As a puppy, Luna created her own game called lunaball. 3+ years on, she continues to refine and perfect her championship form.
The rules of lunaball are opaque, but the core challenge is to kick around a big ball while keeping a small ball in your mouth.
A few of the things you have fine-tuned control over in life:
How clean your home is
How made your bed is
How tired your dog is
Whether or not your passport is current and active
All of this adds up, really, to the one and only thing you have control over:
How you react to chaos.
The paradox of safe environments is where vulnerability becomes currency.
Violence is a subset of laziness
No place is “public” if you have to log in.
In the end nowhere will be the sole “public” space.
Most days, I see a picture or read the name of one more missing person.
Are there any colonial overtones in the “East versus West” dynamic? Isn’t the whole notion that Russia and China are in “the East” predicated on a European looking at a compass?
I stopped consuming porn ages ago because in the end it just saps your battery.
“Hey, Westy, why don’t you write about music for once? Or better yet, just shut up and play.”
We’re getting there, Kid.…
the trick is to get paid for just being you
to “turn a trick” is to be paid to be someone else’s “you”
adopting war terminology for sports (“bomb,” “shotgun,” “blitz,” “strikers,” “defense,” “offence,” “flanks,” “attack,” “sacking,” etc) turned war into sports
Now, those not fighting are said to be “on the sidelines.” As if there are teams. As if there are fans. What of those who want no tickets to begin with? Who would have the world just grill dinner and play tennis?
Nothing comes out of nowhere
But everything came from nothing
I don’t believe anyone I’ve ever spoken with on a helpline or a chat has used their real name
lol if ppl refuse to raise prices, there will be no inflation
history is arbitrary
the sole “historical context” is the present
the cold war weaponised fear and destabilisation
the now war weaponises loneliness and alienation
The downside, and upside, to globalisation is to turn Earth from a planet into an island
LOL the john is actually the whore. The John needs to pay to be themself, even though appearing to pay for escape
kinda how in the end ppl vote for who they’d rather lie to them
Allowing others to lie to us gives us air cover to lie to ourselves
lol in the future you’ll need birthright to bbq
just so strange how there’s still war when the world has the means to feed and house everyone
There’s no such thing as “living a lie.” You live your truth and only your truth, and enjoy or suffer the fallout, whatever your truth creates.
The phrase isn’t, “you’re living your lie.” It’s, “you’re living a lie.”
At the very least, if it was your lie, you’d have some agency
If there are lives “lived in lies,” then life itself is devalued
The “problem” today lol isn’t that everywhere there’s lies. It’s that everywhere lies truth
“The weirdest,” Luna piped up at the midpoint of our daily walk, “is how everyone now is so savvy yet so powerless.”
I absorbed the thought. “Ignorance is bliss, Kid, indeed.”
That Old Guitar on That Old Guitar
Uncle, a 1934 Gibson L-1 flat-top acoustic, came to me via my wife Cat’s father, Steve, a stellar pianist and big band leader in Chicago. Cat’s great Uncle Ernest, Uncle’s original owner, bequeathed the guitar to Steve.
Cat & I found Uncle (in his original case) in Steve’s basement on a trip to her Chicago home. I tuned him up best he would, and strummed an open G major (the strings were a dozen years old, at least). He rang for less than a second before the bridge popped off. The sound of the chord was brilliant, however, and I took him back to New York, where the luthier of legend Paul Schwartz of Peekamoose Custom Guitars worked his magic (he is “The Moose” in the lyrics).
Paul has modded all my guitars, and also built me Fabien, an extraterrestrial Peekamoose M2 that’s the only electric guitar I’ll ever need if I ever need to have only 1. Definitely the one I’m grabbing, running from a house fire.
Uncle’s restoration process at Peekamoose involved a lot of micro-movements, acclimation periods, and clamps. And took almost 2 years.
The original bridge and half of the top’s bracing were not salvageable, and got replaced. Everything else is a time capsule, a literal message in box. The fretboard is still worn where Ernest spent most of his time playing (lower frets in open G tuning from what I can trace), and the flat-top’s 87-year-old finish reveals the most gorgeous cracks when the light hits it just right.
Uncle plays with the flawless ease you’d expect (and demand) of an instrument that was designed to be slung over the back of a blues traveller.…
“Garçon!” Luna clapped. “Garçon!”
“Me?” I asked.
“Do you see any other waiters here?”
“Well then. This La Boutanche Gamay is NOT at cellar temperature.”
“May I offer you a free snausage?”
“Sure. But I won’t forget this egregious oenophillic infraction!”
“Right away, Madam.”
May 06, 2020 at 05:36PM
under the cold and darkly sky / you trip the light and go…
the cars were my fav growing up. their records and lateral solo projects not only will come with me to any desert island, they are my desert island — if i had to choose an island.
ric ocasek catalysed my adolescent desire and urgency to play the electric guitar and to write songs. all-lowercase, overdriven-jangle, and quirky-jerk, ocasek was also endearing, intelligent, and accessible. the cars became my crash course in how to bring depth to “disposable” music; that is, how melody married to meaning could still court the coolest girl in class.
more importantly over the long-arc of my teenage daydreams, some of which linger to this day, their music spoked out innumerable adventures in sonic discovery. riding with the cars, in the backseat i found (among many more) roxy music, david bowie, and t-rex; in the side-view there was robert fripp, steve reich, and john cage; passenger side would find buddy holly, the byrds, and tom petty; and in the way-way-back, crouched flat out of sight of the driver, there were new order, blondie, suicide, the cure, and eventually the ramones, the replacements, and much of what i’ve loved since.
the early 80s was still a world where intelligence and cool were a tough tightrope walk. ocasek and the cars hovered over it all, saying, “c’mon, man, the fringe is the cool. one foot in, one foot out — that fine line — that’s the place to be.”
i’m the american misfit kid / still wondering what i did / i’m on the inside, taking a fast ride…
throughout my songwriting life, co-opting ric’s icy reserve, black leather smirk, and reverence for poetic-yet-stuctured rock ’n roll let me embrace any style without care or ambition in my own music.…
“It’s weirdo,” Luna fronted.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“And I’m a Westie.”
“That’s like if you’re Fern and your one plant is a fern.”
“First, I was Westy way before you got here. Also, they’re not even spelled the same.”
“Excuses, excuses. Still weirdo.”
September 28, 2019 at 10:42AM
“I thought they outlawed plastic straws here,” Luna averred.
“Those aren’t straws,” I said. “They’re PVC gas mains.”
“That’s a straw!” she shot back in her best Daniel Plainview voice, with loud slurps. “I. Drink. Your! Milkshake! I DRINK IT UP!”
“When did you-”
“I will eat you!”
September 24, 2019 at 06:14PM
“Look at it!” Luna wailed. “Is there any context left where human waste is out of context?!”
“That’s deep, Kid.”
“Eventually there’ll just be a tiny Pacific Ocean Patch somewhere in The Pacific Waterfill!”
I sighed. “Aren’t you supposed to fetch sticks or something?”
September 10, 2019 at 05:54PM
“Hey look I’m Aqualung!” Luna piped up, & sang, “🎵Sitting on a park bench!”
“You’re kinda the anti-Aqualung,” I said. “You couldn’t eye anyone with bad intent if you tried.”
“But my paws are greasy! And watch!” She blew a loogie out her nose.
“Ok, you’re Aqualung. Can we go?”
August 06, 2019 at 05:36PM
“Look! The Brapps are training little Tanner to potty outside like me!” Luna exhorted with optimism.
“You sure it’s not just a stoop giveaway?” I asked.
She sniffed between the lid and seat. “Well if so, it would give new meaning to the phrase ‘free shit!'”
“This city,” I sighed.
August 05, 2019 at 06:51PM
“It’s a TinyKit,” Luna exclaimed, “for teenies like me!”
“Some things really shouldn’t be recycled, Luna,” I intoned.
“But it’s more of an upcycle, not a recycle,” she cocked her head.
“Yeah! Upcycled in your-”
“Enough. Let’s go.”
August 03, 2019 at 07:17PM
If you don’t like Huey Lewis, we’ll still be friends. But never will we spend Friday night watching The Kentucky Fried Movie on a twice-copied glitchy VHS, and never then sneak into the country club down the road to make out on the edge of the sand trap on the dogleg par 4 11th.
August 02, 2019 at 02:57PM
“I love LA!” Luna declared.
“You’ve never been-”
“Shut up! Like you’d know!”
“Uh, hello…?” I pulled a poop bag from my pocket.
“Rrrr. New York’s cold & damp & everyone dresses like monkeys. I love LA!”
“You know Randy Newman’s satire, yes?”
“Yeah, & his attire isn’t monkey!”
July 30, 2019 at 10:27AM