admirable restraint

didja know? men tip more in strip clubs depending on where a dancer is in her cycle! in 2007 a study spanned 60 days and found that women earned an average of $335 daily when ovulating, $260/day during the rest of the cycle, and $185/day during her period. dancers who were on the pill earned a fairly unfluctuating $250/day regardless. were the ovulating women sexier? pheremonier? or, as the study insinuated, did the men subconsciously want to preen their proverbial plumage and impress the more breedable women with money? Maslow called this the "survival mating motive." 

*

it's been misty and ponderous all day. I got properly drenched. it was refreshing and necessary, a poignant intermission to a very interesting and clarifying week. it's so fucking nice to have people to share memories with, people who knew me way back when and still somehow like me anyway. it's weirdly validating and humbling as hell. 

*

Ballard. 

First Hill. 

Pike Street. 

Value Village. 

amorphous Red Sea-blob. I like the way autocorrect assumed it knew what I was talking about, so I'm leaving the erroneous capital letters. you don't know me. don't even try. 

so what is that blob in the sea that happens to be red? I think it's a lion's mane jellyfish. apparently they can grow up to 6' across. 

from the water, where everything makes more sense. Nucleattle. 

fried pickle spears. I purposely chose the ghastliest and most unappetizing filter. the person I was with had never had a fucking fried pickle! they were deemed "pretty good." 

Belmont Ave. 

Saran-wrapped langoustines d'Ikeienne, fresh from the abundant Renton Bay. 

Roy Street. 

there was a sign that said "stealing is bad karma," and I need all the help I can get, so of course I didn't. but I'm still thinking about that goddamn KISS Pez dispenser. 

need something to talk about on your next blind date? I learned about this today also. 

http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Koro_(medicine)

equinoxious 2014

Ballard. 

The Dumpster Series, parts I and II. 

Seattle: more "fiddle-dee-dee," less "fuck you."

some tourists behind me kept saying "jeez, look at all those stairs!" so I did. novelty often only happens through the senses of another.  

earnest scrubbed missionaries and the guy behind them. this can be a very vulgar place. isn't everywhere? 

but then you see shit like this. 

it contrasts effectively against this. 

or this. 

get down. 

and nary a fuck was given. 

the hellway of a random shit-building. 

I love these damn things! he's totally eating a fly!

this is already dead. 

dissonance comes from ignoring your instincts. 

puttin' the DAMN! in Sepdamnber

it's spider weather. 

I will never again live somewhere where there is not always something quirky and urbane and surreptitious to discover and admire. the eerie dearth of random human art-stains in Anchorage was so discouraging. 

the corpse flower, again. you know how the smell of Lysol doesn't indicate cleanliness and sterility, but rather a vile knowledge that something exceptionally disgusting happened very recently? I wonder if forensic investigators feel the same way about Vapo-Rub. the menthol covers up the rot-funk but must serve as a Pavlovian association. 

the corpse flower, even in its post-bloom denouement, emitted wafts of... yeah... it reminded me of a compost bin in the sun, with coffee grounds dumped atop dog shit and maybe an overripe cantaloupe. it was a chewable smell.  

Holga-filtered pitcher plant. I ran my fingers over the textured rim and pretended I was the most incompetent DJ ever. 

sullen goth flower 

hides its colorless stamen

from the smug orchids 

it's Thunder the WonderCat! 

it's Entropy-Pants, stalker of the nonexistent! 

it's a dead rat being throttled by a rubber band! what came first? what came first, indeed. 

it's a reflection along 4th Avenue on a hot slinky afternoon in sexy, mysterious Seattle! 

nothing else to tell here. 

returnal

I woke up this morning in my own lair, under blankets for the first time in days, my cat sleeping on the backs of my legs. it was cloudy. all my shit was where I'd left it. it smelled like the incense I'd burned when I stumbled in late last night. I walked to the store with a sweater rubbing against my sunburn. the check-out guy said "you want double bags? I won't charge you." seattle smelled clean and green and alive. it doesn't hurt to breathe here, but it's still a lovely tangible feeling. inhaling the humidity here reminds me of the best part of smoking cigarettes, that tiny pull on the back of your throat. 

and those are just the little things. 

I feel so fucking schmaltzily grateful for everything, I'm forced to roll my eyes sardonically as I write this. 

how fucking easy and beautiful life is. 

*

as I left Austin. 

homemade breakfast, such an underrated eloquence. 

on the way to the aeroport. 

creepy Holga filter. this is why only the right side of my back and ass is sunburned now. 

another aerial shot of the seeping chancre that is Houston. I dunno, maybe it's better from the ground and away from the horrific subdivisions. from afar, it's a relentless swath of flat, dank generica. 

the flight back was horrible. we were delayed an hour and a half. I was sandwiched between two massive guys with splayed knees and unapologetic armrest-hoggery. one snored loudly and ceaselessly. my battery nearly died. my sunburn started to itch infuriatingly. I tried to sleep and couldn't. I listened to Neu! and tried not to think frantic weird thoughts. and then, about half an hour before we landed, I glanced outside the window and saw Mt Rainier looming through the clouds, fully illuminated by the full moon. it was fucking gorgeous and eerie, like seeing an iceberg from below. the snoring guy next to me had awoken and was also looking out the window from the aisle seat. "do you see that?" I asked. he nodded respectfully. and after that, the plane started to descend and I felt exponentially better. 

some eras in life just have much brighter colors and much sharper edges. 

yesterday in September

my hand is for scale. 

random Austin corner. 

tiny Buda. it's a twee town about 15 miles outside of Austin. the guy on this water tower has six fingers. 

the little "b" was distracting. 

I go through filter phases. the topography here warrants lurid surreality. 

apparently Texas has the highest-per-capita number of Dairy Queens, pardon, DQs in the United States. 

outside the methy truck stop. 

and inside, for your bait needs. 

roadside horror movie. 

a dry riverbed. most of them are. I only saw one lizard. 

facing the other way. 

feel my joy. 

if lightning struck this forest, it'd burn like a motherfucker. 

flora! Texas flowers bite back. I pulled several burrs out of my skin. 

the whine of cicadas and grasshoppers permeated this otherwise placid bucolia. saw the biggest, gnarliest black moth-thing. otherwise, it was just me and the faraway shouts of people motoring down the nearby river. 

fauna! see the squirrel in front of the baby? it ran under the mom and she kicked at it without even glancing down. the deer here are lanky and imposing. y'know that Louis CK thing where he's like "deer are fucking assholes"? 

colorized carbuncles on the succulents that grow everywhere. 

the bar mat at the White Horse. 

I posted this sign earlier. now it's nighttime and the moon is full. 

Texan grocery store. 

I was (not entirely soberly) loudly pronouncing this as "FUHD" at the store, but perhaps it's meant to be "FŪD", because it's FOOD? I like "FUHD" better. 

the travels end tonight.