two-a-day

point A: http://gemssneakershop.com/

point B: http://www.ohanabelltown.com/

—

having just come off the shortkut/fourcolorzack show the other night, anthony and i decided to move around a little today and take gigs at two spots where we worked for about 8 hours straight (excepting a 30-minute point A to point B interlude). we won us a few heinies, lindt chocolate, two plates of sushi (don’t worry, there was a tip!), and a driveby conversation with the CHEEBA HAWK. but when the gist isn’t enough:

i get a text from anthony at 2pm. wayne smith is on repeat. this is seng’s fault. maybe zack’s. before i get in the shower, my phone reads,  ”got us a gig + coming over” and by the time i’m done, he’s at the door, peeking through our door glass. we sort through some songs and decide to head out early because adam the bartender is calling from baltic. he needs manpower to move the stage back to its initial place since we moved things around for the shortkut show. excited to tell us that he scored a cable tv hookup for the club, we carry out our task with campbell brown draping the projection screen.

he gives his thanks, and we shoot to guitar center. anthony tells me he needs red serato vinyl. there’s something about them that keeps the dust off. while he examines his purchase, i’m caught up looking at the samplers, midi controllers, beat machines, and synthesizers. everything costs a chunk. someday. i will wake up and they will be at the foot of my bed, smiling.

anthony goes, “are you hungry?” and before i say yes, he says, “there’s a blue moon burger downstairs.” the burgers are relatively small and they cost a fiver, but they’re seasoned. plus you can taste the peanut oil. worth it? shrug…to-a-nod. hints of regret betray our shit-eating grins

job one!

gems is a sneaker and apparel boutique at the corner of 1st and western in pioneer square, close to the piers and snowboard connection. the first thing i notice is the space, and a quote far to the back end, a message above the register, white over black. it is something about the value of imagination over knowledge, attributed to einstein. there are pieces by a single featured artist on one whole wall to the right, and an indented strip of mirror behind very nice looking shoes on one whole other, all under fluorescence. right in front of the window is an elevated platform, a keyboard stand, and an empty deck coffin looking over a leather couch and a pair of tapco monitors. they BUUUUUMPPPPP. this is where we set up shop and thank john and the other folks for being so gracious to offer us wine and champagne to go with our truffles. gems will be around. go see!

after about three and a half hours, we pack up and head to broadway, passing through the cross-section at pike where just a few days before a good many of us celebrated history in the streets and left our garbage. we park at the shell, and anthony leaves me in the car for a couple minutes and heads for anyplace but the shell. soon as he comes in and shuts the door, this one guy comes straight up to the car and knocks on the driver’s side window. needless to say he’s holding an envelope.

anthony: what’s up

(guy hands over envelope)

guy: this is shell only.

anthony: all right thanks.

guy: way to get it impounded, son.

anthony: okay….dad!

(quite a long moment, anthony is close to rolling his window all the way up, and then)

guy: smart ass!

we’re a few blocks down the street, and anthony is curious about his ticket. “if this shit costs me more than thirty-five, we’re going back.” he opens the envelope, looks, and tosses it aside. “cool!”

job two:

by 9:30 we’re in bell town. if we skip forward fifteen minutes, then we’ve found parking. we’re greeted by a big, wide man with a big, brown bead necklace. his name is thaddeus, and he points us to a smaller, yet just-as-wide man, who sets us up in the corner with a pair of house decks and a bunch of cords. they check our id’s to be sure, and by 10 we’re playing wayne smith again.

i wanna believe i heard the sushi chef introduce himself as hideki. he hooked it up with the crunchy rolls, and told us not to worry about it, but even esteemed guests have to understand that work like that should not be accepted without charge. we tipped him. the small, wide man asked us what we were having to drink. when we said “just waters,” he looked at us like together, we were gay. we said we’ll order our beers later in the night. perhaps that reassured him. by 1:15, we was breaking down, ready to grab our cut, when nick comes in out of nowhere. he wants us to join him at twist, where there’s a birthday. when we decline, he offers up the rest of his dro.

while we’re outside, a man – let’s just call him the ‘cheeba hawk’ – swoops in, asking “what that is right there?” nick asks him if he wants to hit, and he asks, “can i? is that cool?” he looks at me. “is that cool?” i tell him it’s not mine, and he takes it, telling us with some gravity how bad a day it’s been. a man had tried choking him on the dancefloor. i thought about the time at the war room when it happened to me, and we let him hang around for a minute, not catching his name. when we part, nick tell us it’s nice seeing us, and anthony and i turn around and head for the car, amidst all the yelling, scrambling, and lights.

my life…

…well not really, but back before last year i could picture myself doing something like this.

Slumdog Millionaire

ill.

Flashbacks of a Fool

This movie looks very similar to something that I would like to write someday.

(monologue over ending scene)

you pass by. you forget. at least you want to, but you know you shouldn’t.

life changes, and you want to find that gold. you already spilled most of it in the river and are frantically trying to sift for again. this time you don’t have a pan, you are using your bare hands.

so i keep wondering. solitude does that shit. so does midnight over the five twenty. so does the beautiful divide it creates. one side an endless mirror, the other pulsed by the pain of the world.

it’s a heavy risk and the bet isn’t over. so onward and over. i drive over, over, over the previous twenty two years and four months of my life. everything changes again. you just keep losing friends. you lose your friend of thirteen years and shit is never the same. not to you at least. outside looking in, it will be alright. but no, not to you.

you postpone life for a second and look back. tom scott’s saxophone is uplifting.
broken tears well up, but don’t leave. i know why this is happening and try to let go, but you really can’t.

then you do and you breathe.

(photograph montage)

few were there through it all. grade school, middle school, high school, college. it seemed forever when you were a kid. you couldn’t wait until you could watch any show you wanted, go anywhere, eat anything, stay up forever and play video games. and this is where people get stuck. so i breathe again.

but when i inhale it happens again. driver’s license, first passenger in my car, saw my first crush, kissed my first love, and regretted my first drink. first time sneaking home at three in the morning and not getting caught. every important song i have ever listened to. every birthday, every reason to have people over on sunday.

i exhale put that saxophone sample back on and take another swig of air.

it burns this time. so i have to stop writing. the shore is eroding, and the seattle sky is crowded by those dark grey clouds.

so now it’s labi siffre’s turn to teach me something.

and i wonder.

my greatest dreams are coming true. problem is, my worst nightmares are too.

so this is my song, and no one can take it away. it’s been so long, but now you’re here. here to stay.

but you’re not.

see you later.

(over ending credits)

“I may not always sing in tune
And sometimes you don’t hear me
But you don’t have to be near me
To know that I’m singing

This is my song
And nothing can make it die
It’s been so long and it’s stronger
I know why
And I wonder if you really, really know
That as long as I live I will sing my song for you”

on trying to recall a dream i had just now

i only woke up with the feelings. i want to know how i got here, alert and eager to recall. squinting doesn’t help. when i close my eyes again, i don’t see anything but colors, and they begin to swirl when i rub my temples. i try biting my lip and shaking my head. i know it had to be good. otherwise i wouldn’t be making the effort.

it can only grow fainter

sunday, sunday, sunday

if you open the blinds

you can see their suits

from down the street

it takes a while

the sun shines off their watches

and they disappear

beneath  the shingles

before the doorbell rings

once

and again

they just want to talk

about God and the world

how could you be so selfish?

(ecstatic)

i don’t know why i can’t be satisfied with one.
one night, one sketch, one poem, one woman.
it can tear you apart, chasing. chasing. searching, and running towards something that you know you shouldn’t chase.
it will just bruise you up more. it knows it can.

i slide up the stairs, a heavy glow surrounding my lungs and let autumn bite my neck. three lights on. i shut them all off and my eyes are too slow to adjust. for one second i fall into a pitch chamber.

i wonder what it’s like the be complacent sometimes, but then i keep wondering about everything else and it turns into another sinister spiral. everything, every mistake, every wish, every curse, every triumph, and every loss. every loss, to remind me.

but maybe i can, if i want to be. i’ve been fighting with two kingdoms and maybe i can find a place right there. diplomacy.

okay… okay okay.

my prediction. kanye’s new album will be successful in the numerical sense that’s pretty much a given. i have a feeling this new album is on some The Love Movement level. initial hate will melt away after a bit and this album will really sink it’s teeth in.

that’s my word (c) keak da sneak

oh and 88 Keys & Kid Cudi are next in line to change the game. I’ve been saying that about Cudi since my homie Esteban put me on his single, and I finally listened to the 88 Keys Mixtape. game over.

Kid Cudi

88 Keys

gran torino

Gran Torino

so clint eastwood just dropped us a trailer for his new movie, gran torino. let me just say this first, this movie looks bad ass. the whole leathered old war hero with a gun, defending helpless neighbors scenario is dope. the only thing is, he’s defending new asian neighbors and is racist. it looks like he gets over his racism, and fights teenage asians in a civic. and will ‘by any means necessary’ them until the ending credits.

anyways, the reason i feel ambivalent towards the movie is because it is an example of everything i was taught in american ethnic/asian studies classes. basically, this movie is another ‘white man saves the helpless minority.’ this becomes troublesome because media representation of asians is already less than stellar, and trust this movie will get a lot of burn.

roger, alex, thoughts?

today!

there’s a screening of charlie kaufman’s directorial debut, “synecdoche, ny” at the metro in the u-district. charlie (himself) will be there for a post-screening Q&A of the film, which he also wrote. one of my friends has an extra pass. i want to go. driving there won’t cost so much.

here’s a (link to the) trailer -

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XIizh6nYnTU

 

i also wanted to say hello to richard and alex: hey guys