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Formerly CAKEBEEF.
Then I was a caveman.
Then I built myself a metal bird.

I publish Rosario Dawson Loves Me and SMAYARTZAYALWTIGAIAIK, which you should read.

I write about music on the internet.

Currently located in Seattle, WA.

j.m.valmassoi@gmail.com

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3rd May 2010

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There’s lost.  You know, peeking into alleys and darting past their waiting mouths with handbag tight to your sternum, eyes flicking up and around and occasionally behind, looking for street signs or an escape route or anything familiar.  Looking out for the bad guys.  Looking for the light. There’s lost like, I was lost in her eyes for minutes, if not hours. Then there’s lost like, If I could count all the things that I have lost I would wander out into the street, bent beneath the weight of my shame and loneliness, through the city center to the thinning tenements, past the gates and salt refineries and failing streetlamps, out into the thickets and then through the trees, away from shelter, away from light or hope or succour, until I was as well and truly lost as one can be, in whatever parlance you choose. There’s also LOST, which is a TV show that used to be pretty good, but now makes me moan and occasionally holler at my television, saying things like, “Really?  Really, LOST?  Get lost, LOST.” There’s just a lot of ways to be lost.

There’s lost.  You know, peeking into alleys and darting past their waiting mouths with handbag tight to your sternum, eyes flicking up and around and occasionally behind, looking for street signs or an escape route or anything familiar.  Looking out for the bad guys.  Looking for the light.

There’s lost like, I was lost in her eyes for minutes, if not hours.

Then there’s lost like, If I could count all the things that I have lost I would wander out into the street, bent beneath the weight of my shame and loneliness, through the city center to the thinning tenements, past the gates and salt refineries and failing streetlamps, out into the thickets and then through the trees, away from shelter, away from light or hope or succour, until I was as well and truly lost as one can be, in whatever parlance you choose.

There’s also LOST, which is a TV show that used to be pretty good, but now makes me moan and occasionally holler at my television, saying things like, “Really?  Really, LOST?  Get lost, LOST.”

There’s just a lot of ways to be lost.