Überhaus Diary

Überhaus Diary: Taking Apart the Old Ford

From 1998 Taking apart the old Ford Whitey could name all the pieces maybe not right names but he knew them all had hefted each in a greasy hand sometime along the way The Ford stood on blocks off the ground the pride and joy He’d crawl under without fear but it looked shaky to me Whitey

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Überhaus Diary: Scams

September 27th, 1998 I pulled up in front of the building. This black guy in a beret and an open shirt leaned toward the car and asked if he could borrow a gas can. I had none and said so. He asked if he could ask me something. He fumbled with a cellular phone and began

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Überhaus Diary: Sushi Date

From May 1999. Dating in a nutshell. sushi date I watch  Masa slice the fish draw his knife quick along the gleaming belly it seems to move itself as I float forever on your voice the soft curve of your lips cradling words full of recent events devoid of meaning God you are beautiful your eyes, way across the table

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Überhaus Diary: Tsuru no Sugomori

One night I walked from my apartment up to Portland’s tiny Japan Town and witnessed two old men sitting in a vast room playing go, a young man watching from the doorway. I went home and wrote this piece. It is typical of the sort of things I was writing at the time, fragments of

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Überhaus Diary: The Knife

November 23rd, 1997 The neighborhood was located in a little triangle formed by the intersection of two major highways. For once, the highway designers had gotten it right, placing the on and off-ramps in such a way that they were both invisible and practically inaudible to the homes of the neighborhood. My friends Holly and

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Überhaus Diary: Passion

A once heard it said that a good diary entry is a letter written to your future self. Using this maxim as a pole star, your can address daily happenings and the emotions they engender with a frankness impossible in, say, a letter to your mom. I keep it in mind when I write in my diary

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Überhaus Diary: {wash}

In the late 90s. Portland experienced a “heroin renaissance”  when a lot of cheap junk saturated the city. It took a toll. I would see junkies nodding in doorways, or sometimes doing the “junkie lean” in the middle of the sidewalk. When high they were ethereal beings. They seemed to dwell on a different plane.  Their edges

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Harvey High

Disclaimer: this story is based on real events, but is no way are a journalistic recording of  what actually transpired. Harvey High was a real person and we had this conversation. That’s all I will admit to. I heard Harvey High died a few months after this story took place, but I might be wrong. I sure

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Überhaus Diary: Last Thursday

In the late nineties, I had the good fortune to be the director of Überhaus, the last bandit loft in southwest Portland. We had an anti-art event called Last Thursday that started as a protest against Portland’s famous First Thursday gallery walk and soon became its own thing. We would feature  a show of  work curated by Sugar from the Bone, an east

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Überhaus Diary: The Biplane

Ever since I was hip-high to my father I have had a thing about vintage aircraft, especially planes from the wild experimental age between the wars. I loved the stories of Jimmy Doolittle winning the Schneider Cup, flying on instruments and generally doing insane things in the air. I loved the biplanes and sleek monoplanes.

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