PORTLAND

july 1, 2008

June 29, 2008
OREGON,
quick 4+ hour expedition. Mountains again.
The drive into Oregon, I think we both immediately like it better then Seattle. Hills and layers of city. like we hadn't seen before.
but our mission wasn't Portland, it was Beaverton. And our subject, was Craig's cousin Charles.
Enter: Charles.
6'3" 300 lbs. of sarcastic sweetness.
Craig and Charles chatted for a bit about family, while I met Monte, their little rescue kitten.
Later, we meet his room mates: Tim and Amanda who are expecting a baby.
Ultimately, I don't think Amanda ever really liked us there.
Sleep in their guest room... kind of like New York all over again.

July 1, 2008
PORTLAND
Bike around the city. Pioneer Square again.
Watch a man get stun gunned and arrested on the street from the good will window.
Bike to Washington Park uphill in the wrong direction. fuck vista.
Bike to Washington Park in the right direction after meeting the old woman who prunes the rose gardens... she was sweet.
Crazy Hills.
Take the Max back to Beaverton.
Craig, I think is beat from biking, and probably won't bike for the rest of this trip.

Babble babble, blubber and babble.
She keeps a clip tight to hold her mullet back tight, and a ring of fat to warm her neck.
turquoise and plastic rainbow stars hold up her dreams.
you are a queen.
"he'll bite you if you don't have something for him." "they are extortionists"

eat the best indian food ever.



Watch a man get stun gunned and arrested for touching a cop, from thrift store window.
slooow down Portland.

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July 2, 2008
Research

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July 3, 2008
Marshmallow woman eating beef stick
Man with "love" carved into his knuckles
Portland is color.
But not every place makes poetics
No Chicken Parm Sub at Dreamers Cafe
Jackpot Record
Pomell's Book Store
Max Ride Home- a bassist makes poetics about his philosophy on music
"I make music, not my instrument"
-The comment phrase, you can tell a lot about a person by the shoes they wear.
Mine a dropping the beat and falling apart.
The two girls across from me, clean and golden.
They are wearing the exact same pair.
4 shoes. Golden Gleaming and crisp.
Your are ripping the your stairways from the house, but ever still kissing the blisters that plague my feet. Waking up next to you, it's a curse.
-And you can write the bravest pop song in the world, but you won't kill the machine.
But, if you can write prayers, than so can I. How fast you drink your beers! Good thing we have them to do our thinking.