Road Trip Photos

I went on a road trip this summer with my good friends: Richard,

Ashley,



And Matt.



Our trip was made possible by cigarettes and 35mm film.



So we took lots of pictures.



And my friends smoked lots and lots of cigarettes. I had developed a hearty second-hand cough by the end of the trip.



Our first stop was Ritzville, where we went to the shadiest Zips Hamburger's I've ever seen. Ritzville also had this fruit/vegetable peddler who told me (after a few attempts) that his name was Frank. He gave us an awesome deal on tasty apples and peaches. He also sold us corn, but California stole it from us before we could eat it.



Eventually night fell, and it was good.



When we arrived in Portland, we walked around and looked cool. We also had coffee at a diner that was so picturesque, I didn't want to leave.



Matt made good friends with a particular drinking fountain.



On our way to the Oregon Coast we listened to Portishead, which complemented our eerie drive through the thick fog. This cool airplane was on our way.



As was Orion, throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains and rising on his hands, looking in on a red-and-blue-flashing air traffic control tower.



We arrived at Lincoln on the coast, which is, as you can see, a happening town at 5am.



I learned that this is what happens when you take a long exposure of the ocean in pitch darkness.


After a long and terrifying ride down the cliffy coast, we came to the state of California, which is best summed up by this picture of rotting meat.



But California is Richard's home state, and so here he was a king.



Among redwoods.



We all took a lot of pictures of Matt,



And pictures of each other taking pictures of Matt.



A brief guide to the fauna of the San Francisco area: Berkeley has spiders.



San Francisco has the world's largest seagull.



And old men are found on sidewalks, near chocolate shops, and in Chinatown.







San Francisco also has Chinese clock stores.



And really fancy Cafes.



And an abundance of galleries.



But Oregon has the best sunsets.



And it is important to remember, above all else, that everywhere are places still untouched by your shoes.

Fool on the Planet

Since June, my wonderful, hard-working friends and I had been working on a music video for a cover song contest put on by my favorite band, the pillows. From the get-go we encountered difficulties: a failed hard drive and lost video clips. Trying to recover from the mishap, we were met with further complications: re-recording sessions crippled by faulty microphone cables, noisy air conditioning vents, buzzing digital recording devices, and out-of-sync audio production software. The final video was simply recorded as a single clip (to avoid excessive editing), and the audio was recorded on a recently acquired Tascam Portastudio 05 four-track cassette recorder (which initially didn't work, but I was able to repair it with a toothpick and a drop of super glue). For me, this project was a testament to the unreliability of computers, and the surprising effectiveness and reliability of outdated technology.

Though higher in fidelity, and having more effects and options than the analog recorder, the computer recording hardware and software is more complicated and time-consuming to setup, use, and transport. It is kind of a hassle to head across town to record, with my fragile PC, recording device, tangle of cables, keyboard, mouse and monitor in tow. Convenience is throwing my 2 pound Tascam and a microphone in a backpack and heading out the door.

After this project, I have become more resolute in my determination that objects and methods of the past often have greater value than their modern doppelgangers. I don't think that computers are useless or ill-fit for audio/video production; clearly they have more than proven their worth in these areas. I am also not denying the great likelihood of my analog equipment failing me. However, if digital or analog fails, I should think myself more capable of understanding and repairing the latter. In the case that damage is irreparable, replacing the almost-forgotten analog equipment will keep my poor-man's pockets heavier.

You can view the cover video here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q2LRMMC9ods

Uneven Tracks

Uneven Tracks
by Jacob Butcher

It is nighttime,
With one police siren disturbing the peace.

I know that the man being pursued
(For they are all men, I’m sure)
Has decided not to pull his vehicle over to the side of the road
(Utterly failing to produce his license and registration)
Because I hear more squad cars start a chorus of sirens,
And together they ring out their dissonant Doppler,
“Confutatis Maledictus,”
Over and over again.

I am not surprised.
I have witnessed men
In this predicament before.
But then the sirens stop. A long pause. A loud pop.
A brief pause, and then one more. Pop.

I do the human thing and lie to myself,
Pretend the police were chasing some
Mischievous, firework-wielding teenagers, who,
When caught, were forced to light their glory,
Their last two M-80’s, All boring
And wasted in the middle of the street,
And then told to hurry home, it’s a school night.

But then I face the reality that a man has been killed.
A man has just been killed.
Over and over again.

His girlfriend’s boyfriend has been killed.
She will cry for his death for a while,
Before going on to select as her man
The next most likely candidate
To be chased by police.
She will make this mistake
Over and over again.

His mother’s son, he has been killed.
She will opt to honor his life
Like the barfly she is, greasy, mulleted,
Guzzling beer after beer till her gullet
Froths like a throng in a Friday parade song,
Or a Saturday or a Sunday.
Today is a Tuesday, mind you.

And the poor, unsuspecting homeowners,
Whose lawn the unsuccessful buccaneer
Marooned his maroon-colored Pontiac upon, awake
Covered with confused red and blue in their bed-hair.
After the pops,
The husband retains enough front-porch composure
To usher his wife into the bedroom
And a new era of uncomfortable gunmetal pillowcases.

And now, the sirens are long gone,
And now, I hear the sound come back on,
Of a train treading uneven tracks
With the beat and the beat and the beat
That makes my room into a living heart,
and then it is too far away for me to hear.
Serpentine, it is winding and well on its way,
To the next stretch of warped tracks, taxiing
Someone’s last living sounds to the insomniacs
With their windows ajar in the cool, wispy heat,
Simply trying to sleep.

Earth Is a Planet, and We Are Astronomers

The world is a curious place...



Full of curious creatures.





We humans are the most curious of all.



We are curious and brave, so we explore new places...



And discover wonderful things.



Some of these wonderful things require us to have great patience...



But it's ok, because we have friends and homes that wait patiently for us.



Although some days we sit inside, alone...



Looking out the window, wishing we were out with our friends.



And sometimes we have to wait, alone, for a long time...



And we stop moving altogether.



And when that happens, things tend to break...



And so they must be patched up.



In these cases, it helps to have the right tools...





And the right people who can help you fix things, good as new.



And that is how I live in this world, with you, curious friend.

Parts of a Whole, Part 1

A Common Burial

An old corpse by the graveyard has a heart that is still beating
And heaving up his grey wet chest every now and then.
I bend to the grave-diggers, “this man is not full-dead,
Are you so hurried as to prepare his pit just yet?”
They don’t respond because they don’t have mouths,
and then they weren’t there anymore; they left to give the corpse
Some time with his family (who were now
Picnicking and playing cards). The stiff’s wife is a real piece of work,
I thought to myself, and am thinking to myself (remembering).
What’s for lunch? Strawberry jam, toast, smoked salmon,
Orange juice, dark chocolate,
Milk chocolate for the kids,
Wine for the bonebag and his wife,
An apple and a sugarcube for the ants,
A mouse for the cat,
A wildebeest for the lion who was watching all of this nonsense - this corpse picnic.
Uh-oh, dad’s strawberry toast and first gulp of wine is all down his front
(It burst from his paper thin stomach and skin) and now we can’t tell
His ruptured chunks from his food chunks. The kids aren’t allowed to
Drink wine, but of course they’re allowed to smell it, and they do.
While the kids play Old Maid, the husband and the wife look into each
Other’s eyes, and the husband says, “take my hand in yours, my love,” which
She does, because it has fallen off and now the ants are about it.
Lily white against brittle brown decaying and yellow, makes my stomach turn
Out of jealousy.
An escaped lion from San Francisco Zoo attacked picnickers earlier today,
Killing one man before zoo authorities arrived to contain the situation.
A witness was present at the scene, and captured video of the horrific event
With the camera on her cell-phone. Maria Vasquez, 16:
“This huge ******* lion jumped out of the bushes, and like,
Totally jumped, like pounced on this guy. I was so scared,
I just thought I needed to like, get this, like, record this happening.”
KRIM10 Reporter: “Did the man put up any fight when the lion attacked him?”
Ms. Vasquez: “No, he didn’t even, like, move.
He was, like, dead before he knew what happened.”
Authorities say that the lion was tranquilized and transported
Back to the zoo with a full-belly after mating with the wife of the deceased.
Initial reports claim the mating was consensual.
Coming up next, SPORTS! And Juniper Lundlocklin shows us how to make delicious, Heart-healthy strawberry preserves, stay tuned.
The moral of the story is this:
Lions only eat wildebeest when there are no husbands to be found grazing the Serengeti.