My friend Bingo very generously lent me the majority of what you see in this picture. He told me he had a frame I could borrow. But that ended up including the fork, wheels, crank arms, chain.....Sam isnt really there any more, unless you count the rubber and plastic and leather items, and the handlebar.

Chigga? What kind of a name for the store is that? A mashing of two derogatory terms?
Epileptic manikin? Or is she just "leaning with it?"

probably woulda looked better during the day, or with a better camera, but the lights are too cool.

EDIT:

So previously there was this "improv" T-Mobile public perfomance ad that was also recorded for a tv advert.


I didn't investigate who or what was behind this "Silent Dance" orchestrated here when I checked it out, but the instructions were to the youth of London to bring their Ipods and dance to them in the Liverpool St Underground Station. ..Like in the ipod commercials. So maybe Apple is behind this? Or maybe its just a copycat. Or something Improv-Everwhere -ish. Eitherway, in the video below , I hope you noted the young pale lad in the upper corner who wants so bad to dance WITH the smooth hip-hoppers, but lacks the courage to join in. After I stopped recording however, he did join in. Briefly. And awkwardly. Maybe it was I preventing this joyous incident from happening after all.



poor newslady probably didn't sell too many papers that day, sadly.

If you want to talk like a Brit, just describe everything as "proper," pronounced "prop-pah."


Below is how my bike looked before i got a proper stem. 1/8 inch too big meant that i couldnt fit my cups, headset, or bearings. Note the pileup of those components as a haphazard pile of spacers, as the stem had to act as an improvised bolt-down to keep the fork from flying off my frame. To act as bearings, i got some lockrings (big washers) at the bottom and oiled them every day to make sure i could turn. Got a lot of attention from bikers and shops.
Now, the almost proper assembly, how it is supposed to look (again, almost). Still missing the bottom bearings and the top headset nut because the fork tube was too short

Grabbed me by surprise. I was expecting a parka, poncho, nuts, or jellybeans given the package's sheer size. First time I had beef here that wasnt the ground up scrappy parts.

Right after the clearcoating...which has been chipping away...causing it to rust again...very sad

These tinfoil monks are actually "sculpted" around real people kneeling down to get the pose molded. Interesting point of view on how mass followings, monkhood, and even religion might seem intimidating, bright and attractive -- but might be really empty inside.
This reminded me of Uncle Ariel's paper-mache Parliaments on display in the office at Grandma Prose's house.

Sheets of rubber carved with the city plan of Dublin or something.




Chairman Mao, one of the very realistic figures in this automated exhibit of aged world leaders. Comical.

The City is Coughing

Erik Homsapaya

At the grocer,

The tomato, potato, and noodle soups are cleared -- Diminished;

Prejudicially cleansed from the shelves,

Whether donned in white paper cartons, pristine and refrigerated,

Or the dust-capped generic-brands, bottom shelf,

Ones your knees sweep dust to read.

Pastries aren't prescriptive meds, but must be therapeutic:

Cakes, doughnuts, and cookies have all disappeared for today.

Confectionery Comfort.

It's no wonder people walk and stand around like zombies:

Pale, cloaked, shut-off, staring at the floor:

They all feel like shit. Not winter depression, but

Winter vomiting and influenza viruses.

Heads leaning on glass and plastic walls of a nauseating ride,

"I want to be home already" is the track on repeat

In every rider on the cabin.

The train slows down slower than ever,
The Door Open buttons blinking, flashing, taunting.

Rapidly pushing this button won't make the door open faster,

But I keep hoping it does--

Wait, that one gross guy -- smearing his drippy nose with his bare hand --

He just exited this door, at the stop before,

Didn't he?

After all that rain and snow, finally a warm and sunny day, perfect for a ride out with friends

Businessman on the Metro

Erik Homsapaya

Would be tycoon and

Aspiring chairman of the board,

This morning, the floor

And the seats, are yours.

Siphon your pre-professional jargon

Into a glass booth before

That snailpiece clipped to your ear

Crawls in deeper, past the canal

And into your pumping thyroid.

On first introduction

Your Louis tie bar

And high-cut

Burberry blazer

Would scream

Esquire, "Dress like

you own the boardroom,"

August issue, 2005.

But with that sad attempt

To slick back a wild-night bed head,

Sprinting to make the Ten o'clock

From Main to Downtown,

Lowballing distributors on your iPhone,

Crumpled forms escaping your murse.

When you finally crash into the office --

Instead of that raise you and your padded shoulders

Expect on top of your desk, these days

Its much more likely you'll find your name,

In black Sharpie,

Scribbled on an empty box,

Your possessions inside or waiting to jump in.

makes for an interesting ride.




Taken at my "porch."