Saturday, December 29, 2007



Lucida Grande. It's close to Garamond...and why they don't have that, I'll never know, however, I know at least with this programme, I can type elsewhere, and I can fix that. I can fix it now or later. I can write in whatever, on whatever I suppose, and then post and then from there, view and have others look and view and that will be just peachy.

Hello, it's me again. Saw OMEGA MAN mach 2 the other day with mom. We're going to Rancho today at 9 and hope is we'll find some good stuff with the hooded zip up jacket with a bit of thermal wrapped in...maybe some insulated booties with sure grip sole. Hella drive. Have to try out the Camry. The hybrid one. Mine stays home on this with a full tank of petrol.


May all of you find the remote device you love and be forever connected, no dropped calls or lost files. Publish Post. Sell CD. Wear whatever. Never get chastised, and always be happy...or at least have minimal chagrin prospects now and then to give balance to your multi-faceted journey, this thing called life...the way to death. (That ugly in some ways final arbiter of what is and what isn't. What we all will face at some time in the "future", for good or ill.)

Listen to some happy music. Listen to some sad. Cry every now and then. It gets out the impurities. Drink a lot of pure water too. Enjoy.

Thanks for stoping by these snowy woods this evening.


Thursday, December 13, 2007

Drunk As A Skunk Here; Feelin' Fine.

Some one once said: "I'm in love with her, and I feel fine." I find that when I am in love with her, all my troubles begin. I feel and want and yearn and have nothing to say. I'd be an ass and it'd be inappropriate to tell her, hey, you know what? I can't get you out of my mind. I mean, I think about you night and day. Help me. I need your help. It's a sickness, or something like that. She'd laugh in my face if she did any thing or give me the number of a 24hr. hot line, of this I am certain.
Hey, have you ever tried one of those "dating services"? She once said to me. No, I replied. I can't do that. I can't join some "speaker's club", as another gal I know once suggested. It's awful, terrible. I can't relate. I can't rely on any thing.
Imagining all these connectivity issues. Getting together doing this that or the other, but nothing, nothing ever happens. I see/meet with this that or the other person, but nothing, nothing ever happens. I don't get it, as it were.
There's more to this, I know. I think I can work it into a story. At least I hope so, certainly. I need to do it. It has to happen. There is nothing else for me. I have to do this. This is what I do.
DATELINE: Cancun, Mexico. Hot weather in MAY, 2008. I am here with my family and we are away from the nortenos for a brief respite and hope is a bit of pull-over buying and even some drunken revelry. I certainly hope so. Hops today, courtesy of Samuel Adam's HALLERTAU
Imperial Pilsner, an intense Hop Experience. 10 bucks for the 4 pack. Not bad if you like the thing. Need to eat though. Will have to break out the bread and lay down the turkey, thin sliced, with a single sheet of mild mozzarella. All on plain Potato Bread, smeared with Grape Seed oil sandwich moistener.
There is too much to read in life and not enough body physicality to get into it and all before you're hurting or dead. Nope, not enough time. Too bad too, people have worked long and hard to get you those words on pages of books you will never read. Shame. Such a sad, and genuinely depressing shame.
The good life would be that I could write this or write to you or speak live at you from the Mexican digs of my Dad's in Ajijic, Jalisco, Mex. before getting on a plane to Cancun, this May, and all that with my portable device no bigger than a deluxe bar of soap, and connected to the WORLD WIDE WEB via satellite or whatever, still connected to my server/service, and not having to pay my pirated body parts to do it.
However, life isn't like that. It is like this: You can do this now, real simple. And the truth of it is, you CANNOT!!! That's what's so inexplicably fucked and what I hate like hell in life, what life in REALITY is. That's what sucks!

Sunday, December 09, 2007

My Whitechapel - Introduce Yourself Entry...

CommentTimeNov 30th 2007 edit (6.388)
368 of these things so far, eh? Pretty good. But I haven't the faintest idea of how to go about creating any thing clever. I can't figure out how to put one of my stupid pictures on here or any thing. I won't lie and say I'm a writer or drug addict or supposed religious nut or any of those other suckeyed mule type of things. I will type professionally and there won't be any intentional typos on this damn thing either. The writing will be neat and transposed. I won't be able to write to you from a mobile device in some pub some where for the simple reason I'd have to drive, and I won't drive drunk. I can't. Sure, I could, but I won't. I'd rather say hello and hope that something clicks. Some day it might but I really think it won't. Not pessimistic, just realistic...I try. I really do...but, if this is effort, you and maybe I can some day see that we know why, it really wasn't ever going to be that I'd be a full time paid writer and loved my life a lot as a result. No. I'm just a frustrated monorail pilot in Orange County some where. Maybe Shell City, maybe not. Maybe in Florida, maybe not. You decide. This is your chance to reject or accept. I am out of the picture. I refuse to accept responsibility with it any more. I'm the stupid git who bought a pen I can't get refills for. I'm the gat-damned idiot who quit my one dentist and went with another and found out later after buying a 700.00 lava/coral tooth cover, that my dentist office doesn't do fridays...I have fridays what the f-ning hell? Why would I blow off a day at work to be in the dentist office on a day to get the tooth cover for which I can't afford because I'm skipping work? I quit my old time dentist because I was tired of getting a crown every time I went in. It was too much. Now, I have a half and a temporary. What is it all about? Grinding and not sleeping. Snoring and apnea....who knows. Who knows. I don't really care for these things. They are a waste of time. Who does them? You hear about people doing them and you wonder. And then you go about reading books. It's not Alphaville. It's Zeroville. Just read Steve Erickson's latest. I love it. Great read. Most accesible book of his to date. Still spilling his philosophy and all, and I'd like to meet with him again some day...same goes for Warren...hard to imagine I'm older than Warren and younger than Steve. Both are with gorgeous lovely women and have careers and are happy. I have neither. Oh well...not going to feel sorry for sense there...I would and have traded the idea of marriage for the struggle of writing and maybe getting to where I can have some stuff to sell...I have a thing or two and no one thinks a bit to say to me. It's crap obviously and no one with any money to buy is looking because I haven't got it to them...every one here is probably here because in their quietest moments they're lonely for some damn reason. It's a world out there or in here and there's something to it but yet I can't help but feeling that there's a...there's some kind of gimp factor to it as well. People want something out of it. There's a kind of look at me thing to it...I just don't...get it...I don't know why I do it....I've wanted to delete all of this....several times...I've kept going...don't know why....I'll just stop. Hope it accepted...and try to do no more. I'm going to Pisgah to see a man about a dog. (Translation: I'm off to piddle around by my lonesome right now so let me go, unhindered.)

It's the home page...there...they don't want wankers...too late...too bad I can't get my photos loaded in there. I have some nice photos of me...see the one of me on the boat in '06. Freakin' nightmare I can't work the computer and software and know exactly what is what and what I don't have to piss and whine and be all angry and whatever about because it's really such a silly simple thing....fucking nightmare for me...I hate this shit.

Friday, November 16, 2007

ON FRIDAY, November 16th, Heard about The Iran Agenda?

The Ultimate Dog and Pony Show
Most “experts” claim and all seem to agree that that public spin of the United States and its efforts overseas and in the world at large and on the world stage and in hemispheric public mindsets, that it’s all a dog and pony show. Some kind of smiley diffidence laden bullfuckshitcrap deal of nothingness, misdirection and obfuscation, utilizing the classic prestidigitation when it comes to Iran & Iraq, Afghanistan, and even Darfur, in Africa.
Something else is really going on despite what’s getting reported in the papers. You can hear and you can read and you can figure out on your own that that crap they’re feeding you on CNN and the papers (what little happen to exist any more), is just that, CRAP! And I tell you mister, if you don’t bury it or shovel it away, and you work in it, you’re going to have respiratory and other “problems”, for the rest of your life. You won’t get a rest. It’ll kill you.
My life, my body, my psychic aura or something or another is trying to tell me something is wrong, but do I listen? Do I do any thing about it?
I need rest. I need to consider. I need to get straight what’s going on. What can I do? Where can I start? I do not know. I simply do not know, and it is a grave and troublesome phenomena in my life.
NO sooner do I get fixed with the cough and get rid of it, when I hurt my back. Or my back is hurting me. No sooner does that get cared for then I have my left ear clog up and cause discomfort with pressure and sound coming in all fragmented, buzzy, and crackly. What gives? What is going on? What is being said to me through these things and I assume more, that I’m not getting?
What is the message? I need a vacation. I need a new job. I am grateful for what I have and what I have is not all paid for yet. Brand new car really. First year of 5 for paying for it has come to an end or will be done next month, for it was a year ago then that I “bought” it. Which when you get a loan you get it paid for by a loan company and then you pay the loan company back with interest, causing the car to cost even more, but, what can you do? YOU can’t afford to pay cash outright for a car. You’re a loser. You don’t have any thing but good credit. Who the fuck are you?
The car’s 7 + years old but it’s brand new really as it’s cherry in condition, so far…the vanity mirror folding thing on the driver’s side sun visor fell out several months ago. But so what? That’s nothing. Hurts. But, you know, it’s one of those things you’ll let go and not fix because it’d cost more than you could believe and you don’t want to hassle it.
You can’t find the clothes you have to wear and yet you want to buy more. In fact, you get coupons and you get to the stores on the way home from work and you’re tired and out of sorts and you go to a store and try clothing on. FUCKING EXPENSIVE CLOTHING, that really costs too much and then you think how it’s going to be paid for…trying to find a way. You still have not got your payment for your coral/lava tooth cap/crown figured out. And for today, the dentist was going to get you fitted/situated with it, but dammit all her subordinates canceled your appointment. You tried for another but no go. What’s going on there? What gives? What doesn’t really. What doesn’t give is your dream of writing for a living…in a world where no one really needs writers. No one needs to pay them really.
Some one said once, the writers are on strike. Go to Hollywood, network man, network. Do they understand striking writers don’t need or cannot possibly help folks to whom they’d have competition from, coming up to them on their picket line and asking how they became writers or just who their agents are so that they the would be crank on the street can become a writer too? But it’s done with good will. It’s gone done with decent intentions and I appreciate it like hell. I really do. But it’s not how it’s done, is it? What is the way? How? NO one has read my script and the one person who did want to read simply didn’t respond. Maybe because it was in such a piece of crap state. But I did fix it and it rocks now and is perfect and all but so what? I have to look as a project, for my novella of it and get it going and see what’s what there and make that happen. Get that an agent. Go from there.
Ultimately it is about us. What do we do? What’s next? Where do we go from here and what do we do to get there?
The U.S. is doomed as a country if we can’t get it by for of the people and have if the really smart people seem to know what’s really going on, our tarnished trashed and ultimately damaged world view image resuscitated on the world stage, and get to where we need to be, get going, and get out of here. Moving on. Moving on. Moving on.

Monday, November 12, 2007


Oh, I just want to write. I want to read. I want to be able to sit and read and write all day for months on end and not have to worry one whit about bills rent or being a loser or getting caught lying, cheating, breaking the law, having the law invade my house or houses or homes...or picking up my car in the middle of the night, or any thing else like that. I want the continued joy of putting my thoughts on paper on the internet and having people like them so much so as to pay me to do so and pay me for promoting things too. That's what I want. I don't want to have to do any thing else.

Friday, November 09, 2007

The Game Is Played In Pain

Yeah, sure, but it can keep one from playing or playing well too. Sure, deal with the hand we're dealt, Warren Hinckle (Who Killed Hunter Thompson?--The next Oral History of Hunter S. Thompson due...?) once wrote a book that was titled words to the general effect of the old saw: If Life Gives You Lemons, Make Lemonade. Sure, Lemonade. That's good with limes and rum. Good rum, with fresh crushed iced and mint leaves. Spearmint, Peppermint(?) and ? I don't know. What else would you want in it? More rum? Vodka? Never mind, just don't mix it with explosives or driving or any thing stupid like that. Just sit back with friends and read at that point. Watch a ball game. We don't need any thing mean or violent. It just causes pain. It hurts, and life interfere's with plans enough: My Ship Came In While I Was At The Airport Catching A Plane. And that pretty much can sum up life at times as I've found it at least.
You finally get that pair of pants or locate those beautiful mountain climbing "approach" shoes you'd been wailing about and they're moth eaten or something....the bottoms fall out or every time you put them on you get athlete's foot. Terrible thing. What now? What do you do then? Buy new ones? They don't make them any more. Buy something else or just move on and try like hell not letting it get you down. That's the main thing, because there's more life to be lived and its yours to live and share with others and freedom aint free but you have to do something about it any way.
Yeah, that's what life is. You tell yourself no more books. Read the ones you have and you go right ahead and buy more. You have to stay inspired. Somehow some how you'll find a way to write read pay bills work your job etc. Somehow. Some how. Some way, on and on and on. Moving On.


Friday, November 02, 2007

Seven Thousand Dollar Dental Visit. Or, I Got A Loan From the Stage Coach Company I'll Have 6 Months To Pay

MY DENTIST IS HOT but so what? If your dentist has to be asked to get you new toothbrushes…if your dental hygienist is different every time, then there’s a problem…and, esp. sic. Every time you go in there, there’s a “crown” required, on a tooth that of course isn’t fully covered by the highest dental program/coverage plan you have through your work, RUN! Run like fucking hell!!! Sure, you’ll have all the latest knick-knacks and gew-gaws of technical machinations. There’s a TV/computer screen and screen savers about porcelain veneers and they’re all photo-shopped to hell I’m sure. In two week’s time the prison factory tooth designer/builder team is ready with another crown, zero metal in this one thank goodness, but dammit all, I’m sure YOUR doctor won’t be there to put it in. Uh-unnh. She’s going to be on maternity leave, delivering her second (I’m guessing.) baby. WTF?! I’m tired of all this crap. A co-worker said the other day: People really should get hobbies. (Pointing to all the strollers he has to corral.) I think it’s true. This world is a fucked place, not just because all the medical crap is bogus and unnecessary, but with the way the world is going…the pain and fear of bills and payment schedules…having to scrimp and not buy any thing and do without all the time, just blows. Just absolutely blows. What the fucking bloody hell are people going to be working at? What jobs are there? What are people going to do? What the fuck is there to do? As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, which is why the arguments for not living are really appealing right about now. It’s a fucking waste being here. What am I here for? What are we here for? There’s nothing coming. We can’t get out of here with any thing, so, what’s the fucking point? What indeed? One can only conclude: Have Fun While Here. Fuck Around. So, how do we do this? Make a bunch of money and party. That’s about it. Have fun while doing it…else-wise, it’s a complete waste of carbon we are.

The War We Should Really Protest

Fine and well for the present day Iraq conflict, but it's really a waste of time. What we should really protest (as if it would be any affect good/bad), is the IRAN invasion, you know? That's the one we really must protest and get rid of the present ruler in office's job over.

Saturday, October 13, 2007



HAVE THIS TALE TO TELL, that isn’t easy to relate. The subject (one point in it), is about “suicide”, and that has always been a “sensitive” one for me. I was once asked by my friend Tim Kahle: “Have You Ever Thought About Killing Yourself?” because, he said, I always seemed so frustrated. I told him that, “suicide is definitely OUT of the question”, and so that was that. At the time, I believed in GOD and that that was the deal there where you didn’t do that sort of thing, etc. I didn’t explain that to him or any thing but there you are. I remember walking down the street once screaming up at the heavens for god to kill me or something like that. I don’t know what I was pissed at, but, was angry and wanted things to end…I didn’t know Tim at the time. This was way before I’d even left Eader Elementary School. In fact, it was on the way to it with a friend or something…maybe on my way home or something, on the next housing tract over and it was raining or something and I shouted up at the sky and cursed or damned or something and I was cautioned by a friend and I stopped and sort of just ran mute a moment…considering what my friend had said. It cooled me off. He said something about not doing that or something. I don’t know….don’t know who it was or what was said or any thing now. Nothing. I recall nothing from that but what I’ve told you just now.

What I want to write, and put in a blog, is a bit painful, because it mentions the topic of suicide and goes on to other things and all and it’s not the whole point of every thing, but, it’s there and is a very real and sensitive thing for me.

I used to not want to read things from authors who killed themselves, because I thought it would rub off on me. Though I know very well that good can come from bad/sad things people do and all and that that isn’t the full measure of a person, an artist who decided somehow to end their life, reject the gift and all its facets, and end it…and I just…I don’t know; I’ve never been there and I hope right now I NEVER do get to or am ever IN that circumstance. I hope to never EVER be there. EVER!

Now, whatever this is, the current journal entry being written and that you are reading now, and or the “essay” I may or may not be able to conceive in cyberspace, it’s not every thing; it is only just a mere participle, a brief wisp or vapor of what I’ve been able to find, and then, to describe in my words using what god/fate/whatever given power or “talent” I have for “insight” or capability for composing WORDS, in such a “fashion”, so as to come (maybe) somewhat close, to what I have in mind, to “describe” what I think/feel, that “life” is. Its essence. That’s really all of what I want to do and I want others to think that hey; this guy was really able to express himself well, and, had some kind of wow “handle” on what life really is. That’s really all I want in life. That’s the basic “gist” or nut of it. Course, it’d be FANTASTIC too, to be able to sell it and not have to work these stupid “jobs” and all. To be able to do something that people write about me on in the newspapers that people read and all. Yeah, that’s what I want. Hope is, I can do that and with that “notoriety”, also be able to make some changes at large for the world when I’m there and esp. sic., for when I’m gone. Some kind of “cause” or something.


Though feeling pressed, today was a terrifically “successful” day, and I got a HELL of a LOT done. I mean, sheesh, you wouldn’t believe. I bought even more Parker Jotter Ballpoint Pens. None of which I need. One Avocado Green and One Brown and a journal and a pool part or 2 and some food here and there and though my Bronchitis or whatever is with me still these 4 weeks, I’ve put in some more movie viewing and pool maintenance and all, and I’m very proud of myself, though I would have loved to have just been able to have sat down and read myself silly the whole day. What would I have written? I need more time. We all do. It’s crazy. What do I do? What does any one do?

I don’t have the same constraints that others my age have or younger than me do. I don’t want what the bulk of people my age have. I’d rather have what folks who are way younger and who read and write and get published and get movies made of their words and get some time on film get…I want what they have. I’m sorry, but that is what it is. That is what it is all about for me. That’s what I want, who I am and every thing such as this.

Hope to write something about a journal entry or three I’ve a rough draft of, in a day or so, and I hope as well, to have a addition to the blog where I said I would have photos of the Lazarus book? Well, I hope to have them and to end that saga of my work with my old friend Carmina Crittenden, now, something else, which escapes me at the moment, conveniently. She’s married and has a lovely daughter, and like her brother TED, will I’m sure remain removed from me and my sphere of influence, a two-way street which, I think closed with the altering of their lives into marriage, I’m sad to say, much like some other people I know that got married. Sad. Too Bad. Oh Well.

It would have been best in life to have worked with both Ted and Carmina continuously throughout the rest of our lives. Now, it seems to me, this will never happen. Someone else I know from away far away, both in time and in distance, will never work out either. In my life, this is how it IS. I don’t have a “reality” like every one else’s. Definitely not like they have it in the movies. That is a fucking farce.

Saturday, October 06, 2007


In a perfect world, the cover photo of today's Los Angeles Times, would have not the beautiful tear-strewn face of the Olympic runner, but instead, show the craggy visage of President Bush on it, apologizing for invading Iraq, esp. sic. under false pretenses.

Monday, October 01, 2007


Yes, I’m writing to you from it now, as I speak, or, if I choose, I can flip out the folding keypad (It’s wireless, from another manufacturer, but, compatible, from the get-go.) so that I can actually write, but it’s just for quick notes on the road and I’ll have to go through this on my desktop or laptop later, and clean it up a bit I’m sure. I’ll even leave in all this sidebar commentary.
Yes, you have that right: G6 digital technology CommUnit. Yes-sir! The system is up and I can speak on phone to Mexico and from Mexico (The United States of Mexico) to Guam or Puerto Rico or Peru, Brazil, Argentina or Paraguay. I can use it in Saudi Arabia, and speak to the United States of America and from Europa to Canada or wherever the hell I want. Of course it’s not a satellite “phone” unit, (Is it? Why not?) I’d have to have my laptop broadcaster for that, but, in a pinch, without blocking/interference, I could speak via satellite that way if I so choose, because I do have UWB Ultra Wide Band wireless technology on it as well. (It’s like Blue Tooth on steroids, without losing your job when you’re found out, or getting cancer later on from it.) And I can hook my laptop to my CommUnit with wireless or wired technology, and be up on the net with the Unit being the online part and then hooked wire wise, with my laptop charging my 10 hour battery. Yes, you heard correct. 10 hours! Got it right finally. Damn battery and power/usage, that’s worth a fricken toot and a half, and how!!!
MP3 player. 16,000 song titles, not one thousand 600. 16 thousand. I can easily download from wherever more titles, but prefer just to get my cds at home and put it on my computer to the software and simply zip it over to my CommUnit.
AM/FM and yeah, hell, digital and Satellite radio. Why not? It’s what I want and some times need if I’m on the road and I don’t want just the vast array of beautiful recorded music I have on hand.
I can record still and moving images with my Carl Zeiss lens. I am a reporter after all. I can do that. I have then recall for stories I write in the fiction line I also come up with, but mainly, it’s for travel blog, the bulk of my work. There is also the voice recorder to zip down thoughts faster than my hands can crunch on the physical qwerty keypad, for on the fly stuff.
AND what else? What else is there? I’ve got a phone a camera a diction machine, I can play music and I do use ear buds or headphones wired to the unit and I prefer it that way. So too, ear/microphone for talking on the phone. Wired. I prefer it that way. As good as Blue Tooth or UWB are, I still want one step away from the prying ears. (I know, they can still get the signal and listen in, but I’d like to keep the aesthetics not too fancy. Besides, I absolutely hate them earpieces. They keep turning themselves off and are uncomfortable, and look ugly.) This way too, it’s a definite on/off thing for me. On or Off the phone. Now, I know exactly what you might be thinking. What if you’re listening to music and the call comes through? Ever heard of Voice Mail? Text? I can do both, as well as pause or stop the music where it is, getting back to it later exactly in the same spot as before to speak out loud to the caller, using the ear buds for stereo music now for phone use, or switch things out. Yes, two cords.
People hate strings attached. Confusing. Tangling…but not me. Not hard for me. I don’t have a problem with it and could go wireless that way if I want at a later date when they get those damn things done better. Don’t consider they ever will. It was a bear and a half to get my geek friends to produce this little unit. How ugly is it? How beautiful? It’s both and neither. It can be put into any existing phone you have now if you want. I usually keep it in the Nokia N98. But they don’t have the Nokia…only for you they don’t buster, only for you. For me, it’s a different story.

Saturday, September 29, 2007



--To gaze

WHO IS IT who wrote: Without A Vision, The People Perish (?) It is timely to consider this bit of wisdom for me I think because I think this people, these citizens of the United States of America, need some thing besides the pain and fear chronicles with which we’ve been subject for these countless decades.
If you grew up in the 50’s it was natural to be scared and to rebel. You had the bomb and Red Menace and you built your career around that, baiting and debating it, chasing reds or outing writers in Hollywood. But what now? Muslims are evil? There’s a terrorist under every turban or burka? What kind of image of stupidity is that? Vision? What has 4 eyes and cannot see? Mississippi. Are we that dumb? Burka’s aren’t even in our dictionaries. They’re red-flagged by the writing programs, unless we turn that option off. Even this one: Burq, red-flagged. Stupid.
The thing is this: Yes, we could be afraid and hide under our beds or covers at night reading the comics by flashlight, some cheap lead-based metal thing from China, while we learn of superheroes that might save us. Short hair slicked back. Tighty-Whities underwear worn high-high up above our waists if we’re boys back then, the 50’s. Ah, the class of 57 may have had its dreams dear Statler Brothers, but what nightmares we think of now, eh? Of the phantasms you must have had flying after you. What of those our children get run down by now? What do they fear? And, why should all of these people have such fear and loathing?
Or, we could rebel against the prevailing winds/conventional wisdom, and say, perennially: The Emperor Is Naked. Naked and Stupid. We have to have someone saying that, forever. Forever and a day, just like, we have to have people saying what needs to be said; the real truth, what’s politically correct is to say, yes, it is hot in here, or it stinks, etc. Just remember, when the stop light is red, to stop however, because we can’t just for the fun of it yell: FIRE! inside a crowded theatre, because some of us want to watch the show, in its entirety, without interruption.
Yes, occasionally, late at night, with only a few people in there, you can maybe ride your Peugeot Mo-Ped inside the theatre, down to the screen in front, wave to the projectionist in back, if he were looking, and then ride back out, through the lobby, and just be on your way home. Maybe you’ll get a ticket for stopping not long enough at a stop sign on a hill that your feet have to come off your pedals and an overly-aggressive cop in the area that every one hates, may write you up; maybe you won’t. Yes, occasionally one can and should be able to do that Mo-Ped Movie Theatre Run, and one should for sure DARE to do that and indeed for sure DO IT! But, we can’t be all doom and gloom, Doom and Gloom, DOOM & GLOOM. We grow tired of it. It doesn’t help forever. It doesn’t get us very far.
Our country was founded in turbulent times, built on philosophies borrowed by the French and written by smart guy lawyer’s way back when. It was a positive and possible movement which caught fire and like a wildfire spread heartily, as a disease, and formed a nation, a congress, a people, a legend, an ideal, a vision. But what is our vision now?
What/Who will help us with a vision for the next couple of decades? Non-Interventionism? Cleaning up the miasma that is the quagmire of Afghanistan/Somalia/Serbia/Croatia/Iraq? Producing finally, a workable Health Care Program, which is again based on something the French people have? But something twisted to fit our Bureaucratic Nonsense that is our wit and wisdom, our conurbations and way? I think so, and I certainly hope so. Woe unto those candidates who cannot come up in 2008 with some kind of sense making platitudes through which we as a people and individually will have to live with after deciding alone in our quietest moment, who will be the next president of these till (?) United States.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, but Rome did fall. How long has it been for the United States? Where will we go? We almost lost it a long time ago, and it wasn’t all about slavery, but money pure and simple, keeping a people from gaining a foothold in the world. How dare you keep us from earning our keep? Don’t you dare cut us off of our livelihood. We want to continue to make that filthy lucre to be able to buzz off in our virtual worlds every now and then and escape the unanswerable questions of global this/that and every thing else. Who cares about any of this whack if we can’t figure any of it out? Let’s keep on dancing, let’s break out the booze and have a ball, if that’s all there is.
Depressing. I’ve had enough of it. Driving down the road once with Peter Drucker, Business Management Guru, and he said to me: “I don’t get depressed, I get busy,” indeed. Get busy, but a lot of roads there are to hell if you get with the best intentions vein. Look, there’s all this death and utter destruction in the desert miles & miles and a day away from here. What in the HELL are we doing over there? Why can’t we get out? How do we do it? We need a vision, else we’ll surely perish. Don’t want to be all doom and gloom on you or any one, but so too, I don’t want to be all Pollyanna sweet, pure-bread. That’s just as dumb as fear and loathing.

“Without a vision, the people perish.” –Proverbs: 29:18 Author unknown

Friday, September 14, 2007


Friday, September Fourteenth, 2007

--Music Plays As You Read--
Find This On Your Player, and play it gently, not so loudly, but there, enough and on a repetitive mode: Beatles: TWO OF US, from LET IT BE. “Sending Post Cards, Writing Letters. On-Our-Way-Back-Home. We’re On Our Way Home. We’re On Our Way Home. We’re…Going…Home…” It’s not in the right order or any thing, doesn’t matter. The important thing is that the melody is playing and you’re hearing it and it’s going on and on and on, like the long and winding road, like, in the song, the possible line about being longer than the road that stretches out ahead. And while that’s going on, you read this:

READ: There’s an old joke, goes something like this:

Q: What’s the last thing that goes through a Co-Dependant’s Mind When They Die?
A: Another Person’s Life Flashes In Their Mind.

And that is much of life, when viewed circumspect some times. You go through the motions, you show up. Woody Allen, much maligned in some areas, he got it right when he said words to the effect: "80% of life is showing up, being somewhere". To which I add, and being there on time, but none the less, it’s like watching it from afar. You sort of just feel once removed from the events as they occur from time to time. Emotionally you’re sort of detached: Especially so at an awards presentation last night for work. And, on your mind right now, there’s a funeral of a co-worker’s mother, you sort of just-now-don’t want to go to; which is on for 3 o’clock this afternoon. You want to stay home and mope. You wish the weather would be better, cooler, more “mild”; definitely not as hot. You KNOW you won’t go and eat a meal with any one after. No drinks. F-that. You had just two last night and nothing really good to eat at all and that was pisser number one. Real pisser, couldn’t eat well, didn’t. Couldn’t find some place to eat or get some meal that would have been good for you at all. It sucked. And so did your mood. The mind/soul of it, dropped right out of it all, every-thing. You began, started thinking about mortality and how fucked every thing was. About how you’re not appreciated more for who you are and all. That mainly, you’re not "more". But how could you be looked at as "more", if you’re not? You’re just this thing and that’s all there is to it. There’s nothing here. You have a gift but you somehow are unable to do more with it. It sucks.

Two Of Us...that Beatles tune...and I think: Just the two of us…and then, yeah, that song plays: “Just the two of us, we can make it if we try, just the two of us.” Add or turn on that song, by Bill Withers. Withers, indeed. Time withers. Life, withers; by and by. Building castles in the sky. Something about good things coming to those who wait but not for those who wait too late, and going for something, whatever it is, that we know…What do we know though? What do we know? Two things. Two People. A Twin Dilemma. The Twin Dilemma, the title of a Doctor Who episode. One with Tom Baker. Something to do with twins. My sister and I. If you believe or understand Philip K. Dick or schizophrenia. Or bi-polar disorders.
Bill Withers is still alive according to Wikipedia. He wrote: Aint No Sunshine as well as Lean On Me…Well, we wake up, you know? We have ‘another day to run’ and even though you may feel that, it’s right to say ‘I don’t want you on my mind’, as I feel from time to time about the people and things I know, I know that I should ‘take it all in and check it all out’, and funny thing is, these quoted items, are the tracks of the retired artist who used to make toilets for Boeing 747’s in Los Angeles, all the while writing songs, and making it! Making it. Hmmm. Interesting. His wife handles the business now, doing all the "whatever it is", of a retired person’s stuff, who can collect residuals and all, based on previous work. You know, he’s got stuff out there. People do re-recordings, versions of your work, you get money off of that. Important, right? Something, yes? Whatever, okay? Whatever. Impact forever.
That’s what that’s about. Impact. Some kind of impression. They’re still going on and on about me. Through the miracle of life or will. My will being done, long after I am. Like Walt Disney, like many a musician.

And, uhhh…being on time? Early. Well. I’m not at chapel nor am I going to that grave site. I think I made it. After going through door after door after door. Plenty of maps all along the way but Ladies that do that (Give the: "Here's How You Get There," spiel.) they’re way in the BACK: There's remodeling going on at Rose Hills now, but even still; how come it’s so complicated? Nice green grass. HOT place, huh, on the hills. Rose Hills Cemetary/Mortuary, Whittier, California, in the sunshine. Smoggy, not a cloud in the skies. Beyond hills, small mountains, East of Downtown L.A. proper. Whittier. Good thing my windows roll down (they’re electric). I’m parked with all 4 open, under a tree, in the shade and should move up as the sun will be hitting my back pretty soon.
I’ve had some water, and it has taken 40 minutes to get and figure this place out if even this is right. I’ve still my doubts. 3.17 pm and no one’s here. Busy cars going up down the main thoroughfare. This “last resting place”, for many thousands of people who get buried in Los Angeles. Spooky-Sad here. Traffic Report: SB 605, the San Gabriel River Freeway south of 5 or Golden State Freeway, there wasn’t much traffic. Speed Limit a faded chipped old yellow 30 MPH on the tar-macadam, which the worker’s trucks driving on the road keep it well past 35, 40+ at least. Yeah, I guess so. Why not? Outrun Death? I almost got run over twice. Once coming up, a semi-truck moving over into my lane on the freeway. Then, as a car came around the corner fast while I was on foot, attempting to cross the street after negotiating the maze that was the labyrinthine circuitry of the reception area at Rose Hills Mortuary/Cemetery, in Whittier, California.
I wonder do I have the right place? Wouldn’t there be other people here? Besides just a few of the workers cuttin’ the grass up the hill: Gnangggg-Gnangggg-Gnangggg whipping cord-Edge-Trimmers cutting grass off the grave markers and such. Always cutting grass around here. When does it ever cool off?
Going (went) through Rio Honda, Santa Fe Springs, Downey, Norwalk, etc. to get here. Rio (River) Honda (?) over the Freeway, and San Gabriel River west of here in “Whittier” where Nixon went to college. (It’s down the 605 (S) a ways from here.) On the Hills of the Cemetery. My friend Jim Douglas’s Grandmother (Joan?) is buried around here somewhere as I recall. Been here once before. For that I believe. And on the other side or just before turning off to go down this road to this place down from Gate 5: (I turned in at Gate 1.), there’s a “rental” place I came to for Grip-It Lighting once, a long time ago. It’s now a Caterpillar (Rent) place. Goofy. Creepy. Strange. It was supposed to be at 3 PM and there was a note in parenthesis: (Arrive Early). No one is here but me.

{And as I write this now at 7.48PM, probably could have just gone into the “chapel” on the hill and just sat and waited, looking at the pageantry and all: ALL of the other services, funerals, people being buried, adulated, revered, etc., and saw all the people before and then after and then caught the folks and maybe 6 PM would have been the Interment Service at plot #1283 or whatever the place was curbside.}

Do I dare “intrude” on the chapel up the hill? I want to pee again and eat, have a beer and get a massage. But I haven’t any money now. Polished off the ice/ice-water from a coffee this morning before a large turkey sandwich & muenster cheese sandwich, the only thing I’ve had after a smoothie after smoothie after smoothie and Tension Tamer Herbal Tea. And another Tension Tamer Tea, one by itself, not in the juice. And, after the ice/water, I had a 0.5 oz bottle of water or some such measured thing as that, just sitting here, thinking a bit...
The Smoothie: had grapefruit juice, packets of c-vitamin etc powder mixes, 3 peaches, one pear, 2 bananas, some (15) pellets of green algae, 30 drops of grapefruit seed extract. And for most of the day I’ve had to sit down and contract my bowels for gaseous expelleramous, that and passing liquid through my bladder, and still now I feel a bit dehydrated. A little bit listless and slightly headachy. I took a bowel stiffening (I thought.) Tylenol pain reliever before sleep at midnight, when I finally got in bed and all.
All this after leaving the “Mousecars”. The oscar plus Awards for workers recognition show at work last night. Being herded into the north hall side of Banquet Room of the Grand Ball Room of the DL Hotel left me hivvy. I revolted. Cut against the tide and walked back through Down Town Disney shopping district between the two amusement parks where I work, to the shuttle stop east of both places of which only one I work in, and took the shuttle back to my parked there at 5 AM car, baking leather seats in the relentless California sun. Drove myself home alone.
I’m staying here till 4 PM (I eventually left at 4.30 PM.) and then I’m going home. I put in my time and I’m tired. Drove by several plots on my own past several groups: one black, one hispanic and a couple of mourners here/there, mostly asian, revisiting long-dead relatives.
Go up to the church, you ninny! Yeah, I will, before I go home. 2 small long back wing birds on a pine tree nearby. Way off in the distance I spotted some crows. (Later, on the hill near the chapel, looking off in the distance to the west towards downtown L.A., several big-big winged birds were visible in the sky hovering on the thermals above the Rose Hills plots.)
The trees are mostly pine scattered around here. (Nothing indigenous.) Palms along the main road. Olives here there. Elm? And a few others I don’t recognize. I’m a failure when it comes to this phenomena. I’m a failure in general, I guess. It’s all right. At least I’m the best one I know. So, that’s a pretty good thing, I’d say. Pretty good. Pretty darn good.
Wish I had the line on the nearest Velvet Turtle (Long defunct old high-end you go there after church place. Or big business farts go there for 2 martini lunches M-F.) or some such, I could get into—drink iced tea with no fruit—no lemon or lime in it at all. Maybe that’s what did it for me. My tummy today. Mojito last night. But uhh more likely the cheese chicken sauce that’s hot (red) and guacamole with tomatoes and onions! That I had smeared on it. Yum-yum! Tasted real good, but oh-oh-oh UGH my tummy later on!!
I picture dead dead flesh. Old brown skin dried off bones here, cemetery, hair, stink, mortuary END—NOT coming back to life. Body badly decomposed. SAD in a way. What would happen if/when my Mother or Gary (her husband), didn’t make it home alive from one of their “trips”? DAD died in Mexico, when Alice (his wife), was up in the States. What? SAD.
I guess I must just go home now. (4.25/4.30) I messed up. Went to the wrong gravesite or time’s off/wrong—won’t be until 6PM—I don’t want to be there for the viewing. Someone I don’t even know, never knew, went solely for? We go for ourselves don’t we? No? We’re lucky? We aren’t dead? Family Friends Help support. Ease Burden of Sorrow/Loss by showing up, being there. Lean on me.

Saturday, September 08, 2007

A LIFE NOT SO AQUATIC? OR, The Vicissitudes of Life...

My Aquatic Spider Release: Showering to wake up this morning I noticed my usual water going down the drain backward (counter clockwise), and to the left spin, instead of right. Good, some politicians would say, because we’ve been going the wrong way for quite some time.
I thought, Owen Wilson. What’s wrong with him? He’s got the life of ease, right? Every one loves him, but what, he doesn’t have his one true love? She was about to leave him? People are dying in Iraq and Afghanistan and a bunch of un-name-able other places most folks haven’t even heard of that the United States of America and its current world wide policies are involved with, so buck up buster. Get it straight, get over yourself, etc. Or, just go down the drain like this arachnid “did” this morning. After several struggles to get up out and away, it just went down.
There was a spider in the shower with me this morning and it was from whence I noticed not, but noted it struggling, trying to get up, out and away, for dear life, I interpreted, though who am I to know the life of a spider? And it didn’t make it. It went down, down-down-down the drain, down. And so is it still alive? I think so, but it went with the tide is what it did…and that’s what most Americans did and do and what a lot of people do. Though most don’t (I’d say), become famous, or appear in the papers a lot, with their great works and deeds, they make it…but not all, not all. And though all of us die sooner or later, it’s inevitable; it’s always in store for all of us; every single one. Some die horrible stupid expirations, for no good reason at all…not as if there are good reasons for dying, no. Not in a war. It happens. We die. Damn. That sucks. Most people quip with the, it could have been prevented. It was preventable. Owen could have made it or will only go there some day when someone’s not looking…I feel sorry for the poor bugger, sorry for all of us. We’re all struggling.
As many times as I make it, as bad as it gets, there are times I’d like to lay down and go to sleep and never wake up ever again. I even say that to myself from time to time. I just want to go to sleep, etc. But at some point you have to check yourself, what it is you’re saying…if you’re not getting the best of results in your life and all, maybe you can change things. Maybe. Perhaps you can alter your inner/outer dialogue, your communication channel with yourself, through which you operate your “YOU”. Center. That sounds all wacky mystical and touchy-feely, don’t it? But, we all need a healing center, and that’s what it’s all about.
From time to time it’s whatever gets you through the night. If it’s a good or great book or movie or buying a new shirt or having sex with your wife or whatever, good. Go for it. Do it. Do it till you’re satisfied, eh? Whatever it is.
You need something. We all do. We may come in alone (And, maybe we don’t: Busy operating room, most of us.) and we may die alone, but we still have decisions to make and people to travel with and that’s what makes it worthwhile. Heal up my man, heal up. Heal up if you can. Go all along the way my aquatic spider release. Go and heal…thy-self?

Saturday, September 01, 2007


“We must work passionately and indefatigably to bridge the gulf between our scientific and our moral progress. One of the great problems of mankind is that we suffer from a poverty of the spirit which stands in glaring contrast to our scientific and technological abundance. The richer we have become materially, the poorer we have become morally and spiritually. Every man lives in two realms, the internal and the external. The internal is that realm of spiritual ends expressed in art, literature, morals, religion. The external is that complex of devices, techniques, mechanisms, and instrumentalities by means of which we live. Our problem today is that we have allowed the internal to become fast in the external. We have allowed the means by which we live to outdistance the ends for which we live.” –Martin Luther King Jr.,
This quote here is from radio broadcaster Frank Sontag’s website. A fella heard on 95.5 KLOS, here in Los Angeles. It’s the “touchy-feely” show called: IMPACT, on Monday mornings from 1 to 5 AM. Sunday night, eh? For most people. He talks philosophy. He goes on tour and will have something on the 4th of this month. I wonder if I’ll go. Nope. Don’t consider it. It’s rather like the Voices From The Street bit, where the character goes to find this person every one is going to…to find out something about themselves, in their life, etc. Whatever. That boy was a character in a novel…now I’m reading about a girl in a novel and it’s dedicated to PHIL. And I think we all know: Philip Kindred Dick. Philip K. Dick.
"Times glory is to calm contending kings, to unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light." –Shakespeare
Another quote on his page: This one, from under a heading: Our Mission Statement. His father got a job in Los Angeles, as an electrician at Universal Studios. Frank was born in 1955 in Ohio. Did a lot of things and got on the Mark and Brian radio show way back when as a board op., etc. Now he heads up a group called: The Project For Social Change. He’s got a lecture Tuesday, at 7.30, at the Orange Coast Unitarian Universalist Church up the hill from me in Costa Mesa. The cost of the lecture, which is entitled: The Pursuit Of Happiness, the last of the year for him, (This is the last time he’ll do a public appearance this year.) is $10.00, and is like the words read around there somewhere on the site, sounding like something that just covers the cost of the function itself.
Maybe I should click on the link and go. I think I can make it to work the next day by getting up at 3.30 and more importantly, going to bed at 10 at night…and I may not even have to. I have the thing, the deal, just down the street. Why couldn’t I just show up, you know? Okay. Ten at the door. Why not? I live just down the street and though you’d normally go left, you can’t do that out of that drive way down that hill and all, no. You’d turn left and go up and turn around in a parking lot with a signal given at the top of the hill in Costa Mesa. Okay. So, what’s there for me? Won’t know unless I see, do, go.
I tell the story of a writing class: I talked to the instructor, whose name conveniently escapes me, and she said you’re spending your energy on journaling and not writing. So, for this class we’ll try a little experiment (my embellishment here), and have you not write in your journal for the length of the class. Just write the assignments, and see how you do. I did well. I wrote some things of which I’m proud. I liked it. It was deceptively simple. Don’t know how/why I’ve not done more with my fabulous gift.
(People who heard the tale used to gasp when they heard that bit, she said, and knowing I write a lot in a journal or that they do themselves write a bit in a journal as well. But they come around if they know about or want to write “professionally”, and it’s all about discipline…etc.)
It occurred to me the other day, how, I wasn’t even interested in sitting down and shooting a film with someone. The nuts and bolts part didn’t interest me. I just wanted to write something and have that be that. I didn’t and don’t want to even read it aloud to groups and things. None of that. I just want to write it as best I can and get it out there. If people buy it, fine. If not, fuck it. Oh well. I hope later then that I could make a living off of it. I’d like to get an English degree or something at UCI. Maybe. Something…but not any thing else, you know? I just…don’t care…and I really find it so very difficult to clear out my storage space with no place to put things here…because I don’t want to just toss every thing…and I’m crowded out here…and I’ve no means I can tell, to make a move any where else. It’s difficult for me. I need something and some one and I’d like to just get it via writing and have that be the thing and carry me forth.
I know life is a spiritual journey as well as a physical one. I don’t want god or jesus or mohammed or buddha…I want to meditate and live in a nice house and have fun. I want sex with beautiful women and to have friends I can count on who don’t live so gat-damned far away. I want to have a state of being within/without (to share-give by example), of love and kindness and giving/forgiving…patience and equanimity…I want to live in that world as well. By that I mean it’d be nice, more than just a little nice, to have it be in such a place that is like that in re-turn.
Joy lies in the light, in the attempt, in the suffering involved, not in the victory itself.

-Mohandas Gandhi

Pretty cool stuff. I mean, I like the fact that it’s not all slick and there’s all these “professional degrees” and such, bragging about all the stuff. I think that it’s like people helping people and really opening up and getting along that gets it going where it needs to be. That’s what makes life worth living and all such as that. (Touchy-Feely.)
Call it humanistic or atheistic/agnostic or whatever. I don’t care. I think it’s right. It’s not like I’m now going to throw it all in to Frank and former Irene Clair or some kind of prophet/profit I am unaware of…no. I’m not. I am going to make it a point and more of an effort as always, to make it happen, make it occur. Get the stuff out and throw every thing I can away or what I mean is donate what I can to good will and all. That kind of thing…if I’m not using it now and can’t use it. If the material is not any good any more due to mold or whatnot as that, you know, yeah, get the stuff trashed…moving on like that…but, not into bazillions of dollars as…the answer to every thing but so too, it’s pretty helpful around here. Systema….what that is for me…have to find something…constantly improve and make that up as I go, all along the way.
Systema, something I culled from Spook Country. It’s I think off the characters relying on Santeria or something, from Cuba. But, I think, the word: System…and the rhythm of it, and thinking of it, like a mantra or OM for meditating…walking down the road…using at work perhaps…when there’s a “situation”. STOP. Breathe, and what’s going on? LISTEN: Really hear. Then maybe make a decision…sure, there are times when you must ACT right split second fast right away, but a lot of it, if avoiding ugly conflict and anger hate ugliness goes; then taking the time to STOP. What’s my systema? What’s theirs? Breathe. LISTEN. What’s going on? What do I need to do and is it really necessary to DO any thing here? That’s important…really. One doesn’t always need to “do” any thing about what goes on.
BLINK SMILE DO NOTHING: BSDN. Say those letters over and over again to yourself, out loud when alone and needing to meditate. That could be your mantra, or one of them. Create a mandala with those characters. A nice fine drawing of that in the pattern, a circle or mandala, to focus on when things get hairy.
Where is this thing going? Could I really write something here or should I just quit because I’ve got to have this posted to the two websites and I want to see how they’ll fit. I need to wash out my juice glass and get to my tai-chi-chuan and grocery shopping and other things to do like get a hairs cut at 9 A.M., when the place opens, but before that I must eat more fruit because it’s breakfast still. I’m hungry. I need to eat a little more and top it off with a banana for my grumbling stomach. There’s the matter of coffee (some wee-bit of caffeine), and then real good, good-for-me, heavy-matter foodstuffs. Not lunch necessarily, but solid foods from there…not fruit mixed with any thing, but not necessarily “breakfast” foods either…they don’t fill me up. They’re in the stomach one moment, and then I pitch head-first into a lack of energy dive I cannot recover from--some times--it seems till way late in the day; if ever after that. It sucks. It’s great to be able to get the metabolism cranked up, but it’s also very tricky. One has to be able to keep the engine burning…and that’s the thing about writing too, eh? Does making it move more just produce more or evaporate all that good sou? (It’s a bit of both?) Exercise, you are more vital. And then, you can be spent as well. Same thing perhaps.

Friday, August 31, 2007


This thing we do, blog. Blogging...flogging, exposing our parts, nether spots and yon...dur. I know for personal reasons I don't need to do a lot of see me nude here? There's nothing to look at. I'm not that interesting. I hope I never am. But I do want a certain amount of people want to read me. At least that...perhaps it's best after, when I'm gone, and so I should just worry as ever like I do, on writing and write and read so that I'll get and stay in the mood to write and just keep on doing it like that, you know?
I've completed the VOICES FROM THE STREET book by Philip Kindred Dick, and Spook Country, by William Gibson. I think I've mentioned here I finished Crooked Little Vein by Warren Ellis as well. If not, I have now. I've got most of the book called JUNKY by William S. Burroughs through, and am about to pick up Bad Monkey's by Matt Ruff.
Got a great price on Berlin Alexanderplatz, by Alfred Doblin. It's being processed by some one back east, near my sister's place, but as irony would have it or coincidence or something, I couldn't have her pick it up at a place closer, and mail it, because for the time and gas and shipping, it'd be, found I did another listing, in a town still in her state, but I don't know where this place is exactly, for even less money than the price of the store listing the book in the town very near by her...and soon I'll get the prompt I hope via e-mail, to click and get the thing paid for....
I've ordered those Vasque shoes. Laces and holes from the shoe laces at that, none of the material hanging off the shoe or the tabs and the laces wrapping around and ultimately getting loose as I wear them....sure, made in China, isn't every thing? Our (the U.S. of A's) down fall too I'm sure. Did you know we are borrowing money from China? HELLO!!! Millions of Americans out there. Did you know that? What the hell? And just who is funding all the military arms we're fighting against? China no doubt. I have no proof of this, but reason from paranoid psychosis, it's true.
Any way, there's The Rum Diary to read again and several graphic novels. Some I've read and some I'm reading and some things, thin books, I'm plowing if I could only get to that staggering sack full bag of stacked magazines...and read them too...get those buggers out of the with the books I've got in addition, Charles Stross, Hiassen, Rankin, etc...I could sit and write some inbetween? Yeah. Right. Okay. I'm thinking and it's coming here and there in bits and pieces and if I could only just get the shit down, you know? Dammit!!!
Fix my phone whose screen is cutting out. Watch which will be the...I don't know...very expensive, I'd like to cash it in and but what for? It's good and I want better eyes to see the dial at night and want brighter luminescence on the arms and hour markers...the new modern safe material...and I could for the price I have to fix the thing, get a new watch, so why don't I do that?
And get my full cap on tooth, because the partial crown thing isn't making it and what else? Whatever? As ever, the storage money there...etc. Whatever. Moving on. Something to eat now, will feel better later...hope is...

Friday, August 17, 2007


And So Now, Later On...2.57 AM:
Taken a shower and have done my Tai Chi Chuan exercise. I feel great! Pouring down some Florida's Natural: Ruby Red Grapefruit Juice from a wide mouthed clear glass mug from IKEA, made in Russia, with a split in the handle, up near the top. How come I didn't notice that before? Was it always there? How come I didn't notice that Book Soup in Costa Mesa died, moved, and is no more until one day I stopped by the South Coast Plaza shopping mall, in order to get the latest Vanity Fair or some such drivel thing, and VOOP! It wasn't there. Dammit!
Put on my blue Royal Robbins hot weather "puckerwear" type shirt, I can't say pucker wear or some such, as I'm sure Patagonia has that copyrighted or something...that's their hot weather shirt, or one of the, "AC yarn-dyed shirts", one of theirs too....but I don't have one of those, and am not interested. I am interested in a 30 dollar (it's normally 60) Patagonia puckerwear shirt at my local A-16 store. It's an outdoor adventure supply store, chock full of stuff like that. Why I get these fixations, and have to buy things for which I have no room is beyond me. It's a sickness I guess.
What can happen, is you see something you want, you'd better buy it right then, because if you wait, if you come back tomorrow, it might not be there. I wear their medium sized Pup shirts. I'm calling it many things here because I don't want any thing to fuck me over by this bullshit of mfrs. lawsuits, etc. Who knows, eh? No one cares here. I'm not making any money off this and for sure there's no one reading my writing, so what could it matter? I should gleefully tab and hyperlink shit like most every one does, willy-nilly. So what, you know? Make a stink. Get noticed. Be someone.
I want something for my sisters birthday, which was yesterday and she lives in Pittsburgh, PA., and I want to get that shirt plus some white cotton t-shirts with pockets, but not having to spend a lot of money on them. I want to see a movie for free, I have a card that came from the frequent movie watching deal I have with one of the local theatres. I also want that puce ducer frapple bap torso cover I've peeped and mentioned at the head of this article.
There's the latest U.S. gentleman's quarterly (GQ) magazine I want, (Clive Owen on cover.), and the latest Esquire (Sean Penn has a film to promote.), and the latest MAD magazine (Bart Simpson/Alfred E. Newman cover.) as well as an issue of Entertainment Weekly or Week or some such, with that gawd she looks different here Reese Witherspoon on the cover; what project is this doll promoting?
Going to need some nectarines, peaches and apples soon and after that, a couple of bananas. But first I think I'm going to get me another glass full of Ruby Red Grapefruit Juice, then sit down and read some more of Anita Thompson's The Gonzo Way, Warren Ellis' Bad Signals' 2, and of course, William Gibson's latest: SPOOK COUNTRY. I've picked up the 50th Anniversary of William S. Burroughs' JUNKY, and am toying with reading that concurrent with Spook Country, and I've also got a copy of Matt Ruff's latest: BAD MONKEY'S.
Then it's off to coffee and hard facts: Food: Eggs, Bacon, Toast, maybe some pancakes and Lingonberries from Ikea. Then chocolate chip cookies. Then? A reception for a friend's father's funeral. Then maybe the comic book store to redeem a coupon and a TPB (Trade Paperback-A single book with the same content of several of the single issues content wise, all in one book.) of some series I'm interested in. Last Man or some such...perhaps an old Neil Gaiman cover. I've got a paperback copy of his book Anansi Boys. I want some Ian Rankin's, the Orion print (U.K. releases) of Inspector Rebus titles I don't have, but I'm having trouble collating what I've read already. And all this despite other titles here in my room gathering dust by plenty of other authors: Greene, Hiaasen, Dick, etc.
I'll have to do laundry. Every thing. All of it. Wash and organize the counter with the fucking mess in the bathroom sink, the toilet again and perhaps another go at the shower. I'd like to do Newport, Fashion Island, get some Hemp oil for body spray. I like that scent of theirs. And, perhaps a look into L'Occitaine, see what's up there.

NEWS AT 12.10 AM

It is now 12.24 and I am up, wide awake, and in gray cotton shorts and a sleeveless white nylon holy shirt, after peeing...and wondering...well, that was a nice nap. Went to sleep at...? But, got in bed at around 6 PM the night before, and woke up...several times to leak the lizard, and I drank some more water every time into bed, and I was wondering just now, sleepy but not asleep, what it looked like when it was dark, when the sun went I've not been around for that for quite some time.
Usually I'm in bed at 6 and asleep by 6.30 and though I wake and sleep throughout some times, I am rested and not so bothered as I have been. It's okay. I'm glad of the peaceful nature I've had of late. REALLY glad. I've not known how light/dark it is with the sun down...I've gone to bed and have been asleep through that transition...but have been awake and here throughout the transition from night to day. Wonderful. Peaceful for the most part. Quiet. Clean.
The sleep has been interrupted. So quiet? No one here? HOT. I could go back to sleep, but I wonder now as I continue to write, if I will....but what time will I then go to sleep and what shit will I get into/out of if I go from there?
Hungry, but I dare not eat, not now. Don't get into that stuff mister, you know? This is WAY too early to get up. And will I would I move around for the Winter? Possibly...because this time of day will be WAY too COLD to be messing around in shorts and a special hole punched type of nylon shirt, where there are all these divots I'd say on the surface of the shirt, making it holy as it were, open to air to "breathe", but yet still be together, to have a surface over all.
Go back to bed after posting? I love the graphics of tumblr blog, hate them here, but HATE like HELL the tiny text on tumblr. It took me a while to get to this page. I've not posted in yonks, have I?
And I've not had a look at my pen light in a while. Three batteries: 4 A powercells on a pen light, and they're open/exposed, and the flashlight still works, but doesn't click on any more...fucked up some how...wonder if I can send the thing back to Streamlight and get it fixed. Blue LED, but the batteries...discolored...must have oozed into the button head area, messing that up and is this shit going to eat the skin off my hands? I've washed them...
All this reminds me and boring bores the hell out of readers the cassette tape recorder with messed up batteries of the tape player in the drawer in the storage space that I've still not cleared out and need to...and will but lately have the idea to do so with help and a truck and a trash can on the drive way like I originally had the idea to do...certainly don't want to get into it now in all this heat. Wish I could just do it now. I mean literally drive down there now...but it's 12.38 in the morning...don't you think you should just get back to sleep? Oh how I do, but when to wake up and what to do then?

Saturday, July 14, 2007


SATURDAY, JULY 14th, 2007

(Written Sun. or Tue. Evening, 7.30-8 pm, 7/8-10/2007)

ASSES may be (more) stubborn than most people, but even Asses have more sense (than most).
WE came across the ‘pearls before swine’ deal today. “Don’t cast your pearls before swine.” Wisdom to the idiots is useless, because they won’t understand it. OKAY—But it didn’t stop Hay-zeus. He kept at it even though he warned against us doing so.

[“Do as I say, not as I do.” A parent will say, caught in a contradiction, hypocrisy.]

(NOW, does this mean, we don’t have to live a Christ-like life? Not martyr our selves? I heard or I read and felt it was implicit, and I was frightened for sure. I’d never wanted to get eaten by lions in the arena of death. Just because I had to believe in Jesus/Hay-zeus. That was not something I wanted.)

Is all this a "lesson": GOD never gives up on you? What if you believe in Muhammed? Vishnu or Whatnot? I want to believe in/get by on Whatnot. I believe in nothing and everything. From everywhere/thing, I can/do, find wisdom for my flight through this we call life—a trip to death—I don’t want a thing that kills others/kills myself, in the wrong-headed belief that I am or my belief system is THE way & THE only way.
Okay, it works for me. It is THE way, it is THE only way, but I know, I know it’s not. I know it’s not for every one and every one, has the right; the will, the obligation, to try out on-their-own, to compose their own way to live. It’s inherent in this thing, this life—ride to death—that we are (all of us), on it.
We came here, we’re living, we’ll die. That’s the given. How we choose to live it, is more or less up to us (how we choose to live it), or so we think/choose to “believe”. At least it’s what I believe. You may not and I can’t fault you for choosing to believe otherwise. In fact, I hope for your sake, you do! Honestly, I do. Don’t know exactly why I believe this, but I do. It’s strictly a thing based on faith for me here. Pure-gestalt? Better look that one up. Not sure it’s properly utilized. (It is. Parts being a whole. Perception based on context.) Any way, for now, that’s that. I’ve lost my place. Sorry. I must go to sleep now. Been trying to do that for nearly 2 hours...
It started when I began to not want to have to believe in god, the devil, jesus and stuff; in phantoms and horns and shit like that. I didn’t want to HAVE to believe in that. Wanted to go my own way, live my life, not hurt any one, least of all my self and yet still be a success, live on my own, make a bunch of money doing what I love to do but, not making such a big deal out of it either.
The thing is, I believe that folks have come & gone and have never heard of jesus or muhammed or buddha and whatnot and are not damned to hell. That’s only if you believe in it and it’s hard not to believe, because that’s how I was raised and I know if I was threatened to within an inch of my life: (Tossed into the lion’s den.) Raped, imprisoned & tortured, etc. Crashed in a car, plane, train, bus, etc. Earthquake, Fire, Flood, etc. I’d cry out for mummy, daddy, god, etc. If I was raised to believe my blue sock in a drawer or in a pile of lost socks from the world’s Laundromats, at the bottom of an ice floe, at the bottom of the ocean (If such were possible.) is/was the thing to believe & worship, I’d cry out for that in the same situation and I’d be justified to do so, and or helped through or out of it, as if I quoted scripture each and every day, and was rewarded to do so.
It’s what I am, who I am, where I am, that is: What I am, who I am, where I am today, etc.
‘Every thing,’ there is the season for it. I believe this quote from the bible and hear it in song from the 60's musical group: The Byrds, from time to time. No matter how rich or poor you are, I believe you’ll experience throughout your lifetime; misery & happiness, wealth & poverty, sickness and health. Life-it comes to/through us all. And then we die.
It matters what we do in between, sure. We may not get to wherever we try for. We may not be meant for perfection, but we try. The road to hell paved with good intentions, but yet we get there, to wherever we’re going. We do our best and that’s a comfort, it’s a sort of noble thing there that, for delusions’ sake in that belief system or not, is good. It’s good we have some kind of system of belief as it were, and it seems inescapable that we can get through here without one, whatever it is.
Be it BLUE MOSS that grows on all things but is only visible through the Twilight as described by the author of the WATCH series: Sergei Lukyanenko. I just finished his book {TWILIGHT WATCH} and I closed it with a smile and a refreshing outlook on life. Picked it up on lark. Saw the films (The first 2 of the Trilogy, based on Night Watch and Day Watch respectively.) on instinct as well and it’s paid me off in spades, I’d say.
Not every thing I do off/on the cuff does...or, not every thing "pays off" positively, that I can be proud/happy about its results, from reading a book; to seeing a movie, or saying whatever flipping thing enters my head over the public address system where I work. But, I guess I always get some results. Guess we all do. It’s not all pleasant or desirable, but if we step up to the plate, own up to it; we can live better, trying not to fall.
We’re not meant to be in the air (perfect). The book ended with a quote from a song, a lyric in Russian, I’ll probably never hear (never get a recording of) but we try. We try. We get a chance here to try and that’s pretty darn worthwhile.

Saturday, June 09, 2007

SOME NEW WORDS--The Mood Occurs To Write

I mean hoo-doggie, if they wanted to live a life of Christ, well, they’d all publicly martyr themselves, wouldn’t they? Suicide pure and simple. BOOM. Blow themselves up or something. Most Christians are too lily-livered for “acts” like that. Muslims blow them out of the proverbial red sea when it comes to suicide. Much more faith going for them there. Them that do that, because I do NOT recall in reading The Cow and several other “chapters” verses of the Koran that I was able to get through. Nowhere did I read anything about blowing oneself up or killing others when it comes to shit like that. No one can or is/was encouraged that I recall to live like Muhammad, not like that. He never died on a cross, in a public political social upheaval thing like that. No. In fact, I can’t remember how he died-what circumstances there were at such time conditions. But it wasn’t in the book to “follow me” or “live like Christ”, etc. No. Not that. In this, it is where Christians fail miserably.
They have no guts no stomach for suicide. And yet passages rage. “No greater love has … than this-one should lay down one’s life for another.”
Boom. Pure and simple. I’m dying for you. Boom. But of course one doesn’t even think of it like that. One helps others. It’s instinct. One’s job. Sets of rules. One follows and to the best of ones capabilities, one does what one can to do what’s right. [Fight for the country whatever.]
One learns as one goes in rules or guidelines. The present the current present changes and requires different sets of guidelines, the gut, the instinct, the what’s best for the present-and then one makes a calculated assessment and acts accordingly or not, according to the rules guidelines of the job/society, to make for the job/society, the Best action for the moment. Because at times the rules/guidelines need to be bent/suspended, in order to smooth, make the day of all those concerned.
We are culpable answerable to the self-god alone. We look at our deeds the circumstances of the day. We have to have the best way of looking at it ourselves. Taking in what’s happening, but without fucking up our sayings self talk, what would eliminate all future possibilities for our selves. We have to think in terms of self survival. Self sufficiency’s sake. SURE-we live in a society-rules-when and all it comes, we are in conflict or accord, we have to consider our actions with others and maybe we only do so in so much as how it again pertains to us. But and so, No self sabotage. Just because it’s happening or has happened. Until you die it’s not the end of the world. It’s here still, You are here, and though the dynamic between you 2 has changed, you’re poorer/richer? Broken-lost limbs-you still must act and think and move on.
A person will think and act according to how she/he thinks is best on 2 general principles concepts constructs being modes of life manners of thinking. 1. Self. 2. Self in society as pertains to self. Survival, etc. and whatever contributes to survival, or detracts for that matter. [Help others ultimately helps self. You feel good.]
Aside: What is it in life what brings people archetypes at least in looks/manners to one again and again? People I’ve known and have worked with and known of. Have a certain look shape.
John Boyer replaced Mike Marushak
Jorja Fox replaced Becky Horton
Scott at work replaced another person at work I worked with centuries ago named Steven Dahlby. And both of them remind me of NEAL CASSADY.
Red Headed men have a lot of testosterone? Women seem drawn to them. Malcolm Little (Malcolm X) had Red in his hair. (As a kid he was at one time known as Red. Wrote with red ink.)
{{My great grandfather wrote with red ink too. Had parkinson’s disease and…dementia? Wrote with what looked like a squiggly (moving) pen, but it was his hand that shook. Drove a Plymouth real fast on small country roads that were rated for 40 m.p.h. it seemed but he cruised at 75 m.p.h. Loved red socks gray suede hush puppies shoes and gray slacks and red shirts. Black belt, white hats from time to time…Had gray hair w/white.}}
People were jealous. I’m jealous of these red haired people. You can’t tell me that was no conspiracy to take him down. I’m sure by the powers that be at the time done willingly by highly-crazed other brothers, very jealous of his power and influence.
Seemed to me in the final stages of his life he was changing from a power hungry atheist to a god (as allah is god) mild mannered Muslim. Oh no. Can’t have that. Well, in society in general at that time people couldn’t stand all the trouble being caused. And that’s why they had them shut up. Silenced all time? These leaders in the community that needed silencing. Oh a few dollars hours to for of by martyr-ology, but not for long. In the big picture people forget. And people instinctively realize-there are other forces at work and other BIG players that if they don’t like the procedure of society if it’s out of control. People will put their best people on it, make sure things are settling down. It was a nation at war on many fronts. Much of it within and the old guard was having none of it. It’s Christian duty as it were, was to rout all riff-raff. And kill or be killed doing it. But of course that would never happen. It’d be mere child’s play to rid the country of the trouble makers: JFK, RFK, MLK, Malcolm Little (nee “X”), George Wallace, (Only cut him down.) Marilyn Monroe, James Douglas Morrison (Jim Morrison of The Doors), Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin…
Or, Ah, Er, Uh…Maybe Neal Cassady, but no. Not really. That’s crazy. I think that Warren Hinckle thinks along these lines and has thought Hunter S. Thompson was “killed” for the same reason(s), that type of cabalistic who-haha. Hoo-haha more like it.
Crazy shit. My goodness. Most of these people just self-inflicted. They lived so damn far over the edge is all. So damn close to the flame, etc. It burns, kills, you don’t make it forever. Hell, even Jack London spoke about it. He’d rather be a meteorite than a sleepy and permanent planet. Of course that’s only by comparison for comparison (compare/contrast) purposes only. Because planets are volatile and malleable and are changing as well as meteorites. (I believe he said Meteor.) But nonetheless these stars in our atmosphere galaxy I should say as they are truly nothing to me and my spiral arm (am no where near their orbit) some don’t leave a good corpse. Some smash their convertible and get smashed up quite a bit: James Dean. No one was driving but you, eh? Myopic. Depends it all does on your perspective. Einstein was thinking it was all relative to…
You may or may not see/notice “know” in time to save your butt for another day what will save you for same or ever (certainly a few more decades), and that’s just how it goes. That’s how it goes. We all know we all die. That’s a given. That’s “permanent” once you’re dead, and nothing or no one can change that. Know this. We do.
In literature ART best we can do is say hey-our actions have consequences and no chalk of fate is available in real life to bring us what we want after the fact or could undo whatever we’ve done. We have to live with it or if we can’t…I guess we could clip out, but WHY? I personally want to see all this fair and unfair bullshit all the way to the end.
They say no one said Life’s Fair. Well, I’m telling any one Who’ll listen=Life is Unfair. And it’s probably fair too.
It’s not as if I think it’s all just a duality of opposites but it does come pretty close. I always want a perspective. I want options and help for how to make it as best I can with as little hurt for all as I possibly can. I want to get rid of the pain confusion stupidity, to do as much to rid the world of these things as I possibly can. But I tell you, I know they in their measure in our lives have value we can learn from them “it” this phenomena.
We Can Learn (WCL) From the idiotic bullshit unpleasantries. (IBU) Eye-Bee-U.
Yes we can learn from them time to time as much as we damn and curse the hell out (in/to) them. As much or as the more it goes that we have days full of the idiotic inconsiderate bullfuckshit. We can learn from it. Hot Damn! It’s not such a fucking waste after all.
Still, just the same. I want days month years on end of prosperity. Of that fresh feeling you get sitting at home alone after having just taken a shower put on clean clothes that are new and comfortable. Feeling no pain or discomfort physically mentally emotionally, what-so-ever.
Being clear of heart soul mind. Alert but not wired. Relaxed but not tired. In a word, perfect. Not hot or cold it could be sunny or overcast. Not hot or cold. Perfect median temperature for you.
No phone calls doorbell interruptions. Just simply sitting there in your chair with the right light and pose. Good book and or pen and paper writing. Perfection. Bliss.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

It's All About Follow Up

Fault those fuckers if you will, but at least they follow up, they're persistent. They said they were going to do something and then they did it. Sure, it's crazy and we're in hell, (not like the poor and fucked up in IRAQ,) but at least we know they'll return your phone call or email and so forth. And none of this do nothing until you hear from me No. No more nonsense. No more nonsense, say's O'Golly, from Harriet The Spy, the book by LOUISE FITZHUGH, about a girl who wanted to grow up to be a writer...her neighborhood friend's dad was a writer, and the kid took care of every thing, all the expenses, house cleaning and what not. Grow up already buddy. Grow up. Get over it already. Life is tough and fucked up. So what? Why does it have to be so fucking complicated? Fuck it. It doesn't. Depends on how you view it? Yes and no. Where does the view come from? So many things. Too many to be sure. Way out of control. Who knows what's going to happen? How you're going to react?
What am I on about now?
Those f-wads in control of us. The President and Cabinet.
Follow up is next on the list of things to do, and to keep on doing...never giving up, being persistent.
80% percent of life is showing up and being on time or so says Woody Allen. (And we all know now how f-n crazy he is.) Jackie Mason is correct in that, you gotta be crazy to be doing stand up...something's gotta be wrong with you. Heard him recorded long ago today on radio. Classic Radio Interviews, National Public Radio.
The next step is to follow up, says I.
I decided to stop by my dentists' office. Going to confirm Friday's appointment and stop by an adjacent store and check on a pen refill. (It turned out NFG, but could get'd just take a long time.) I got a phone call on my mobile just as I was turning into the lot. Who was it? My dentists' receptionist. Oh yeah, I gotta tell my old one good bye. Talking about follow up...I've not done that. Sue me. Bad karma. But-but no but. Have to do that. Have to get my tooth taken care of tomorrow instead. My, this date with the new hot dentist is turning into a disaster. I'm having to arrange and rearrange completely. Only my second go in, and both were reassigned...if you can't do it then, then why assign it? Why am I such a no body? Fuck it, you know? (Plugged the ear piece into the phone today and the screen went wonky: Some of it upside down, the rest incomprehensible. Is it a sign, an ugly omen, by my new, off-brand/after market battery? Or the replacement screen I got several months ago from this REALLY smoking hot lady at a phone service place. Is it going too? May is the month for new cleo/berry/trio contraption from Verizon. Should I get one of those? Can I bear it with no phone rings like I like, could I fix it with online phone service, email to myself the right bell sound (ring-ring, ring-ring, ring-ring)? Turned the thing off and on again and it was all right. Whew! Paranoia. Omen for things, of disaster to come? Geez, get a grip!!)
Tis crazy, the world today, and thinking about all the people and countries and all, it's very sad. I'm depressed. (Quitting Caffeine least I was able to try that soda stuff of pink/red color so named: Caffeine. Did so yesterday. Was there at a liquor store down road from an English friend I know in Santa Monica, and was there for tea for the tillerman, but found this way too sickly sweet, CO2 bubbling Caffeine drink, even diluted as it were with spring water and some ice I got it together with later on. "I've heard of you", says I. Heard on radio today that it's being taken off the market. Not supposed to say Caffeine if it's not? Or people just pissed about it?)
I'd like to have a companion, a person besides my mother to live with, with whom I'm not married but is said in a way I am. Who wants to live with someone they don't even like? As a person it's awful. Horrible to say I'm sure. Mother's Day Sunday, luckily I work. My Dad I love dearly. So too my mom, but as a person, what I go through, what anger, etc. is procured? No. I hate that. I can't say I hate her. I hate life. And who could live with one's Dad and Stepmother and pets? No. Not me. On my vacation now, and last one was done in those United States of Mexico, I hated that there. Nice place but its not my kind of set up. I like it quiet and without dogs and letting the place go to shit. This year was different. I spent my vacation here in town, avoiding my mother, trying to hook up with a friend from out of town, (It was hit and miss with her. Some grief on my insecure part.), avoiding the fires all across town. O how I love being on my own. Can't beat it, but who can do it? Who can afford it and still have time to do the things one loves? People. Sex. Reading. Paying for every thing? Who can afford it? I should just say: FUCK IT and shovel every thing into the dumpster. Give my Post Office Box key and account to my friend Dr. Jerome, and have that be that. Move to some town where there's no need of a car for myself. But, where to? Who would have me? What would I do? How would I survive?
If James Lipton were to ask me what would I want to have St. Peter say to me, I'd want him to say: We're Sorry. We fucked up. (Esp. sic. if I don't get to be a published author and get another bitchen gal pal to hang around first was way cool but so much got in the way and then she had to go and change her mind/emotions for some damn reason. Fuck!) And, there ya go, eternal rest. You don't have to put up with any more bullshit ever again. The End.
--Buckyneal, Dateline: Behind the Orange Curtain once again.

Friday, April 20, 2007

Is It a Coincidence this came out when it did? Frustration, A prequel, It's spring after all...

SUNDAY, APRIL 15th, 2007

The area known at one time as Mesopotamia is a mess. Charlie (Manson) and Company wanted a race riot? Said, the Beatles’ unnamed “white” album, (an all white cover, without title), told him to…Frustrated unknown, unable to get a contract or album made through myriad sources he met, finally made his own contract, with peeps (then known as followers, at one time good people,) ah, all disenfranchised YOUTH! And, but, it didn’t work. It just kept people paranoid, scared, and rightly so. See, told ya’! Youth, Hippies, Drugs. What good they ever do? Crapping in our own pants. That’s what that was. Follow the CIA rule, get Both countries neighbors fighting against one another and sit back and see the results. Pay for both and maybe we can move in later and work with them, whatever’s left…didn’t work. Not in Vietnam, not in L.A., not in the Middle East certainly.
Some say we’ll go to war with Iran next. Who do you think’s funding what’s going on right now? IRAN, SYRIA, CHINA, RUSSIA, whom-ever has a vested interest for us to fall flat on our tuckus.
THE U.S. has for a long time been the big bully. Soviet Union fell. Oh boy. But where is it now? It was long thought we’d fight one another. Do we still? Was all of that falling an illusion? Is it ready for a real fall? Is CHINA really behind all of this like they were in Southeast Asia?
THE U.S. didn’t want any thing to do with any one or any thing after World War I. Some people believe our powers that be, knew and allowed the shit in Hawaii to occur so that the people’s will would convert and we’d get into what was WWII. Same thinking with 9/11. Whatever. Same people think that who complain and go to lengths explaining red tape and issues as idio-crazy how things work/don’t work with the gov-ment. How can both be true?
How can there be an expertly guided, flawless cabal, and still the sludge with all this in-competence? That’s the beauty of it, you think, they are idiots. That’s the plan. (They want you to think that.) But really, it’s all under their strict control.
EXACTLY, yes, we all want that. Charlie did. Patty Hearst did…we all do…but we come to find out, we aren’t in control. It frustrates us, no? Who is in control, any one or thing? We (maybe) will find out, in living life, that no one is, that there is absolutely no light at the end of the tunnel of life. Do we go, oh well, or do we go out in/on a rampage? Which is best?

Greendik--Frustration Is Felt By All--Some times more some times less is done about it.


"Since we weren't here at the beginning, we might as well be here at the end."
--John Boyer, ARTIST.

I was laying on my back in my bedroom the other night after a full day of contemplation and doing some more, I decided finally, to call a friend in the porno business to see if she had that job we had been talking about all month that I was very reluctant to take. She couldn't talk. She was too excited.
"She's getting married", her friend picked up the phone and said to me. "Isn't it great?" her assistant screamed in my ear. "Yeah, sure. I guess." came my feeble response. I was in shock. I hung up quietly. They wouldn't notice, too scatter-brained. It's all too sudden for them, I thought. It'll never work. But then, I've never been married, so who am I to say? I live alone or try to and I just can't seem to get my shit together. Dammit, once again, all my plans washed away like so much snow in the rain. Oh well. I'll have to come up with something else to pay the rent. I was holding out on the porno gig for as long as I could. With a wedding on, that stopped everything. The moving to the city, everything.
I got to wondering...drifting off...staring at the blown stucco-like acoustic ceiling nonsense, I started making out faces in the chaotically placed material. I didn't know what to do. Leave town and work for a paper that could be sold at any moment in too many states too far away?
Suddenly this long, horn faced vision came to me. Yes. Who? What? What was that? I saw Satan and he spoke to me. "You are the one. You are the one who shall lead my people into hell." He said: "Here!" And then the long, goat/horse/old man face I conjured up in the ceiling noise abatement stuff was replaced with the most horrific hallucination I have ever seen. A ginormous festering green donkey's dick. "Here," He said. "Suck on this and you will be anointed." I'd be dead, I thought.
I got off that bed of contemplation slothful sin so damn fast. I never exited the sleeping slumber spot so quick in all my life. My heart was racing. I needed a swim. I got in the pool and thrashed around.
Dammit. Gat-dammit. What the HELL is going on here? Who am I? What am I? What is it with all this apocalyptic visitation crap? Might as well be here at the end, indeed! Who knew? Who knew? Am I here again? Reincarnation? Was I here before? What is all this nonsense? This isn't the story I had to tell. It's totally different from my original notes. The papers I have laying about me have the most heinous lies...disgusting rumors...I don't know where to begin. I thought I could write it all down simple as pie. The clean stuff. Tell them the nice one here. But nonesuch.
Last night after the vision, I got to pen and paper as fast as I could. What kind of allegory or what as that would this tale be able to relate? Some kind of sacrifice? Martyrology? Me? Heavens no. But, what was I to do? What was to be done?
I needed help, but had no where to run. No one would help me with this nonsense. They'd lock me up. Bad-assed, moterfinger music on full blast to drown out my nervousness and shaking. I felt like the bottom was going to fall out. All along the way of the freeway to my previous town's home. Los Angeles, out from behind the Orange Curtain once again. Shit. What up with that ugly vision? Who came up with that hackneyed crap?
There was no one there in the car but the music, and me in my 1988 Chevy, no levee to drive to. Besides, Don McLean has already tried that. Drinking rye whisky or whiskey and rye. The song doesn’t make sense. (I know exactly what I'm saying here.) He sang "they were drinking whiskey and rye." Well, you don't drink whiskey and rye. You drink rye whiskey. And if you are British, you drop the "E" in whiskey. This is the point I'm trying to make, to get you to understand by those comments. I need to clear out the pipes of my mind here at the same time. Clear the pipes. Yeah right. Porno reference. Get laid. Everyone's answer for everything. Sure. The beginning of the end really. They say your sex life ends at marriage. But enough of that.
I'm driving on the freeway, not of love and it's not in a pink Cadillac. It's a maroon sedan that's actually a single person vehicle. If any one sits in the shot gun position parallel to me, they get the headliner falling from the ceiling on their noggin. If any one sits in either of the back seats their feet get blood poisoning from no circulation. There's no room. I can't move my seat up any more forward. The thing tilts back permanently, but cannot move forward. It's got nothing to adjust it with. I have to have the seat rail all the way back, because I need room to drive. Else the steering wheel is in my face.
On the road again. I no longer have to wait. Music may be my only friend...but until the end...I'm going to have to quiet down here. Slow up. Slow up. Why won't every one slow up, or down?
Every one's pitching and swerving around me. I'm doing the speed limit and conditions are too dangerous for anything else. Much less even this from time to time. It's way crowded. Folks race by. Yes, it's like I'm standing still. They're going to get every one killed. There's no room for that kind of foolishness. Why doesn't every one see this? Conditions won't allow that speed for much longer. Every one's cranked and running up on every one else's ass. Stop it. STOP IT! Gad, if ever there was a time to be telepathic, it is NOW! Please, help me. Help me help me help me. Like that lost astronaut in the video game floating weightless in space. Drifting off. Unattached. Lost. Damn, what a pathetic wanker. Me I mean.
What do I want here? What do I think I need? A job? A license to steal? What?
I'm on my way to Los Angeles, and quite possibly it's the last time. I'm going to see a man about a dog, and I'm going to take that dog with me to Omaha, Nebraska, and begin a new life in an Airstream trailer at the end of an abandoned (by everyone but me,) dirt road. I'm tired of this divorced life of Orange County/L.A. County. Flip Flop. Flip Flop. Sick and tired of it. I deserve better and I know it. Just don't know what to do to implement something better. Don't know how to go about it. I'm no actor, for gosh sakes. I'm no writer. That much is true. What can I do? Work my ass off so hard for the Post Office at 8 bucks an hour and for what? What? It's screwed. Very dumb. No one's surviving any more. We're all dying. Doesn't matter what you do. It's not meant to last, but so what? I need something to do. NOW!
I'm not talented enough to do things every one else does. Maybe I should just quit. I research it and look at the people doing it, see what they do, and they're miserable. It's nothing work. On the phone all day yelling at people. 16 hour plus days. For the glory of what? All so you can say you hang out with the bitchen people? Got a crew jacket? F-that! That's no good.
I want to work and feel good about doing something. Is it too late? It's never too late they say. Yeah, the same they which in another voice contradict an earlier statement they make. "Be all you can be." "Obey your thirst." Then it's "Sit down, you're rocking the boat." "If you can't get along, move along." F-that. I am. I am here. I'm here for a reason. Maybe not what I think. Maybe not for sucking green donkey dicks, some kind of heinous euphemism for doing nasty stupid insane things one has to do to get by, but maybe...Perhaps I should make a deal with the devil. Suck his dick. But I don't believe in that kind of crap, so that won't work.
I didn't really see a big green donkey's dick hanging out the ceiling. (Just the face.) I just made that up. (And the voices.) Have to save face here. Won't even admit to the faces on the ceiling I saw as a kid when I was ill. No, I didn't. Not even in my worst drug addled youthful enthusiasm. I was never there. It didn't happen. I'm a liar and I'll tell you truthfully, that it never happened. This never even occurred. This life didn't exist. You do believe me, don't you?