THE KING IS DEAD, LONG LIVE THE KING
C U R S I V E B U I L D I N G S
"deeply into whatever"
the web zone of joshua heineman
&
ahhhhhmega-zine
- no. 4
- no. 3
- no. 2
- no. 1
- words
- polaroids
- overheard
- fever math
- reaching
- loops
songs ( more )
- summertime
- chance is our machine
- so don't you worry
- out tonite
- icstaww
- sun's not rising yet
contact:
J[at]CURSIVEBUILDINGS.COM
[ this recording ]
[ la blogotheque ]
[ paris review ]
[ p.klaffke ]
[ bldgblog ]
[ detritus ]
[ so it goes ]
[ l.london ]
[ c.eastburn ]
[ cabinet ]
panel by demian5
FREE $$$ IN 2 EASY STEPS
- hold the shift button.
- press 4 on your keyboard three times.
THE WAYS IN WHICH WE ARE LIKE LOST COMETS
stubborn
& starstruck
this world goes
on around
w/out us
& i
too
go
on
w/
out
y
o
u
.
.
.
( despite
everything )
![Reaching for the Out of Reach 48:
Explosion of an ammunitions wagon, Boer War, circa 1901.
[ more from this project (nypl permalink) ]](http://media.tumblr.com/MRcXpQ0mrf5zrm9cFDImjXY6o1_400.gif)
Reaching for the Out of Reach 48:
Explosion of an ammunitions wagon, Boer War, circa 1901.
[ more from this project (nypl permalink) ]
![Reaching for the Out of Reach 47:
Photographer and phantom pets at Pinogana, Panama, circa 1870.
[ more from this project (nypl permalink) ]](http://media.tumblr.com/MRcXpQ0mrex9jw60NyqcETKbo1_400.gif)
Reaching for the Out of Reach 47:
Photographer and phantom pets at Pinogana, Panama, circa 1870.
[ more from this project (nypl permalink) ]
BOMBS ON BUSH (st.)
last nite at approximately 9 pm, i bombed this hill on my skateboard in the dark… from the dirty victorians at the peak down into the steaming subway steps of the financial district. i rode it. like an eight-block, twenty-story wave of concrete & asphalt, i surfed this fucker & it was radical. i nearly wrecked more than once, weaving in & out traffic - the taxi cabs hauling diners to nameless hotspots - dodging cablecar lines & bellboys. the episode ended w/matea running after me in the streets beneath the russ building, losing her shoe in the lane & snatching it back just in the nick of time (like indiana jones) while i spun out trying to stop from colliding w/a man standing at the corner reading a newspaper. & the skateboard somersaulting into the intersection… & silence… & then laughing.
last nite at approximately 9 pm, i bombed this hill on my skateboard in the dark… from the dirty victorians at the peak down into the steaming subway steps of the financial district. i rode it. like an eight-block, twenty-story wave of concrete & asphalt, i surfed this fucker & it was radical. i nearly wrecked more than once, weaving in & out traffic - the taxi cabs hauling diners to nameless hotspots - dodging cablecar lines & bellboys. the episode ended w/matea running after me in the streets beneath the russ building, losing her shoe in the lane & snatching it back just in the nick of time (like indiana jones) while i spun out trying to stop from colliding w/a man standing at the corner reading a newspaper. & the skateboard somersaulting into the intersection… & silence… & then laughing.
FABLE
MEMORIES TIED TO MUSIC (& other hippie stuffs)
in the summer of 19 hundred 95, i was fourteen & faced w/the task of keeping the grass in our yard trimmed like a respectable beard. the chore, a renewable one, was punishment of sorts from my father for quitting league baseball & hockey in favor of skateboarding & free time - an understandable reaction in small town minnesota. anyway. i had headphones. i dug through my parents’ bin of old cassette tapes, eventually settling on a compilation of early jefferson airplane songs.
i have very specific recollections of pushing a dirty red mower across our lawn that summer, edging the volume higher than the motor… probably losing entire realms of my hearing in the process.
matea & i met paul kantner from the jefferson airplane saturday afternoon in north beach & it brought all these memories back from wherever such things sleep. i recognized him as he crossed the street to mail a letter & later we ended up in line at caffe trieste together.
highlights from our conversation:
1. “shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”
he didn’t seem to get that only nerds like me would recognize him.
2. “we had a lot of fun in those days… we still do”
translation: jefferson airplane took a lot of drugs… maybe still do.
3. “portland’s a great city… a little tame for me, but our first singer lives there”
this “first singer” is none other than grace slick, his longtime lover, collaborator & the mother of his daughter, china (an mtv vj & actress).
4. “there are only three cities… san francisco, vancouver & amsterdam”
please see no. 2.
ps. now 67, paul wore a scarf in the hot california daylite. this man toured europe w/jim morrison, claimed jerry garcia as his spiritual advisor & co-wrote one of my favorite jefferson airplane songs.
“ ain’t ever heard any foreign language out loud before today.
OVERHEARD: 3rd & Minna.
