I love the ocean and birds… and summer solstice, and the Paris
sky, and the smell of campfire, and flying squirrels, and the mandolin, and hot
baths, and Shakespeare’s Sonnet XXIX, and angel food cake, and Klimt's Water
Serpents, and Marc Chagall, and Jack White, and Chewbacca, and unicorns, and
Hal Ashby, and fresh mango, and ripe nectarines, and hamster style, and weeping
willows, and rainbows, and snax, and getting my back tickled, and Philip Glass,
and acrobats, and Fonzie, and the Dalai Lama, and potato sacking, and doing
cannonballs, and Cha-Ka, and Nam music, and puffy clouds, and pump-action
rifles, and the full moon, and Blue Nude (both Matisse and Picasso's), and 60's
& 70′s architecture (and music & films), and Magnum P.I., and Spock,
and Henry Miller’s demeanor, and fresh basil, and playing Naked Twister, and
Nutella Crêpes, and trying to speak German, and tuck n’ roll, and Led Zeppelin,
and schweddy balls, and thunder & lightning storms, and Erik Satie’s
Gymnopedie No.1, and the Boogie Nights soundtrack, and cooking, and baking too,
and Harleys, and whistling Dixie, and Easy Rider, and le tuck tuck triple, and
Navy SEALS, and Forrest Gump, and margaritas, and sunsets, and technology, and
Graceland, and driving through the Utah Desert whilst listening to Simon &
Garfunkel... and Creedence, and watching the sunrise in a vast cornfield, and
Oahu’s North Shore, and my bed, and riding my bike, and calling my friends
‘fuckin bitch’ with a redneck voice, and my casa, and free balling, and taking
valium before flying across the pond, and disco dancing, and midgets, and Für
Elise, and Christmas, and honesty, and driving up the coast, and Herman Munster
(& Hesse), and Suite: Judy Blue Eyes, and cran-grape juice, and the Louvre,
and all beaches, and feather boas, and animals, and yoga, and traveling, and
eating like Lucan, and Leo Carrillo State Beach, and red grapes, and catnip,
and Thin Lizzy, and enlightenment, and Salvador Dali, and eBay, and raccoons,
and the Florida Keys, and rainier cherries, and telling people I know Swahili,
and shooting stars, and Keef, and Nick Cave, and Prague, and Badder Santa, and
dirty bunny costumes, and climbing poles, and hiding in trees, and hiking, and
New York Fashion Week, and the Heimlich Maneuver, and Aphrodite, and MoMA, and
imitating Al Pacino, Mike Damone… and that sleazy German guy in “Hot Dog the
Movie,” and being totally pumped, and 'Morning' by Maxfield Parrish, and Iggy
Pop, and speaking in riddles, and singing in the car, and solitude, and caution
& danger tape, and vampires, and beauty products, and dancing in the rain,
and semi-automatic pistols, and dolphins, and the Grand Tetons, and the
Redwoods, and the Rocky Mountains, and Roof Chicken, and taking photos, and
composition, and mischief, and fresh baguettes, and Malibu, and Christopher
Walken, and Nigel Tufnel, and Chris Isaak, and London, and nostalgia, and
yodeling in the mountains, and conga drums, and teaching my nephew air drums,
and New York City, and garlic, and crank calling, and Ben Orr, and Use Your
Illusions I & II, and drinking coffee at 4am, and red heels, and
shenanigans, and frothy espresso, and acting hinky, and knockout rum punch, and
Jack Kerouac, and Sex and the City, and the violin, and pretending I know how
to play the piano, and cats, and Achilles Last Stand, and lying in tall fields
of grass, and Kris Kristofferson, and writing about nonsense, and Wuthering
Heights, and karate, and Montana, and black underwear, and laughing so hard
that coffee comes out of my nose and feathers come out of my ears, and Pink
Floyd, and "Ruby Tuesday," and microdermabrasion, and fairies, and
angels, and the way of Zen, and horse pills, and NOLA, and Chinese downhill,
and not killing spiders, and making gold records, and Oscar Wilde, and wearing
skirts, and stroopwafels, and Fellini, and Wayne & Garth, and Viggo, and
going to ball games, and telling tall tales, and streaking, and Hemingway, and
firemen, and 80’s Metal, and Thai food, and Neil Young, and dressing up for
Halloween, and power tools, and making out, and doing "Supa-Star,"
and Holland Gouda, and wishing I was in Costa Rica or Fiji, and brunch, and
Bloody Mary’s, and the Golden Rule, and the Bandit, and roadies, and being a
vegetarian, and Terrence Malick’s visual masterpiece, “The Tree of Life,” and
feeding the ducks, and skiing, and being a baller, and home surgery, and
astrology, and solving crimes, and going to the movies, and jesters, and going
to concerts, and mosaic tile, and doing the Kenickie in my underwear, and
cafes, and pubs, and Trader Joe’s, and water, and Austria, and blood oranges,
and dinner parties, and playing the slots, and trickery, and spontaneous
acquiescence, and telling people to bounce, and "Blow-Up," and my
special homemade sangria, and butterfly kisses, and skinny dipping, and Travis
Bickle, and picnics, and red wine, and pasta, and googly eyes, and Joshua Tree,
and smoothies, and pistol whipping, and loyalty, and cinnamon, and road trips,
and sammiches from Europe, and poetry, and heroes, and water sports, and Crème
Brulee, and gallivanting, and naps, and Marc Bolan, and Pachelbel’s Canon, and
dry humping, and spooning, and forking too, and nerd glasses, and integrity,
and Belgian pints, and chivalry, and sea donkeys, and having mad skillz, and
America’s National Parks, and Elvis, and my Tic Tac, and… My Dad. And other things
too…
"I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him
free."
~ Michelangelo
