Into Dust

I love the people in this community. People are so sweet. They are like "what's up with Shikow?" when is Slipshod playing next?" and my very favorite "are you okay?"

So it looks like I will tell the nilly-willy with an extra dash of mmmm and gumdrops to boot.

I am good. I am great. Give me another piece of chocolate cake.

I spent the weekend exercising, doing an interview with the artist, Alice Ward, seeing V for Vendatta, and playing tennis with my brother, Paiman, at Fairfax High. It was a nice weekend. I am happy and content.

Right now I am preparing to launch Slipshod on itunes. I don't know how soon we will play out. That really depends on Slipshod. I am sure we can decide that on the 14th, when the gang gets back together to record Mars or Bust, the Soundtrack.

I would like to play basements, Hollywood parties, and the occasional coffee shop. So if you want us to play at your house, just invite us. We'll play. No bar mitzvahs though. It's more like, 'Hey, I love this band. We don't have to listen to their record. Here they are in my living room.' Only thing is, whoever invites us, has to sing at least one song with the group, or be prepared to have a song written about them on the spot.

Funny, funny, Little C says.

Sure, sure, I reply.

Yeah, so that's Slipshod. I contacted itunes, and they gave me a list of digital indie labels, who could escort me to itunes and all the possibilities it holds, and for that, I am grateful.

As far as Shikow, I will be doing the Cyndi Lauper shorts pretty soon. That is if Gabriel films them with me. Who knows? I might just direct these things myself.

In other news, I know I performed open heart surgery. It was necessary. No worries. Just stressful thoughts. None of them new. Just the same ones coming around to say peekaboo. Now they are quiet.

I have Langston Hughes, Charles Bukowski, and Idries Shah on my bed. A strange combination. I have been enjoying the Bukowski very much. He was so sad, but such a beautiful writer. He captures that personal downtrodden tip so well it tears me up and makes me want to reach into the page to lick or hug his shell back together again.

Tomorrow I talk to some folks about selling Strategies. I will tell you if... I won't say a word, if...

Too many if's. Not enough wise.
Burn back the bell to Sunday
where well worn boots are dropped
on the pile of dirty clothes.

Might be time for a new pair.
I leave the sandwich half-eaten.
I tear at my back a couple times.
Plenty of bugs. Lack of hugs.

I wish for an encyclopedia with wings.
It can carry me to Timbuktu
and tell me about Toulouse Latrec
shaking in a figure eight.

His eyes against my cheekbones
an answer to all prayers, all the
knees and nays of a hummingbird
beating its wings into dust.

Um...I'm tired. More later...