another aura

more bittersweet obsolescence. 

vintage bananajet! I should go back and buy this. 

Fremont bridge. the sticker says "get the fuck out of our neighborhood Amazon." 

2nd Ave. 

and a detail from the above building. 

I can't even be mad anymore. about the gentrification, the flux, the daylit Dark Cityness. being back in the comparably stagnant ruffianism of Alaska cleansed my palate of much of that uppity bitterness. at least things change here. I keep reminding myself of that. 

*

rad yard-toilet. I must be in Thurston County. 

sweet compost biodiversity! 

Broadway E: the house that had a creepy estate sale last August. its demolition is inevitable; the interior of this place was a fucking hazard. but I deeply appreciate the fact that, for now, it's still here. 

Ranay's. 

and the place my mother and grandfather used to work in the 70s. 

Mexican soda is. 

Entropy and the Head. 

the lair-vortex.

I took this by accident but I love how nearly perfectly parallel their gaits are. 

and capturing some scummy, unattractive reality. it is a good morning. 

and through the wire

finally saw Hendrix's grave. tomb, rather. it's surprisingly tidy and austere, utterly unpopulated by bedraggled crowds and mostly devoid of earnest graffiti. perhaps because it's ensconced in the classy bowels of Renton?  

the lip-prints bring a rare and welcome sense of ruffianism. 

although there was an alm-portal. 

and elsewhere, incense. 

2nd & Pike. this building is for sale as a historical mixed-use "requiring renovation." I would love to know what the upstairs is like, how gnarly and disrepaired it really is. the teriyaki place has puked meat-fog onto the street for decades. there's that wig shop that no one ever goes into or out of, and some nail place, and various vacant windows covered with tags and smears. I picture these establishments as mere fronts for an underground den of hedonism and dischord. this building reminds me of a sketchy part of downtown Montreal, the area where i procured Canadian mace after mine was confiscated at the airport. 

and back in my neighborhood. 

it wasn't until I was tweaking the filter on this that I noticed the "little." what the fuck? such a fucking weird and wonderful world we live in! 

perpetual sunflower weather. 

The Dover, built 1904, 6th & Marion. during the ~1912 regrade the building was jacked up and the entryway was moved and three additional lower floors were built. I went on a creepy blind date years ago with someone who said they lived here. and last year a "basement studio" in this building was renting on Craigslist for $900. according to the pictures (I never called to inquire further) it had illegal 7' ceilings and a tiny street-level window and a hot plate substituting for a kitchen and cement floors, a fine lair for a vampiric serial killer. 

I was sitting in the grass at Volunteer Park and a bird shat approximately 3" from my leg. I heard it hit the ground. does that make me less luckier? 

I found this photo on my phone and was like "why the fuck did I take this?" I'm sure I was trying to capture the intricate innards of the jawbreaker in an artsy-assed way. 

another casualty, 16th & Thomas.

*the interiors of defunct establishments, continued*

The Broadway Grill, closed since ~2013? "the gay Denny's," they called it. the service usually sucked, but they had sidewalk seating and late-night happy hour and it was right there. you could get a $3 well drink and $2 fried motherfuckin' pickles at 1am if you so desired, and blearily dine whilst listening to terrible dance music. seeing plates and salt shakers still expectantly arranged breaks my damn heart. 

the Rhino Room. I saw a dude fumbling with the lock the other day. "so is this place closed?" I asked. "oh no no no" he said. but I haven't seen it operational in weeks. it's a great space with awesome windows and a mirrored bar, but it tended to have an eau de douche about it. this used to be a bike shop. I bought a bike here once. 

ooh, evocative backlit sprinkler. 

sexy, mysterious Thunderbird. 

15th Ave. 

and in closing, this table, right now. I picture someone measuring the wood and saying "you know what? fuck it." 

carry on! 

the moon in June

halfway through today I remembered my avalanche dream from last night. I'm walking along a snowy trail over fairly flat terrain, alone, feeling consciously nonchalant, and ahead of me comes a wall of grey snow. I try to remember what I'm supposed to do. isn't it strange how we're instinctively able to at least try to protect ourselves from danger even if we have absolutely no practical idea how? 

I jump into the snowbank lining the path. the snow is only about a foot deep, glittery and unbroken. the avalanche hits, covering my exposed back. the snow is lighter and fluffier than I expected, gentler than it should be. I can see the sky filtering through my burial. after it passes I only have to sit up and shake off. and I get that eerie misplaced-triumph feeling... I'm still alive. I just survived a fucking AVALANCHE! that was fucking EASY! 

and I do in the dream what everyone does in reality when they cheerily blunder into incredibly stupid situations and manage to emerge unmolested: I laugh, that dumb surprised "ha HA!" laugh. thankfully there is too much snow for it to inanely echo. it's dead quiet. the ground is still. and the book I was carrying is right beside me, pages splayed but dry. 

*

Westlake Ave. check out that auger-thing! the surroundings prevented me from getting the frame I wanted. I apologize for this awful auger angle. 

I finally saw my neighbor driving this. he is an authentically crusty older man, scowlingly hunched over the steering wheel with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, exactly as it should be. 

antihistamines after going through the wash. antihistamines don't give a fuck. 

Hayden/Roe, 1908, and the Bluff, 1909. Pike between Broadway and 10th, you know. the residences above the commercial level, long condemned, were once considered luxurious. oh, how legacies can falter! what Seattle resident doesn't have at least one skanky anecdote relating to some part of this building? 

my neighborhood now has its own Hammertime! 

Louisa Boren Park. 

an aesthetically bombastic gravestone. 

do what you will. 

the third infant on Tawdry reared its hostile head about three days ago. 

am I happy, or am I just really adroit at distracting myself?