weak all week

he's all i've been able to listen to this week. winter blues are fast approaching. i wish he was around still.
i'd loiter outside of his apartment but i live too far to even bring flowers to his wall.

friendsgiving

alex made this montage of stills from our veggie thanksgiving!
vegan brownies and bitches brew. love love love.

maude

beach comber

tilda lindstam. photos by hanneli.

a series of small victories

"I've never been lonely. I've been in a room -- I've felt suicidal. I've been depressed. I've felt awful -- awful beyond all -- but I never felt that one other person could enter that room and cure what was bothering me...or that any number of people could enter that room. In other words, loneliness is something I've never been bothered with because I've always had this terrible itch for solitude. It's being at a party, or at a stadium full of people cheering for something, that I might feel loneliness. I'll quote Ibsen, "The strongest men are the most alone." I've never thought, "Well, some beautiful blonde will come in here and give me a fuck-job, rub my balls, and I'll feel good." No, that won't help. You know the typical crowd, "Wow, it's Friday night, what are you going to do? Just sit there?" Well, yeah. Because there's nothing out there. It's stupidity. Stupid people mingling with stupid people. Let them stupidify themselves. I've never been bothered with the need to rush out into the night. I hid in bars, because I didn't want to hide in factories. That's all. Sorry for all the millions, but I've never been lonely. I like myself. I'm the best form of entertainment I have. Let's drink more wine!" -cb

pearl

owen snapped these photos of me on his diana camera. we crawled to the penn queen diner after drinking our faces off and playing a show on halloween. maybe the first time ever that janis joplin and a zombie sat down for breakfast. eggs cure all.

yellow flowers

these are from a gallery opening/small bailey hounds show on south street.
i took photos of everything but the art and the bailey hounds.

tiny white bombs

sometimes 

i can’t take it

i get so 

paranoid.

not about epidemics

cell phones and brain tumors

a husband killing his five children

his wife

himself

but about the

dearly beloved,

we are gathered here

today’s.

not the thieves

the people after your money

your sex

your youth

not about someone taking

what is mine

nothing is mine

and you can’t take anything

of importance anyhow.

but my teeth

I fear my gums are

pulling a w a y

from my teeth

as the ocean pulls away

from the sand

as children pull away

from hugs

and kisses

as you pull away

from yourself.

sometimes

i fear they will pull away

and pull away

until my teeth

are set free

from my mouth

dropping

like tiny white bombs

to the floor

to the back of my throat

into my stomach, perhaps

into my own hands.

the ones that are left will

wear away

getting smaller

and smaller

every

day

until they eventually grind

to dust

to nothing.

sometimes

I can’t take it

I get so

paranoid.

 *an original poem written about a year or two ago

a nice heart & a white suit & a baby blue sedan

lots of fun, little sleep, more bruises. bunch of photos from our show at the downtown in red bank, we played a cancer benefit there the other week. felt good. the sound tech was amazing. crashed at jude's eerily awesome lake house. woke up at 6am for the trek home. ate cold eggs. watched owen smile in his sleep. watched john drive while sleeping.