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April 18, 2008

a tiny dream dashed


On the University of Washington campus grounds, there is a work of art known as "The Department of Forensic Morphology Annex". The work basically looks like a large sheet metal igloo, and where an entryway would be, there is a complex latticework skeleton of interlocking circles. Through these holes, semi-retarded university students toss empty bottles of Mountain Dew and discarded roaches.

I've always loved the work, and one day, while bored and stoned, walking around with Jessetastic, I began hitting the sculpture with the palm of my hand. It made a variety of sounds, and before long I was feverishly playing a little musical composition with my heels and hands.

I got a little dream in my heart that I would invite people I knew in the spring, and play a whole concert at the piece, and it never left me. I didn't know the name of the piece and couldn't find it mentioned on any description of the campus' public art.

Eventually I contacted the campus and found Kurt Kiefer, the director of public art on campus, and he was incredibly nice. I put together a letter for Kurt. Sadly, I got the following response:

Hi Daniel,

Well, it appears that Cris Bruch is very much opposed to this because of the possibility of damage to the work. I think I need to go with his wishes and not allow the concert. Thanks for asking.


Well... I guess that's it then. I'm glad I followed up on it to the hilt, and found out.

April 14, 2008

requiem for ross

Actually it's a little pathetic when I pour some of my coke on the ground and say it's for my dead homies. Cause... I don't have that many dead homies.

Ross is one of them though. I was friends with Lauren Beth Yockey for awhile before I met Ross Yockey. She had told me about her parents, and then abrubtly they moved to Seattle and I got to know them. Joanne with her quiet southern dignity, and Ross with his enthusiastic lust for life, and intense curiousity.

I was a writer and so we gravitated together. His curiousity was insatiable and he would always ask a million questions of me. He could not be satisfied by shallow answers,

When I wrote a book of poetry as an elaborate Christmas card, and gave it to people as a Christmas gift, he stopped there in Beth's living room and read it, in its entirety. He looked at me with a devilish look and read a poem aloud for me, as if it were an imperative.

One time, when I was talking to him about marraige. (I was engaged and asking for advice.) He told me, "It's best to just do whatever your wife wants. It works out better that way." I chuckled at him, but he was right. Joanne said, "You just have to keep talking."

Ross has been on the way out for awhile. The last 3 parties I saw him at, he had a tank of O2 in tow, and it hurt me to see him, swollen and dying. I asked Beth if I should call Joanne, and she said I should call Ross and see him. But I fucked up. I missed my chance to spend a moment with him, and soak up what he had to say one last time. Or provide a moment of comfort to him. Whichever.

Shit. Now I have someone to pour out Chardonnay for. Ross, thanks man, you raised up a good woman, and you left two good women behind. I miss you so much already.