Only 2 days away! Philosopher’s Stone Poetry is hosting A Psychedelic Poetry on the sidewalk in front of Vintage on Venice at the Mar Vista Art Walk this Thursday evening, September 7. We have an awesome line up, featuring 8 poets and 1 musician. We will be selling typewriters too! Come say hi between 6-10 pm to also participate in a community poem that will be read at the Art Bazaar After Party behind Grandview Fine Art Studios. It is going to be a joyfully bend-mending night and we cannot wait to hit the streets with our poets again.
Check out pspoet.org for more information about our poetry non-profit, and follow us on social media (links on website) for updates on events, contests, writing prompts and more.
We met these dudes from a blues-rock band named Kaleo with our friend Steve at the Old Man Bar in Culver City. We had a drink or two there, then headed over to our place and partied until the wee hours of the morning. They were super chill and we all had a great time.
They invited us to their show at the Wiltern in Mid-City last weekend. We showed up in time to watch the Mayweather vs McGregor fight with them in the green room. We hung for a bit then it was time for them to play. We went backstage to sneak a peak of the crowd. The place was packed. The anticipation was hard.
The bellowing blues bass lines and guitar riffs began, reverberating the entire space. The music rumbled my stomach, like the butterflies you get when visiting some place new. They rocked and rolled with powerful waves of sound and clean, poignant vocals. It was a great night. Hope to see them again soon.
We drove down from Big Bear Mountain after a Spring day of snowboarding in March this year. It was a beautiful Sunday drive from nearly 7,000 feet to the flat desert, where the sun was setting hard against the sky. We lost day like we do always, fearless and unknowing and with a fiery calm rage.
On a day where the bed is a beautiful as the sky
I will be reading tonight at Gravlax! Last one until September. ♥ Nisi
I creep through ancient forests,
decrepit, abandoned- nearly destroyed.
A dense fog lay beneath my shins,
I cannot see the forest floors.
Only a smoky grey ocean,
an unearthly mystic haze.
The morning barely sung,
newborn to a day of solitude.
Creatures nest, flourishing
where I cannot see but I can hear.
Now as dreams have clouded,
this morning is full of realists.
I hear crisp of leaves below
bare feet scratching the palms,
my toes reach hesitant for stepping.
I pull away from some hanging bones
and through the branches
I peek the rest of the world.
With a snake-lake gaze,
I see there [still] lays a strange
beauty in this wasteland,
something worth saving.