made by yours truely.

well, that didn't last long. blogspot. hmm...

my time in utah is alomst over.

in other news, i can't stop listening to the octopus project and those dancing days.

maybe i'll move to sweden. (?)

Of Mice and Men...well, one man to be exact.

I just got back from town, where I purchased several mouse traps.They were actually hard to find. Everyone wants more humane live traps now. Not me. I want the old school smash'em in one click Tom and Jerry contraptions, built for real business. If I could have located a large flock of Owls, I would have purchased those as well...probably for a few different reasons as well, but all the same, a gang of Owls for hire or sale are hard to come by, even in these parts where one would think it common...In case you haven't surmised, there are mice in the bunkhouse. I have seen them. I have heard them. Like last night. All night. A nest of mice have decided that my stove would make a nice safe home. They thought wrong. Little do they know that I have been blessed with a rapport with all manner of beasts, so I should have no trouble trapping the punks. Furthermore, with my innate hunting abilites and superior intllect, it will not be hard to go a step further, and not only trap them, but make them pay for keeping me up last night with their sqeaks and meandering about the inside of the stove and clicking on the tile floor. It's true, at first glance, you maybe inclined to believe they have the advantage...after all, they are 1-2 inches in size, they have an average of 10 litters a year, they can run 8 miles per hour, they can squeeze their way into a hole the size of a dime and they can leap 13 inches in height. However, I have an array of chemical, mechanical, and psychological devices at my disposal. They are driven by instinct. I am driven by, no, fueled by a searing thirst for vengenace , an indifference to the fact that "they are just animals", and possibly some sort of personality flaw/mental defect, but that is another matter altogether. Like Rambo said, "They drew first blood, not me." Except he said it a little more mumbled. But I'm getting off topic. Those mice will all be dead in 72 hours. That much can be assured. Having a solid metal rod slamed down on your spine and skull, can't be pleasent...nor can lazily waltzing out into the kitchen at night to look for crumbs, careless and smug becasue you have a nest in/under a stove...only to panic when find that the real tenat of the bunkhouse who you arrogantly thought you could just eventually squeeze out has spent the night in a local hostel, instead leaving a cadre of 15 or so starved Owls to devour you in a frenzy of hoots and feathers. It all dawns on you too late, as the Owls sharp beak rips through the your lower torso, tearing apart your nerves and sending an unbearble amount of pain to the meager brain of yours, you realize "Hey I'm jsut a mouse. It was foolish of me to keep Brad up the other night . I have no right to occupy this Bunkhouse. He does the chores so he can live here. I just try to scrap up his crumbs, have sex in the stove, and drop my feces everywhere to transimit diseases. What a Dum-Dum I am.True, I was jsut surviving, jsut being myself. But I did so at the expense of Brad's health and comfort. How wrong of me. Take me owl, in your sharp beak. Have Charon greet me. May he take me to those miserable depths where I may burn forever and ever for the transgressions I have comitted." Tonight, there will be King-Hell massacre going down in the bunkhouse above the CFI warehouse, a mouse sized Ma Lai. This acheivement will stand as a brutal, hard nosed testament to the sheer will and triumph of the human spirit. Amen.

August ends with an Ayn Rand!!!

http://www.devendrabanhart.com/
"pleasedontletwhatwasgetinthewayofwhatsnext/dontforgetthatwhatstocomehasntcomeyet"

After walking around Moab for 4+ hours & several miles, I returned with $1 Tye Dye shirt, a Grand County Library card(voted best small library in America for 5 years running), The Fountainhead & Assassination Vacation respectively, the remaining ingredients to a helping of Pad Thai which I intend to whip up tonight, and a series of blisters on my feet.

http://hypem.com/artist/devendra+banhart

Bee Hold!

“… solitude is not a private therapeutic place. Rather it is the place of conversion, the place where the old self dies and the new self is born, the place where the emergence of the new man or new woman is born...solitude is the furnace of transformation. Without solitude we remain victims of our society and continue to be entangled in the illusions of the false self."
-Henri Nouwen

So Naomi inquired, and I responded, and becasue I'm lazy this is mostly the body of the aforementioned message.

I am wonderful! I started my office work yesterday, and it has been fun and challenging. I am living in a small (2rooms + a bathroom) apt above the warehouse of CFI, by myself...well, there are a few mice to keep me company. The Apt. is filled with a mystifying early eighties decor, and at times I feel like I'm in a DHARMA bunker. It is so gorgeous out here. I arrived in Moab at night, and walked down to the gas station for some shaving cream. I didn't think much of it. When I woke up the next morning, I was surprised to see mountains surronding town. I was so oblivious to them the night before. It was dark and such... And the people...oh the people...everyone thus far in the office rules. I haven't ventured into town too much yet due to the bike situation (do you know where it went?), but I have a half day tomorrow, and there is a bike shop a ways down the street, so I'm going to do a long hike into town and see what can I scrounge up. But anyways people... on the train, the dude who sat next to me was on his way to the Burning Man, if that tells you anything. He is a photography major, and we talked at length about Art, and Photography, and Chicago. Cool dude. So on the train I hung out with him and about 5 other gypsies on their way to burning man. I'm pretty sure one of them didn't have a social security number nor has he paid taxes in the last...ever. Another dude was a dirty stoner irishman, who came to the states for the 1st time specifically to go to Burning Man. Something to do with his theisis... and his insatiable appetite for gobbling up drugs. He was like straight out of Trainspotting, except he was irish...As soon as I can get some quicker transportation rigged, I'm going to enroll in a free community Yoga class, and there is a music festival here this weekend. Last night, I listend to some smooth jazz on NPR, whilst I drank a Chai Delight I made myself, ate a peach, and finished up reading "the perks of being a wallflower" for the upteenth time. I'll be really glad to get to the library. I have a TV in the bunk house, a dusty old Zeinith, and a VCR, complete with 4 VHS cassette tapes! There's no cable hook up, and I don't forsee myself going through the trouble of jump starting the TV/VCR so I can watch "Field of Dreams" on VHS, so it's jsut NPR for the next 9 weeks, and I'm really excited about that. After I get down screwing aroudn on here, I'm going to go back to the bunkhouse, turn on the radio, fix some Chai, maybe a PB & honey Sandwhich, and paint. I bought some cheap crayoloa water colors and a big pad of paper at the Alco the other day. Alco is the western version of Big Lots, but it's really weird, because there are empty shelves in some places, like no one has bothered to stock in a few weeks, and it has some real nice stuff mixed in with super cheap knock-off things that smell strongly of plastic, bad chemicals, and carcinogens...very shoddy and strange. Jim Morrison was right: The west is the best. I know one person in a 112 mile radius and after that 112 miles, it jumps to states. Mmmm...