Grandpa Obie was learning Ableton Live and put it into an 3d non-linear setting. Automation lines in red and yellow extended over the mountains like telephone wire, but were not being held up by anything. Any point that was touched could be adjusted, and I realized they could not only be used to change volume levels, panning and effect levels in music, but also the direction and outcome of our destinies.

I walked through the dessert following one of the lines, altering it intuitively. It led me to an apartment building near some large body of water, strings of lights, and a train. I followed people in nice suits as their heels echoed up concrete stairs. Gold light emitted from the place. I passed an open living room with a vivid powder-aqua sofa. People with black hair sat on the couch and I admired the color combination. This was the kind of place I wanted to live.

Hurtling Through Space: an excerpt from a parting letter

The event of our parting made me think about permanence and impermanence, and permanence within impermanence. I thought about death, but mostly I thought about how magnetic and beautiful you are, and how our fleeting interactions in our fleeting lives are sweet and vulnerable. I feel I’ve been condemned to love and happiness.

#DCSG-LDE/Obese Beats

Back  when Emily Montoya worked at Video Library, Noah and I would don our coolest outfits each Wednesday, $1 rental day, because we knew she would be behind the counter. Some 7 years later Emily and I are friends and fellow Meow Wolfers. Emily is a megalithic as  DJ Dirt Girl. I found her in the DJ caves, and asked to be her disciple.
Over break I saw Dirt Girl a few times, once at Unity Bash at Warehouse 21 and once at Robocalypse: Meow Wolf’s New Year’s Eve party. Bobreezy, who went to my high school, came home from Brooklyn to make an appearance at Unity Bash. Bobreezy raps about what he represents: “I wake up with pussy in my mouth, ‘cuz that’s what I’m about…”
In preamble about the next artist, I’ll briefly describe an occasion that occurred in my sleep several years ago. I was sneaking through a state building with a giant multi-colored seal on the floor, which was guarded by the “Rainbow Tiger of the East,” standing as large as a house. A skinny blue creature on stilts controlled the giant multi-colored tiger, and I hid beneath jewel-toned curtains, crawling out to sneak between executives on phones and escape across the river. As I swam I heard a cry and the words: “He’s dead!” I saw Keyboard AKA Noah Devore, lying on a stretcher.
“Oh no, am I dead?” He said. I told him he didn’t have to be dead and  he had to sing. “What should I sing?” He asked. I told him to sing about his feelings.
Keyboard, sat on stage at Unity Bash, apparently in pain: “pooping out his feelings” with his famous man-boy bedroom-pop. Noah and I placed a $5 wager over whether Noah D. would be wearing the sparkly-white sweater that he found in the W21 lost and found and wore to a “Dress your Worst” party last summer, which I haven’t seen him out of since.
As Dirt Girl conquered the stage Benji and I rode her sound waves in our true forms: Benji with Gibbon’s arms, and me as a Coyote-Slingshot (as Noah has described my style). A friendly spirit took us in, and Benji noted: “…that homegirl handed us WATER, like she was scared we were gonna keel over from dehydrated coyote slingshot gibbon-limbed dance exhaustion… …or ” #DCSG-LDE” as I call it.” Dirt Girl can really work a crowd, and this is what Benji yelled during a dramatic break before a slow-motion voice uttered: “I can really work a crowd.”
DirtGirl  gave me a sacred artifact, passed down through the New Mexican DJ lineage:  a scratched CD containing Ableton Live Suite.
Dirt Girl ushered us into the arbitrary Roman calendar change with her obese beats and golden transitions. Robocalypse had 800 guests this year, and I ran into every homie I’ve ever known as I blindly danced into them, wearing Rainbow Symphony Glasses. I opted for a traditional 60’s-Mod-Wind-Up-Robot costume and painted plentiful cardboard silver accordingly, my key getting loosed amidst the writhing sea of androids. El Museo Cultural was transformed into the inside of a cyborg’s brain, arcade games, bars, sculptures and robo-squatter’s quarters littered the warehouse space. Upon entering I was offered free admission by David Loughridge, and then given four free drink tickets. After carrying conversations with friend’s parents from childhood, old besties and throngs of acquaintances, I carried the Recently Dethroned, Alcoholic Robot Mining Princess (Romy) home. Some drunk strangers mistook my yellow car for a taxi, so I drove them home to: “Fiesta Street” where the party doesn’t ever end. 


Nic started a program with Meow Wolf “Chimera” that goes into local schools and collaborates with kids to make art. At the end of this semester we got into small groups and made movies, most of which involved zombies, aliens, and “party Rock Anthem” by LMFAO.

At Ortiz Middle School some of the kids had tattoos and cooler-than-thou attitudes, but those thawed quickly. One kid had symbols on his knuckles, an all-white outfit, complete with fedora, pointy shoes, and a bejeweled belt-buckle. I complimented his style and he beamed.

My favorite project was about a news-anchor/science teacher, goblins, a meteor and a Sphinx, one of the funniest ones was titled “Inspirations.” All the videos all viewable here. My favorite plot was devised by a class at Gonzales Elementary. Benji saw that it held social commentary about capitalism, socialism, pop-culture and surrealism: P Diddy was the football coach for Charlie. Steve Jobs hands Charlie flowers and opens a vortex into a world of cat clones with his iphone. At some point Paul Bunyen is working at Mcdonalds, but he looks like Fidel: socialism serving capitalism.

A couple of times during lunch break all the Meow Wolfers went to the Horseman’s Haven, a restaurant in the parking lot of a gas station notorious for having the spiciest chile in town. We discussed how excellent it would be if Benji ran for mayor – everyone loves Benji and he could run on a platform of art, youth, tourism, and decriminalizing marijuana. He was dubious about it, because he wouldn’t want to go to tons of meetings all the time, but is an excellent speaker. “Could I just be a puppet?”  Vince said he would be Meow Wolf’s puppet, and mentioned that to win in New Mexico all one needs is around 4,000 votes, Benji could simply shmooze with all the 15-year-olds now, and in get their votes in 3 years. As we left the Haven our waitress referenced Benji: “He’s so nice! Such a happy boy!” I asked her if she would vote for Benji for mayor.

At the end of the semester we piled out all the costumes and equipment, and noticed that the curb outside the school said: “Kiss and Drop.” I kissed the items and dropped them, then trotted into the sunset.




Indie Movie of the Evening

When I first got home I went to a house show with one of my BFF’s, Will, it was the debut of the music video he had been the director of photography on/edited. I was greeted by a huddle of hipsters holding Budweisers. One of them “C” had my haircut of the future.

The set-list was being held down by a jelly-bean, and the band Treemotel was comprised of some old college buddies. Greg, the fiddle-player now also plays musical saw, which combined well with the slide guitar. David (on slide) created hockiting rhythms against the glockenspiel-pattern. Here’s the video:
I’m better at precision-standing-around and mingling now that it’s legal for me to drink.  I was a protagonist in the indie movie of the evening. In the end C and I tore sections from the graphic design publication Kindling that sat in the hearth and exchanged full-names. Although I’ll probably not see C  now that our internet-lives are connected, I was able to view C’s art and subsequently put that great photo⥣ on my blog!  At first I thought it was some sort of sound stage with fog effects in the background, but then I realized it was a vertical shot of an adobe house with the sky above. 



Noah had a dream that a giant wave crashed over the desert. The dead trees with wasp nests and lizards were covered. An underwater coyote creature walked around, and tube-bridges connected the tops of buildings. One of the tubes broke and a woman within it died, Noah felt what she felt.



Skeleton Kitty
Faralitos on Canyon Road
My grandpa is officially named: Dennis Overman, but got the nickname “Obie Adobe” when he made 1,000 adobe bricks in a day. He’s an original hippie, artist, carpenter, construction worker, and musician. During my guitar recital in 5th grade, the whole music class was supposed to perform, but they had secretly arranged for me to have a solo, saying that they “forgot their instruments.” It was only when my grandpa joined me to sing harmony on Bob Dylan’s “You Ain’t Goin’ nowhere” that I realized what a sweet trick it was.
I went to The Hollar, a little restaurant in Madrid NM, to accompany Grandpa Obie on musical saw the other day. “Irene” by Caribou, complimented my drive up the winding mountain roads. 
Jazmyn bending fire with her will
“EIO” is what Earl, Ian, and Obie have been going by when they play The Hollar, but since my uncle is in Peru we were: “EEO” for a night. We played old-timey cowboy and folk songs, along with original material by my grandpa, 3 of my grandpa’s recently deceased friends, all by the name of Dennis, and Earl. During our break I drank an IPA from the Marble Taproom and noticed my skills improve threefold when I returned to the saw. After forgoing free fried okra due to wait-time, my family and I stood in the parking lot and made plans to bake our traditional “Pheemalramicpakaloomer” cookies.
Pals on Canyon Road
“Pheemalramicpakaloomer” is the name Grandpa Obie gave to a particular cookie cutter shape. Amongst the 37 shapes that are crafted each holiday season many decoration trends become traditions: Killer rabbit, inverted foot shape turned PacMan ghost, writing “foot” on the bear and other such puns, and then by the end just writing “Turtle Farts” “Machine” “Dog” etc. on everything. This year “Dog” was the most popular word.
On December 23rd I won the facebook-status-like-competition of the day, cashing in at around 20 likes. The status was: “I want to make a fragrance for MEN that comes in a flask, it will be scented like whiskey. It will be whiskey.” On December 24th my dad handed me a flask of Jim Beam, saying: “Here’s some cologne.” 
On X-Ma$$ Eve we eat boiled coyote teeth (posole) and tamales, my dad and I always sing The Pogues song that begins: “It was Christmas Eve babe, in the drunk tank…”Assorted younglings are sucked into my house and I feed them whiskey from the plastic rainbow shot glasses I keep in my closet. Because we live close to the Faralito Walk, my dad and I break out our marching samba drums and turn the formerly peaceful-drunk-caroling-carousers into roudy-drunk-caroling-carousers. This year Noah joined us on bell and we were mentioned in The New Mexican. As the walk progresses I am swept from group of acquaintances to group of acquaintances like a jellyfish, and every year I collect a group of pals and end up with them at my house, drinking cider by candlelight.
My uncle made a ship from scrap wood when he was a kid, and it’s been sitting in the windowsill of my grandparent’s adobe-beehive since. Each solstice my grandpa turns the ship around, because the direction by which its shadow sails across the wall changes at solstice, and my grandpa wants to see it sailing forward. Grandpa Obie also told Noah that he had better not sit in the laundry basket because it’s the portal to a hell-dimension, after I had dubbed Noah the “Molasses Dog”.  Noah said : “I am the Molasses Dog and all I can do is lean against the heater.” Grandpa Obie said that he thinks Noah is the new Jack Keroac, but not to let that on to protect against big-headedness. 
Grandparent’s land