Bleach.

Aren't ladybugs supposed to be red? I'm seeing more than usual, and they're all this faded beige color. They still have spots. Did they come out with a new model?

I saw a junky shooting up under a tree today. When you see someone under a tree from a distance, you think it's someone finding a little peace among the chaos. Actually, I thought this person shouldn't be sitting there because the city puts rat poison--

Okay, I just left in the middle of that sentence. I thought the school was on fire, but when I got there, it was just a bunch of firemen looking for something to do. So before coming back home, I stopped at Dawn's. She was hosting a BBQ in the forrest of a back yard she's got over there. It's one of those rare oasis (oasises?) in brooklyn surrounded by towering concrete walls and neighbor's windows. There were tiki torches. We spoke of the local rents, and plan to play board games in the future. Her fella just took the Bar. I told her roomate about the guy shooting up under the tree, and she countered with the story of finding human feces in their doorway when the lock was broken for a spell. I need to make better eye contact when I'm uncomfortable. It's a dead giveaway.
And about that guy...

The city puts rat poison in this little park, and posts signs as a warning. Once I saw the necktie wrapped around his arm, and what was in his other hand, I figured rat poison was nothing to this guy. On my way back home, I looked to see if the guy was still there. He was, and the necktie was around the other arm. Was this symmetry for a balanced high, or just a search for a working vein? I guess the latter since he was also barefoot.

Thousands in Queens still without power.

I had this dream last night. The fine details have escaped me for the most part, but one point was new to me. I existed in what I believe was a TV show. A situation came up where I was supposed to work with some people that I had a bad experience with the last time I worked with them, and was ready to quit if I had to do it again. But here's where the TV show part comes in; I realized it might be a rerun. I asked someone in charge if it was a rerun, but she naturally had no idea what I was talking about since she didn't realize we lived in a TV show. However, I saw the date written on her clipboard had the year 2005, so I had my answer. I didn't have to quit because nothing new was going to happen.

I went to check out Christain Gibbs' latest project tonight at Pete's, but I couldn't fit into the closet they call a performance space. I heard one song while squeezed into the hallway with other latecomers, and while what little I could hear was beautiful, I couldn't stay. He's already outgrown that room. I tried, even though I hate saturdays.

I just put a guitar together from spare parts. It could use some major adjustments, and will be a good guitar for practicing nut and fret repairs.

Tangents.

Have I lost my mind? Okay, so lately I've been obsessed with guitar-building. I forgot all about wanting to be a luthier when I was a kid, and suddenly, after coming into possession of a guitar that needed a lot of help, it's all come back to me. I have assembled a living room floor full of guitar pieces. I have researched schools. I have come up with a guitar design, and have even made a computer representation of it. I have worked out a materials list, source list, and build-cost per unit. I have the electronics all thought out. I even have a company name. This kind of random tangent is what the opportunity of time brings. I need to make a list of things to do tomorrow that don't involve guitars.

I also started looking up luthiers because I was thinking about an apprenticeship. In the process, I learned that my old guitar guy in Philly died of leukemia a few years ago. I hate leukemia.

I thought the sound was crappy.

I crushed three of my fingers, and over extended my left knee. Somewhere in between, I mixed 15 bands. There's something perverted about paying money so your band can play in a contest of bands. You're going to have a hard time convincing me you are in a band for the "love of music" when you so clearly are trying, at financial expense, to have a bunch of industry C-listers tell you you're better than a bunch of other bands who are also trying to do the same thing. Still, it is close to the line. Paying to play in a festival is common and acceptable. And I don't have a problem with bands wanting to be successful. It's the paying of money to have people rank you. To quote one of my favorite book titles, "what's this got to do with music, anyway?" This revelation explains why I refuse to enter photography contests that have an entrance fee. A fine line.

I got attacked by a mosquito last night. I woke up with a swollen right index finger (since crushed), and a big red bump on my right knee. I'm allergic. I sat on my bed a 4am looking for it. I wanted to crush this mosquito, and see my blood come out of it. I have since been bitten on each elbow.

The 4th is always a solitary night for me. While everyone else barbecues and parties and blows things up, I'm thinking about a late friend, and searching for the perfect fireworks picture. I don't think I got it this year. I was late to the river, and couldn't see much. And I really could have used a 50mm. I'm thinking McCarren Park might be good next time. I'm only writing this part as a reminder for next year. And what about that "cracking down on illegal fireworks" crap? I've never heard such explosions.

I worked 20 hours on thursday. Haven't done that since the studio days. I was much younger then.

The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
with conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
a mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame,
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
with silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

-Emma Lazarus (1883)

Putting it all together.

I'm finally making progress in the goal of having a physical "thing" I can hand people to show some of my pictures. I know three people with today as a birthday. They don't know each other. NASA's planning a big fireworks show for the 4th. That picture up there is from Thailand. There was this couple a few huts down that was always naked. I think they were french. It was six years ago.