Sunday, August 14, 2011
from which the baloney comes
The fresh country baloney at Cochon. It's like a map of the moon. A baloney moon.
Patti Smith, Easter
Rise of the Planet of the Apes
Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band, Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J.
Fucked Up, David Comes to Life
Drive-By Truckers, Go-Go Boots
The plate from which the baloney comes.
Patti Smith, "Ghost Dance"
I am newly smitten with Patti Smith's problematic Easter, particularly the cult assimilation jam "Ghost Dance". Ive listened to it 6 times in 2 days. If she asked me to hand out flowers at the airport right now I might do it.
The manager of the Rock N Bowl is so good at hula hoop he replicates the still nucleus of a hydrogen atom encircled by a single, crucial electron, completing his nature.
Cold soba noodles at Whole Foods. Perhaps in their cold, unsalted WFM blandness can grounding be found. I might even have a green tea later to see my baloney consumer Zen process into the cloudland of enlightenment. Or I might go to the pool. Or just fall asleep right here on the couch with the rest of my family. We shall live again. xo,zz,namaste