for lack of an update this shall be thorough

So I have a bad memory. This is due to running around and getting mixed up in as many things as possible. I won't say it's a bad habit because it's my day in day out and I have no intentions of fighting it or changing it. I do, sometimes, get shit done. As I am now. The pressure just has to build up enough to effect my tolerance. I think I can highlight the important parts with pictures and a few words. Anything else is unimportant, I forgot it, or it will mean nothing of substance to you or me. I don't know who you are, but I digress.


this is the kitten i stole. well.. i didn't technically steal him; he came into my house, and i kept him overnight.


serious bike death area. near horton plaza if you're biking from the santa fe station area. watch out.

pepper did quite well riding on a motorcycle with me and alex on the way to la jolla cove for snorkeling.

. vegan mac n cheese with bread crumbs. if you want the recipe, let me know. it's fucking amazing.
scraper bikes, shitty bikes, bmx bikes, and fixed gears are frequent migrants in my apartment lately.
lazy afternoons under the trees by the harbor are nice. angel smokes a blunt, and i take cliche camera phone pictures. these are memories i like to recollect.

the kite guy in seaport is legit. biggest kites of my life.

opium tea was a success. this one was kept as a memior because of it's pipe-like shape.

i'm cat-sitting frannie's cats until she finds a new place to live. i forgot how wonderful cats are.. until they knock shit over on you in the middle of the night.
skully is a changed rabbit. he shed his winter coat, and with that, his introverted personality- for the most part. he's now a free range bunny who is completely potty trained. he still enjoys lurking in corners of kellen's room, but he is affectionate and frisky. :)

this frankenstien burrito is my product of using half a burrito angel made me (soyrizo, beans, and avocado) sewn together with half of josh's burrito from La Fuente on University (beans, rice, french fries, quacamole) as well as johs's friend Johnny's re-toasted french fries from carl's jr. it was disgustingly beautiful. Josh ate the whole thing in one sitting, and it was as big as his face and as thick as a large textbook.
this is danny. his traveling kid name is shitbag. he's a good kid who just wants nothing in life. extreme nihilism in the flesh. i'm glad i've been able to see him as of late.

angel and his herd:



bike ride i organized from balboa park to ocean beach with stops to local graveyards along the way, for halloween ride planning

meeting up with friends tia and nicole. :)
serious discussion
friends+bikes+san diego's prettiest spots = the best
stevie and his "VXV" (not to be confused with XVX) power

thinking about jumping..
right before Sol and stevie jumped. the action shots came out shitty.

Jake, josh's new boyfriend. he's a sweet heart.


there were no pictures from last night.. but it was something i need not write down to remember. i just will say that high rise inhabitants of downtown san diego, are scandalous, beautiful, and sassy people. and i like it.

-A.M.

It's the patterns of my temperment, it's the nature of the experiment, they're taking me in increments

today consisted of washing dishes. feeding the rabbit. scrubbing the kitchen. and rushing to bike to the coaster in simple mintutes. josh and i caught the coaster, biked to the beach, and managed to catch zero waves body surfing and flail around like beached whales. it was fun regardless. we convinced my brother to secretly pick us up, go get booze, and get drunk in my old room at my parents house before a distant-relative barbecue in my backyard. vegan catering by don lucios and whole foods. i'm now near complete immobility. tonight will now either consist of spooning in bed, biking to a show at the treehouse on 35th and c, or the midnight madness bike ride, starting downtown near the star of india.

First went wrong is hard to find
We're paralyzed, we apologize
Our hell is a good life
Last went wrong, where's my prize under the lights
Can we call it in?
We'll be on the road
Can we stop?
When we stop my back will turn your face toward the fence
What I thought it was it isn't now
All this weight, is honest worse
We're moderate, we modernize
till our hell is a good life
All we know what to forget... how to do right
Coloring in the black hole
Can't we stop, when we stop
My hands will shake, my eyes will burn
My throat will ache, watching you turn
From me toward your friends
What I thought it was it isn't now
What I thought it was it isn't
Punishment to stall what is done
What I thought was in is missing out
What I thought it was it isn't now
There's a pattern in the system
There's a bullet in the gun
That's why I tried to save you
But it can't be done

an almost made up poem

I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny
blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny
they are small, and the fountain is in France
where you wrote me that last letter and
I answered and never heard from you again.
you used to write insane poems about
ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you
knew famous artists and most of them
were your lovers, and I wrote back, it’ all right,
go ahead, enter their lives, I’ not jealous
because we’ never met. we got close once in
New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never
touched. so you went with the famous and wrote
about the famous, and, of course, what you found out
is that the famous are worried about
their fame –– not the beautiful young girl in bed
with them, who gives them that, and then awakens
in the morning to write upper case poems about
ANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they’ told
us, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybe
it was the upper case. you were one of the
best female poets and I told the publishers,
editors, “ her, print her, she’ mad but she’
magic. there’ no lie in her fire.” I loved you
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have
loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,
but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.
your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all
lovers betray. it didn’ help. you said
you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and
the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying
bench every night and wept for the lovers who had
hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never
heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide
3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you
I would probably have been unfair to you or you
to me. it was best like this.




i think it's quite appropriate to start off a new outlet in the form of syntax with charles bukowski. i am too worn from sneaking into the Marriott to swim and stealing vegan sloppy joe ingredients with josh to elaborate on much- but i have been have frequent dreams of goonie-type adventures, but falling asleep to nostalgic thoughts of bryan casey (whose ashes i have yet to place in the pet cemetery).

-AM