i noticed something

the other day about a constant need to represent

to record what i see

the hawks circling above the dry grasses

looking west 

toward the pacific

all the meta

matches

our need to express and be seen

uprising

Bob Marley Uprising

heard in conversation

it's random noise. it doesn't matter what happened before.

i'm talking to the best thing in america.

heard on the street

what's really going on here?

(to be fair, was heard at atlas cafe by the punky cute barista girl who always plays good music)

this sentiment echoes, however, morning song (sorry, this program interrupted for a music break). i'm really too exhausted on ideas to continue. you get what i mean. about what's really going on here.

dedicated to all beings from all galaxies who pass by 21st street, sanfrancisco, earth

asiento, look them up, go there, is a bar/joint on bryant and 21st; the mural on the building (haven't found out artist to credit yet) is purple and dark blue swirls with planets and a bunny moon and an astronaut monkey; and they serve drinks and light food in an amicable, unpretentious, great dj setting. so i recommend it highly. and they have a sign that says drinking alcohol may lead to unwanted pregnancy, which is cheeky at least.

there hasn't been much street noise or wisdom lately. the leaf blowers, the trash trucks, and i did hear a car alarm night before last. when i rule the world car alarms will only be allowed to sound like giant ants in bad sci fi movies. said hola to the tamale lady today on way to trabajo. passed the pupusa stand, no sexy dads today. yeah, hmm. the noise outside has died down, leaving a lot of room for inside noise.

banjo, day 296

the neighborhood. banjo player just walked by the window. it's a good thing,
change. music. friendship. something to look forward to. hate the screams though, like in my old neighborhood periodiacally you'd hear a really bad car crash. and then silence. fuck.

hustlin'

looking for fire

and, ease