Intergalactic Shirts
i realize that i write the word "just" a lot. and "anyway." that i'm frequently tempering my statements as if they'll be challenged.
i also realize that there's no U in team. i really need to make shirts that say that. and ones that say "shut up hippie" because bartlebee forwarded this to me:
Open "Mike"
You are invited to an extraordinary event!
Who is Michael?
Michael is an entity of 1050 individual essences or souls, who have already lived all their lives on the physical plane and now that they are recombined into one consciousness, they bring their teaching forth from the causal plane. The purpose of this teaching is agape, or unconditional love, acceptance and understanding. They bring forth information that empowers the individual to fully be who they really are, expressing their own unique divine nature and purpose. Michael is a group of intelligent, wonderful, compassionate, humorous, wise and loving beings, here to serve in the transformation of consciousness of this planet now so rapidly taking place. Their information is awesome and very helpful. They also like to have fun.
michael also like wiffleball, hot wax, size 50 H breasts pressed up against his windshield, and cash donations. his pet peeves are people who eat hot dogs next to him in the movie theater and the scientific method.
no hippies.
please leave me a message on the causal plane.
i'm sorry, michael. i don't mean to make fun of you. it's just that i feel an overwhelming physical need to mock you until i pass out. luckily, with that whole unconditional love thing you won't hold it against me.
in this travel catalogue we saw at my in-laws? bras "in sizes to 50" with cups in A, B, C, DD, E, F, G, H"
50 H? how many 50 H sized knockers could there be out there in the world? who tools the factory line to produce 50 H bras?
an optimist? michael? is that you?
here's another little story for you:
on Friday i was walking home up Market St. there was a semi pulled off against the curb, it's engine still running. as i passed, the scruffy looking trucker dude stuck his head out the winder. he said, "hey. am i anywhere near the castro?"
i said, "sure. just walk down market a few blocks, you can't miss it."
his whole face lept into joy and he exclaimed, "great! i hear it's gay central!"
he was so durn cute i almost cried. go get 'em, trucker-dude!
then we went to see The American Astronaut at this club 12 Galaxies down on Mission. American Astronaut was excellently weird and i recommend repeating viewings while chewing peote buttons. what was even weirder was that Frank Chu was there. you know Frank Chu, right? he's that dude that's always standing around Powell and Market with that sign that reads...
wait.
it reads sometimes:
Forester
12 Galaxies
Joxkurenical Impingements
ABC Geschoxanikul Coverage
Stoltkorzanical
Abscessed Lethargic
Obstetricians
or:
Clemens
12 Galaxies
Kaskozeticul Diplomacy
PBS: Yuxtroronikel Coverage
Wexkorhvtonical
Extemporaneous Impeachment
Carnivores
but it always says 12 Galaxies!
i just wrote the club an email to see if there's a connection.
and i SO want to make a shirt that looks like one of his signs! maybe the club will go in on it with me?
Yes, the club is named after Frank's signage.
There was a gallery show awhile back in the Mission where you could've bought one of Frank's actual signs. I was bummed that I missed out. They were only $40.