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August 25, 2005
Grey feelings of poo and pee
Forgive the title - I borrowed the gist it from my friend Katy.
Weird word: gist.
n 1: the central meaning or theme of a speech or literary work [syn: effect, essence, burden, core] 2: the choicest or most essential or most vital part of some idea or experience; "the gist of the prosecutor's argument"; "the heart and soul of the Republican Party"; "the nub of the story" [syn: kernel, substance, core, center, essence, heart, heart and soul, inwardness, marrow, meat, nub, pith, sum, nitty-gritty]
Prolly not the best choice in this context, but hey. Who's reading this anyway?
Anyway - leaving tomorrow for Portland. Ryan's service is this weekend. Ryan Sumner, for those of you who didn't know him, is a kid I met when Deathray toured through Eugene and Portland on a regular basis. He came out to all of our shows, would be the first (sometimes only) one in the audience to encourage us with his "FUCK YEAH!"'s and "RIGHT ON!"'s, invited us to his house, drew us awesome comics, sent us demos of his bands, and was just a really cool individual who I got to know more as the last few years went by. He died a little over a week ago in his sleep. He apparently had a chronic blot-clotting condition, one he had struggled with since childhood. Not too many folks knew, I gather. I won't go into any details. It's just sad and unfair. Of course.
Goddamn it = The last time I saw him, he and the Man Of The Year family stayed on our floors - they were all on a short tour and Ryan came along to help out. The bunch of us had been listening to AC/DC and Van Halen records all night - an unabashedly puerile-rawk kinda night with lots of beer and chips to supplement the laughs. One of the highlights was Ryan, his 6'-(many)" skinny frame splayed out on the couch, claiming the psychedelic mushrooms he took were just now "kicking in". No one knew whether to take him seriously or not, but I kinda had the feeling that duder was putting us all on as a sort of Pabst Blue Ribbon variant of a Situationist prank. Just the slightest of smiles. He just had the razor-sharp-yet-gentle wit buried under a somewhat cultivated stoner/rocker guise. Not fooling me, Ryan. I can see you in there.
Dude was profoundly on. He will be missed greatly. Wish I could have spent more time with him.
Posted by dana at 09:56 PM | Comments (2)
August 22, 2005
Goodbye Bob
Posted by dana at 12:15 AM | Comments (0)
August 19, 2005
Goodbye Ryan
Posted by dana at 12:16 AM | Comments (4)
August 13, 2005
Gerbils and such
My way-too-smart writer friend Jackson Griffith put a nice bit about the new Deathray album up on his blog. Thanks, Jackson. You are the real deal: Here
He asks one legit question: why is Bush the leader of the free world, anyway? Ah, well. You can't always get what you grok.
YOUR FRIEND,
DANA
Posted by dana at 09:22 PM | Comments (0)
August 12, 2005
Greatest American Short Stories
I'm a Rastafarian. I'm in a Starbucks, in the back, by the restroom. I've been here for fourteen days. They haven't noticed. Which seems weird, I guess, but whatever.
The staff here wears headsets by which they communicate with one another and all of the other Starbucks employees on their corporate network. This helps them to run their business more efficiently than previously thought possible. They are very busy - It's no wonder they haven't noticed me, what with all the constant chatter and numbers and flashing lights. The manager has a full bodysuit which is apparently connected to some sort of virtual reality apparatus. During the day, she moves around the dimly lit back room, lightly swiping the air here, hiking her leg up there. It looks like she's dancing. It's beautiful and absurd.
I believe we are in the Last Days. These are the Last Days and soon, something will happen that will change everything. I believe that the ghosts (which are real, they are here, they've always been here) are going insane. They have been driven mad by the radiation in the air, in the spaces between radio towers and car antennae. And they are upset and insane and they will leave this place soon for Somewhere Else. When they do leave, the earth will be dried out and hollow. Because the ghosts are the only ones left who are taking care of us, who are looking over us and helping us to understand this place. They are the ones who give us music and fire and mystery and passionate love. Now, they are tired and crazy and they can't hold on to the spinning world any longer - they're leaving. Without the ghosts, we are so fucked. For instance: Who will help us find our way to Heaven when we die? The ghosts won't be there to show the way, and the dead souls will sink to the bottom of the ocean floor. It's Prophecy.
I drink a lot of coffee and huddle under the table at night to keep warm. It's really pretty comfortable. I have a home out there in the woods, but I think I'd rather stay here, it feels safe. At night, the golden street lamps shine in through the big plate windows. I've been reading the Bible and the local newspapers and keeping myself mentally prepared. Sometimes, past midnight when the parking lots are quiet and the logging trucks have driven away, I can hear the ghost voices outside. It's a very high, thin frequency, but I have been blessed with good hearing, Jah Liveth.
At first, I couldn't hear beyond the carrier wave signals, but after a few nights of concentration, I began to perceive a definite pattern of sounds. Now I can hear it: The ghosts are weeping and singing to themselves. I can't make out what they are singing. It gets a little louder (and lasts a little longer) every night. I can't see the ghosts, of course, but when I hear them like this, I picture them blind, drifting into one another, with arms outstretched, wailing, looking for comfort, or reason.
I think one day soon, the ghost voices will carry on into the sunrise and won't stop until they've stopped for good: Prophecy. And the staff here won't come in to work. The networks will be silent and the trucks will sputter and when this happens, here is what I will do: I will walk out of this Starbucks, shield my eyes against the sunlight and cross the parking lot into the woods.
Posted by dana at 12:54 PM | Comments (0)
