The Crass Menagerie

My Photo
Location: The Promised Land

This is my triumphant return to the lifestyle I've always furthered and forwarded in my heart, at least, so let's blast off. The first half of my life has been incredible and the second segment will include more splendors than any Ottoman Sultan could ever have wished for in his golden repose. Anyway, fasten your laughter belt cuz you're on a collision course with wackiness.

Monday, February 27, 2006

The Black Dogs of Bartholomew Cubbins

A huge storm is rolling off the Pacific, threatening to cover California with... water. Yes, there's a panic afoot and you'd think that martial law would go into effect any minute. Sheesh, California is a pussy, sometimes. Anyway, walking and poop scooping dogs in the rain is a pleasure, to be sure, but I don't mind because Walter (pictured) is a good fellow and the Chevalier du Marcel (image pending) has put a bizarre spell on me and tickled my feline senses, even though he barks and wheezes and snorts and whimpers and catortles and grimbaws and smelters and carrumphs and spitoodles, I admire his sturdiness and singular determinations and will try to exact some of these qualities from myself for the future which is where I need to be, as long as California opens her bounty and the breadfruit looks, smells, and tastes su-fucking-perlative then my mission is complete and I can honk a fentoozler or simply blow my crumdumpler from the golden hills of the realm.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

touch of vodka

Crossing the country
Like the sew and thread
Stitching a wound
Joining my life
Packed on ice
Matching each vein
Going home soon
And I can eat
Anything I want

That's the big news and I'm back in the Golden state and have a new groovy pad and smaller dogs but my self esteem is intact. The photo represents the California life even though the photo was taken in Atlanta. Seated in the pic next to me is the Gut Bucket himself, Mike Schulte, Mr. L.A.

Going to bed hits
Like a beautiful hammer
A baby's rattle

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Besa me!

Here we find Peter Criss and Gene Simmons blazing a trail through the swamps of Maui. These were their last known photos and no one has heard from the rhythm section of the horror rock band since then. Some say these photos show evidence of mutation. Others say who gives a fuck. Still others think they will play a nasty part in the resolution of sovreignty of the United States port control or whatever it is they're selling now. While others would have you believe that there's a struggle within every man between good and evil that will never be resolved. I am evil Toner.

Friday, February 17, 2006

Suspendered Sentences

Greetings, people of the world. I have actually spent a night in Utah in a cave up in the hills and slept swell but the devil still chases me and that's fine. Chasin's fine on my watch. The angels of the city sleep but the lights at Dodger Stadium still burn bright, like the hopes of any spring on this part of the earth where we eat well and almost anyone can own luggage if they like. We've passed the birthday of Neal Cassady by a couple of days and raise a glass or a something and hail to the bus driver, bus driver man. Jeez, this thing reads like a Larry King column so far. I think the Lakers are in big trouble. I need to quit Larry King and then all my dreams will come true becasue I'd vote for Pedro any day of the week and twice on Sunday but that would be pretty fuckin' silly to do all that votin', you know, because it shouldn't take that many votes for such a small election in the year 2006, MMVI. The year 2000 was the best because it was just MM and everyone was happy and could earn a decent wage and the men sheltered their clans in the finest designer clothing and we didn't give a shit what the arabs and the persians did as long as it was to each other. But anyway, the vice president shoots someone in the face now and it's one of the funniest things to happen in a long time so maybe these times will wash out in the future and everyone knows how I feel about the future cuz it's like one of my central themes, really. Selah

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Don't give up on us, baby

Since I'm away from my own computer my words are colorless but maintain their odor. To brighten things up I conjured the flag of Chile. Give it up, "Viva, Chile!" The moon has reached its apex and instantly starts to decay or wane and that welcomes Valentines Day and the smell of fear it awakens in many americans, be they hairy immigrants or devout baptists or even Canadians for crying out loud because Saints invoke fear in this age like .... where is this going? It was supposed to be about love and all that makes me think of for the moment is a Simpsons clip show which isn't half bad but I strive for greater things now and meditate for warmth among the little creatures which is as selfless as I could come up with but don't give up on me just yet for I believe in love like a man loves a woman OR a fine Cuban cigar, it just doesn't matter because even Charlie Brown can earn a living in short pants, somewhere near Oakland I'm guessing.
Now I'm looking for work in the love industry and I've taken good care of my hands so I see a bright future ahead and plan to collect statues like Charlie Kane and then a president's niece who I could keep in a glass cage in my basement but I just don't have time to do that so most likely I'll learn to express inner beauty gained through external sufferings which inevitably come to most of us on a random chaos type system, you see, but love matters, Mr. Crawford. It matters. Butt love matters. That should cut the tension and not let things get too uptight around here so I hear "Wave to the Wind" and it's worse than I remembered but I have forgiveness in my heart and suffer fools like usual like I could do otherwise like, wow, and now I wave my way off to the wind... yeeechh. It just keeps going on.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Fertile Poetic Ground

Several haikus came to pass last night and some were stream of subconcious type, you see.

Just out for a spin
because the light air demands it
equals the price

Lifted by current
events in the golden hills
have eyes to compete

and one for my grandmother who moved on last month and was quite a poet herself

All are welcome in the cold
earth while the west wind
whips over the southern hills
and the ghosts of my life
crunch the brown leaves
on the dead grass on
the red clay on that...
January day

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Promised Land

Here ye will find me on the westest coast as I search for answers to age old riddles in a new age world where left is left and so on to the next diversion which is the Golden State and to be one of the hill people who have to walk their small horses twice a day and life is blonde and sunny no matter the price we all would pay for the sunset behind me as it falls over red carpets and Grammy award winners and even more losers but I remain fastened to the side of this hill in near quiet, almost as if I were able "... to hear the ice cubes tinkling in the cocktail glasses", typical for a Wednesday in an absurdly possible city, the way I see it right now anyway, so I'm feeling the burn from the climb in my spirit and the burn fuels my machine for the future is where you and I will spend the rest of our lives which makes me wonder where Criswell is now. These are all good things.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

February and the King's cup

A gloomy winter day in the southern United States but this is one last gasp before I seek replenishment in the west and the golden state. Goddam, I sound like the president last night whom I didn't listen to but that's what the synopsis of his diatribe brought for me. "I'm going to start doing the things everyone said I should have been doing all along and see if that works." Some state of the union. Anyway, this is a positive rant even though I am embedded at home with a virus of some sort. No matter because I feel my inner defenses (D- cardboard picket fence! Yuck) gathering for a fight and then I'll count to infinity twice like Chuck Norris (Check out . Later this evening I'm going to participate in a fast food focus group for $75!! There's your state of the union. I guess they expect me to spend my 75 on more fast food. I'll try to prove them wrong as they haven't figured out that microwave burritos come in ten-packs for three bucks now so a bum can live pretty tasty if he can put his hands to a microwave. I'd like to think that Henry Miller would give me a nod for that one as I now search for my own handouts of all varieties in the former land of opportunity which keeps me for now. There are a great many cheap pleasures to be had and this spin of Fortuna's has me scraping my back on the pavement so I piece together an existence which gives as much satisfaction as many I've known and I find solace in being a speck of crud in a godless void. I don't think many people actually know what makes them happy or they're afraid of it. Nevermind, let's just make the next king the King of cups.
On a family note, my cousin Francisca in Santiago, Chile has given birth to Simon Hunter who has a lovely cousin of his own, Jacinta (pictured, who belongs to my cousin Felipe) Long may he reign!