The Ballad of Willy & Liza: Issue 01

William Shatner

Fabulous. This documentary could be about Willy matching his dry cleaned socks and I would still watch it. And who knew he was 76 years old?! The web editor needs to be fired, those numbers are switched around and you know that’s true.

Liza Minnelli

"My mother invented the Rat Pack"

Get out your dictionaries and scribble a note, we have some things to clear up. Could you imagine what an incredible poker night this must have been? I would use up my time machine wish to go back and be a part this crew. Manhattans, pretzel sticks, and high stakes. Judy spinning records, having a smoke on the patio with Lauren, Sammy's antics and charm. Gorgeous.

Neologism: apparchitecture

San Francisco. Night. Not only is the city old but there’s a housing shortage and rent control. Residents aren’t moving as quickly and, with big money being snorted up SF’s nostrils, they’re also not being evicted. The nouveau riche stratum is stagnant, clogging the infrastructure of a breathing machine. Where there’s stagnation, there’s paranormal activity: think haunted houses, think silent woods, think cemeteries, think wardrobes.

Once upon a time on Folsom there was an elementary school. The municipality tore it down, rebuilt a new one across the street and turned the leveled site into a city park. There’s a basketball court, a mini community garden, a mound of grass where dogs play, a baseball field, and a playground with a sign that says “Adult must be accompanied by child.” The city’s jail and courthouse is the mountain range to its prairie.

Every morning I pass the park on my way to work. The space has a particular smell, one similar to toasting pop-tarts. It took me months to locate the origin; a nearby coffee roasting company.

One night, I was on the bus, a bus driving down Folsom and we passed the park. Standing, about 20’ tall, was a humanoid creature. It was completely still and had a glowing green Cyclops eye. Its skin was multicolored and, if I could see these shades in the dark, must have been exquisite by daylight. The eye was studying. The eye was absorbing. Its perspective on what it saw must have been something like time-lapse photography. It saw streams of white and red light, the frenetic blinking on and off of building lights, the path of the moon.

The bus drove on, out of its angle and sight.

The next morning the Cyclops figure was still there. It wasn’t an alien probe or being but a sculpture shelled with whole and broken colored vinyl. For me this statue falls under an interesting category of architecture: “Has that always been there?” Structures that exist but only become apparent, or seem to appear, during direct observation, often with an exclamation of surprise or disbelief.

Robyn: "Konichiwa Bitches"

DMI T-Shirt #001

Fog

Neologism: parapsychopharmacologist

parapsychopharmacologist - (2008) malapropism uttered by D.Morini - N. - 1. a licensed clinician who prescribes psychotropic drugs, based on doctor’s diagnosis, to ghosts, spirits, poltergeist and other entities from the beyond and studies the effects of said drugs.

And behold... the advent of nationwide ballot casting is upon the people. May the gods bestow upon the eligible the fortitude in making their right decisions. To have and to hold, to cherish and to comfort. To not find their ballot boxes thrown into the ocean, to not have votes casted by the deceased. To squirt some life into this piece, ya heard?

Here's a haiku:


Super Tuesday Haiku

Band of orange haze
tapes blue bay with smoky sky,
post blackened arrows.

No, but really. You should vote even if you're not sure for whom. You'll know. When you get there. You'll feel it. Feeling it yet? I felt it. It felt pretty damn good.