Knight Two to King One

That's me today as I move out from under the dust that collects over the south when the blooms of spring have started to flake and wither. Actually the skull belongs to Bob Gosse and I had flirted with the idea of buying it myself about ten years ago in Soho but it was a little out of my price range at the time so it would be a while before I'd get my own bone noggin (that just sounds good) via E bay. The open road's a callin' and I gotta move on, to quote Pee Wee as he tried to say au revoir to Simone at the truck stop before Andy found them talking about big butts in the giant dinosaur's mouth in Utah. Anyway, it's time to build a fighting force of extraordinary magnitude forged in the tradition of our ancestors. You'll see, once I have that at my disposal I'll get to enjoy the finer things that the kings and princes of this world take for granite. One of my biggest problems is taking things for granite when igneous rock is far inferior to sedimentary sandstone. And oh! the varieties to be found in the west: Entrada, Navajo, and Zoroaster!! The mighty indeed!
For now all I have are aspiratons and I aspire to inspire and ask only the same of the rest of the world which is a lot to ask but someone has to get all the good answers and they get taken quickly. Sex is in the air and all the timber I possess would be enough for a thousand spruce geese, should that be my kinky inclination. I ordered a scotch pine, hold the pine, whatever that means. Whammy!

Baudelaire's Table

The countdown begins and it's like trying to mop up blood with a windbreaker which just ain't gonna get the job done. This April night was perfect for a visit from the green fairy but she stood me up against the wall and I liked it. Jonny Cat's tail thumps against my foot and it's nice to have random contact with a friendly animal that is pleasing to the touch. Soon it's west and trying to locate myself on the globe will be the test or oddyssey, if you will. Already I'm tasting the dust and can feel the dry wind on my arms as the scrub brush and jack rabbits dart in front of the car. Ah, mother, American night, indeed. Let's hope. The garden is a good one and there is no need for any... claim. I don't even know what they look like (Being There). Now, really explode because the fuse runs out and the powder is certainly dry and change is necessary for growth to take place so let's all set off a controlled burn and learn to enjoy things that seemed ordinary a minute ago.

Just as God made me

Holy cow, I should probably rethink this but this is the first picture I've taken of myself with my new phone and I have to accept the fact that I look shocked and recessed and instead celebrate the magic that sent it from my phone to my computer in about 18 seconds. Nevertheless-- that's a great intro but what does it mean? At least I'm enjoying the ride and the longest of all my journeys (fuck, lays or lies?) in front of me. An evening of optimistic promise devolved into the type of wallowing that takes place in a bar and sweet, sweet Strega solves all problems with a tasty finish that I remember from other nights that I drank her and will again when the time is right. A helicopter flies low over my house which I now realize has become uncommon and speaks of the increase in my property value so I'll count my pennies in another realm where the choppers whirl most of the day and night through the end of Sunset where the witty and world weary hang on and drink champagne more than some sultans on a slow weekend can stomach and that just makes me chortle to the tune of Mule Train which was my first taste of fallen-lower-than-Vegas-type-lounge acts and I swell with pride to that memory now.

I want an Easter egg

April evening in the south as a cool breeze rustles the pecan and magnolia just off the deck while a waning moon arcs through the midnight toward the southwest horizon that calls me to stake a claim and take up gritty prospect so keeping my teeth will be a goal. Otherwise, all systems are go, man, go! Now I must find a way to manifest destiny in my own style that never takes safety into concern but I gotta wind up better off than Arthur, drunk in the middle of the day with a bum and claiming to be a dentist. Yech. And the way he had to buy other people's respect! But I digress and can zero in on better topics than a Liza Minelli vehicle although she was sweet I don't think Arthur was going to enjoy her sexually, especially since he was used to all those prostitutes who he probably went back to shortly after the honeymoon. Anyhoo, randomly give things away for the halibut.

Success!!!

That's the way we spell success. At long last I've worked out the bugs and figured out how to upload scans so now I can start up with the artwork like I've been planning. Just as a test run I used this sketch of me and Saddam Hussein since we both just want a fair trial and we want our country back. Click on the photo and watch it magically grow to frightening proportion to where you can read the anguish on the face of the homeless vagabond. Saddam looks pretty ragged too. No doubt, someone out there is putting a jihad on my ass this minute. Dirka dirka, mohammed jihad. Ok, now I'm really leaving to see the Thrashers skate, skate, skate. Skate, skate, skate, Johnny! This will be our rallying cry.

Go ahead, comment!!!

Sorry for the delay, faithful readers. Apparently there's been some confusion about how to post comments on this site so here's the poop. Click on the comments thing and then choose "other user", write a comment and hit post, or whatever, and it'll pop up almost immediately, no fuss. It's really a lot of fun! Pictured here are Buddy and me in the Okeefenokee swamp last year, almost to the day. You could comment on how robust we look or some other such observation. So there. I'm off to the Thrashers' game to cheer them into the playoffs so I'll try to observe and report on the situation later. God bless us, every one.

Special Round!

A special happy birthday to my sister Holly today, seen here at the Petrified Forest National Park cafeteria in July of 1973, and this is my card for her. I'm sure my mom remembers April 7th, 1967 for a lot of reasons but one bit of joy that might've been forgotten is the record high of 85 degrees that occured on this date so the old ladies must've had their fans a flappin'. It was a Friday just like today and MLK Jr. would have another 362 days to live. Gay Brewer, Jr., shot a second round 68 and went on to win the Masters by a single stroke. Francis Ford Coppola was born today as well as Bill Kreutzman of the Grateful Dead who is hopefully living it up on the big island of Hawaii. No doubt Posh Spice has already received her birthday surprise from David Beckham and they probably raised a glass to Kurt Cobain who blew his brains out on this date in '94. Actually, scholars have picked this as the date that Jesus was nailed to the cross so you can draw any comparison you want. If you believe in reincarnation then you might want to note that screenwriter Anne Morrison Chapin died on 4/7/67. You may remember her for such hits as "The Sailor Takes a Wife" and "Sunset in Wyoming"! On Holly's second birthday, LA Dodger Bill Singer recorded the first save in baseball history, adding to an already growing volume of useless statistics. The first memory I have myself is looking in to her crib when they brought her home to my grandmother's house (it was my grandfather's house, to be fair, but she'd like it that way) on Atlanta Rd. during that hot spring leading up to the summer of love. And could it be a coincedence that the 18th hole at Augusta National is named Holly? I think not. So let's all raise a glass to little sister and also celebrate the ratification of the 21st ammendment which happened today in 1933, ending prohibition. Yippee!

High Ho!

This is a statue in Chichen Itza inside El Castillo, a pyramid within a pyramid. The Chac Mool is actually an alter for the placement of sacrifices or human hearts. In the back stands the red jaguar throne with jade eyes staring back at you. Yikes! I had to take this with almost no light and left the shutter open for about ten seconds with only my hands to steady it. Not bad, eh? I guess a Mexican jihad has been issued at this point so I might as well have some fun. Twisting my mighty brain, I churn out word over word and still more words to make the world a little brighter like the Brady Bunch tried but then it was time to change and they had to rearrange so none of them turned out to be cute in real life but Peter ate some steroids and married a psycho model he met on a reality show so there's hope yet. You see, growing up I was Peter Brady in many ways. Looking at him tonight we still have the same hair (meaning mine still looks the way his used to) and fashion sense. At least he got to work with Vincent Price. My metaphysical voice is changing now but Greg will write a new song for me that suits my special talents and we'll have that hit record after all and the kids won't miss that 50 cents from their allowances. My allowance is about to run out and I won't have Mike Brady opening his wallet every time I need some new groovy duds to impress chicks so I'll make trouble, because I'm geared for it. And I must have my thank you, masked man.

Let's get beautiful

The cunning month of April is upon us and that means The Masters and Atlanta Braves' baseball plus the celebration of the birth of my sister and the mind fuck that is daylight saving time which allows us to worship the sun a little bit more and thank it for keeping us alive without burning us to ash that would drift on solar winds to another big bang and grease the wheels of some new oligarchy but the worlds need laughter, so I assume, and I challenge my fellow man to seek out hijinks of any sort and remember the great advice from Baudelaire, "You should always be drunk, whether it is on wine, women, or poetry but you should always be drunk." I think I got pretty close on that. That's my magical poncho from Chile pictured there and I'm parting the waters of Lake Powell which was ironically named for a great man that endured hardship and seemed to come out with most of his parts and he still burns an image in my mind as the possibilty of the great American.
One armed man searching dark canyons that scare the Indians away
Reverently I cross his path over and over
Waiting for my challenge
Swords come pouring out of the cards
So I meditate for it to come
To sting me with fire and ice cubes
Which won't be enough