A TEMPORARY RECORD

I believe any context would just ruin the magic.

I suspect that I would do the same, if I ever found myself in South Hackney.

I’m not entirely certain why I find this photo so compelling. Is it the natty manpurse? Is it the hat, tipped jauntily to the side? Or is it because the soldier is trying to inform me, in a somewhat threatening fashion, that North Korea has my nose?

So many questions, so very few answers.

Elephants fight Nazis in a zoo. THE END.

WHERE IN THE WORLD IS—Oh. Well, that was anti-climactic.

I am filled with an ineffable sense of joy. Thank you, Internet.

(link copped from the wefail twitter feed)

It’s the small things that really make me miss the city. I used to eat at Smokey’s nearly every day, even after I moved out of the Petworth neighborhood to Woodley. I’d come in for lunch, order my regular, and Mrs. Lee would then proceed to give me shit about how I was doing in college, like a straight-up Korean mother. She’d even give me free meals if I made good grades.

For those of you who don’t know, Mrs. Lee’s mumbo sauce really is the best in the city.

‘Tis Françoise Hardy, on a motorcycle. You’re welcome.

So. About a year-and-a-half ago, I recorded a cover of Ms. Hardy’s “Voilà” with a lovely girl who had lonely eyes, a heartbreaking smile and a voice that brought to mind the sensation of someone gently, but persistently pressing against your chest. I often regret that we never recorded more music together. Oh well, oh well, sigh, etc etc etc

Pitter, patter, silence. My heart just stopped.

ROME—Sophia Loren, 1955. © David Seymour / Magnum Photos

I occasionally write and record some music with my very talented friends. Here are four inconsequential songs about absolutely nothing in particular.

Our little family has a facebook page, and a tiny label as well. Maybe you’d like to visit either or even both after taking a listen or two?