman wrote it in 1980, but from what the article implies, it really could be about the world we wander in (angry?) these days. The second book is by a favorite author, the man who wrote Dhalgren. That book blew my mind--actually it is more like it kidnapped it, because part of my brain will always be trapped within the city limits of Bellona. But the book I'm interested in today is by the same author, Samuel R. Delany, and it is called The Star-Pit. I've never read The Star-Pit. I can't even find a copy of it online, currently. And so until then, I'm going to give something new a try. I'm going to download the radio play that Mr. Delany and cohorts created back in 1967. And then I'm going to upload it to my iPod. And then I'm going to listen to it and tell you what I think. I wonder if I'll even be able to get through it. I'm not much on audiobooks. But I must give it a try.

Dhalgren is a book I wish I wrote. There are a few others out there like that. I look forward to finding out if The Foxbat Spiral and the The Star-Pit will fall into that category, too.

I'm pretty sure Jesus is still alive. I mean if you can come back from the dead once, why not twice or three times or even more? Could be he's just really hearty and long-lived, or maybe even immortal. I think he's probably teaching kindergarten in Sweden or something. But his jeans are always baggy and no one notices that he wears sandals, even in the snow. Cold doesn't bother him. The kids love him, and he never tells them that he's really from Alpha Centuri and is really glad he's put that whole "Son-of-God" schtick behind him. He still believes in all that stuff. The whole love thy neighbor and turn the other cheek and that all of us are the sons and daughters of the glorious God that has thought up the infinite Universes. But he's older now, middle aged by Alpha Centurian standards, and he finally got the memo to just chill, teach the small ones the important stuff and monitor the earth until the primitives are ready for bigger and better things.

He listens to Hendrix and IMs with Muhammed every now and then. They haven't heard from the Buddha in a while, but they're psyched D. Lama is spreading some truth across this planet torn with war, hunger, disease and despair.

I can't say for certain that all this is true, but it feels right to me.

found and admired today: How spiders hang, motionless, and what their webs look like on drugs. I believe in the first link. I'm not so certain about the second, but still I like it. And for me no mention of spiders is complete without (kidsmoke). After all, we are seeing Wilco next Friday, and the spiders, they are singing in the salty breeze.

Panda golf. iBuzz takes the iPod into the realm of *physical* pleasures. Sweet BBoy remixes from Quarterbar. All this from the ropeadope homepage.

Today a murder of crows was chillin and squawkin and grubbin around for food in the road as I strolled to work. (in the drizzle, as always) They stared at me with impunity, maybe daring me to challenge them. I merely grinned, for I love those large, brilliant black birds and continued to stare down the barrel of a gun sonofa gun sonofabitch getting played getting rich!

I was supposed to be the ultimate salesman today. But instead I sold myself out on idled time and rained out wages. All I could think about was my new project. I'm collecting two of everything, for the Ark I'm going to build. SF is about to drown and I just might be last the hope. Someday in the far wet future, they'll find it and they'll call it Bones' Ark, and in it we'll have two of everything.

found and admired today: All Songs Considered and Morning Becomes Eclectic. If you don't know them, you should.