Provo in the Summer

Provo in the summer is like pinata-filled culture crashes, slamming into the desert sky and feeding you frybread.

During the fall and winter, I have a weird obsession/hatred with/of Provo. It's beautiful and cold and intriguing and lovely and it's weird and people suck, BYU is a tumor on the city, the mountains hold me as I sleep, I love it and I hate it and whatever whatever amen.

But during the summer. This place rolls its sleeves up and gets to work on livin. Hispanic clubs, mercados, navajo tacos, hoop dancing, heat, sweat, history, culture, community, free water, people sitting on patios and street curbs spitting in the air and wondering where they are, what they want to do, why they don't care that they aren't moving. You wake up in the morning and the pale blue sky makes you young again.

This place opens like a lotus flower. I had no clue what this place was until I actually lived in it, truly lived in it, didn't just go to school. This place is beautiful and lovely.

Rave over.

Up and Coming

So over at the other blog, http://barebonespresents.blogspot.com, we have a preview of what kind of content will be in the magazine when it eventually comes out. So stroll on over there and take a peek if you're feeling peekish and join the funtimes!

Or don't. See if I ever ever talk to you again ever.

I work in a basement full of natural light and florescent flickering. I listen to music and sit in a room made of glass and wood. The people who work behind this room don't think I'm an actual employee; they know I'm a simple step up from an intern. A temp-worker. I am a transient. This is not my real home. I haven't earned it. So when I try and be nice or helpful or familiar with them, they wonder who this guy with the stupid mustache is and why he's talking to them and why doesn't he have access to most of the doors here?

I have a song stuck in my head that I sing a lot.
not a girl in this city reminds me of you not a girl in this city reminds me of you not a girl in this city reminds me

Life is a loud series of overtones. Loud and blank-faced and I'm stared down, into my bed, every day every night every time I get the courage to get up go out and experience the air and dust on my face and neck. So much to say, so much to squeeze out of my swan-neck but all I do is moan in my sleep for the way this world spins. Like a tilt-a-whirl with a broken door. I always put my bed against the wall, that way I decrease my chances of falling out every night.

Warm summer nights: jazz in the air, the windows open, and the town rolls in lazily. This desert town isn't so bad in the summer. I walk out to a baseball field once the sun goes down and enjoy the dome of the sky and the sticky grass on the backs of my legs. Sometimes I get bored of my room but I certainly never get bored of being on my own. And I'll never get bored of dreaming.

For the Fourth of July, Eliza gave me a 25 lb. box of peanuts. I can't think of a better way to celebrate America's birthday than drinkin' a faygo tallboy and mealin' on some peanuts. Here's to you Abe.

i love bloggin

lol

I have a feeling I'm going to get fired

Probably.