three times i tried to wash the smell of nicotine off my fingertips. i peeled back the blacktop to see what was left. there was a man searching for 1943, i helped him look, but this late at night it was too hard to separate the drag queens from the truck drivers, especially adjacent to the buzzing neon lights. i was a bit confused, the strange motel i'd seen in a song once was wrapped up in argument, invitations weren't written into the script. monks who play games, that's what the sign said, or maybe it was trucks use left lane. the glare from passing semis didn't leave time for a shot of expression braided in moonlight. underneath the dashboard, salvation played games with a gas pedal too nervous to speak his mind, we just weren't seeing eye to eye. he said it was time to keep moving, time to stop thinking about women silhouetted on mud flaps, time to get the hell out of iowa.
What I’m doing with my life
color vision, climbing, art, the great lakes.
fly fishing, sailing, skiing, museums, sinead o'connor.
mezcal, moitessier, sleeping, miller, kashgar.
flora and fauna, the fence, watching, working.
I’m really good at
waking people up at the perfect moment
*and really bad at small talk. I usually am either speaking nonsense, or secretly trying to figure out what you are afraid of.
The first things people usually notice about me
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
books: tropic of cancer, arabian sands, for whom the bell tolls, under the volcano, journey to ixtlan, moby dick, desert solitaire, heart of darkness, the sheltering sky, the long way, lolita, storm of steel.
movies: barry lyndon, aquierre, ozu, streetcar named desire, the last picture show, on the waterfront, the thin red line.
music: bluegrass. zappa, beefheart, ween, dylan, the dead. doc watson family. roscoe holcomb, bukka white, clifford brown, lee morgan. all things via alan and john lomax. chopin, schubert.
food: middle eastern, bbq, deli, come on...everything.
artists: el greco, tom thomson, matisse, hundertwasser, jmw turner, van gogh, miro, karhu.
The six things I could never do without
art, chloride (the forgotten electrolyte), family, other life forms.
I spend a lot of time thinking about
breakfast. going up the congo. the heart of baltistan. buying a 1966 nova ss.
On a typical Friday night I am
out, away, or at home.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
in person, mostly anything.
You should message me if
the world hits you like a ton of bricks. in a good way. maybe sometimes in a bad way too. you want to sail heavy seas in the southern ocean, and then spend time cruising in the tropics. and also cross the arabian desert. but cities as well.