The Way of the World Or, This is what's happening or not, with THE MUTINEER

And for those of you keeping tabs on THE MUTINEER: RANTS, RAVINGS, and MISSIVES from the MOUNTAINTOP 1977 -- 2005, by Hunter S. Thompson (i.e. NONE of you!!!) Amazon.com doesn't post its availability 2030 (That was the first to go.) And, it no longer lists its publication date as March 1, 2014 and just indicates it's "unavailable", and, there are "unreacheable" parties which "have" it, but are asking for 4, 5, 6 hundred dollars, and at least 5 dollars for S&H. It's just fucking insane!!

THE MUTINEER: The Latest

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Urban Dictionary: adjective

Urban Dictionary: adjective



 I wondered if "shit" was an adjective. So, I looked it up and found this.

In Solitude

‎There is gunfire off in the distance now. Two shots. In soledad/solitude, these things too pass before us, everyone.

Book News - THE MUTINEER: Rants, Ravings, Missives from the Mountaintop, by HUNTER S. THOMPSON

 You'll not likely get any other heads up any where other than here, so, for those discriminating taste buds, we offer the latest no news news.

 Saturday, March 1st, 2014, the book of letters, etc is expected to be released. Those of us who showed initiative to get it when it was first announced in 2010, will not be given any special privilege. We won't all of a sudden have a copy Saturday morning jet-post or in the afternoon by slug sailor. No. It will, if it comes at all, be delivered, my best guess, Wednesday, of next week, which puts it 4 days after publication and possibly in stores already, what few will be, in some major markets, and, you can forget about getting it in, say, Mississippi, unless Lemuria in Jackson has something going for it, or Books on the Square, in Oxford will. No. Not even in Orange County, California, probably...maybe the Huntington Beach or Newport, Fashion Island, Barnes and Noble's will carry a copy or three. But where to put it on the shelves? Where indeed! 

 Nonfiction. Not to be confused with anything such as like the Vegas book, which was listed as, but really was mostly Fiction. Doesn't matter, and ultimately, nothing does, but damn it all, I want some news on the thing now. And I want it delivered Saturday afternoon. I want a letter, an email rather, in today's box, telling me, my book has shipped! So far, nothing! Which suggests to me, my Wednesday guess may just be correct. And, I could be wrong. It could hit next Saturday, after the Penguins / Ducks game and wanting nothing to do with the week ahead of that, but...we plod on, mercilessly.

AND checking my ORDER-March 6, and by the Monday following, March 10th, is the "it should be in your hands" delivery by 8 p.m.

It's just frustrating. I've done 2 of these now. No one can find them by looking. I posted on someone's Goodreads post and subsequently deleted them and even that was a major hassle. Back and forth emails with the Goodreads ambassador there. Terrible thing. Why Why Why? It's a wonder anything gets done at all. How can anyone legitimately believe in conspiracies? Things are too easily inadvertently lost or failing that (hah) fucked up.

The Mutineer: Rants Ravings and Missives from The Mountaintop

 The book, by Hunter S. Thompson, a book of letters and the lot, of his work or writings, from 1977-2005, is, we hope, due to drop, this Friday, March 1st, 2014. 

 It was first announced, if memory serves, in 2010, when I first put an order in on it, in the online bookseller-plus-company, named after a rapidly disappearing jungle. Well, the publication date did the same thing, and we all felt raped, cheated, put upon. And now on its eve, we still feel a bit off, to say the least. There's nothing about its release in Vanity Fair, there's nothing about its release in Rolling Stone, and only the barely workable goodreads.com site for readers (frustrated, would be writers), to review books they read, has a thing on it. And the U.K., book seller plus site. And it's bitter and sad in that department too.

 Some suggest a lawsuit is/was involved. Hell, who knows? And, "Who Killed Hunter S. Thompson?" a book of essays by known associates and admirer's, is yet another thorn in this writer's side. Why can't it be brought out as well? Especially now? Nothing. There is nothing there. Ron the editor / Publisher at Last Gasp Press has told me repeatedly it's in the final stages, just waiting on Hinckle's essay to be finished. Well, dump on that! 

 Rumors abound it and the Mutineer book have both been out already, and I can't believe a word of it. Garbage, Nonsense, you people can't be trusted. None of you, and because of a lawsuit probably, some kind of gag order. Not even Simon & Schuster's idiotic website can cull the thing, and they're the publisher for hell's sake!!

 Wife Anita Thompson's website, the Gonzo one, nothing. Off the Web, for a damn long time. All a part of the demented plan for sure. Let's kill this project. Well, a-men, bruddah. You did. 

 I hope the book arrives and I enjoy it. Bet it won't arrive until Wednesday of the first full week of March, but I'll enjoy it what I can nonetheless. It's been a bummer that's for sure.

SO

 SO. Remember that album from that rich guy who used to be with another group which went on to be gigantic when compared to him and his work, eventually? 

 Remember when in grade school or something it was, SO? Such an insult? Some girl or guy professing their interest, would be so floored, just by one, simple, curt, response, by the single person audience being told, some heartfelt emotion: SO?

  So she is gay. How brave. And the gay comic is dying, of cancer. How sad. 

   What's really important, we miss. People are living. 

   What is it about sex, their preference, and capability to announce it to the world and its capacious and ravenous appetite to regurgitate the news? Who cares? What business is it of ours? And, if they're dying of some horrible disease, wouldn't you think a person would want it kept private? And, for that matter, their sexual peccadilloes as well?

SO?

 

I Wonder As I Wander

‎ The only way to guess or even try to figure things out is to wonder as you wander. Do something and after a time you'll want care and think of nothing but anything else. What can you do about it? Nothing. You can't do anything with, to, for, about, any of it, regardless.

Massacre

It was a massacre. They did it sloppy and quick. Shotgun. Hand Gun. Sub-Machine gun. If one guy and this dog had not survived (The man from injuries sustained from the slaughter did later, after telling authorities: who, what, where, when, how, succumb.), the crying dog alerting folks earlier than they would have been, due to its wailing for its dead master, alerting new, post scene event witnesses. But you know they all died horribly in their own way, did the killers. At least, you tell yourself that. And the killed, were thugs from some other gang(s) too. Bad guys, no doubt. But so what? Still killed. Killing. Dead. Not coming back. Brutally butchered. Love gone horribly wrong. Acts of love taken to extreme. Love for the gang, actions of loyalty to the bosses, love twisted all out of purportion. You know they were scared, afraid of being killed by cops if caught in the act, or stopped by others...they couldn't even kill the damn dog, idiots. You do a thing like that, you shoot the dog too. If you go beast, brutal, you do it all the way. Chickenshit Pansies!! Yeah, easy to say, but it's true. What kind of horrible person writes this? Someone without love? Who does such a thing as that? Killing other people? In a warehouse room? On Valentines Day!

2nd Month, A Realization

THUR. FEB. 6th, 2014

 Two Zero One Four. Who'd a thunket? We're here, in the Second Month of twenty-fourteen!!! Isn't it exciting?! I think so. Funny though is it how the daily grind to get past another sunrise how dull turgid it quickly becomes. Terrible thing. Let's reflect on how grateful we are to be here alive and to notice any old thing. At very least it may be the best we can be or do. Shrug shoulders. Move on. Oy, smile. Grin wryly. Sigh. Be at rest with peace.

‎

Superior Bowle Le

 The Big foot ball game in America is today or yesterday and tomorrow for some. After work I'll be missing only just first bits, and wondering how the folks back home are doing as I feel my way across the field in my mind at Puh-sod-inn-uh, the Rose Bowl, back in...86? 87 maybe. The Steelers vs. The Rams. Up With People, did the half time show. Ushers handed out squares of mirror mylar for us to be a part. I was young, sober, shouting: This Game Is Fixed!, and people were turning around and then looking at one another saying, 'You know, he's probably right.' Of course I was, but so what?‎

 I'll be sober again by the time after work I reach the house. No one will be yelling or betting on the plays, point spread, or winners. It will be a dull puppy trot. I mean, I feel for both teams. I want Seattle. I'd like Peyton to win and then quit football for good. I don't want to hear the crap when or if Seattle loses, in the way of excuses. I just don't. I have a feeling there will be a lot, if they do lose. (They won't, right?) Anyway, who cares? The toughest defense, will it reign again? Or will it lose and break that? And who will be traded or quit after this game, never able to fully realize next year's possibility with their championship/division winning team going all the way next year, because they could, but, won't. The network has made damn sure there aren't any more Green Bay/Steeler Lombardi sucking teams 3 and 4 years in a row. That shit is long over. No more horse or barn for that show. They killed the dog on that one. Too bad. I kind of liked stuff like that. Back then it really meant something to be with a team to the end. Now, it's just an endorsement or broadcasting deal post game scars. 

FRIDAY'S NEWS IS NO NEWS, NOT REALLY

 We're off doing our own thing. We're not helping one another.

 Secret revealed, truth, be told. We can do no such thing. We can't do either very well. We just make some noise, splash around. Try as we may/might-we hardly make any sense (of it) before all time, sense of place, whatever, what have you, falls and, it's over--done--you die.

 Hang the sense of it. Purpose meaning reason answer(s), be damned. Fuck it. Fuck it because it's there or here. Get on with it. Live as best you can and then die. Don't worry. Be not concerned. It doesn't matter. Take it not upon yourself to care too much, too deep(ly), because there is no way of knowing, ultimately, for sure, not here, not now, not in this. And if ever there is. If in death you'll know, then that's for then. It's not for this 'now'. And there's never actually reason to rush or hurry to, for, of, by, whatever. Just to BE, is plenty.

Does Not Match The Run Time

Yeah, getting errors about this but you know, this blog is easier to operate easier than livejournal, easier than tumblr (which looks the best) and easier than wordpress. I am a writer therefore I have no money and am highly stressed and sensitive and I just want need it working and easy to work as well, in all formats on all machines. So, it looks like this year I may just flush the hell out of all of them but this one. And if I can you know remember to email from you know, any of my 2 addresses, to this easy to get into the post from the email, having the address and having this site recognize the sender and having it post with out gobbly-gunk on it as well like tumblr is doing of late when I post photos there...if if IF IF IF, i'll have a merry groovy new year!!!

Evening New Year

Happy New Year, ya bloody wankers! Nepal and half of Russia are already there. And since no one really takes you serious on this thing (unless of course they want to criticize and belittle your thoughts, prayers, meditations) I'm determined tonight to be in bed asleep well before midnight and all of ya's! I'm going to get messed up with a painted red haired lady, smoke some cigars, have a few beans, and a chocolate macaroni salad apple pie. (P.S. On New Year's Day I'm going to wake up, grab myself a beer for breakfast, and listen to the Doors, on my out door speakers, at FULL Volume, while I swim, and probably drown.)

What I Did Today After Work

‎Tumor has been removed from the Mumster's visage. And the other spots on back and shoulder seem cool too. Catching some 2nd Hand Skunk weed smoke here Norwalk style before perusing the latest bit from RALPH STEADMAN! Regency 8 has FOR NO GOOD REASON. And so for that, the very same, I'm here to watch this Documentary. The girl asked pointedly if I was aware of the fact. And I said, oh yeah, very much so. Big Fan, etc. Norwalk. Nothing to do. Same thing. Redundancy. Skate in the parking lot between blunts in yer 64 Impala, I suppose. I couldn't do it. Makes me sick. (Both all everything.) Hello, Big Brother. Blow a doobie for me. Catch y'all later at ELBOWS, in Cerritos.

Rants of The Archer: I Love Notebooks

Rants of The Archer: I Love Notebooks


 Interesting stuff. But I want to be able to BUY some Sterling notebooks off the web myself. Lined paper or if they have it, graph!

You Big Banana Head!

THUR. AUG. 29th, 2013

  AND, explain to me again why we have to take Syria? It's not the same old boy oil network thing again designed in the guise of humanitarian effort like that Police Action in Vietnam? When we're supposedly only in Vietnam to stop the spread of communism and finally just said well, we lost the war and won the region, the ideology, and about bankrupt everyone. But we weren't in Laos or Cambodia or anywhere else over there, either, were we? No. Bullshit! We were there. We were in the Philippines and crusing the coasts in the China Sea, to be sure.

 Who was it who said the warring leaders must meet in an area where the public will witness them with socks filled with manure, and they hit and hit and slap one another till a draw is made. Or they languish after sex like in a pillow fight, and smoke THC oil with vape smokers, and later at a party smirk or go their separate ways. Why can't we leave this shit alone? I didn't vote for one administration to get into another war just to foist it off onto another at term's end. Fuck this shit!

What Monsters Are

Monsters Fairies Goblins don't exist. They're just stories we tell one another and our children to explain events and our own peripatetic motivated behaviors. 

Dark Cool Morning In July

It was a dark cool morning that Saturday in July. Very dark in the east. A lone jet slowly flies by somewhere above the cloud layer. The occasional clump of a door off stage left or off right. A car sighs by, then another, from a different direction. Suddenly a loud screeching whine is announced. What in heaven is that? Someone just open their garage door, going to wash their car now? Wait. It's going to rain. Just park it out on the driveway for a few hours, after the grocery shopping, while you sit inside and read, or potter about in the backyard, with your boots and shorts, t-shirt, and hoodie.

A Dream

WALKING along the something river trail, one I'd done before, but didn't know or couldn't recall how after only going over a rather steep short freeway bridge, like the one over the 5 freeway in Burbank, to the mall to the east of the interstate, on victory Blvd or some such, was found, just on the other side of the mall, this wilderness area.

 In it, on a trail, a bit of a depression in the path, some mud and water I was careful about stepping around as much as I could, I was on my current phone, writing, I suppose, people came up to me to inform me there was a man on a crossroads, and I can't recall the names, with white hair, who was hurt, bleeding, from the mouth. I found him as I approached, he spit something large and white out his mouth. It was thought by me, to be a tooth. I decidedly recalled where in general it fell, and was mindful to pick it up and maybe keep it, in order to be saved. But this man not all with it upstairs, in distress, was asked a number of questions like do you know what day it is? Who the president is? What's your name? No. He was asked, did you fall? Did someone hit you? Are they still here? I was flustered as I wasn't getting much response and there was no help coming.