GOODness

You know what's good? I'll tell you what's good: Sleepytime Gorilla Museum. They are quite enjoyable live. Not too dark and they don't take themselves too seriously. But damn, can they bust out with a pile of crazy songs all in five different time signatures. You thought the Ramones were non-stop madness. No.

I'll tell you what else is good: Bukowski. But not too much, because then you start being meaner to people and thinking about gross things. Dude.

Here's what else is good: North Beach in San Francisco.
My friend Isaac and I attended the grand opening of "The Beat Museum" a few nights back and it was swell. Then we went across the street for a beer and wrote stuff and shouted things at passing tourists, from the perfectly ideal picture window we sat at. You can open it. You could even jump out if you wanted to. And make declarations. It's less than 10 feet down, but you could fling yourself from it without serious injury.

Here's what I wrote:

The horses were inside out
because I willed it so.
I played her piano like the mongoose that it was.
When up on the moose-top I spattered and splayed,
Saturday's swahili sinkholes
destituted my morose ankle bites.
Behold! I lamented,
across freedom boxes and bozo noses.
The playwrite fiddled his way through
anti-Jehovah meltdowns.
This cafe is a beltloop
in the eyes of Medusas's landspeeder.

Roses, both chocolate, threw themselves groundward
towards feet and sidewalk sewer slots,
only to miss their mark entirely
and land on Stevie Wonder's epiphanies,
all coiled to infinity and rolled up
for God's ready judgements.