actinium

2011-11-14T08:57:00.000-08:00

Dude they play country music EVERYWHERE here. In the grocery stores, in the restaurants, even piped into the fucking Ace Hardware. And not the good country, either. The shit that makes you want to lay down and die in despair when you hear it... fascist music, NewThink music, the type you can't distinguish from the commercials. George Jones and Waylon Jennings never existed to whatever faceless shills are robotically emitting these awful sounds. I look up and shake my fist weakly at the speakers as I shuffle through the aisles in the Albertsons...
shuffle shuffle shuffle, half concious with a nagging sense of impending doom

who

2011-10-28T12:22:00.001-07:00

who would argue that the venue was the cause of these happy memories, nor the bill of fare- the bitter coffee, the rancid bacon, the stale biscuits that were tomb and grave to so... many.. insects...

Stub

2011-10-20T22:51:00.001-07:00

There's a guy in his seventies who lives next door. He always wears a blue levi jacket and a tan cowboy hat, has a deep voice, and has a dog named Stub. Keeps to himself. We nod and say hello. The other night I saw him sitting in his house at his kitchen table, eating his supper. I stood there for a minute watching him. He was wearing his cowboy hat at the table, sitting and bringing a fork or spoon to his mouth, and reading something.

This afternoon I saw him sitting in the cab of his truck, and he was listening to an opera. He was wearing his levi jacket and cowboy hat. His head was down and his eyes were closed, and he was moving his hands just slightly to the music. I wondered about his life and thought, where are the ones this man loves. Where are they, and from where does this man draw his strength.

free writing excercise #1

2011-10-20T14:19:00.000-07:00

1978 toyota 1 ton motor home gray in the sun with dust and the remnants of an ochre themed 1970s striped paint job, the tires are dry and cracked and the wind makes a loud hum through the square edges that make up every angle of the vehicle. Inside the man driving the toyota stares out of a bug spattered windshield through glasses and a graying beard. His hair flits in the wind. There is nothing to see ahead on the road but yellow dirt and trucks.

In the distance a green sign approaches that announces, rest stop, and passes. The woman beside him is not asleep. The truck makes a lot of noise and they have not had the radio on for an hour. Cars pass often, maroon and silver and impatient. in the back of the toyota a shaft of sunlight falls on the milk crates and boxes filled with books, tapes, clothes, appliances. the wind hums and the man igonores the pressure of the air in his ears because his mind is wandering through a maze of thoughts and in fact he is really not looking out through the windshield itself, rather the side window. the woman stirs. It is hot outside and inside. the gas gauge is broken and the tachometer squeals. The calculations and fancies in the man's head are interrupeted for a moment as he starts to think about gasoline and miles and time. His head turns to the rider, then turns back as the tires thump for a moment on the ridged asphalt at the edge of the pavement.

After some more time passes another metal sign says exit 49 ahead 1 1/2 m, and he sits up straighter in the rotted seat and looks out at one of the side mirrors and then steers the motor home off the highway and onto the exit ramp, pressing hard on the brake with his foot while keeping a little more pressure on steering wheel to the right to counteract the truck's wanting to veer constantly and slightly to the left. THe tires whine, and he pushes on the brake hard with his foot, looking at the CHevron and McDonalds and In N Out and Taco Bell and Super 8 signs and pushes the clutch pedal down sticking his arm out of the window in a Roman salute to the cars behind him, then lets out the clutch and turns right. Bumps and squeaks and rocking over the dip in the curb and into the Chevron. He looks at the oil and litter and things sticking to the ground and pulls hard on the steering wheel and pulls into a slot under the awning. He can see a child and parents looking at him and his passenger. He reaches to open the driver side door and his long legs twist and his body turns and he gets out of the truck and his very old tennis shoes step on the petroleum stained surface. He reaches into the front pocket of his pants and counts the bills in his hand, 14 dollars in ones and a five. He pushes the door open to the Chevron and smells the air conditioned air and approaches the counter, with gum packages and energy liquids and many colors and people are milling about, the door opens and closes three times.
ten bucks on 4, he says. The young man says something automatic to him and does not look in his face.

Later, before the gasoline runs out, the man and his passenger find the turn off they were looking for as the sun is long in the sky and yellow is turning to orange. Malpaugh 22 the sign had said, and both had stiffened a little in their seats as it went by, green paint in the sun. The chassis of the vehicle groans in the ruts of the dirt road and the passenger holds with one hand to the top frame of the door, looking ahead.

17th and Broadway

2011-10-20T01:06:00.000-07:00

at the corner of 17th and Broadway street

Indianapolis

I stood and looked up at King and Kennedy and held your hand

thank you for being with me

to see my tears

2011-06-03T19:38:00.001-07:00

2011-05-30T07:36:00.000-07:00

Yesterday it snowed. I went for a drive up this road I saw the other day that advertised a campground, hoping for a hiking trail. It was cold and rainy yesterday morning, and I thought I might avoid other hikers and weekenders. Wheezing up the hill in my volks, I started to notice that the misty rain was making a familiar whispering sound on the eggshell-like roof of the car. Snow dude! On May 30th. I went up the hill and there was about 3 inches on the ground and everywhere. I saw a sign for a catholic monastery and took a picture. It was really beautiful. At the campground I parked and waved to a man in a snow plow truck. It was pretty cold and I didn't see any evidence of trails, just family style boring campgrounds with picnic tables. There was a sign for somebody's party- Sally's Birthday Bash. I went up the hill following the directions and saw two dudes packing up party stuff, streamers and what not, in the snow. One of them waved to me and I waved back, sort of. Then they stopped and started looking at me so I went back down the hill. I found an arrow in the ground.

5/8/2011, 6:54 pm

2011-05-08T18:52:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting here, drinking tequila, watching Oliver Stone's 'JFK' as a distraction, in my new house, full of all my new shit, and tomorrow morning at 5 am I have to get up and go to a state correctional facility and start my new job as a nurse. A registered nurse. See if it's all a farce or what. It's been two years and for a while I have been feeling divorced from my schooling and my plans. Maybe it won't be that big of a deal, probably not, I'm sure I'll do fine, but I'll tell ya: this is a true do or die moment here. I'm way, way way the fuck out in the middle of nowhere and I owe money. In this situation a person can't help but go over the worst case scenario, go over it again and again, feeling it like a canker sore in the mouth. If I fuck up, if I fail, I am a dead duck.

So cheers, dear reader, here's to the knife's edge. We now return to 'JFK.' And may I say it's and excellent movie to watch on the night before your execution or life. Here's to life, and this thing working out. Because if this job turns out alright I forsee a fine time out here in the sticks. Salud

5/8/2011

2011-05-08T08:09:00.000-07:00

What a score. Coming back from the grocery store in town yesterday, I saw a sign for an estate sale and I went down the road to check it out- super fuckin funny, friendly, beer drinkin people who had somehow scored a house full, FULL, of old grandma 1950's furniture and all sorts of shit. I got a red velvet chair with an ottoman, a grandma sitting room/checking the mail chair, both super comfy, a couple lamps, and a swank solid oak coffee table. You know the old 50's style ones that are square instead of rectangular? all for like 50 bucks, plus they helped me bring em over with their truck cos it was just up the street. On top of that, I found out that they all work at the prison and they invited me to barbeque and drink beers sometime. You should have seen the stuff in there. Mahogany tables, an old range from the 40's, one of those old 1920's refrigerators made of solid iron with the cooling doohickey on top, fuckin, an incredible bartender's kit... dang. My place is really starting to look like Jimmy Stewart's living room from Vertigo. I'm so stoked.

Tomorrow is my first day on the job. Today I have to finish putting the place together, or at least make my room usable as a study, and work on some stuff for a few hours- lab values flashcards, drug calculations, procedures, maybe a few NCLEX questions for good measure. One thing I have already noticed about living out here where it's quiet is there are less distractions and I feel like I'm going to be able to get more shit done in terms of writing, reading, and maybe trying my hand out on that crappy electric piano.

5/5/2011

2011-05-08T07:45:00.000-07:00

Left Oakland yesterday with Greg Serpa and Melissa Bolger running ahead in Greg's truck. Towing the Volkswagen wasn't as much of a sketch out as I thought it might be. We got to my new place, waaay out at the end of several long straight roads adjacent to fields filled with sheep and etc, about 10 pm and unloaded my stuff just as the dang sprinkler system turned on. We got sprinkled with what I'm sure was reclaimed gray water coming and going. Ha. We got a lot of laughs from my labelling job on the boxes of books and various crap of mine- I had written, in large block magic marker, variations of the porn motif on many of the boxes. 'PORN,' 'PORNO,' 'LETTERS FROM GREG'S MOM,' 'NAVAJO PORN,' 'BLACK ON BLACK SNUFF PORN,' etc. The Navajo porn was a particular hit. We did a lot of 'hay yay yay yay's' as we trucked my stuff into the house.

Coming down the isolated country roads that ran along the carrot and cabbage and whtever else- fields, in my big U Hual truck with all of my life inside, I was struck by the sight of the cold orange and white lights coming from the prison that counld be seen in the darkness as we went down the long country roads. It was there, on the left, in the cup of a dry, yellow, rolling oak valley surrounded by grassblown and oak tree spotted hills. Up in the hills were spots of light, here and there, but the psrion was a galaxy in that dark rural place, the economic and spiritual center, for good or ill, and no matter what. A good place to build a prison for sure, I thougnt to myself as I led my friends to my secluded new home.
We finally pulled up, close to ten thirty, and trotted out all the remnants of my life in Oakland and San Francisco, the clown prtraits, the Jesus painting from a thrift store I had defiled, my special Korean girlfriend, a picture of an asin nubile that I had the good fortune to find the owners had pasted on the outside rather than the inside of their shop window

My things looked pretty dingy sitting on the new carpet of my new townhouse, making me realize what a scrubby, dusty sort of life I'd been living all these years. Up to now- from now on I would be hiring a housekeeper every two weeks. F it

Greg and Melissa were pretty tired, and sacked out in a blanket nest on the luxurious carpet, passing up my offers of prosecco, speed, acid, ketamine, &ct. I had to settle for some Nyquil capsules, prosecco straight from the bottle, (thanks Michaela!) and a copy of 'The Air Conditioned Nightmare,' which I realized isn't all that great. Henry Miller complains too fucking much in it. I gave up the ghost after a half hour or so and turned out the light, listening to the crickets and frogs as I slipped into sleep.

I blearily awoke, around half past six, to Greg and Melissa wishing me God speed and hitting the road to camp for a night before returning to the world. I mumbled something and flopped back under the comforter, returning to a river of lurid dreams about losing automobiles and my sister becoming a weird christian and a bunch of other nonsense. I've been having numerous axniety dreams, but my days have been mostly calm. I'm returning to my old copy of 'Man and His Symbols,' and I'm gonna ditch Miller.

How are ya? I know.

2011-02-08T00:30:00.000-08:00

I want you and me to go on a bike ride or a hike soon. I promise I won't get your little complaining ass lost. In fact, fine. Screw it, if you want to be a bitch about it you can pick the place and hopefully print a google map to contribute something for a change instead of just flouncing around in bed reading Anais Nin and crap like that and expecting your father and I to keep feeding you chocolate bon bons and paying your way through Laney College. Cos let me tell you a little something about the facts of life young lady: This station wagon only goes to the docks. And let me tell you somethin else: the docks are comin' up. Comin' up REAL QUICK. Okay? Do you read me little soldier? or whichever ones ride on the gray metal boats? Yeah. You smell what I'm cookin. That means... you get your little fanny, UP, and PERPENDICULAR, and on the school bus, and park it RIGHT HERE in the Principal's office. Because the Student Council, the FAculty here, the assistant girls' volleyball coach and pretty much everybody else wants to know when you are going to start THINKING about being popular again.

2011-02-07T22:15:00.000-08:00

Skyler Cameron I'd like to know what you have to do to get kicked out of Zeitgeist
about an hour ago · LikeUnlike

Skyler Fernandez ride a bike with the minimal amount of safe equipment that would prevent you from flying in the air and your skull makes contact with a fire hydrant at 22mph and you get a subdural hematoma that somehow fails to prevent you from being seen at some other place the very next night chain smoking, sucking down shots of fernet that you didn't buy, and spraying your HV1 froth at the chick in front of you who is also talking incessantly.
A few seconds ago · Like

2011-02-06T23:19:00.000-08:00

The Next Time I Fuck You

2011-02-02T18:53:00.000-08:00

[girl and a guy sitting on a couch in front of a television set on a stage. the actors are facing the audience, the TV is facing them, playing static. They are expressionless and apathetic-looking. They're not speaking to each other, and are watching the TV screen. A mishmash of approximately 25 commercials, all recorded on top of each other and playing simultaneously, jabbers loudly from the speakers, and the dude pokes intermittently at a remote control. the sound dies out after a few minutes and the guy begins to recite a monologue, his face remaining expressionless. The girl continues to stare at the TV as if she can't hear him- the monologue reflects thoughts within his head.]

"the next time I fuck you I want you to be wearing a Burger King uniform. I want the radio headset on and everything. the little visor. The bleak expression on your face. I want to hear the chirping of the electronic equipment that cooks the pasty horrible food. The next time I fuck you I want you to be wearing a Best Buy uniform. The blue polo shirt. the tight tan dockers. the yellow nametag. I want you to look past my face into nothing as I use you like a Denny's restroom. I want to smell the urinal cakes, your blue perfume. The next time I fuck you I want to listen to you take orders from families in the drive through, ordering the flat room temperature food wrapped in yellow and green paper. I want to cling to your polyester clad hot sweaty body as you move like a dray horse between the sugar soda crap dispenser and the fried pasty vat which bubbles and pops, cooking the strips of white material that float in the partially hydrogenated fat bath like oversized bacteria. The next time I fuck you I don't want to hear you speak English. I want to hear inane chatter in Spanish about your cigarette break at 1:00. I want to hear you mutter into your fingerprint-smeared cell phone in Russian. I want to hear you argue with your ex husband in Farsi. I want to hear you ask for a cash advance from the assistant manager with a thick Nigerian accent, your eyes averted from his slack flabby face as he sits at his computer and pretends not to hear you. The next time I fuck you I want your several kids to be waiting in the car in the parking lot in the blazing hot sun as semi trucks scream past on the interstate highway, shaking the ground and throwing grit and litter and filth into the air. The next time I fuck you I want to slide my debit card through the slot, feel the friction, finger the rubber pad, put my pin. in. pull. out. the receipt. avert our eyes. together. "

[the girl dimly becomes aware that the guy is in the grip of something intense. she turns to him and strokes his arm. he continues to stare ahead at the televison set.]

"hey babe, you ok? what are you thinkin about?"

[the guy's eyes flick briefly sideways towards the girl.]

"Burger King."

"oh. Well, are you hungry?"

"no."

[she turns back to the tv. his face remains expressionless. the audio mishmash of commercials comes back on and the light fades]

What do Eldridge Cleaver and Mitt Romney have in common?

2011-02-02T13:25:00.000-08:00

"The white youth of today have begun to react to the fact that the 'American Way of Life' is a fossil of history. What do they care if their old baldheaded and crew-cut elders don't dig their caveman mops? They couldn't care less about the old, stiffassed honkies who don't like their new dances: Frug, Monkey, Jerk, Swim, Watusi. All they know is that it feels good to swing to way- out body rythms instead of drag assing across the dance floor like zombies to the dead beat of mind-smothered Mickey Mouse music. Is it any wonder that the youth have lost all respect for their elders, for law and order, when for as long as they can remember all they've witnessed is a monumental bickering over the Negro's place in society and the right of people around the world to be left alone by outside powers? They have witnessed the law, both domestic and international, being spat upon by those who do not like its terms. Is it any wonder, then, that they feel justified, by by sitting in and freedom-riding, in breaking laws made by lawless men? Old funny styled, zipper mouthed political night riders know nothing but to haul out an investigating committee to look into the disturbance to find the cause of the unrest among the youth. Look into a mirror! The cause is you, Mr. and Mrs. Yesterday, you with your forked tongues."

--Soul On Ice, 1968

2011-02-02T12:53:00.000-08:00

2011-01-12T23:08:00.000-08:00

I went out for a run a little while after the sun went down a few hours ago then stopped at this one park by my house where there's a playground with a bunch of crazy jungle gyms and kids' teletubby climbin gyms and shit. I was doing sit ups then I just flooped back and looked up at the sky, at the crescent moon up there and some stars. I was hot from exercising so the rubber ground covering felt cool on the backs of my arms and it felt like a bouncy bed. I looked up at the sky til my glasses started fogging up (shut up) then got up and went on home.

National Geographic

2010-05-06T22:32:00.000-07:00

some history porn program about the assassination plots against Adolf Hitler during the Third Reich- childish really and superficial- war porn for the layman.

but if you pause the images and abandon the story line and just look at the images, frame by frame, not for what they symbolize or represent, but for the FORMS they take on the FILM....the forms the faces take, the snarls and the stares, everything slows down and the intended meaning is lost and the images are stripped away clean, the humanity is left in the dark of the celluloid and you can see the monsters

failed love note to a stranger

2010-03-15T23:47:00.000-07:00

I just wanted to tell you that there's something about the particular arrangement of your blue eyes, dark hair, style, and smile that made me pause. Sometimes when I see a pretty woman, I am just filled with this strange longing for women as creatures of such beauty, such endless fascination, that I get this wonderful feeling of contentment just knowing that they are alive and doing whatever they are doing. Like the feeling you get looking into the face of a magnificent horse. Looking into its eyes and seeing the life burning in them. You don't need to have the horse for yourself, and might not be able to handle it, frankly, but you're god damn glad it's alive.

You know what I mean?

February 1 2011.

...She didn't know what I meant. It's a good idea not to compare a woman with a horse.

2010-03-09T08:34:00.001-08:00

Jenny Quitter

2010-02-20T18:17:00.000-08:00

this guy wonders what is to become of him, and is befuddled, dazed and exhausted by the Rubik's Cube of love. He's trying to solve it but his fingers have gone numb and all the colors are black. Oh look.. it's already solved. Now he can drop it on the sidewalk and wander away

...Last night I saw JQ again for the first time in about three years, after I thought I never would speak to her again. We had drinks in a bar in North Beach. she was so beautiful it hurt. I acted cool, but it was work. My stomach was queasy at first. I sent this text to her before I went to sleep:

'I sat on the sidewalk for 20 minutes feeling thunderstruck and in a time warp. I walked back here in the mist like a ghost. It was good seeing you too. night.'

I had dreams about her all night. In the dreams we reconciled, joked around, laughed together, walked home together from somewhere. Her eyes were open doorways to home, sparkling. at the end of the dream I put a note, on red paper, telling her how long and agonizingly I had been in love with her in a pocket of a coat that I left hanging on a hook in her house before I left.

I have a horrible feeling of loss for something I almost but never quite had and which is beyond anything I can do to reach, and in seeing this jewel last night I saw but an echo of something long gone.

yes wave

2010-02-20T14:56:00.001-08:00

you know man, it's like... people and things.. just, you know, like GET you down and get so TEDIOUS... it's all rubbish, really... we just have gotten so TIRED of the nonsense and all the TALKING behind our backs man.. sometimes you just get to a point where you've HAD IT. and then WHO KNOWS what might happen. Something's about to happen anyways... you can BET on THAT ONE, mate. THAT'S what yes wave is man, and if you don't understand it, like, if you can't dig what we're sayin, then you might as well CLEAR OFF cos we ain't got TIME for ya. As a matter of fact why don't you just FUCK OFF. I'm tired of tryin to explain all these THINGS to PEOPLE. These... irritating complacent PEOPLE.

S.L.M.

2010-02-04T14:37:00.000-08:00

sexy little monster, three feet tall
walkin down the street, street walkin in the fog

I was minding my own business, on my way home
when this sexy little monster smiled and turned around

I couldn't look away
couldn't close my eyes
cos I was struck stupid
and I was hypnotized
by the tiny little legs
and the tiny little shoes
and the candy apple lips
and the slinky way she moved

I can feel her lookin

I can feel her spooky eyes drilling into me

my footsteps speeded up, then they slowed down

my heartbeat quickened, I turned around

the sexy little monster flicked a cigarette

her crazy green eyes and my wide ones met

I wondered what her name was

I wondered where she lived

I wondered on the wild world

and what the Devil did

and those tiny little legs
and those tiny little shoes
and those candy apple lips
and the slinky way she moved

2010-02-03T13:39:00.001-08:00

Can't Pay

2010-02-02T14:31:00.000-08:00

(:20)this is in regards
to a personal
business matter.

if you are not the person
this is in regards to,
please disregard this letter.

hello?
CREDIT WRECKER (x2)
CREDIT WRECKER
hello?

36, bi-monthly debits: (x2)
following authorization,
the account will reflect these credits.

I'm gonna pay
I can't pay
I'm gonna pay
I can't pay

hello?
CREDIT WRECKER
CREDIT WRECKER
hello?

authorizing
authorizing
authorizing
NO!
hello?

CREDIT WRECKER
CREDIT WRECKER

2010-02-01T00:44:00.000-08:00

2010-01-31T22:51:00.000-08:00

"The secret affinity between gambling and the desert: the intensity of gambling reinforced by the presence of the desert surrounding the town. The air-conditioned freshness of the gaming rooms, as opposed to the radiant heat outside. The challenge of all the artificial lights to the violence of the sun rays. Night of gambling sunlit on all sides; the glittering darkness of these rooms in the middle of the desert. Gambling itself is a desert form, inhuman, uncultured, initiatory, a challenge to the natural economy of value, a crazed activity on the fringes of exchange. But it also has a strict limit and stops abruptly; its boundaries are exact, its passion knows no confusion. Neither the desert nor gambling are open areas; their spaces are finite and concentric, increasing in intensity toward the interior, toward a central point, be it the spirit of gambling or the heart of the desert - a privileged, immemorial space, where things lose their shadow, where money loses its value, and where the extreme rarity of traces of what signals to us there leads men to seek the instantaneity of wealth."

- Baudrillard on Las Vegas

SLOSH PUPPIES

2010-01-31T15:22:00.000-08:00

I tripped at Wal-Mart...

snuck in amongst the fat.

to see what I could fit...

in my grocery cart.

knuckles turning white...

somebody's on my trail

trying to blend in...

lost in the multicolored aisles.

swirling confusion

terrible colors

scary maelstrom

fluorescent hell

I was so fucked up....

didn't know.

which way was up...

aaahhh!

mirrors and black globes

on the ceiling

slitted eyes darting

in suspicion

radio messages

in transmission

intercept suspect

and watch him

smiley faces crowding

and colliding

bodies pressing in on me

yelling pushing

televisions computers

and babies screaming

nonchalant guy hands in his pockets

flip flops sweat shirts shiny floor

white tiles white tiles going on

white tiles white tiles white tiles

I tripped at Wal-Mart...

I tripped at Wal-Mart.

chickie

2010-01-28T21:42:00.000-08:00

Chickie was my little pet. A hen for all seasons. She was a tiny chicken, some weird breed, and belonged to my neighbors but also to my heart.... chickie died. she's in hog heaven now though... she sent me a text after she died and said she got off on the wrong floor of the heaven escalator and has to kick it in Hog Heaven for 5000 years til the next escalator comes, but she said it's alright considering. 5000 years goes by uber quick in heaven. She's dating a hog named Don who apparently is very nice- he's a tech guy- but his parents are a little weird about it. Chickie says they'll probably get over it.

I didn't ask about the sex

smell it

2010-01-23T18:01:00.000-08:00

I need something new

buy me something

I can smell it-

sell it

new car smell

The Creepy Creeper

2010-01-23T15:12:00.000-08:00

creepin around, creepin around, creepin around, creepin around

and feelin really freaky

look what I found, look what I found, here on the ground,

people in town

don't wanna talk to me

fingers on the window pane

smile on my face

fingers on the window pane

smile on my face

fingers on the window pane

smile on my face

policeman on the radio,

put me away

policeman on the radio,

put me away

policeman on the radio,

put me away
put me away
pull me away

I was released.

I'm creepin around.

I'll be around.

cuts

2010-01-23T12:28:00.000-08:00

who's a gakkis,

who's a nob?

who's a nimrod,

and who's a slob?

who eats crayons,

who eats paste?

who gets no sticker,

for his face?

who made scribbles,

in his coloring book?

who pointed,

and made you look?

who went to pictures,

with his shirt untucked?

who fills his lunchbox

with toy trucks?

what a bad boy,

what a scruffy kid.

what a rat's nest.

(:42)my teacher said that I was a bad kid and I didn't pay attention and I was developing bad habits and visiting instead of memorizing my times tables and saving a peach in my desk and having pencil marks on my trousers...

a kid was in line in front of me... but I took cuts.

a girl sat in a desk in front of me... and I cussed.

..we were climing on the monkey bars, me, Peter and Mike, and Peter kept saying this one kid was a cotton picking fucker. That's all he is, Peter said to me, a cotton picking fucker. A girl told on us and the school yard monitor took us to the principal's office. The principal was a blonde, scary man with a moustache and a gray 1981 style business suit complete with a vest. We waited for a while in the counselor's area then were ushered in to his office. He closed the door. I don't remember what he said, but I remember that there was no trace of a smile whatever on his blonde moustached lips. He spoke to us very intensely and then opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a large wooden paddle and held it in his lap like a loaded rifle while he told us that he would not hesitate to use it on us if we continued with our disruptive behavior.

Suzanne

2010-01-10T01:17:00.000-08:00

I've been a habitual love-letter writer since the third grade. Suzanne was her name... I loved her. She tore up the note, written on yellow legal paper, and threw the shreds at me. I don't think she noticed that I was wearing my special brown clip on tie for her. My mom did that morning, and so did my dad. 'dad,' I told him the night before, 'what should I say to this girl Suzanne that I really like.'
'Well, you should tell her that you like her for her personality, not just because she's pretty.'

Dear Suzanne,
I love you. Not just because you're pretty, but because you
have a good personality. Will you be my girlfriend.

Love,
Joel

She had dark hair pulled back with one of those head bands, and a blue dress on. She sat 1 seat over from me. I think she must have been nervous. I never found out though, because she never spoke to me again.

The next one was Barbara, and it was in sixth grade, three long years later. Barbara had blonde curly hair. I used to watch her bouncing along in the halls and my heart would flip. She looked at me once with a curious expression and my heart clenched like a fist.

I wrote the note on a sunday night, and put her name on it with one of those gold metallic ink markers they used to make in the eighties. I loved the way those things smelled.
I took the note and went to the library during lunch to wait for her. I saw her sit down at a table with a book, and I went over to her, heart pounding in my throat, and put the note on the table. 'here,' my voice was thick. There was a bubble of red hots candies securely taped to the side of the letter like a carcinoma.

I retreated and watched her out of the corner of my eye, my foot tap tap tap tap tapping on the floor. Lunch period was over years later, after I had counted every nick and pencil mark on the table. There were thousands.

Barbara was waiting for me with the letter in her hand, standing by the only way out of the library. Her face had an expression I didn't know how to identify. I think she may have been smiling. Her face seemed flushed. But all I could think of was Suzanne ripping up my letter to her back in third grade. I edged by her in terror, then hurried away down the hall towards class and avoided her for the rest of the year.

The very last day of sixth grade, while I was cleaning out my locker, right before I was going to go home and get ready to move to another town, Barbara came up to me and gave me a hug. It was the first time I had ever hugged a girl and I could feel her body, it was warm and soft and she smelled so good. I could feel her heart beating and her small breasts against my chest. her arms squeezed around me and her breath was on my neck for just a second, then it was over. I don't remember what happened after that- the next thing I knew, I was lying on my bed at home staring up at the ceiling.

idiopathic behavior:

2010-01-07T23:16:00.000-08:00

Behavior without cause or explanation

When a large, ham-headed man in a sweater, after bellowing inanities at the top of his powerful lungs to his fellow hoople-heads suddenly embraces you and says he was SO glad to see you again, patting your hair like you are his child... that is a good example of idiopathic behavior.

500 Club, SF, January 6th 2010. 2115 hrs

Dave

2010-01-07T03:13:00.000-08:00

Here at Rockwell Automations world headquarters, research has been proceeding to develop a line of automation products that establishes new standards for quality, technological leadership, and operating excellence.

With customer success as our primary focus, work has been proceeding on the crudely concieved idea for an instrument that will not only provide inverse reactive current, for use in unilateral phase detractors, but would also be capable of automatically synchronizing cardinal grammeters.

Such an insrtrument, comprised of Dodge gears and bearings, Reliance Electric motors, Allen Bradley controls, and all monitored by Rockwell software, is: Rockwell Automation's Retroencabulator.

Now, basically, the only new principle involved is that instead of power being generated by the relative motion of conductors and fluxes, it is produced by the modial interaction of magneto reluctance and capacative duractance.

The original machine had a baseplate of prefamulated amulite, surmounted by a malleable logorythmic casing, in such a way that the two spurthing bearings ran a direct line with the panometric pham. The lineup consisted simply of six hydrocoptic marsal veins, so fitted to the ambifasient lunar wane-shaft that side fumbling was effectively prevented.

The main winding was of the normal lotus-o-deltoid type, placed in panendermic semi bolid slots of the stator, every seventh conductor being connected by a non reversible trimmie-pipe to the differential girdle spring, on the up-end of the grammeters. Moreover, whenever fluorescent score motion is required, it may also be employed in conjunction with a drawn reciprocation dingle arm, to reduce sinusoidal depleneration.

The retroencabulator has now reached a high level of development, and is being successfully used in the operation of milpher trunions.

In reference to an internal memorandum from Rockwell Automation's corporate office, the following addendum applies:

Rockwell representatives will open dave and apply a protective varnish to his internal components prior to beginning the final vulcanization process.

this will allow for the installation of a motherboard and mounting of an alternator, exhaust fan, wiring, assorted transformers and resistors, and a large lithium ion battery pack which will be stored in place of his liver.

Using this force projection array, Rockwell can provide inverse reactive current to unilateral phase detractors within Dave's internal organs, while still being able to automatically synchronize cardinal grammeters as he remains concious.

Instead of power being generated by the relative motion of conductors and fluxes, it will be produced by the modial interaction of magneto reluctance and capacitive duractance, occurring naturally in the human pancreatic cellular structure.

The panometric pham, near the transverse colon, is placed in the panendermic semi-boloid slots of the stator, connected by a nonreversible trimmie pipe to the differential girdle spring.

(this will protrude from a surgically created stoma.)
Whenever flourescent score motion is required, it can be employed in conjunction with a drawn reciprocation dingle arm to reduce sinusoidal depleneration.

The patient is expected to retain close to 40 percent of his cognitive function, and to ambulate with asisstive devices. Antipsychotic medications and broad spectrum antibiotics will be administered as needed.

Available soon, wherever Rockwell Automation products are sold.

4 minutes ago

I heart zolpidem

2010-01-01T22:53:00.000-08:00

ohj od everythingn is turnign white and wood keys in tejhe firebrown singzed apparatus for the whike ==te and blue airline commercial twist it andn the green dedcends over the white

the oafing men curled together in a manner sutche that would a crab a rollong crab gruntinng and locked together to beat tha other bruised brutes, CLEATES digging into the soaked black soil, cold

eyes slitted saliva from bottom lip and blood grass hematoma on thick frame of bone and sinew, trembling calves cawing at the sliding chlorophyyl smell of life and mechanical propulsion

gutteral ejaculations of hot air from bruised teetth. the gladiator feels tje signing of the woman and goes to her rendolent of the stains of the black earth and the blood and he allows her to slip his rutted body into bath, scendted soaps and sting and the soft hand of motherlust that soothes

Chinese Millionaires

2009-12-30T16:00:00.000-08:00

I have a new job- a strange one that would be a very good fit for some Jim Jarmusch movie. Just me, a bearded midwesterner in his seventies named Bill, (names changed) his Chinese wife Magdalena, and her two not-very talkative Chinese attendants. For you see, Bill has a rare form of leukemia, and his wife suffered a C-7 injury in a MVA several years ago. My job is to keep an eye out on my very non-compliant, millionaire patient. I try to take vitals and assess him, but he makes it difficult. Much of the job is documenting his AMA (against medical advice) activities, such as keeping fresh tulips around his 9th floor apartment and eating sashimi. Bill loves fancy restaurants, and I tag along nearly every evening I work. Tonight I'm making a Guinness beef stew for a mostly Chinese dinner party, but I've already eaten at some of the nicest restaurants in San Francisco- Coco 500, the Foreign Cinema, 1 Market, Ame, (fuckin gross) Mission Bay Cafe- these are just a few, and there are many more in store. Yesterday we went directly from a very long day of blood work and transfusions at UCSF to Ame, a super chi chi restaurant downtown. I was served undercooked calamari with the guts hanging half out in a viscous, fishy brine-broth, and boiled to death swiss chard. Then we went and saw Avatar. What a crazy job.

To be continued

2009-12-30T03:23:00.000-08:00

How Can I Miss You (If You Won't Go Away)/Darts

2009-12-15T02:57:00.000-08:00

she's so unbearable
I've almost had my fill
almost, almost

yap yap yappin
I don't see it stoppin
drum drum drummin
drummin drummin drummin
my fingers on the table
crazy crazy crazy
I can't take it
stutter stutter stutter stutter
mutter mutter mutter mutter
I'm gonna jump out a window

I hear a sound, gets me down
fingernails in my ear
I see teeth, I see gums
I see tongue in a blur
where's the door, man?
where's the door?

talkin on the telephone,
fingers in the air
when I see you comin
want to hide under the bed.
drama like a hurricane
pretty red lips
if I didn't love your kisses
I'd jump off the ship

how can I miss you if you won't go away?

=========================================================================

cold globe of beer in the one hand,

handful of darts in the other
I bounce upon a sneaker
I smile, I turn around
winding myself up for the bullseye

as the smoke is drifting
and the jokes are lilting
4 blue eyes meet thru the beer
a 6 or a 7, an 8 or a 9
marking the score on the chalkboard

I sent this to you, only for you, to listen to only from me
did you like the way he was singing?
did it make you feel like you were 15 again,
and did the metaphors in the song-
make you feel a part of the warm humid light,
in red glow, clasped in love.

rain in the air, drops of mist in our hair
my heart still doing its squirting
I'm looking out at the street,
but peripherally
I can feel you alive right beside me

I'm keeping my head up to keep my feet down
and I'm hoping that I'll keep my mouth shut
for the eyes of Medusa, so terrible and clear
can turn you to stone if ya fuck up

wild flames out of control
shooting the cork, touching the soul
electric beams of brilliant blue
igniting phosphorus fire anew
pendant of silver, pendant of gold
where are the monsters, where is the mold
they are the ones at the edge of the light
hand held in hand, staring out at the night

I sent this to you, only for you
to listen to only from me
did you like the way David was singing?
I sent this to you
I sent this to you
I sent this to you ,only for you.
only from me.

19 (orange) sick, sick, sick

2009-09-27T03:54:00.000-07:00

totally anonymous- w4m- 19 (orange)

I am looking for some really discreet fun, like I dont really even want to know your name (use a fake if you like) and I might not even tell you my real name either! I was thinking that a good place to meet up might be Silkroad Restaurant and Lounge on Broadway but it doesnt have to be there, we can go anyplace a little smaller and quieter if you like. Let me know what your into!

What is Orange?

ummm ok one thing i sort of forgot to mention in my ad is that im married lol .. well i just got married a few months ago and to be honest its not goign so great, so im looking to play around on the side a bit ... is that cool? dont worry my hubby is a computer geek nerd he's about 5'2 and no muscles so u dont gotta worry bout him going postal or anything even if he finds out :-) im 22 and i got hitched WAYYY too young ... also he dont know what to do in bed to please a girl what about you? :-) hehehe .. mmm .. ok so im in oakland (lake merritt area) near Mosswood Park, hit me back if you wanna hang out and have sum fun ... call me tho because sometimes my hubby reads my email .. i just got a new prepaid cell he dont know about lol .. the number's on my homepage i dont wanna send it thru email or he might see :-) talk soon ...
Kerry Taylor My Blog

If you're afraid of your hubby finding out, just make a new email account. I am not interested in joining any kind of dating site, porn site, or anything of the kind

hey again hehe ... we should really get together then you sound pretty cool hmmm .. im on harrison street, are you anywhere close by? well theres a nice little place by my apartments its called peets coffee and tea on russell street and domingo ave .. wannna meet up for coffee and see how we like each other? if you got wheels we could go to your place if we click ... my hubby works all day so he wont know im gone, we could even go to my place too but sometimes he comes home early lol ... would you wanna meet like soon?? I'm not gonna be on the computer much longer.... call me ok? dont respond to this email tho he reads my emails .. please call! :-) talk soon ...
Kerry TaylorMy Blog

sorry. Nice try.

hey!! check this out, my HUBBY found your email .. arghh .. so we REALLY had it out, he hit me in the face and i called the cops!! so he's actually in jail right now lol, and out of the picture for at least a few days .. we should meet up RIGHT NOW!!! call me asap !!
Kerry TaylorMy Blog

Dude, how fucking dumb do you think I am? I ain't interested in yer damn website. Now blow.

i guess you dont like me .. cause i STILL havent heard from you .. boo :( you there? anyways the loser judge released my hubby today BUT he's under a restraining order, he cant come anywhere near me .. hes in a Super 8 motel on the other side of town lol .. its 3:47 am right now, can you meet me in 2hrs? call me :-)

Kerry TaylorMy Blog

no. fuck you. go die. I hope your husband dies. I hope your mother dies. I hope all your children are stillborn.

a life

2009-09-26T14:47:00.000-07:00

I had several interesting roomates, and we each had a cubby hole for notifications in a house made of untreated, gray planks, like a park bench house. I had a girlfriend, the feeling of joy to have her indescribable. I checked in my cubby hole and found my rental agreement folded up and stapled in a pile with the others. I lived there for a long time.

One day I went out with everyone in a big black jeep on some bizarre errand, and as we all bounced along a narrow dirt road, I decided to go off the road and ride all over the hills. The hills were big bumps, everything covered in a dry yellow grass more like carpet or fur. The steering wheel felt firm in my hands and I was smiling.

Later, we were back at the place, and my dream girlfriend, this person, came to me. She wore a blue blouse and her hair was pulled back in a pony tail. I took her in my arms and we stared into each other's eyes with infinite understanding and adoration, then stood embracing, and the ecstasy was like nothing I have ever felt nor will ever feel again.

pigtails

2009-09-26T13:34:00.000-07:00

Three summers ago I was in a bar in frisco called Amnesia watching a band named the Inkwell Rythm Makers. Near the stage stood a man who had been badly burned at some point, with half a head of patchy hair and a mask of scars. He wore a brown sweater. While the band played I saw a handsome girl in pigtails talking to the man, and I could see his eyes shining all the way from across the room.

2009-09-26T13:26:00.000-07:00

2009-09-25T19:44:00.000-07:00

yet another insane dream

2009-09-25T19:21:00.000-07:00

note: Jon H. is a dude that I haven't seen nor spoken to since 1995.

whaaaaaaaaaat the fuck.

I was at some party, and there was a mexican lookin dude with curly hair sitting on a high bar stool, and after a bunch of confusing stuff including a torrid affair between me and this girl named Emily C, in a old miners shack, that went on for some number of years, I approached the mexican guy with an intent to let him fondle my dick from behind the back of the chair. Search me why, I ain't even gay.

So I went up there, and thanks to christ he turned into a totally hot woman. So, with all these people around at this party, I went up to the hot looking brunette woman and stood there unbuttoning my jeans as she looked at me mischeviously and started snaking her painted fingernails down my pants. Just as I was about to feel her silky touch, Jon H. came up with his face twisted in rage and totally back handed me on the side of the head, making me see white for a split second. I mean hard. He was so. ANGRY.
I was like, dude what the fucking HELL, man? Then I was standing before him in front of the bar and going like, man what is the meaning of this?! and for some reason I had my eyeglasses hanging around my neck. Jon was still so enraged that his face was all retarded out, and he snatched at my glasses and started twisting them up as hard as he could, but with only one hand. The other one hung limp at his side. So I smacked him upside the head hella hard and was like what the fuck, man. Then some other confusing stuff happened, but I seem to recall Jon and I making up. But not kissing.

lucid nightmare

2009-09-16T23:45:00.000-07:00

I fell asleep but dreamed that I was still awake and that there was an unseen ghost floating above me and I was trying to draw breath to yell at it defiantly and show I wasn't scared and make it go away. I couldn't open my eyes and I was paralyzed. I couldn't draw in a full breath and I was too weak to move or cry out, all I could do was whimper quietly. I was conscious during the dream and aware that I was dreaming... I knew exactly what was happening and was trying to wake up. This is the third time I have had this sort of dream in the last several months.

Rudy

2009-09-12T02:23:00.000-07:00

This one kid was a real loud mouth, n0ne of us liked him. He was a cotton pickin fucker. One time him and Peter and Mike and this other kid had to go to the retard class for one day cos they kept acting stupid in class. One time we sprayed Peter with lysol because his breath stinks so bad. He smells like mothballs.

The kid was a pussy and always tried to talk crap to me. One day we were in Mrs. Freeman's class and we were arguing and I said I was gonna kick his ass if he didn't shut the ____ up. I could tell he was scared but he was trying to be a smart ass and said he was gonna fight me on Monday. I ain't scared of that kid. I said alright I'll fight you and I'll kick your butt. Then he tried to say a bunch more stuff but I wasn't listening.

On Friday I went home and told my dad and my big brothers that some kid was gonna try to fight me on Monday. My brothers laughed and said to kick his ass but my dad asked me if I remembered what he told me about fighting kids. He said never start nothing but never take any crap off anybody. He said never start anything but always finish it. He wants to teach me how to box or he said I can take Tae Kwon Do if I want next year.

So on monday I went to school and I could tell this kid was trying to get out of it, but Shawn said you better not try to puss out today or your ass is grass. We were laughing our asses off cuz we could tell he was scared and was about to get a ass whippin.

Then after school all the kids were gathered around he tried to say it was a fair fight or something and tried to shake my hand and I went no, fuck you dick! I ain't shakin your hand. Then he got mad and tried to kick me in the shin and I slapped im. Then he just went home. Him and his brother. We were all laughing our asses off. What a idiot.

Rudy

2009-08-30T22:49:00.000-07:00

It was fourth grade, and I was sposed to fight Rudy. We had been engaged in some sort of disagreement and the decision had been made by somebody that we were going to fight. There was a mutual dislike between us, and what probably happened was a cut down fight or argument that led into a challenge to fight after one or the other of us couldn't come up with a good enough rejoinder. "Wanna fight?"

It was on a Friday that the fight was decided on, and the following Monday when it occurred. Rudy had longish hair and a pock-marked face. He was very confident. I could tell that all the other kids thought Rudy could kick my ass. I thought so too, and I was scared of being humiliated. I had never been in a fight before and needed help, needed somebody that could teach me some moves or something. I would ask my dad.

At some point during the weekend I found myself at Pizza Hut with my dad, my brother James, and my little sister Crystal. I asked my dad if he knew any good fighting moves. I really needed help. My success or failure rode totally upon whatever advice he might give me. I seem to think that I may have played it off a little, perhaps acting as if it wasn't that big of a deal to me or maybe a little bit of a joke. We used humor a lot when I was a kid. So I asked him what I should do about fighting Rudy, and he told me to pretend like I was going to shake his hand then kick him in the shin. I took this advice seriously, and it became my sole plan.

For the rest of the weekend my apprehension stayed neatly tucked away in the back of my mind as I convinced myself that my fighting plan would work. In bed on Sunday night I ran scenarios of the fight over and over, staring at the shadowy faces in the white ceiling stucco in the darkness. On monday morning I walked to school with my little brother. He didn't say much about the fight, taking my word that I would beat up Rudy.

All day on monday I talked it up. I made a big announcement to Rudy and a group of his buddies that the fight was going to be that day, immediately after school, and that it was going to be a fair fight. I reapeatedly told everybody that the fight was going to be fair. It's gonna be a fair fight. I was trying to set the stage for the handshake. Rudy grinned at me, no fear in his eyes. I had fear in my eyes.

After school everybody gathered around on a round patch of grass beneath the flag. Me and Rudy were in the center of a big circle, with kids all around us watching. My little brother was off to the side, seemingly my only supporter. I made a big show of being confident and told everybody once again in a loud voice that this was gonna be a fair fight. Rudy just grinned. After my big announcement, I stuck my hand out for Rudy to shake.

"No," he said.

I kept my hand out for him to shake for a second, then stood there at a loss. Feeling my face blushing already in horrible shame and frustration I lunged forward, trying to kick him in the shin anyway. He slapped me in the face.

I turned away and started walking home and my brother followed me. Some of the kids were laughing, and some weren't. Tears of shame rolled down my and my brother's faces.

2009-08-24T13:19:00.001-07:00

2009-08-24T12:49:00.000-07:00

muscles ache blood thick the sun outside is bright
eyes clouded with drifting webs, my body is at the top of the roller coaster
and ready to plummet down.

pain. hmm pain pins degenerating cartilage won't keep me staggering on for long
teeth won't be chewing for long, the race is on.

at the end of the ladder you reach after the last rung and find empty air. beautiful sun and air

cool on your face, but you can't go up

there's another ladder up there, way up, see it?

we see it. can ya get to it? I'm not sure, here let me give it a try.

what search query should I fucking use?

ouch my knee

My Fellow Amerckins:

2009-08-24T12:36:00.001-07:00

We retain to these manifest truths, the these all generated extreme men equal, which is equipped with its creator with certain rights unalien, that I enter these I lasted, the freedom and the continuation of happiness that stop to guarantee these rights, the Governments institutes between the men, to derive its right feedings from the controlled consent with with, which each returns that all the form of the Government becomes destructive from these extremities, is the right of people to alter it or to suppress and instute the new Government, placing the relative foundation for such principals and organizing the relative feedings in such form, how much more likely seemed to carry out its security.

this happened three years ago

2009-08-24T12:35:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I was getting off the BART in SF and as I went to get on the escalator I saw a little small black man set up with a fiddle, chair, and music stand. He was playing the fiddle madly and the strings were long and frayed from the ends of the tuning knobs. His body jerked spasmodically and his mouth worked in concentration. The sounds he was making were atonal and crazy. The little man's playing made me feel happy. I went up and said that's fuckin rad man and threw a couple bucks in quarters in his violin case, but the look on his face just hit me right in the heart. His old face just lit up with happiness and he said really, you like it? with a toothless grin, so I go hell yeah man! it sounds good, I like that kind of stuff. I got half-way up the stairs, then turned back around and gave him the $20 in my pocket and said keep playin man

Whiskey

2009-08-24T12:34:00.000-07:00

In seventh grade I had a health class and the teacher kept saying alcohol, alcohol, alcohol is so bad alcohol etc. and I started thinking to myself alcohol, alcohol I want some. So, I went home that day let's see, 7th grade.. that musta been around 1986. I went home and of course there was nobody home but me and my little sister, my little brother was usually there too but as I recall he wasn't home that day for some reason. Baseball. Anyways I went in the kitchen and got my mom and dads Safeway brand whiskey and filled an iced tea glass about 3/4 full, then topped it off with 7-up no ice. I proceeded to hold my nose and chug the motherfucker while my sis was playing with her barbies, almost yakked but with a mighty effort managed to choke it down. me and my sister rough-housed around the house for a while and I remember her looking at me funny. I crawled under my bed after a while and tried to keep the floor/world from shifting under my body and thought of my fuckin bitch health teacher with the female pattern baldness humping the chair all the time absent-mindedly while she talked to the class, I care about ya kids, I care about ya kids hump hump hump, slacks with the elastic waist band and her not even 50, for shame. My mom who is an RN came home and just looked under the bed and let me lie there through dinner and onto bed time shaking her head. She used to party a little bit, so she just let the punishment fit the crime which was plenty. I couldn't even smell Safeway brand whiskey til I was 22.

Di Di Sanchez

2009-08-24T12:28:00.000-07:00

There's a big lake sunlit in the late afternoon, all golden light reflecting. An announcer is introducing a particular guy, I can't fuckin for the life of me remember what the name was, but it was a Mexican name like Sanchez, Di Di Sanchez maybe... and very inspirational. a very famous, well respected guy. and I think he may not have been an actual wrestler, cos he was known to be small, very diminutive. Anyways, as the announcer said some inspirational things about him, he appeared in the scene riding a motorcycle, and the voice over changed to his voice talking, but his appearance was horrible and freakish- he was puffed up in the face like a chipmunk so much that his eyes were swollen shut and he had horrendously over-developed facial muscles. Like he had taken steroids to work out on his face muscles. He had puffy fluffy blonde mohawk hair and brown leather riding gear and was like 3 feet high. Suddenly he was off his motorcycle and retreating into the water as a giant, huge mountain lion approached and put both its paws on Di Di Sanchez's head and clawed into his skin, Di Di Sanchez opened his mouth to scream in defiance as he retreated, and he had huge long fangs in his mouth like a baboon. The giant mountain lion roared and continued to advance on Di Di Sanchez, then the image changed and it was a close-up of the lion's inscisors slicing into the throat of Di Di Sanchez and it showed the skin and tendons ripping and blood coming out

William H. Macy and Murder

2009-08-24T12:27:00.001-07:00

at night sitting on top of a trailer in a trailer park and trying to fix a bent up TV antenna. I was lying on my stomach and peeping over the edge of the roof, down at some sort of activity on the ground with kreig lights that I wasn't sposed to be watching and a hessian dude was lecturing me about something very serious. Then I turned into William H. Macy and I was wearing a gray suit and walking around a suburban neighborhood in hot sunlight, scoping out a house... inside was a woman and... uh a boy, no, a woman and somebody else, and a guy killed them with a gun and a saw. I got the gun away, it was a heavy stainless .44 revolver, huge. I shot at the guy and he went away, then I went inside and started frantically rubbing the fingerprints off the revolver as well as another gun, a black pistol in a gore-tex shoulder holster... a blued .45. I was rubbing them with a nasty orange rug on the floor. The house was abandoned. Then I left everything on the floor because the cops thought I was the one that murdered everybody, so I had to run run run all over these grassy hills in the heat to get away.

Vanilla Ice

2009-08-24T12:26:00.000-07:00

RIP Vanilla Ice
We need to stand together at this time of great loss.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------10/2/07 Dallas - Robert Matthew Van Winkle, AKA rapper Vanilla Ice, passed away early Tuesday in the emergency department of Parkland Memorial Hospital, of asphyxiation. Doctors reported that the former chart-topping vanilla rap artist choked on a large piece of a hot dog while attempting to impress friends with a "freestyle," or improvisational rap performance. "I guess the folks at the bar-b-que were too busy laughing at him to call 911 in time," a paramedic who responded said. Resucitation attempts on scene and at Parkland were unsuccessful. Services for the vanilla rapper will be held in his hometown of Miami, FL. (Reuters)

May 1996

2009-08-24T12:25:00.000-07:00

The gravel parking lot of my friend Boliver's small apartment complex. 8-10 of my small to medium sized punk rocker pals. 3-4 big ass hessian/NYHC tough guy jerks, one of em named Mudd. Mudd,who has a face like a very mean lion, punches my friend's little brother in the face for no reason. A fight ensues, where all the little guys try to fight the big guys. I'm inside when it starts. My pal Dax has this thick chain and tries to use it; gets it taken away then gets whacked in the ear with it. I find myself up against the front door of Boliver's pad with this dude Jorge, and I guess since Boliver's wife Meg was in there, my normally wimpy nature vanishes and I become freakin Braveheart. Karl Chopp and Mudd are advancing towards me and my pal. I somehow snatch the chain out of Chopp's fist and charge 'em, hollering bloody murder. Mudd (my height but about 100lbs heavier) is trotting away from me with long blonde hair flopping..something in me decides not to hit him in the back of the head with the chain, which is probably why I am alive today. Unbeknownst to me, my man Jorge was whipping Chopp in the head repeatedly with a long thin piece of metal, cutting him up pretty badly. I rant out a big denunciation as the hessians pile in their camaro and roar out of there. Later that same night, Chopp passes out in the shower and his pals have to take him to hospital.
June 1996. I'm talking to a girlfriend at a crowded bar. I look up to see Karl Chopp's rage twisted face w/ fist already on a swift trajectory with my eye socket. Try to punch punch punch him in stomach. I'm exquisitely overmatched. Somebody's arms under my pits carrying me outside. Blood running down forarm dripping off fingertips. hmm, I think fetal position on sidewalk? 4 guys kickin me, then it's morning but night and a bored looking cop is over me: "so what did you do with the crowbar son." huh? I decide to walk home but my friend Insecta keeps me from getting up. Then ER with my stepdad shaking his head and chuckling at me, which makes me start laughin too.
Tally: broken beer bottle stabbed in right side, 7-8 stitches, beer bottle smashed on head, stitches n staples, hematoma in left eye, assorted bruises... all teeth intact! Later, sitting on my buddy Moe's sofa on 6 Vicodin, I found out that everyone in the bar that night thought I had run in there waving around a crowbar. Right! that explains the unsympathetic policeman, Scoob! That cop was real type-A prick too.
THE END

guess which religious leader

2009-08-24T12:24:00.000-07:00

1969 on the mediterranean sea on a rusty yacht fucked on barbiturates and chloral hydrate in a sailor cap slouching red faced, incoherent in a deck chair heaping abuse on the 19 year female syncophants in miniskirts nervously serving him more brandy.

ecclesiastical management, dissemination and propagation, trapped on planet Earth in a physical "meat body."

the able can prosper and Thetans can have rights, where Thetan is free to rise to greater heights

Dicks at Eagle Tavern, SF, September 2 2004

2009-08-24T12:22:00.001-07:00

First, may I say that I offered to buy Travis a plane ticket to see this show, because he's the guy that turned me on to the Dicks when we were in high school. He couldn't though, on account of he has bronchitis, but I would gladly have forked over 200 bucks to have my old pal with me to see this show.

http://www.atakra.com/pictures/the_dicks_eagle_web2004/

I had some friends that were all supposed to be going, but I wasn't about to wait around for their asses just to arrive at a sold out show, so I went down there myself around 9:15. Actually it wasn't too bad at all. No line and not too many people there yet. I got a Jamesons on the rocks and soon enough found Krispy and Sam Atakra. The mood was jovial as it usually is at the Eagle, which is apparently a favorite hangout spot for Gary FLoyd. I'd wondered a few times if I might see him there, one of the few people that I openly, unabashedly idolize. It turns out I've probably seen him there more than once without even recognizing him. We joked around a little bit and tried to get Hector and Sean Bell on the horn, with no luck. (Dude, you missed it!) Then we heard the first band warming up and went in to check em out. It said on the bill they were called Gary Floyd's Hard Again, so I figured it would probably be Gary Floyd and a bear band doing some hard ass blue sor something, and I was correct. Doug the booker/bartender on guitar, looking burly as usual with his beard and yellow shooting glasses, a big bald dude on bass, etc, then this small-of-frame man in an orange shirt and a straw cowboy hat hauled himself on stage and started fucking with the mike stand. I gave him a closer look, and realized that it was fuckin Gary Floyd! He'd lost weight and looked different, a little wiser and more world weary. But he sure sounded the same. The music was alright, and with a different singer it might not have moved us very much, but Gary Floyd has the soul of 13 Aretha Franklins and can sing some heavy, heavy love songs. I'm sure glad I wasn't the baby that left him alone, that's for sure.

The best line was "I'm goin' down to Dallas baby, with my razor and my gun... there's so many people want trouble, Iknow I'll find me some.." After Gary Floyd's Hard Again, I found out that this show was gonna have the original Texas line up except for the one guy that died a few years ago.

The second band went on, and featured the members of the Dicks. The only one I could recognize was the bass player Buxf, who looked tough as ever pickin a banjo. They played some good country music, and everybody seemed to rock to it, but you could tell the crowd was just waiting til the Dicks got on. I stayed right up front as the second band wound down its set so I would have a good spot. They finally got all set up, but kept dicking around. It was super squished right up front. The Eagle kinda sucks that way. The band kept on standing around and talking, so finally I grabbed the mike and was like what the fuck, come on and play boys! After he yelled at everybody not to rush the stage, they fuckin started burnin!! Seriously. Hearing Floyd start belting out 'when I see ya walkin down thestreet, it's so hard to take come on and gimme a break,' returned to my heart a feeling I hadn't had in years. It's a rare thing now for a band to bring on the feelings I used to have when I saw the shows I saw as a young man right out of high school. It's a feeling you forget until it happens to you again- a feeling of excitment mixed with a sense of significance that you can only feel in adolescence. This shit means everything. This is how I felt watching the Dicks tear through their classic songs.

Mixed with a certain sadness, of course.

I can't remember all the songs they played, but they played 'Rich Daddy,' and 'Lifetime Problems' and 'Pigs Run Wild' and 'Dead in a Motel Room.' They didn't play 'No Fuckin War' though, which bummed me out because of all times to rage out that song... it's almost more relevant now than it was in 1984. I kept hollering as loud as I could for them to play it too. WELL HERE WE GO AGAIN... ANOTHER WAR TO WIN... Also, they didn't play hardly anything off their second album which kind of sucked, because that's a great record. They also didn't play 'Little Boys' Feet' which I was glad of, because fuck Turbonegro and the stupid TurboJugend dorks. There was one guy there who was actually wearing a sailor cap. Nerd alert, nerd alert, nerd alert. There was a couple minor fights- it was so crowded that everybody just got a little excited. I got in some fucker's face myself, actually. The two shirtless, smiling muscle men holding up one of the PA speakers did their best to keep the vibe friendly though. The best part was when I had to pick up David Yow by the armpits when he started passing out and falling under everybody's feet. Then he went on stage and sang part of a song with Gary Floyd but ran away after a minute and Gary FLoyd said, 'David Yow you ain't shit man!' After they finished playing, me and Michaela went up to Gary FLoyd to say good show and stuff, but since I was drunk I said some stupid shit about George Jackson and he ignored me and started talking to Jello Biafra. Then when I was leaving I saw 14 cop cars pull over one car and pull tons of pistols and shot guns on the poor fucks inside, and the cop dogs were barking with excitement. I lingered for a couple minutes, then moved on.

I'm gonna pick up a big ole razor blade
and say goodnight to the world
you're so mean to me
I wanna dance dance dance dance
The End

the Lamp

2009-08-23T22:25:00.000-07:00

There once was a man with a twinkle in his eye, who carried a lamp.

He lived in a world made out of ice, but was never cold.

He knew that his lamp was warm enough to melt the coldest ice.

One day, he saw a beautiful young woman with black hair,

behind a big wall of ice.

They smiled at each other through the frozen wall.

Come in, come in, she said. Her eyes twinkled.

The man turned his lamp upon the wall and smiled, knowing that it could melt any ice.

By the time he realized that the wall was made of glass, the battery on his lamp had gone dead.

He turned from the wall of glass and wandered away, shivering.

THE END