Hi Tumblr. I’ve been thinking about you. 

For the heat, the cacti, and that crazy look in your eye.

If you’re someone who only reads the editorial page of The New York Times, try glancing at the page of The Wall Street Journal once in awhile. If you’re a fan of Glenn Beck or Rush Limbaugh, try reading a few columns on the Huffington Post website. It may make your blood boil; your mind may not often be changed. But the practice of listening to opposing views is essential for effective citizenship. So too is the practice of engaging in different experiences with different kinds of people… If you grew up in a big city, spend some time with some who grew up in a rural town. If you find yourself only hanging around with people of your race or your ethnicity or your religion, broaden your circle to include people who’ve had different backgrounds and life experiences. You’ll learn what it’s like to walk in someone else’s shoes, and in the process, you’ll help make this democracy work.

— President Obama (via southpol) (via abcsoupdot) (via robot-heart-politics)

Reblogged from southpol

Hey, you’re part of it.

Sometimes I stop to find myself walking towards some thing, but I have completely forgotten what. In that moment I don’t have the slightest inkling as to why I’m even standing, but I know I’m en route. So I continue on forward and usually within the next few steps it comes to me as if it was in my hand the whole time.

Nightdreaming - Issue 4 -Guster Drug Ballad Dreams as of late have been sporadic and fractured. Scenes from the night before would manifest themselves in mutated forms throughout the day. There was one where I was BMX/skiing down a mountain with Slambo and my grandma. It was awesomely weird. Today’s nightdreaming post came in clear as a bell and scared the crap out of me. Enjoy. I walk into a party high out of my mind. Not totally sure what drugs I’m on, but it’s intense. I can feel all the eyes turn to me. I sense disgusted looks focused on my face. I overhear a girl say, “Oh my god, look how ugly he got.” I feel myself sulk and hump my back like a vulture. My phone rings. “Hi, this is so-and-so from the Guster something-or-other.” I’m relieved. I have someone to talk to; a friend. “OH WOW. Thank you for calling me. I’m freaking out, man.” “Um, sorry?” “Dude, everyone in hear thinks I’m ugly. My hair is too long and I can feel the mustache on my face.” “I’m… sorry to..hear that. … We wanted to ask you about your recent purchase (new album or something).” “Tell me I’m not ugly, man. Am I ugly? Ugh, I feel gross. I’m freaking out.” Nick F. approaches me, apparently more fucked up than myself. “Dude, I’m on meth. Nick C. and I picked some up…” Noticeably tweaked out, he then begins to rant. “What’s wrong with you?” he inquires. I stumble off and get back on the phone with the Guster guy. “You still there, man? I need someone. I’m so fucked up.” Guster guy is more amused by my situation than before and keeps me on the line for what I assume is his personal entertainment. I look down and the floating head of Diana M. is in my lap, as like, my spirit animal or something. I really start freaking out. I come across a mirror to find, with horror, the rumors are true. My hair is shaggy, greasy and long. I have a sanchez mustache. I’m wearing a poncho. Nick C. bumps into me and breaks my trance. He’s wearing a clean, pressed gray suit and is without his usual mustache. “Hey, man. Are you all right?” “Dude, I’m freaking out.”

Nightdreaming - Issue 4 -Guster Drug Ballad

Dreams as of late have been sporadic and fractured. Scenes from the night before would manifest themselves in mutated forms throughout the day. There was one where I was BMX/skiing down a mountain with Slambo and my grandma. It was awesomely weird.

Today’s nightdreaming post came in clear as a bell and scared the crap out of me. Enjoy.

I walk into a party high out of my mind. Not totally sure what drugs I’m on, but it’s intense. I can feel all the eyes turn to me. I sense disgusted looks focused on my face. I overhear a girl say, “Oh my god, look how ugly he got.” I feel myself sulk and hump my back like a vulture. My phone rings. “Hi, this is so-and-so from the Guster something-or-other.” I’m relieved. I have someone to talk to; a friend.

“OH WOW. Thank you for calling me. I’m freaking out, man.”

“Um, sorry?”

“Dude, everyone in hear thinks I’m ugly. My hair is too long and I can feel the mustache on my face.”

“I’m… sorry to..hear that. … We wanted to ask you about your recent purchase (new album or something).”

“Tell me I’m not ugly, man. Am I ugly? Ugh, I feel gross. I’m freaking out.”

Nick F. approaches me, apparently more fucked up than myself. “Dude, I’m on meth. Nick C. and I picked some up…” Noticeably tweaked out, he then begins to rant. “What’s wrong with you?” he inquires. I stumble off and get back on the phone with the Guster guy. “You still there, man? I need someone. I’m so fucked up.” Guster guy is more amused by my situation than before and keeps me on the line for what I assume is his personal entertainment. I look down and the floating head of Diana M. is in my lap, as like, my spirit animal or something. I really start freaking out.

I come across a mirror to find, with horror, the rumors are true. My hair is shaggy, greasy and long. I have a sanchez mustache. I’m wearing a poncho. Nick C. bumps into me and breaks my trance. He’s wearing a clean, pressed gray suit and is without his usual mustache. “Hey, man. Are you all right?”

“Dude, I’m freaking out.”

American Legion Post 43

American Legion Post 43

chillin’ in Utah with Maximillion.

chillin’ in Utah with Maximillion.

After news of Howard Zinn’s recent death, I decided I would collect all my Zinnspired music and put it out on one EP. In the meantime, to keep myself feeling accomplished I’ve been farting around with iMovie and crafting these demos. This is the first. I hope you enjoy.

Nightdreaming - Issue 3 - Black Bean Project I’m driving around the downtown of this imaginary city (it’s a recurring theme lately with me. It’s a mix of NYC/LA/SF/Seattle) and I’m trying to find an underground pyramid. The top of the pyramid is only exposed a little, but its apex is not a pyramid itself but an open square made by four benches (kind of like a Mayan pyramid). When I arrive Mary Fortier (Nick & Liz’s mom) is laying on one of the benches and I approach the bench parallel to hers and lay down. We begin talking about our individual “black bean projects” (I’ve been eating lots of black beans lately) and she remarks to me that if she were a young woman again she would want to do something like what her daughter Liz is doing. “Something that helps people.” I agree with her and tell her I’d like to donate to her “black bean project” and she says she would like to do the same. To make the donation we must each put on an electro-magnetic vest and as we are making the transfer, black beans come erupting from the core of the pyramid and out between the four benches.

Nightdreaming - Issue 3 - Black Bean Project

I’m driving around the downtown of this imaginary city (it’s a recurring theme lately with me. It’s a mix of NYC/LA/SF/Seattle) and I’m trying to find an underground pyramid. The top of the pyramid is only exposed a little, but its apex is not a pyramid itself but an open square made by four benches (kind of like a Mayan pyramid). When I arrive Mary Fortier (Nick & Liz’s mom) is laying on one of the benches and I approach the bench parallel to hers and lay down. 
We begin talking about our individual “black bean projects” (I’ve been eating lots of black beans lately) and she remarks to me that if she were a young woman again she would want to do something like what her daughter Liz is doing. “Something that helps people.” 
I agree with her and tell her I’d like to donate to her “black bean project” and she says she would like to do the same. To make the donation we must each put on an electro-magnetic vest and as we are making the transfer, black beans come erupting from the core of the pyramid and out between the four benches.