Wednesday, November 11, 2009

You Love Owls

I'm like the aunt who found out that you like owls, so she buys you every owl-related trinket, for every holiday.

Even though you only kind of liked owls and that was like 10 years ago.

Thank You, Portland


I"ll burn something down, just like I promised.


Oh, and if you want to get a quality, vegan tattoo in the Pacific Northwest, you gotta go with my besties at Scapegoat Tattoo

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Portland Wife

(This photo was foud in the lavatory ashtray of my flight from Portland to LA earlier today)





Im going to Portland


to find a girl to marry LA girls are stuck-up

bitches


with fake jobs

and

hair


Me and Portland wife are gonna have a garden


where we will bury the Hollywood sign forever

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Thug Life

I've been trying to convince myself that it is since 1993.
via ohwrd

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Monday, October 26, 2009

Vampre Weekend: Contra

Fuck you, I'm excited...

Vampire Weekend perform Cousins live on Canadian MTV


Cousins, Horchata, California English; all song titles from the new record. They think they're proper Angelinos or what, ese?


Monday, October 19, 2009

This is what Cuba wraps our Vicodin in

vicodin in, vicodin in, vicodin in,
That sounds sounds funny
like a Puch mo-ped with after-market pipes
burping to a start on Normal Ave. and Virgil

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Murderholics Anonymous


God grant me the serenity to murder the things I cannot change


the courage to steal the things I can



and the innate awesomeness to know the difference



-a-woman

Friday, October 2, 2009

Chord Organ Blues


Everything's BIG in Texas


You know it's true


I think I might have made a big mistake

Kurt & Me


Kurt Cobain was a child of the 1980's


I grew up, mostly in the 1990's


Kurt Cobain was an American Songwriter and Rock musician that was revered and loved by millions across the World.


I work in an office


Kurt left this life, as many others in his vocation, at the glorified age of 27


I, myself, have gone on to reach the dubious age of 30


Mark Twain, who was once called "The father of our national literature", wrote the following: "I have never wanted any released friend of mine restored to life since I reached manhood"

Mr. Clemens, I concur.

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

list no.2 things I saw on my walk home from the factory


1. A dead black poodle puppy in a basket


2. A fox-like creature that was so decomposed that it was basically a jawbone and a fox shaped pile of fur that had mixed with the litter and discarded syringes from Alameda


3. The body of a French Bulldog wearing a collar with a small bell (like a kitten might wear) around its obviously broken neck


4. A paperback, meant for pre-teen girls, entitled What's your Guy-Q?


5. This is mostly a list of dead dogs :(

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

list no.1 splitting up




1. Downtown



-Bar 107, La Cita, Pete’s Café, Banquette-mine



-L.A. Café, The Down n’ Out, Bermuda Café-yours



-Stuart’s apartment first floor and balcony-mine



-Stuart’s apartment second and third floor-yours



-Brooke’s apartment-split



-The Smell-mine



-Five Star Bar-yours



-Warung café- split



-Main St. between 4th and 7th-mine



-Main St. between 7th and Olympic-yours



-Spring St.-split



-MOCA Grand Ave-mine



-Museum of Neon Art-yours



-Geffen Contemporary-split



-Pershing Square during summer and spring-yours



-Pershing Square during ice skating season-mine



-Little Tokyo-mine



-Arts District-yours



-China Town-split (except for Hop Louie-mine)







2. Echo Park



-Little Joy-mine



-Short Stop-yours



-Gold Room-mine



-El Prado-split



-The Park for jogging-mine



-The Lake for paddle boating-yours (this was a tough concession)





3. Silverlake



-mostly mine



-Intelligentsia on Sunset-mine!!!



-Flore-mine



-Vegan House-yours



-Farmer’s Market on Lucille-yours



-Sunset Junction Festival-mine





4. The West Side



-Santa Monica, you can have it-yours



-The Marina-mine



-Abbot’s Habit Coffee Shop-yours



-Intelligentsia on Abbot Kinney-split



-The Brig-yours



-The Other Room-yours



-Rooster Fish-split



-Westminster between Abbot Kinney and Main-yours



-Westminster between Main and the beach-mine







5. Trader Joe’s



-Silverlake-mine



-Culver City-yours



-South Pasadena-split (we may need to go there someday)





6. Whole Foods



-On Santa Monica-yours



-On Fairfax-mine



-On Lincoln-split




Author's Disclaimer: This list is but a joke. I love you very much and I hope you are doing splendidly. If it was up to me we would co-habitate harmoniously in all of our favorite spots across the city and the world. Infinite Xs and Os.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Compton Baby


I find a lot of good shit. I remember the night I found this prison letter. It was Summer and Greg's friends were gathering at an ancient Downtown watering hole which had recently been made new again by promises of continued
yuppie influx and expertly trained mixologists, fluent in the language of nostalgic libations and spirits of yester-year.

We gathered to see
Greg off to La Ciudad de Mexico. I was nervous. Steffi would surely be amongst the well-wishers. I brought gifts. A billfold of crocodile leather for the nearly departed and for Steffi I arranged a bottle of French perfume and a book of poetry that was very uniquely American.

I found the letter, which originated in prison and was bound for an outsider, on a strip of Los Angeles Street that transforms nightly to a sort of hobo encampment. I picked up the still-sealed envelope and slipped it into a designer bag which, much like the letter, I had no business carrying.

It wasn't until weeks later that I opened the letter to an audience of 2 on the Intelligentsia patio.

The letter was authored by an
incarcerated individual who referred to himself as Compton Baby.
Compton Baby wrote, with much tenderness, to a man he called New Orleans

Black people really love to refer to
each other by the names of cities that they may be associated with.

Black people love to call me Red. I know this and I do not try to discourage it. Sometimes people call me Ginger. I don't really mind this either. I
don't mind what you call me as long as it's not Late for Supper


Below I've included images of the actual letter along with a
transcription. Please see my translation notes in red.






What’s up New Orleans: (This should be a comma but who’s counting?)




Well hom’me (homie?)




When you get this letter it fine (find?) you & your family in the best of God(‘s) Care.

So


How did you like the program? It(‘)s better then(than) jail anyday as you know

I’m getting ready for trail(unless his jailers are preparing him for a forced cattle drive through the barren West, I think he means trial) anyday now
Say(,) David man it’s time for something new cause the game down there is over with


It’s time to think on bigger thing(s) hom’me life is to(o) good when you give it a chance


Man I


Been down here 9mo fighting this dope case with no dope or no mark(ed?) money ,(.) I see them trying them giving people program with dope & mark(ed?) money I cant get a good lawyer to push it for me

Out come but that’s(oh, NOW he embraces the rules of the contraction) how the ball go(I think this is a mangled metaphor of some sort) but one thing us meeting I kept it real with you when you left me (WARNING: this where the letter veers tragically gay!!!) I made sure you had yours ( I bet, Pal)

That’s what real brothers do by keeping it real you don’t find to(o) many like me ! That’s why I’m a “Soldier” Wooole(I think this word is a an antyempt at using a artifact of Southern vernacular. They use this word similarly to the way we may use “dude”)

Brother When I get out of here hopefully soon we have to really kick it on some real brother shit Compton & New Orleans you know?

Well baby Boy I gotta look over some of my paperwork (what he’s crunched for time? Too much paper work? Is he a fuckin’ Tax attorney now?)hoping to get my lawyer to really help me


Your Real Homm’me(Homie),

Compton

Monday, September 14, 2009

i'm not sad


The shaman at The Million Dollar Pharmacy explained that my best bet would be to put a hex on you so that you become fat. Concerned about your health, I inquired, "Exactly how fat?".


"very, very fat", he explained. I had already paid the $60 and I had decided that this was no time to worry about small details like cardio vascular health.


I chuckled when I realized that the monatary cost for casting the Santaria spell was almost the exact amount in US Dollars that you will soon spend daily at KFC.


There are paralells everywhere if you are open to recognizing them.


XO,

V.O.C.

(no, stop, don't)

Saturday, September 5, 2009

This trick you do


You have this trick


where you make everyone around you bat-shit crazy


While you stay perfectly sane...



It's a fucked up trick

Thursday, September 3, 2009

journal entry

06/03/09

I rode to work today. Because I haven’t touched my bicycle in so long it had begun to atrophy, its muscles were tired and it’s tires low.

Maria was sleeping in the other room.

As I pumped, a repetitive thumping pulsated from the hallowed wood floor, filling the apartment. It sounded like an oak-limbed pirate splurging his scurvy in rhythm, his one non-patched eye rolling back in his skull.

Once the pirate had cum and my tires had firmed I rode away.

The pre-storm California air felt good on my skin. The hills propelled me west and Melrose hugged my left side.


You were on my mind. A week ago we had arrived in Paradise, my paranoia had begun to subside and my calf-skin loafers had begun to fill up with sand as white and squeaky as lab mice. Your normally pin-straight hair splayed down your back, curving from the humidity. Your nose was shiny and your eyes were clay-red and speckled as ever.

I thought about your colors. My cogs spun and La Cienega fast approached.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

burgers n' shit


The miniature pink flowers that fall onto the patio at the Intelligentsia





on Abbott Kinney


are the exact same tiny flowers that live inside of brand-new crack pipes.





on 7th and Main...




This is so





they may be sold, by donut shops and burger stands, as cylindrical, glass tiny flower casings.

Z O R A N I A


Monday, August 31, 2009

Sedona Brand Cat Nip

People always find it odd when I tell them how I grew up on a cat nip farm in Arizona. I tell them that a cat nip farm is really no different than any other working farm, no different than a dairy farm or a cattle ranch. No different than a farm that grows apples in orchards or oranges in groves. It’s just that our farm specialized in a peculiar crop…cat nip. Of course, cat nip isn’t peculiar to my family, The Gimbels have been slangin’ nip in the desert for four generations and other than a few acres of Dogwood my father planted in the North 40 many years ago, that’s all we grow.
The subsequent line of questioning is usually pointed at the pets we reared. “Was it a household full of cats?” and the answer to that would be no. My father was a dog-man through and through. Big dogs in fact; Alaskan malamutes. The Sonoran Desert is an odd backdrop for an Alaskan malamute. One wouldn’t expect to see such a canine, large and majestic with bushy white and black two-toned fur, all the defining characteristics of a great wolf, there among the saguaros and sage brush. One of our malamutes, named Caleb once killed a neighbor’s pit bull when the dog jumped our fence and threatened several of the area children that my mom would babysit at the time to make ends meet. Caleb grabbed the terrier by the back of the neck and shook the dog ‘till it went limp and its body flailed with the trajectory of the attack. That, however, is a different story, all together.

Friday, August 28, 2009

El Ranchito

Casey and I went to lunch at El Ranchito today.



We took my Olds Mobile because I wanted to take a hit from the Arizona Iced Tea can that I had malformed into a weed pipe.


Casey asked if the Olds was my O.G. car, like from Arizona. I explained that it was from Arizona but it was not my O.G. California car. My O.G. car was a beautiful 1994 Thunderbird, snow white and low to the ground. It was the type of car that Tron would drive when he wasn’t mounting laser bikes that travel at ferocious speeds, leaving laser-colored jet streams in their wake.


I told him that at the time that I drove the Thunderbird my only job was selling pot. This was an awesome job because it left me with lots of time to explore other interests. The only down side was my close proximity to all sorts of other delicious and tempting drugs. These drugs often took a lot of the time for activities that I was afforded by vocational choice of being a pot dealer.


Steffi was in school at the time and I would wake up every morning, after doing lots of exciting drugs the night before, to drive her the 4 or so miles to USC from Downtown.



On one such morning I was returning to our Downtown apartment when I was smashed with a wave of nausea from the previous night’s ecstasy or vicodin or some fucking mix of salvia and opium.


I began to puke out the window and for some reason had a knee-jerk reaction that caused me to swerve the T-Bird to the right every time I leaned my head to the left, to huck out of the window. It was a very strange reaction, the swerve corrected itself in the exact same degree as my head returning to postion, post-huck.


I was pulling into the underground parking lot of the Pegasus building on 6th where I then lived when I spewed one last puke n’swerve, this time hitting an exposed water pipe and screeching to a halt dead center in my own reserved parking spot.


I was concerned that my car was totaled and I was concerned about the water that was now quickly rising in the basement of the Pegasus but my main concern was getting the fuck out of there.


About a week later the manager of the Pegasus called me into his office, leaned very close to me over his big, oak desk and explained that he knew what had happened in the basement.


“I’m not going to do anything, but I know it was you that hit that water main and flooded the basement”


“I just don’t want you to think you got away with it”, he said.


“if you're not going to do anything then I sorta did get away with it”, I thought .

eat my butt

For Chris B:

Really?

You want to me to acquire a fork, a knife and eat your rear-end?

Devour it, consume it like so many chile verde burritos at El Ranchito.

This is what you’d like me to do so that you’d have nowhere to sit?

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Soldier of Crist

Taken in the car park of the American Apparel
World Headquarters, AA employees are far
more religious then I had remembered. I don't
however believe that they will be winning any
spelling bees soon.


About three weeks ago Tory called me and informed me that he had pulled off what I thought to be an impossible task, he had won back for me my coveted slot with American Apparel. I had done a couple fun things during my six month leave but it was no secret that I missed the hustle, the bustle and the off-the-cuff creative flash flood that was an average weekday at the "big, pink factory". It truly was and is an unprecedented corporate experiment; Meryl Lynch on acid, in a tank-thong.
I'm wrapping up my second week. I now share an office at Sequoia with two boys. In the interest of their anonymity I will call my new(and much beloved) office mates Surfer Hulk and Maniac-Face. If you come visit me I will let you break a sweat deliberating which is which.
I remembered a poem, which I wrote merely weeks ago but which has achieved a greater level of obsolescence than the mac mini I use to type this correspondence. If you know me you would know that I believe that obsolescence should never blockade proliferation.



ode to my old job


I used to be a product developer for American Apparel, the greatest fashion label of our generation. A technical designer, really, I fit garments, calculated costing and decided between elastics with the best of them. One day, during a particularly rigorous fitting session, I pricked my middle and index fingers on a straight pin and found that I had technically designed myself out of a job. My factory issue blackberry still in my left hand, nostalgia is often delivered in alternating wafts of sheer jersey and taco truck asada.

rules for new blog

Rules for the new blog: Wee Ginger Cunt doesn’t serve me any longer. I’m a different person now. I’m still a ginger, I will always be ginger, but I’m a different ginger now. I tend to spend less time in the watering holes that birthed a thousand wgc entries; less time in La Cita, less time in Barragins… actually, no time in La Cita or Barragins. I must establish rules so that voices of chastity doesn’t go the way of ginger cunt; stale, offensive. 1. v.o.c. must be about the art, about the writing. 2. I must post whether a project is “complete” or not. These posts should serve as sketches for me and others, building blocks for projects fully-realized. 3. Will I write of records I play and things I buy, as I did with the cunt? Is this relevant? 4. Will I post of books I’m reading? Is this too boring, even though I would see things very differently, therefore write very differently, while reading Voltaire’s Candide, as I am now, then I would while reading Mann’s Holy Sinner, as I just have?

The way eye see it

I claim:1. An assembly for simulating a dilating and constricting pupil in an eye, comprising: a shell comprising a material that is at least translucent to light; and a dilation mechanism comprising a deformable member positioned to contact an inner surface of the shell and an actuator connected to the deformable member moving the deformable member toward and away from the inner surface to vary a size of a contact area between the inner surface and the deformable member. 2. The assembly of claim 1, further comprising a light source directing light onto the inner surface of the shell, whereby the deformable member blocks the light from reaching the inner surface at least at the contact area. 3. The assembly of claim 2, further comprising a pattern on the inner surface including a portion that is illuminated when exposed to ultraviolet light and wherein the light source comprises an ultraviolet light source and wherein the contact area at least partially covers the ultraviolet light portion of the pattern. 4. The assembly of claim 1, wherein the shell comprises a semi-spherical wall, the ultraviolet light portion of the pattern is located in a center area of the wall, and the contact area is positioned in a center of the ultraviolet light portion of the pattern. 5. The assembly of claim 1, wherein the deformable member is formed of a resilient material and the deformable member has a position that is variable by the actuator from a first position in which the contact area is at a minimum value to a second position more proximate to the inner surface in which the contact area is at a maximum value. 6. The assembly of claim 5, further comprising a controller controlling the actuator to move the deformable member in response to ambient light levels proximate to an exterior surface of the shell. 7. The assembly of claim 1, further comprising a colored liquid contacting the inner shell and being at least partially displaced by the deformable member at the contact area. 8. The assembly of claim 1, further comprising a supplemental light source directing light onto a side of the deformable member. 9. An eye assembly operable to provide a dilating pupil effect, comprising: a shell with an inner surface comprising a pattern formed with fluorescent materials; a light source generating ultraviolet light directed toward the pattern on the inner surface of the shell; and a dilating mechanism with a plunger formed of resilient material that is positionable at a first position to contact the inner surface within the pattern over a first contact area, at a second position to contact the inner surface within the pattern over a second contact area that is greater in magnitude than the first contact area, and at positions between the first and second positions. 10. The assembly of claim 9, wherein the dilating mechanism further comprises a linear actuator attached to the plunger via a shaft, the linear actuator operating to selectively position the plunger at one of the plunger positions relative to the shell inner surface. 11. The assembly of claim 9, further comprising a supplementary light source focusing light onto a side of the plunger. 12. The assembly of claim 11, wherein the supplementary light source comprises a colored light emitting diode and further comprising means for varying a brightness of the light emitting diode. 13. The assembly of claim 9, wherein the resilient material is black and the plunger is conical, frustoconical, semi-spherical, or spherical in shape. 14. A method for creating a dilating pupil effect, comprising: providing a pattern including fluorescent material on a surface of a wall that is at least partially transparent to light; directing ultraviolet light toward the pattern; and blocking the ultraviolet light from illuminating a portion of the pattern, whereby the portion of the pattern appears as a dark hole in surround portions of the pattern illuminated by the ultraviolet light, wherein the blocking of the ultraviolet light comprises contacting the portion of the pattern on the wall surface with a plunger formed of deformable and resilient material. 15. The method of claim 14, wherein the blocking comprises altering the contacting of the wall surface with the plunger such that the portion of the pattern blocked from the ultraviolet light increases or decreases in size. 16. The method of claim 15, wherein the positioning of the plunger is performed by operation of a linear actuator with a movable shaft attached to the plunger. 17. The method of claim 16, wherein the linear actuator is operated in response to sensed ambient light proximate to the wall. 18. The method of claim 14, further comprising directing supplemental light onto a side of the plunger concurrently with the blocking of the ultraviolet light.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

lots of vicodin


for stephanie:

when you take lots of vicodin your pupils become pinholes

your eyes are an oriental rug in a rich family's foyer