Metal Palace Oubliette

Life Saving Timing.

Fri, 16 Mar 2007 00:36:17 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7bbaRyDLMvA

Something Good About This Town

Wed, 14 Mar 2007 20:25:50 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QpjCdRirjcs&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Fprofile%2Emyspace%2Ecom%2Findex%2Ecfm%3Ffuseaction%3Duser%2Eviewprofile%26friendID%3D126218484

Dear Snazzy

Wed, 14 Mar 2007 01:02:13 GMT

I've got a friend that's been holed up in a self constructed cave for the last few days. (It's got a ceiling fan, which is more than Johnny Cash had, so he can't complain too much.) All he does is shield himself from the sun and sleep unnaturally long hours. I'm even afraid he' considering boarding up the windows. From what little I can discern, he's very distraught about the future. There is an appointment scheduled him in which he must provide proof of accomplishment and, of course, cash. He's made little if any effort and I think is going to foresake the whole affair, which will only add insult to injury. I think he went on a bender and lost his job after side stepping a bloated cat and inadvertently bringing his boot down into a muddy sink hole. I don't know what to tell him. It's something of a philosophical conundrum as he is wont to listen to the Cure and thinks Bukowski is the witch's titties, which one could almost call typical. I, like many people, think he is self absorbed and full to the hilt with bullshit and delusion. He's not really gothic or anything, leaning more towards an existential clown. Should I just kill him? Or turn him in? Call a rehab? An intervention would just fuel the fire I'm afraid. Oh well, forget him. I've got errands to run. He'll just have to eat noodle tonight.

Truly yours,

Woke up with the rain

Renewal Forms

Tue, 13 Mar 2007 01:34:32 GMT

So with the advent of Spring I have been receiving various mail concerning renewing contracts from the past year. The first was for my apartment lease. It's still on the table so to speak. Should I stay or should I go you know? Where would I go anyhow? A fellow can't run forver, right? At least not on a few hundred dollars... It's the same old song and dance my friends. It's half a dozen one way and six the other. Sometimes you feel damned if you do and damned if you don't. It's like being stuck between a rock and a hard spot. Oh shut the fuck up would you?! The second was from MAD Classics and it pretty much summed up my whole existence of late. Here's a brief excerpt written by Robyn Wayne:

By subscribing to MAD Classics in the first place, you've already shown the world that you have poor judgement. (My stepmother actually got me the subscription, which is beside the point, but shows she knows me better than I thought...) But it is only by re-subscribing that you can truly prove that you have failed to learn from your mistakes! (I may need to borrow 24 dollars. Anyone want to go in halvsies?)

There is nothing we value more than a reader with no standards. That is why we're prepared to make you the following deal: Renew NOW and we guarantee you uninterrupted dumbness! You won't miss a single issue.

So go ahead. Debase yourself!

(I haven't received any renewal proposals from work or from the state for some peculiar reason...)

The third time I saw Blazing Saddles I understood I was beholding a masterpiece. The first two times I was too young or too drunk.

Anyhow, when it gets a little warmer I'm looking for a swimming partner.

The Really Unreal Sort of Real Life

Fri, 09 Mar 2007 01:16:56 GMT

I've been working long hours for very little money. Gee willikers that's one hell of a start! Calm down Bozo. I got into a tangle with a Mexican character at work whose been in this story before. The full account is in the last few pages of the spiral I finished this morning whilst brooding about the idea of beating the shit for brains up out back by the garbage cans. But I know that's not going to happen nor would it be worth the time. I bet it would feel good though...Time will pass and I'll forget and it will likely be some other lame excuse for a life form that I am trapped working with that will be a new party to an incident about something highly infinitesimal. Every week it's some one or another that I would like to put a piece of cactus in their underwear and invite them to have a seat. On a positive note, I invited the "Gunt Stand" while chatting with my buddy Matt at work. (I actually look forward to seeing him when we work together, which is a sprinkle of sunshine in a gravy laden, angry and dark cloud brewing a portentous concoction most of the time. I bet Matt would revel at the thought of being known as a "sprinkle of sunshine". If you knew him you would know why .) So yeah the gunt stand is like a kick stand to prop up the roll of fat that hangs over a girl's special treat so that the tender lover will have both hands available for maximum satisfaction. For men I created the "Gock Stand". If someone steals this from me I'm going to be very upset! I had the whole day off today. I rose around noon and made coffee, took a bath and ate a bologna sandwich. After writing the piece that this piece is sort of about, I played a rock show to the wall in my studio. Then I made my way through a few more pages of The White Paper by Jean Cocteau and went to the bank to make a whopping deposit. Tonight I'll probably eat a pizza and try not to brood anymore about my jay oh bee. I'm lucky anyhow to have a way to make money in this world where many do not. I just need to find a way to bump it up a scoach. *Note to self for work tomorrow*-Do not hit anyone with a plate unless it's made of paper.

Last Five Days.

Tue, 27 Feb 2007 22:39:43 GMT

You wouldn't fucking believe me if I told you!...

Mon, 05 Feb 2007 21:47:53 GMT

I worked three hours in the kitchen this morning plating up food and calling out orders whilst simultaneously trying to entertain fellow employees suffering the Monday morning doldrums. (Busy work helps ignore an unhealthy physical disposition.) I was sporting a brown and burnt orange outfit and it made me feel better in general. On the bus I occupied my mind with thoughts of where to eat. Early this morning I felt grateful to be able to grocery shop tonight without worrying if the store would be bombed...(Like recently in Iraq.) My refrigirator is full of homemade leftovers, but I didn't want to go there for fear of the crumbs and possible likelyhood of a disrupting nap. I chose a place downtown advertising "homemade Italian". After some inane attempt at conversation with the cashier that was gazing dumbly at a soap opera on the TV overhead, I tipped her a dollar and went to the restroom to wash my hands. They had chipped ice! And Pepsi to boot. My plate of Chicken Sinatra arrived shortly thereafter. It seemed to come out quickly for what I assumed to be a baked dish...The chicken was a strange sort of thin patty cut, but tasty no less. Resting on top was a piece of eggplant, a piece of ham and topped with a mozzerela cheese. It came with a side of spaghetti. The tomato sauce was very good and the pasta piping hot. (What does 'piping' mean anyhow? Something to do with water plumbing? It sounds really gay. Whoever came up with that should stick a piece of cactus in their underwear and have a seat.) The chicken wasn't so hot, but I eat a lot of food at room temperature so I didn't send it back. When you send food back to the kitchen you're a ding a ling because now you have nothing to eat and must wait longer and you've probably pissed someone off in the process. (There are exceptions of course, rats and the like.) It's just that I have it out for fussy eaters. Fuck you, enjoy that shit you fucking cocksucker motherfucker! Go cry about something of consequence why don't you, asshole. There are people all over the world that will go to bed hungry tonight and you got a little more pink in your steak than you wanted, tough shit. The rolls there were good as well. They were also at room temp, but it worked well for them. Tearing the bread apart revealed the perfect texture for retrieving ("Sopping up" as some heathen where I work would say. Ew, I'm going to puke.) the delicious white wine sauce. No one asked me how the food was, so I debated telling the two Mexican dudes that worked there that were sitting directly beside me who were also haveing lunch, but I said fuck it. Oh well, there's more but I have to go back to work now.

I Ain't Lyin' This is a True Story.

Fri, 26 Jan 2007 21:48:32 GMT

I swung through the revolving glass door at the downtown office conglomerate to eat at the Taco Bell in the food court. (I don't think there is really any such thing as an 'enchirito', but I order them no less.) The dining area was virtually vacant. All the office workers were grabbing one last Starbuck's coffee and wishing each other a good weekend. A short Mexican woman was languidly mopping the floor without expression. After experiencing a small waft of panic when discovering there was no plastic ware in the sack, I turned to go grab one and saw that the metal fence was already three quarters down! I quickly used my powers of punk rock and manuevered to the Pizza Hut next door for a plastic fork. If there hadn't been one, I would've used my fingers I suppose, can't let that enchirito get cold. This is a desert.
---

"I don't envision a very long life for myself." (There's a meaningful pause.) "I've kind of designed it that way." In: Be Here To Love Me (Palm Pictures).

"Well, many of the songs, they aren't sad, they're hopeless." — Townes Van Zandt, after being asked why he only wrote sad songs.

---

As I was typing, an African American man with a single gold tooth in front approached me from the right and asked me to type out some insurance form for him to receive money for a car wreck he had a while back. "I don't know you and you don't know me, but..." I tried to explain that all he needed to do was probably fill out the form in his hand and mail it off. I don't like fucking with insurance companies. I don't mind helping, but the short exchange wasn't very clear and my time was dwindling.

---

I secretly put on some coke bottle glasses at work to lighten the mood. The bartender exclaims "I hope you're not making fun of people who wear glasses!" (He does not wear any by the way. Perhaps he was protecting his clinetele.) "Sure, that's exactly what I'm trying to do." I respond. "I'm about this close to being offended." He says and gestures the inch pinch with his thumb and forefinger. "But they're my brother's." I say holding up the boy scout's promise. I go into the kitchen cursing "I don't like being censored. It makes me angry." Next time I see him I say abruptly "Punk rock is about being open minded." He says "So is Phil Collins." Who happens to be playing on the Muzac crap. I shoot a gun sign at him and say "You're right." Although I suspect he doesn't know in what way I mean. I coin him "The Most Easily Offended Punk Rocker I Ever Met". One of his friends at the bar is wearing a cap that says "Like a Horse" on it. I question him in the kitchen as to the meaning of the phrase. He says "I'm not explaining that to you." I retort "As a man of smaller persuasion, I am offended by that!" I tell the dude at the bar I like his hat, that it could have variable interpretations. "It could refer to your strength. Or to you needing to use the restroom. Or maybe the size of your sleeze hopper." He says "Or it could be my last name. Which is 'Pinto'" "You don't happen to have a sister do you?" I ask. "Yeah, Marcela." I used to work with her at a noodle house here in town a few years back. I always thought that a funny last name. She tried to grab my crotch while we were working and I told her she broke it. Now days I have matured and when someone looks at my crotch I say "Move along, there is nothing to see here." There's a bunch o' gay wads with bad lines in the world.

---

I saw Last Tango in Paris a few days back. It rules you pig fuckers! You'll never see butter the same way again. I'm not lying.

---Will return time is up---

This will truly be a long weekend and I hope it never ends because Monday holds an uncertain multitude of unpleasantries.

Tue, 16 Jan 2007 21:04:32 GMT

As I layed in the bathtub this morning late for work watching the steam fill the room, it occured to me once again that my life isn't going exactly how I want it to. Of course that was followed by the question "Whose is?" I suppose it's just a matter of getting as close as possible to the idea. Until the direction changes of course. I'm currently studying the basics of electricity. It runs in my blood. I rewarmed some chili I made day before yesterday, tastilicious, lascivious. We had a gay ass meeting at work yesterday. It was scheduled during my shift and somehow that was my fault. Poor scheduling and lack of preparation really can bring a man asunder. I work for a tyrant piece of steaming cow waste. (I'll go toe to toe with you on an I.Q. test any day of the week bitch! But you wouldn't out of strict insecurity. That's why he takes cheap shots! Uh oh Procrastination has left me at the bottom of a pile steaming responsibilty that I really don't want to fool with. But if I don't, more trouble will surredly ensue. Fuck me running, in circles, whatever.

out of time BRB

It's Seems I Was More Productive This Time Last Year

Fri, 12 Jan 2007 01:59:16 GMT

Type your cut content

11:35 am - People Shop In The Middle Of My Street.

8am.

Six Feet Under:

(I watched the first episode this morning with director commentary and captioning. This works well, enabling a person to still catch the dialouge even though it is being spoken over.)

Created by Alan Ball. I knew I had heard the name somewhere before. He is the guy that did American Beauty. One of my favorite movies made in the last few years.
I caught a similar image of the lone tree on a hill used in the intro several years back traveling with my mother. They had to transplant a tree to a hill. They paid 400 dollars to a lady. I could've gotten them the whole shot for free. I'll save that one for myself to use later.
I didn't know it was illegal to photograph crows? Maybe they meant to capture one. They got some kind of white breast variation and colored it black to be legal.
There was a nice bit on how they created the opening sequence. It was interesting even though they kept kissing each other's asses the whole time. The info was enlightening, but the messengers were often queerly irritating, bordering on pretentious at times.
The majority of the cast are trained stage actors from around Connecticut, New York and Massachusettes. I get the imprssion that there are a lot of gifted and art magnet type of programs up that way. There's a high school of a similar design here in Dallas. I didn't go there...

9am.

Traci Lords:

I tried out an old compilation of Traci Lords still and movie highlights I had on CD out on my new DVD player. It worked like a slide show. Very cool. This thing is great. I watched 520 stills of Traci in various stages of her career. I like mid-eighties period of pornography. A lot of it was on actual film and there was still an attempt at a script and something beyond the money shot. Don't get me wrong though, most of the time I found myself laughing at how retarded the whole industry was/is. Some of the Pat Benetar-Like a Virgin era Madonna costumes were hilarious. I love the whole big hair lacy fingerless glove and stocking with garter look. The rock group Ratt carried the tradition on well.

10am.

Breakfast:

Chili and refried beans with the third pot of coffee.

10:30am.

Guitar:

I wrote a riff that made me want to jump out of a window and chew someone's eyeballs out. I wonder if you will too? It was exhilirating and made me want lead a crusade to bring riots and the threat of violence back to rock shows like early '80s hardcore. Time will tell.

Amendment of Irony:

During the Christmas break, me and one of my best friends rocked out hard in his Volkswagon Jetta. I stopped briefly and inquired who it was. "White Stripes..." He says. It sounded really good at the time. We used to rock out in his car all the time in high school. I wished we could have stayed there forever.

Sweet Bread:

There was a pretty good snippet in the paper about people putting sugar in their cornbread. It is believed by some people that Yankees are the persons responsible for putting sugar in cornbread, as traditionally in the South this isn't done. Of course one Southern cook said he always does...Then they went on to the theory that it is a cultural deal, which I agree with more. I've noticed that black folk have a high inclination for sweet in their food, beyond dessert. I speak from experience. Blacks request honey with their rolls more than any other race I wait on. They are as a whole bad tippers as well. A group of fat black women or a large group of black churchgoers is generally a difficult group to take care of and generally a lousy tip. I call them the 'Shirley Temple Crowd', after the drink, because they always order a shitload of them. Sprite and Grenadine (cherry syrup)? If that ain't sweet I don't know what is... Case closed. Funny, while I wrote this an old black dude stood behind me and read this. I asked him "Do you mind?" He wandered off. I'm not saying there aren't other lousy tippers out there, there are believe me, of every variety shape color and form. I'm just telling you what I experience.

Border Patrol:

There was another article that pertains to Texas and California in particular.

The title read:

Border agents warned about death threats

"Migrant smugglers may hire killers, Homeland Department alert says." -Associated Press

Carrots:

I've been using carrots in a wide array of foods lately. I put them in my red sauce for pasta and in my bean burritos.

New Term:

Kitchen Spanish.

This is what I am learning, not Spanglish, although similar, not the same.

New Shoes:

I got some brown and white Tretorn shoes from my buddy I've known since the fifth grade. I'd never heard of them before. I like 'em. They're vinyl shoes made in Vietnam. Some motherfucker spilled tarter sauce on them at work the second week that I had them. I should have known better.

Music:

Landser and Novy Svet

Even though I don't know what they're sayin'

I know what they are saying

if you know what I'm sayin'

Tonight: A Shining Beacon of Light

There was this great little Italian neighborhood grocery by me that I had heard about for a long time. I always meant to go down there, but it burned to the ground before I got a chance. Well, they rebuilt it and I stopped in day before last. It really is a great little store. The action is at the back where the butcher and meat market are. They have some nice and fresh cuts as well as a very good selection of olives for a corner store in the ghetto. I heard a lady in there at the counter raving about the meatballs and then my friend Jude last night raving about them too. Supposedly they are an old family recipe of the owner boy's mom that passed recently. I'm going to get some tonight. When I was walking home from my last visit, I heard this dude in this car behind me say in a horribly gangly ass voice "You're too white. You need to cover that shit up!" I heard the car door open, but just kept walking ahead calmly. Then the door closed again and they drove off with traffic. I'm not making this shit up. This is where I live and what I experience daily. My internet persona, unlike a good majority of people, is fairly close to what you would get if you hung out with me in person. I also forgot to mention that I got a can of pepper mace for Christmas from my neighbor. It calls to me constantly, but I've kept a lid on it, so far anyhow...

(Leave a comment)

02:09 pm - "They Live With Their Moms, Smoke Pot and Play Hockey."
( Life After Being Drunk with a Gun. )

s here.

Chromatose

Fri, 12 Jan 2007 00:30:14 GMT

01/11/07--9:30am

"Hawaii must be quite a bit different than East Dallas?" I says still half asleep with the light of the keys hanging over me like week old gasoline. "I like your cool weather here." She replies. "It'll change in an hour." I say and return to bed. I debate making coffee and/or masturbating. Neither thought pulls me from the cocoon. There are things I need to take care of as this is my only day off in two weeks. I return to slumber.

01/11/07--5:59pm--

I get out of bed at five this evening and eat the last quarter slice of cold pizza that I made from scratch. First I was concerned with the possibility of old age that now shows the slightest inklings to the grasshopper. Next I circumvent the whole idea of time and age and remember the medical murder suspense papers on the toilet. Drink copious gulp of cold milk. The end of this month is approaching clusterfuck of great magnitude.

---------

A large frat type boy taps on the window of my early '90s Ford Aero Star van. "Are you alright?" He asks in a tone that is simulatneously concerned and hostile. I pull my head from the steering wheel and my hand from my pant leg where a cigarette is burning a hole there. "Uh, yeah, thanks." I manage through the glass. He scoffs and walks away. I guess this means it's time to go to class. To what it was pertaining I have no recollection.

--------

I pull on my Mack steel toe construction boots, check all faucets and stove, lock door and kick it to ensure security. (I am constantly imbibed with security.) Every second is worth a dime. Administrators like to keep you waiting in waiting rooms as an act of control, especially if they are angry with you. I get off the bus downtown and make my way down the urine scented sidewalk. Many commuters hastily make their way back out of the city to whatever suburb they live in. Tonight I get a reservation without incident. Yesterday, a man that resembled Otis Toole (Henry Lee Lucas sidekick) stands me behind me and says "You got my computer?" After the third time, I take my earphones off and loudly say "Heh!?" "I got a reservation here." He says as he shows me his paper slip. "Now how does that work." I says. "Just happens that way sometimes." He goes. "Wanna flip for it?" I offer as a gentleman. He just laughs in a highly insidious way revealing one last decaying tooth rotting in the front of his mouth caked with plaque. "One of you can have my session." The man on the terminal to the left offers angrily. "I can't concentrate with you two talking!" "Sorry man." I say. The Otis knock off tells me to go ahead. "Alright thanks." I accept and stay seated. "But I get to sit beside you and watch your session." He tacks on the end. "Hey, go ahead, it's all yours." I say making a hasty retreat. "I'll just sit here and play with it until it reboots." He so kindly lets the whole library know. I wait, looking at the Atlas behind him to see if he had a phoney reservation, but it turns out he was legit. I walk off thinking "You're lucky I took anger management buddy!" I debate telling him as much, but then think better of it understanding that that would be contradictory to the lesson and I just can't stand to contradict myself. He probably has less to lose than I do, so a fight would've had little signifigance on his routine. Once downstairs, the librarian said my reservation didn't exist on the computer.

What's Up Disquieted Coconuts?

Wed, 10 Jan 2007 20:28:03 GMT

Extreme lethargy. Feathers from comforter spread about. Layers of vinyl tile. Bits of crumbs litter outskirts of boxsprings. Tendrils rise from the glass cylinder. Evil people order. Trouble in the future inevitable. Human nature doesn't change for the law. The lying game is perpetuated. The scarf is tied around my head to keep ears warm and provide guard from predators. Mace in left pocket of Members Only jacket. Do you want to join my club, the O.A.C.? Water drips from ceiling leaving mold in cracks. My pet spider left me for lower ground. Success success success does it matter? Late bills and prying landlord lackeys. Old yellow and decrepid stove rusts on the balcony. Coffee from Hawaii presented by building owner as praise for great tenancy in low rent cinder block cell on the verge. Grocery store coupons flutter in the foyer by the broken baby car seat. Co-workers try to eat up your time as last ditch effort for control to compensate for jealousy and misery in being stuck. I eat the clown blood for energy. I need to wake up early tomorrow to "do the most good", for the state...It's a three month lag time spent semi-sick with aching lung. As I grow surprisingly older, the past seems to warrant greater importance, yet I feel compelled to consider it less.

c.2007BSP

Slip In To Oblivion Section #8

Thu, 28 Dec 2006 22:09:59 GMT

"What's wrong with you?" I've been asked this question by various people many times over the years. No comment. (There are also the "You think you're so cool." "You should really try harder." "I thought you were smarter than that." and "What are you talking about?")

The job has become an excercise in vicious heckling survival. Telling people to fuck off isn't on the menu today so I have to improvise constantly. No comment. You dream off telling your badger of a boss to kiss your ass, but then again it probably wouldn't be worth the acknowledgment...Some sorry people are constantly laying bait hoping that that very scenario will happen. It' s a horrible kind of jealousy that runs rampant in this world. It's not my fault you're a Lame-O Jerk Wad. I'll never be "strictly business". Don't care to...Keep the material coming there chief.

Only to piss a dirty on a late appointment rehash thus adding insult to injury. MacGuyver has become a part of my life and I never even met him. There is now an ever increasing line of people in this town that 1) Claim that I owe them money 2) Want to kick me in the nuts or 3) Both of these plus a see free show.

"Why did you take a header into the shitter again?"

Thanks and have you a good day OK!!!

Time is running away.

TBC.

When The Tables Turn

Sat, 25 Nov 2006 05:09:19 GMT

I'm having Bar-B-Que with my mom, step dad, brother, niece and nephew for Thanksgiving tomorrow.

This whole Micheal Richards fiasco has really made my week.

On Thanksgiving day I had a piece of bone in ham wrapped in a roll with mustard. It was great fuckin' ham man!

Later that night, one of the neighbor's brought some turkey and mashed potatoes by. I mixed that in a skillet with six pieces of canned ham, a couple of eggs and some salsa.

Some other things have happened lately as well.

The 3 Dog Night Fan Club

Fri, 10 Nov 2006 00:31:11 GMT

A Brief Introduction to Chave McGewnty

Wed, 08 Nov 2006 01:06:57 GMT

The box spring was found leaning against a telephone pole around the corner from his crumb strewn hovel. He drug it back through an unattented lot and clumsily worked it up a rickety flight of wrought iron stairs. The first couple of nights proved unsuccessful as the down comforter coupled with a sheet did little to inhibit the wood and metal from being introduced to Chave's back during the night. This was rectified with a sleeping bag mat. It worked just right and allowed for more comfortable sleep than he had had in months. It was almost too comfortable...
.

Morning Song

Thu, 02 Nov 2006 00:29:34 GMT

My days off are vacuums. I have little if any contact with real people (sans almost getting jumped a couple of nights back) and am content to oversleep and savor the silence of my empty apartment. Until thoughts of work return. Or the overgrown branch swipes the tin awning and either picks a rusty door or fingernail on a chalkboard to impersonate. Then the daily sirens start up and acorns start falling on my roof along with the various items the local kids have decided to start throwing. There may also be accompaniment via the guy that rakes gravel off the parkinglot with a shovel. Let us not forget the man with the truck who possibly owns the world's most annoying car alarm. It makes a rapid succession of three loud horn blasts. This is the encore to the worker's 5:45am horn request to let his fellow workers know that he there to pick him up for the job. (And this is not the whole picture, but two minutes is not enough time to continue.) When the refrigirator's hum kicks in, it is like sweet relief of the highest order.

I Got a Watch w/ a Lighter Built Into It

Tue, 24 Oct 2006 00:09:07 GMT

I been driving myself nuts again. I heard the ZZ Top song 'Jesus Just Left Chicago' today. There's a part where he goes "Hey uh hey" which is not unlike Fat Albert. Well, there's some cheesy 80's song with the same phrase. It's maybe Thompson Twins or Missing Persons or Human League or some shit like that. Any help would be appreciated. This is the kind of trivial pursuit that makes me want to pee in my shoe and throw it at the radio.

Other Dice

Mon, 23 Oct 2006 23:52:02 GMT

I watched Dave Chapelle's documentary 'Block Party' yesterday. I'd heard of him, but never seen any of his stuff. He's definatley a funny cat. He assembled a really talented crew and threw a concert in Brooklyn in front of a bizarre home belonging to a bizarre couple called the Church of the Broken Angel. I fell in love with Eryka Badu. She fucked it up real proper like. This rap outfit called Dead Prez had a vibe very similar to real punk rock of yore. And while they were railing against the "crackers" in Congress, I found myself rocking with them. Semantics aside, I understood the sentiment. I instantly harkened back to a clash I had with this Mexican dude at work recently. He called me 'Gavacho'(sp?), which I asked him point blank "What does that mean?" "White boy." He responded in a really seedy voice. "How would you like it if I called you 'brown boy' all day at work, huh? If you're going to curse people at least have a little tact!" I started to scream. It wasn't that he called me white. I mean that's like no shit Sherlock. No, it was the inflection of the way he said it. It wasn't in a joking or playful way, no, it was obviously full of disdain. Finally, after I fire off a few more expletives he says, "You no more talky to me." "That's fine by me. Fuck off!" We haven't spoken since. The whole thing is stupid. He never had anything of substance to say anyhow.(The conflict is that I'm friends with his brother...) It once again brought me back to the conclusion that there people of every color that I've met that I liked in this life and conversely people of varying colors that made me want to puke. Whether it played more one way or the other, the fact remains. It's the feeble minded air breathers that chaffe my hide. I'm not the smartest sum bitch in the world by a long stretch, but I live in a very eclectic neighborhood/city and it becomes a continuing excercise not to bog down in racism. If you suck you suck. That's all. People are not created equal. That's a ludicrous notion if I ever heard one. But don't come looking to blame me for it motherfucker. I'm not your oppressor. I've got more soul than you might think. And I've definatley got the funk.ur cut contents here.

In The Dark By The Light

Mon, 23 Oct 2006 23:19:55 GMT

I was sitting at a bus stop post work last night when I noticed a man creeping down the sidewalk across the street. All I could make out was his silouette. He starts to cross in a similar diagonal reminiscent of the two people that robbed me a while back. As he comes into the little bit of light that is available there, I make out a skinny white kid in a green sweater, blue jeans and Reebok sneakers. He sports a burr haircut and has jittery eyes. "What time does the bus come?" "About ten minutes." I reply. "Where does it go?" "Downtown and then on to Oak Cliff." I answer again. The kid seems nervous. "Are you going to a shelter?" "Naw, I gotta place." Wondering what the m.o. here is. "I'm stuck. You think I could borrow fifty cents? I haven't eaten all day." "This is no town to be stuck in." I state matter of factly and hand him a dollar. He makes off a little ways and then does an abrupt about face and starts back toward me. I'm thinking "Great, here it comes." But stay sitting and calm. I can barely make out his hand coming toward me. "Here you want this? It's pretty good." He says as he plops down a book on the bench. "Yeah, sure." I say relieved it wasn't a knife or gun. It's a book by Robin Cook called Harmful Intention. I'm 64 pages in and it's not too shabby. So the kid dissapears and I'm back to waiting on the bus. And then here he comes again a few minutes later. "Mind if I sit with you?" He asks as he's already sitting down. Like I care, it's a public place, but it was courteous of him to ask I guess. "I thought you were homeless. I seen you had all those bags." Referring to a large black trash bag at my feet. It contained a down comforter a girlfriend of mine at work brought for me. That was the second time that evening someone had seen the bag and asked if I was homeless. "I just got out." He offers. "Of rehab?" "No, jail. Then I went on a bender." "Oh yeah?" "Yeah, do you know of any shelters around here?" "The only one that pops into my head is the Salvation Army. It's free at first then you gotta pay seven dollars a day. It's over by Parkland Hospital. Here, this is my last ten dollars." I offer. "I've been lying and hustling people all day." He states flatly, the ten spot dangling from his hand. "If you need it, take it. If you don't, I'll take it back." That ten wasn't given to me. It was paid as a service fee for banging horns with a bunch of knuckleheads for three hours. "Thank you." He says and extends his hand. I shake it and tell him a few particulars of my own history. "I've been there man. I wish I had some surefire answer for you, but I'm certainly not one to give advice in this area...I've been dealing with the same shit for quite a few years now. Be careful out there." I say getting on the bus. He thanked me again as the doors closed. I wonder if he'll spend the money on food or dope?

Innit? You Shiny Shoes Are Dumpy!

Fri, 20 Oct 2006 20:23:59 GMT

The cool air snuck upon my face around 6:30 this morning as I lay wondering why it wasn't light yet. Surely I didn't sleep through the day? Since the last move I still have yet to procure a bed. I've actually grown accustomed to the hardness of the floor. It works well if you're sleeping on your back, but once on the left or right side, fetal position, the body starts to ache and/or a loss of blood circulation occurs resulting in sleeping hands. I'm wondering if either of the shoddy looking heaters I've yet to try out work...This is where a couple of bucks would be nice. This is what a life of fantasy might lead to somehere in the juncture. This is the grasshopper's hamock starting to fray.

I went through some Eddie Izzard and George Carlin footage last night. Both proved entertaining.

I came downtown to the Taco Bell inside a big building and got an enchirito(nonesuch), taco and a bean burrito and watched all the office personel wandering about me. A tall lanky black man in the corner was seen giving a shoe shine to a white business man. I didn't know that people even still got shoe shines. What, you can't polish your own shoes? What are you lazy and retarded? Was he trying to make some lame point? Or did he merely enjoy getting his shoes polished? He was certainly relishing calling out to all his gay ass friends that passed, shaking their hands "Hey, it's just me getting a shoe shine reading the paper." What's the fickin' point of a shiny shoe anyhow? I don't recall ever yearning for my shoes to shine... I always opted for the dull leather as opposed to the one with the sheen. I came away somewhat liking the shoe shine man and feeling a certain disdain for the customer, but I suppose without him the man would have had no business...That's got to be a shit job. I mean for reals.

My session is dwindling.

Then I got it back. I'm having another thing with Tracy Lords again. I should just throw the disc out or burn it, but I can't bring myself to do it. It's much too choice of a comp. to give to the basura way. Necrophagia proclaimed Jenna Jameson the "necro queen". Well, I disagree. I think Tracy is the still the queen, although I'll always have a place for Christy Canyon. And a couple of others...

I must return to work now. Why I return here or there I really don't know. It's just compulsion and obsession and habituation and possession really. The fall is calling me home. The back alley ways and crumbs and caliche gravel roads.

A camera that could literally record dreams, however implausible sounding, still sounds tempting to me.

October 14th, 2003 Maybe I'm Dwight...

Sat, 14 Oct 2006 21:11:14 GMT

12:40 pm - MOODY BLOOM TUESDAY AFTERNOON
I RIDE THROUGH THIS LIVING SUICIDE
ON A BIKE OF FIRE

TODAY THE WASTELAND OFFERS ME A LONG BLACK GLOVE
LYING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LITTER STREWN STREET

THE HANGOVER PROVIDING THE HAZE AND THE MUSIC
BOUNCING OFF OF THE PEOPLE IN THE WORKING STREETS BANGING IN THE CONCRETE WITH SLEDGE HAMMERS

THE SICK PARANOIA ORCHESTRATING THE SOUND OF THE MORNING
OF THE MOURNING THAT I CAN'T EVER SEEM TO SHAKE
FOR ANY LONGER THAN THE TIME IT TAKES
TO BECOME LOST IN THE ETERNAL EARTHQUAKE
SHAKING INSIDE OF MY SQUIRMING GUTS
WARM VANILLA MILK SHAKE
Current Mood: ILL RHYME SCHEME
Current Music: tHE Leaves- YELLOW ORANGE RED AND GREEN

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01:09 pm - Plan For The Future
I am now dedicating my life to getting a motorcycle.
If prison becomes an issue, this will become a necessity.
I will consider a multitude of styles and manufacturors.
The main pre-requisite being that it be all black and chrome.
It will eventually come to have a dark red neon light in the gas tank that flashes the word 'Satan'.
I will need a hand tooled leather belt with 'Pussy Hound' burned into the back of it.
I will also be needing the pair of black and red cowboy boots I saw at a western wear store in Fort Worth, TX.
I will just use the black Rustler jeans I already own.
Shirt and jacket will be determined as the plan develops.
When I wake up in the morning, every morning, I will start my day the way Burt Reynolds did in the movie 'Hooper'.
Current Mood: Dying and Excited
Current Music: The Motherfucker- Hauling Ass

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02:02 pm - the telephone
will bring you people
with it's ring,
people who do not know what to do with
their time
and they will ache to
infect you with
this
from a distance
(although they would prefer
to actually be in the same room
to better project their nullity upon
you).

the telephone is needed for
emergency purposes only.

these people are not
emergencies, they are
calamities.

I have never welcomed the ring of a
telephone.

"hello," I will answer guardedly.

"this is Dwight."

already you can feel their imbecile
yearning to invade.
they are the people-fleas that
crawl the
psyche.

"yes, what is it?"

"well, I'm in town tonight and
I thought..."

"listen, Dwight, I'm tied up, I
can't..."

"well, maybe another
time?"

"maybe not..."

each person is only given so many
evenings and each wasted evening is
a gross violation against the
natural course of
your only life;
besides, it often leaves an aftertaste
which often lasts two or three days
depending upon the
visitor.

the telephone is only for
emergency purposes.

it has taken me
decades
but I have finally found out
how to say
"no."

now
don't be concerned for them,
please:
they will simply dial another
number.

it could be
yours.

"hello," you will
say.

and they will say,
"this is Dwight."

and then
you
be
the kind
understanding
soul.

-from 'The Last Night Of The Earth Poems'
by Charles Bukowski

(I dedicate this piece to all the lame ass people on cell phones in grocery stores and in their cars dying for you to see them talk about absolutely nothing at all...)

Elephants Sway

Sat, 14 Oct 2006 21:00:51 GMT

TI woke up, damnit! And took a piece of steel wool to the walls with bleach to start in on the heavy yellow grease stains that have accumulated there from vigorous fry cooking. In the process, I heard a loud knock and went to the window to peer out. The was a large group of Mexican kids down below throwing rocks at my apartment. "Hey, you kids quit throwing rocks at my window! Thanks!" I screamed and slammed the door shut, having to give it a couple extra loud kicks to get it to shut right. In the bathtub, I recalled the steamy shower scenes from a previous girlfriend. She's was always coming into the fog while I was drinking beer on the floor. She was generally horny and nasty events would often ensue. I really miss her sometimes. The thought of her led me back to thoughts of my high school buddy Tony, he introduced the girl and I a few years ago. He's one of the only people from way back when that will return my phone calls these days. Forget the rest that don't. And I'll just as gladly forget them when they want to get into my show. Tony's a consistantly good conversation. (Yeah, I've said as much before.) There is something that irks me however. Tony likes to read aloud, has ever since I met him. And he's good at it. I like to be read to and Tony writes papers, so that end usually works. I'm more than happy to oblige as I'm interested in what he's currently working on. The deal is that when I ask to read a piece of mine to him, he unfailingly declines. That's something of a bastardish and selfish move! Oh well, I'll just send them out via snail mail. I can inflect dude! My Scooby Doo impersonation is pristine. My nephew cracked the end of a puffy corn chip off and put it over his finger like a ring. I used to do as much with whole olives. It really is a good time. I work with a bartender that I usually like, but the dude is a favor master, always asking for favors. Once again, I happily oblige in the spirit of the team. But sometimes when I ask him for something, oh, now I'm pulling teeth. That's something of a bastardish and selfish move! This all harkens back to the kid I pulled through a long and treacherous field to get to the Kwik Pantry for a big candy buy. The deal was that I would pull him to the store and he would pull me back home. Well, we get to the store and I make the buy with a large quantity of Buffalo Head nickles I lifted out of my dad's coin jar. I give the kid a handful and the mothersucker tears ass! Ungrateful knucklehead! So I'm left pulling the wagon back home alone. I guess that's the breaks sometimes...it just seems there are a lot people in the world that are only looking to get what they want and then leave the party. Gold Diggers are no bueno! "Jimmy Buffet concert ain't nothing but a party" is what I heard in rehab. It seems he likes a little ecstacy to go with his margarita. No wonder the sum bitch can't keep up with his salt shakers and flip flops...My eyes are burning and my nose is still full of the smell of bleach. I need to start using those paint masks again. "Your shoe is dripping ice cream when you go sailing." My niece whispered in my ear as I ate Mexican food. "I couldn't live without Mexican food." I told the boss. Non-Bruce Variety. There is a really good monkey poop story floating around.

Sat, 14 Oct 2006 20:06:56 GMT

Injury News

Mon, 02 Oct 2006 21:18:29 GMT

I was at the second birthday party I attended last weekend when it occured to me that jumping on the trampoline would be the thing to do. Having managed many a decent backflip in my time, I decided for a late nighter. I didn't jump nearly high enough and only completed half of the turn. This resulted in me landing on my head. The two other guys on the trampoline got a good laugh and I felt fine other than feeling a bit older than I wanted to. That was until Monday morning. I woke up with a horrible ache directly in the middle of my chest. When Tuesday came and it was still throbbing, I came to the conclusion that I either hairline fractured my sternum or more likely tore some muscles around that area. I'm still not exactly sure, but it doesn't hurt nearly as bad now. If I push on my breast bone it still sends a terrific shock through my chest. I need to leave it alone. (It's the bruise syndrome). I'm really into cracking and eating whole salted peanuts lately. The whole process is very satisfying. Finding a date for the movies has proven very difficult lately. I've asked damn nigh every girl I work with. They just think I'm crazy... My dad gave me a '98 Fujitsu laptop that he had up in the attic so I doubt I'll be writing here as much as I may have at one time. Eventually I am going to demolish this joint and transfer it to a different site. I do plan on using some of the same bricks that are still in good shape for the new place. So it'll probably look similar but different.