Weekend in Brief 22 – 26

Recent weekend debaucheries. Why bother writing it. Why bother reading it.

* * *

AUG 24 Starlite in S.D.

AUG 25 Wake and bake. Del Mar Race Tracks and a Ziggy Marley concert w/ David, Wendy.

AUG 26 Superbad! Dinner w/ Grandma, James, and other strange events.

* * *

AUG 28 Andy Caldwell @ Focus w/ K Dub, Lisa, Oscar, and James.

AUG 29 Lounge out afternoon w/ visiting revelers and Sumo. Welcome Brandon, Aaron, Carolyn. Late night dancing to Gene Farris @ Side Bar / San Diego.

AUG 31 Main course: Boat party w/ the party crew! Bike taxi home.

SEP 01 Bar Dynamite.

SEP 03 Goodbye roommate, Aaron. Dinner and drinks.

* * *

SEP 07 Busby’s w/ Su, Martin, Dave, Willis. Late-nite dining @ Johnnie’s Pastramis.

SEP 08 KBBQ adventure @ Manna w/ Karen, Dave, Willis. Then, V Lounge. Happy BDay, Kat.

SEP 08 Wrapping up @ Cheesecake Factory in Santa Monica.

* * *

SEP 14 Morena Club. Boomer, the bartender, hooked it up.

SEP 15 Wake and jog, swimming. Cookout. DJ Heather @ Balbao Park, then Belo.

* * *

SEP 21 Endless soju @ Min Sok Chon, misadventures and misnomers.

SEP 22 Jack’s in downtown La Jolla, afterparty @ Irving’s.

Decline to State

I started the letter the day yours arrived, addressing each pause,
Found how to break sentences with punctuation
Maybe if you were reading it out loud, your breath might
Pass here and I’d have taken it with guile, what was on your mind.

I threw away the letter I wrote, words were my pretention and
You could tell honesty from conjured emotion, a pair of
Socks beneath my desk distracts me, no more letters
To you today at least not until I re-arrange my things once more.

I put in another paragraph, a month has passed, your letter
Seems to be from another time when it might have made sense
Or reading it over, that you wrote it with mouth
The tongue rolling memories onto palate, what life can be.

I finished this letter six months late, every other sentence
Disjointed and edited by force, if only to finish what was begun,
I cannot say what I had meant to say,
The time capsule returns and hopes you remember.

Shipwreck Bounty

“Turn off your fucking radio.”

I am not inclined to do so. I poke at the dial, dropping the volume, raising it back up. He continues. “Every time I sit in your car, there’s always something playing. We haven’t had a moment of silence. It’s annoying.” He has a point.

I turn it off. “That feels so much better,” he says.

And he’s right.

We talk. About real things, unobstructed. I make a U-turn at the light, drop down El Toro and keep on driving. We are talking about art. Then he asks me where I’m going. “I don’t know.” But in my secret heart of hearts, I do know, it’s down the street and up the mountain, past the biker bar, something else altogether; above us tree branches intertwine and form a natural tunnel. Bucolic, pastoral, enviously didactic.

The lesson: a primer on expectations.

“So what do you think?”

“Yea, actually, yea. I think it really works.”

* * *

Between freeways, after dinner, we slide through Alton and signal on San Marino. “Is this it?” I ask, and he has a look on his face. We’ve been driving an hour, hopping from random inlet to ponderous path, doubling-back, tripling-forward, and spinning in our graves. Quest.

“Do you remember anything?”

Up ahead, we swing in. Ahead, the road breaks off.

We whoop at the same time. Familiar green gates, a park, the swimming pool where we learned how to fly. “Oh my god, I think you found it.” Our car makes a left, makes a right, putters past the cul-de-sac.

“This is where we grew up.”

“Yea! And that’s where I almost got ran over.”


“Do you think we would have turned out differently if we stayed?”

* * *

Goodnight moon. Yip yip. Submarines @ the Echo in L.A. Thanks David. But I lost my CD stumbling out the venue.

Weekend in Brief 21

AUG 10 Belo in San Diego, paying homage to legendary Mark Farina.

* * *

Nearly four weeks abroad on business; Washington and Florida tucked away to a kindling corner, a place where grimness waits to be contained before fires and summer lay waste to disconsolation. I was in a fouler mood, raised to clatter in an airport, stuttering on about disjointed unhingement, and wishing to be anywhere but there when the world and words drop away. It’s over, over and done, done and forgotten. There! From the terminal window, a rocket named Endeavour pushed upwards by a finger of smoke. Tries to make it all worth the while.

* * *

I apologize for not knowing how to react to your advances. Please, keep on trying!