More Punk Than Punk

So there will be a Brian Happening today, but wow it’s hard to write. It’s related to a big idea (or a set of big ideas) that I’ve had for awhile; the point of departure I’ve chosen is actually in response to an essay a friend wrote about something Kanye West said. By the way, did you know—Moore’s Law is the most fucking punk rock thing to have ever existed. More coming soon…

That is all.

OMG Happening

So as exactly no one else has noticed, I missed my “Brian Happening” this week. While I did commit to a once-a-week schedule, I do think it’s reasonable to miss something when I have a good excuse. Now, there is a spectrum—a continuum—of good excuses; OMG this indica is so strong I’ve got couch lock—an excuse, but not really a good one; started going to gym, am fucking dog tired—that’s something I wouldn’t mind admitting to, out loud, even. Of course, that excuse only works for about a week; I’ve already got two or three half-things, so a week is all I need.

This week, there’s also been the various poetry events—open mics, book launch parties—I attended, doing my part to support whatever community I’ve found myself a part of. The poets in the San Diego scene are generally pretty chill; most of them are acceptably eccentric, too. So they’ve got that going for them, which is nice.

I’ve started seeing this eccentric college kid. Legal, yes; bar legal, no. Dog tired. Did you know Lemonheads did a pretty awesome cover of Mrs. Robinson? The college kid believes in magic and spells and things. Most of it is actually based on actual historical texts from Europe and whatnot; not that I necessarily believe any of it, but I don’t see how it’s any less legitimate than a devout Catholic and the Bible. Of course, there’s the whole “not explicitly sexist and homophobic” thing on the plus column for faerys and majik wandz, so I misspoke; I actually respect organized religion less.

Maybe for my next Brian Happening, I could write a fun, joyous poem about how awesome love is—something very Shakespeare’s sonnets. Really, it’s all this emo free verse that has been sapping my energy; truly.


I have been tracking the data, the measure of our time;
I find myself asking myself who I wanted to be for you,
every moment I left a new me behind and even when we’re together
every turn of your head or cast of your eyes
leaves—sends away—drops a part of my signal, and again
I fade against the roar of nothing and time
as it surges past you, as together we shoulder silence. How far
I’m removed from my own magic, from whichever charms and incantations
formulated this moment, resolved into you.

Maybe I’ve become like some brute-force hacking script, I fling
millions of slightly different me’s at you almost all at once
to see what opens your code, sets you alight, and the whole world
itself is just a file system, and love a function between files run within
time, like a database query. Continue reading SQL

Keep Calm and… SHUT THE FUCK UP

FOR THE RECORD: all those “Keep Calm and…” shirts/posters/etc. are reappropriation that trivializes the life-or-death experiences of a culture. Now, British/white culture isn’t systemically erased, so I don’t get on this soapbox very often at all (just like “limey” isn’t that devastating of an insult). But the British weren’t “keeping calm” because they wanted to eat chocolate or cuddle harder or what-the-fuck-ever. THEY WERE SURVIVING AND DEFEATING THE FUCKING NAZIS DURING WWII. THEY NEED A STIFF UPPER LIP TO SURVIVE A GENOCIDAL WORLD WAR—YOU NEED IT WITH YOUR COFFEE IN THE MORNING, APPARENTLY. I don’t mind having to feel bad about things my culture/ancestry has done—I didn’t do them personally, and admitting to those things means I’m not complicit in them. But if I’m going to have to bear the tradition of colonialism, I should be able to take the CHURCHILL-KICKING-NAZI-ASS that goes along with it.

That is all.