coffee & pedals


i once rode from here to there
back and forth
in-between and out-foreseen

feeling the moment of time slip
is the greatest motivation to slip

feeling the moment of time slip
is the muse to dig

feeling the moment of time slip
feels like nothing else
the fabric is textured
smooth to course
of course to plot
sitting on the beach with that shot we all shot

course reflection
metaphysical resurrection

. . .

if it takes a cycle to cycle through time
to unwind on a dime
to find that water and transform it to wine
then what the fuck is the rest of time for?
to slide through space just to pop through that door?
passing hallmark milestones while somehow expecting more?

the cycle through time
is just a metaphor
to breathe in deep and hold on evermore


wednesday is sundae


i met this girl years ago
bumped into her on the back leg of my three mile jog
the one i ran each day after getting home from the multimedia factory
you know, the place where i made the pixels dance and scream
the first mile was always a bit of a mind game
as the road would rise and dip ever so slightly
creating mirages of end states
i’d convince myself that if i could just get to the horizon line of the rise
the dip would easily carry me forward
and it did
mile two cut directly through the heart of the suburbs
as my shins began to burn, the run became a game of dodge
with low branches jetting out from behind untrimmed hedges
and dogs on long leashes challenging their slack
i’d hop over the cracks in the uneven sidewalk
making sure that i devoured at least one and a half per stride
it was how i kept my gate
narrowed my focus
as mile three began
and i made it to the edge of downtown
the rhythm just seemed to kick in
on cue, cube queued up in my headphones
bringing a good day to my today
my breathing was correct
my perspective was cubist
my self was in tune
so i’d tune out the real
pump my arms and knees
and sprint the last leg home
finishing off my circuit with an exclamation point *

* the first time i broke stride
removing myself from the sticky summer heat
to enter the hum of an air conditioned store
i did so to ask for a cup of that ice cold water i remembered
the water poured from a jug kept in a stainless steel fridge
resting behind the front counter with all those bins of flavored goodness
it was like magic
freezing cold water that somehow cured brain freeze

by the time she asked me what i wanted
a sip is all i asked for…

that made her smile

passing dimes…


every man has a vocal chord
but not every man has a voice
some choose to live life that way
others simply have no choice
with too much to think about
too much goin’ on
too much tryin’ to survive
too much watchin’ their own get gone
so what’s the worth of words
these mere utterances in time
these rearranged thoughts
in both rhythm and rhyme?
i’ll tell you their value
but you probably won’t hear me
being caught up in the matrix
you’ll just craft reason to fear me..

when i’m struggling to get by
and trying to fly
but instead i get high
and dance that fine line
it’s the words that come save me
like dry turkey in gravy
i flip back to my quest
and push along like scorsese
to craft a moment in time
script the next one to follow
not some hollow ass production
of bling pursuit do i wallow
in the mire i find the depths
the inspiration
the desire..

to live by the pursuit of the grade
performance bonus
white picket dream
life with no compassion
way to drown out the screams
the shit just ain’t for me
and i know i’m not alone
so pick up your pen
your pad
your phone
dial me into your realm
put on your friday night best
cause when we hit the streets
it’s all about the people

… is on arrival


complexity simplified
down to a complicated flow
while the divide grows more real
i congeal and heal slow
feel out the stitched up steel
while i revel in the real
living to merge
the floor with the ceil-ing
the door with the squeal-ing
the future of our collective knowledge of self
intellectual wealth
nourishing stealth
cost of entry is just about gone
for the taxpaying throng
so it’s time to find the other
long-lost souls
if i had my druthers
we’d frame the scene
tape the green
capture the in-between
rhyme writing poly-rhythmatic pointing machine
neutrons circling like natives to the wagon
iterating faster than the anti-matter
reverse feeding
on the atoms
on the really simple syndicates
the aggregate crowd
jumping up and down
squaring a level five as exceptionally loud
and clear
step to the rear

SXSW2006: Bruce Sterling – The State of the World

*Note* Live blogging will miss nuance and won’t be an exact representation of the speaker’s intent.

bruce sterling sxsw 2006

Bruce Sterling isn’t throwing a party this year, but he’s loving the bubble echo of this 2.0 SXSW2006 get together. He says “enjoy it while you can.”

He’s loving flickr and Wikipedia; companies that are completely unlike anything else, opening up their API’s to create platforms, not sites. What a contrast to standard, American business.

Only in America… where dying phone companies lobby the government as if they’re Indian casinos. […] Are people in Washington drinking their own bathwater? The guys in power are so eager to monetize the web, they’re turning America into Banana Republic with rockets.

Get his book: Visionary In Residence

Serbia is absolutely dysfunctional and Sterling has a ringside seat. He’s global, as many more are becoming. His Austin stead collects mail, while he bounces around the world. “National borders are like speed bumps.” America is a state at war. “The dollar is low compared to the Euro, which should be in intensive care.”

Creationism is an intellectual calamity.

al Quada bomb mosques. How many are enough? (we Americans don’t give a fuck about the “near enemy” issue). When the culture war is over—we are within a culture war—one doesn’t get to say “I served on this side.”

We’re on a slider bar between the unthinkable and the unimaginable. We’ve got a fire in a theater, but the exit signs are just a bunch of glowing letters in jumble.

Warren Ellis: “The spread of the possible futures and the people on the ground figuring out how to use them.”

Unimaginable does not mean catastrophic, nor does unthinkable.

The word: Spime – In 2004, Sterling did a speech at SIG-GRAPH and spoke of spime. It’s not a word; it’s a tag. It’s a theory object. William Gibson’s cyberspace is a conceptual realization. We’ll never have that, but the word is now passe.

Spime is a speculative imaginary object:

  • An interactive chip, unique identity, It’s got a tag
  • Local precise positioning system
  • A powerful search engine, auto-Googling object
  • Evolved in cradle to cradle recycling
  • 3D virtual models of objects; a product of CAD cams
  • Rapidly prototyped, it’s a fabject — a laser-centered model

If 21st century objects had these qualities, people would interact in unimaginable ways. Spimes begin and end as data. We want to do it to build an internet of things; engage from the moment of invention to the moment of decay. It’ll feel like auto-magical inventory voo doo. I ask, and I’m told. I Google to find my shoes. This concept needs distributive participation.

The semantic wit is turning into the wetlands of language.

A theory object is a platform of development. The 20th century could not write, think in this way. Theory objects can have permalinks, trackbacks, databases, etc. This is why the legacy media is going down, because legacy people don’t get it.

We need to become the change we want to see. Make no decision out of fear. None! (my emphasis).

Globalization needs to be understood culturally. Leaders are culpable, but the people are complicit. A society that lived in a locked closet and fed on their own illusions (Serbia). How different are we? Evil has a face in the world; people who don’t like people who don’t buy into their parochial bullshit.

But time passes with historical perspective.

Sterling closes by quoting Carl Sandburg. Picture 1937, the age of depression, WWII at the door…:

The people, yes

The people will live on.
The learning and blundering people will live on.
They will be tricked and sold again and again sold
And go back to the nourishing earth for rootholds.
The people so peculiar in renewal and comeback,
You can’t laugh off their capacity to take it.
The mammoth rests between his cyclonic dramas.
The people so often sleepy, weary, enigmatic,
Is a vast huddle with so many units saying:

“I earn my living.
I make enough to get by
And it takes all my time.
If I had more time
I could do more for myself and maybe for others.
I could read and study
And talk things over
And find out about things.
It takes time.
I wish I had the time.”

The people
With the tragic and comic two faced hero and hoodlum
Phantom and gorilla
Twisting to moan with the gargoyle mouth
They buy me and sell me
It’s a game
Sometime I’ll break loose
This old anvil, laughs at many broken hammers
There are men that can’t be bought!
Fire borne or at home with fire
The stars make no noise
You can’t hinder the wind from blowing
Time is a great teacher
Who can live without hope?
In the darkness with a great bundle of grief the people march.
In the night, and overhead a shovel of stars for keeps, the people march:

Where to? What next?


I didn’t finish my live-blog of Bruce Sterling’s brilliant speech; I couldn’t.

In the midst of his swaying through global references of humanity, ubiquitous concepts and reflective precision, Sterling briefly mentioned the humanity of the Serbian people, how they still gather to listen to poets speak and grown men openly weep within their shared language, as if their hearts were still broken.

I felt that.

When Sterling hit the very first line of Carl Sandburg’s poem, he began to weep; I immediately closed my laptop and felt the words of a man in the midst of a depression tumble out of the mouth of a man in the midst of privilege.

Bruce passionately pressed on, as each word struck a newly discovered nerve, setting off a choked up throat, a twist in his chair and freshly drawn tears. And I wept with him.

My last words at SXSW2006

Each of us—the creators and collaborators in this 2.0 revolution of media, communication, services—are the new leaders of this world.

Each of us.

The choices we make will shape our world; from the choice to harness our personal voice to the choice of developing real relationships with our fellow human beings to the choice of creating innovative, enabling worlds of objects in-between…

There is nothing else but choice; don’t think for a moment that there isn’t.

So the next time you come up with a brilliant service idea, try going that extra step to make it just that much more useful for your neighbor… or for that family living on the other side of the tracks… or for that child who was born into a depressed world where jobs are scarce, people are starving, and war is on the horizon. Because this world exists.

Thank you, Bruce.

UPDATE: Full Audio

what’s in a dot?


(calling a spade a spade and taking no shorts)
spit it back whole
discerning reality from a cajole
i’m not going down as if i never tried
the dotmatrix is forming
its time has just about arrived

Tag! We’re It! Part III

I tag like a 15 year-old kid in the South Bronx with a box full of Krylons and a yard full of freshly sandblasted cars.

I tag like I just got jumped by a handful of punks who made the mistake of letting me follow them to their trailer park homes adorned with freshly cleaned aluminum siding.

I tag like I get told who I am, what I’m supposed to believe and how I’m supposed to act on a daily basis.

I go all city, hoping that one day, the vehicles I’ve touched get stitched together to form a complete sentence.


I tag because I saw you leave your mark and it was dope.

I tag because I know how to freeze, watch TV and (kinda) avoid the kissing bugs.

I tag because the words I drop in time will find a way to form a cohesive rhyme.

I tag because the world may be getting smaller, but it’s damn sure not coming together.


I tag your name, your spot, your position, your mood, your frame of mind when it’s too hard for you to see it for yourself.

I tag the expected terms of modern constructs.

I tag the post-modern undercurrents of miscellaneous descriptors.

I tag my tags so that when structure is forged out of chaos, you’ll know how to find me.

I tag so that it’s me you won’t be looking for.


When I tag, I’m regurgitating the meal I’ve caught for the chicks in my roost.

When I tag, I feel one with the universe of the collective unconscious.

When I tag, I can see the pillars of control quaking in their foundation.

When I tag, I experience therefore I understand.

When we tag, anything is possible.


Tag! We’re It! Part II
Tag! We’re It!