My friend’s butt dial was nothing of the sort. Thinking of me, and loving me over the span of decades, he dialed my number and held his smartphone in air, surrounded by thousands of fans, that I might hear the music I love.
Dancing is better with a corn dog in each hand
Corn dogs flew high for three minutes and sixteen seconds. I burned the rule book to the ground. My friends were absorbed by the music.
Tibet via North Philadelphia
My gut tells me the signs are half art, half reminder and half hopeful introduction.
Tequila, cops and grace
Tequila, rubbed on scabs, often results in the boys in blue showing up to make suggestions.
The futile fury of a final letter
The arithmetic of Abraham, plagiarized from that textbook, would be a phosphorous round tracing every word spoken from the stage.
It all begins with the word
In the quiet, he said six words and left: “It all begins with the word”. Despite being an artist, my mind has always made my hands appear to be hopeless blobs. In one second, my blobs were made eunuchs, but my mind was freed.
Dirty hands drawing a circle
Closer to the water, the mud, sand and muck that coat the rocks begins to cover one’s hands and, with the passing of enough time, begins to dry on the skin.
Mindfulness, meditation, chance and The Village Vanguard
I always knew The Vanguard would be down stairs. Not sure how. Not even sure when it came into my field of vision. I just knew the music would be closer to subway trains.
A great artist doesn't need to leave a single great artwork in his wake
Lou Reed’s face was smashed against the Plexiglas door of a sheet-metal newsstand box at the corner of 61st Street and 9th Avenue. He had passed away seven days earlier.
Three stories being told at once
Further imagine that musician playing at least two of the instruments at one time, seemingly writing three different stories concurrently.
Ten hours in Madrid
I booked the least expensive flight I could find. Travel time between Philadelphia and Bologna was scheduled for almost one full day with a single eight hour layover in Madrid.
Scribbleheads
A woman in Missouri responded to my scribbled Hemingway photo by asking me what I had against Santa Claus.
Skate Hog
Street art is proof that some voices will not be ignored. They will sing anywhere and at any time, like tree roots forcing their way through the joints of an underground pipe in search of water.
I type with two middle fingers
The entire BuzzFeed experience is an auto-erotic möbius strip of intellectual delusion that I’m too stupid and arrogant to create and too curious not to inject.
Hillbillies love Salvador Dali
Dubois Pennsylvania is to Hillbillies what Williamsburg Brooklyn is to Hipsters — a Mecca of insulated culture with its own language, fashion, attitude and values. Both populations share a common love, however.