The Crass Menagerie

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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.

Thursday, November 30, 2006

I am a Robot

At last, something new for the Menagerie, a little color and computer art to liven things up a bit and take us to the new year. Click on these images to enlarge and drink them in, I demand it!

Trying to construct a face

Out of the November air

Sweeping memories of grace

Gift wrapped in long foxfire hair

That was from a past November that I sent to a lady-in-waiting. I don't remember if it worked but I stumbled across it on this cold, wet, last night of the month and felt like it deserved a little light. Very early this morning I fell asleep to the sound of raindrops for the first time since I can remember. I drank it in and can still taste it. Yummy. One of many eastern adjustments that are made on an hourly basis and that's fine.

It's all part of the art, the art of living. The creation process goes on and on in a whirling dervish and I vow not to use that expression again for at least one year. May the Fonz be with you. As I look up I see that December has begun so let's get uplifted and have a swell month.

Friday, November 24, 2006

Boats of Love

"You can haul the whole gang and a lot of holiday cheer for less than you think." So I am told. Never the less, I can think a lot less than they might imagine, if you think about it. I'm pretty sure they cannot fathom the depths of my thoughts so where do they get off, obliging me to haul holiday cheer, much less the whole gang? Any holiday cheer I accrue is going to stay right here, wherever that happens to be, and I sure as shit ain't gonna haul it anywhere.
Ok, perhaps that was harsh. I'll attend to my own sedation which is the true measure of a man. Again with the measurements. Every day I get measured. Even the ghosts measure me. "Well, you all got the message. Now go out and buy a closet full." Damn, I don't have any sponsors. Or

Strength in southern mud
At the last grip of autumn
Starting arguments

The scenes get weirder
Under stars that will not shoot
Marvelous tension

Along came Daisy
Expect bigger and better
Time to swing again

Monday, November 20, 2006


This ain't the happy start I've been gunning for but here goes. The shifting sands of fate have moved beneath my feet and there hasn't been much to report on, of late. In fact, things were a little dark. Here's an excerpt: Mountains are moved overnight and no one notices but radar is blind below and maneuvers continue in the face of repeated diversity. Yowch, what a mouthful. I sniff and sniff for inspiration. That’s a line from one of my new children’s books so you can see where that’s going. This night is cold, however, and the trail of inspiration dissolves into oblivion. The wind tosses me from one arena to the next and the games are two dimensional and increase my rage. Ah, yes, sweet, sweet, rage-a-hol. How I have missed your tender embrace. Truly I am powerless in your clutches. Only God can show me the way to internalizing my craving for havoc. Then your subconscious may reap the whirlwind. Or we will all explode. Surely that is our destiny.
I will now discard the opportunity to use the term combustion and move on to equal matters of avarice. I’m having to duck and weave, to stick and move, as it were. Did you ever take a car as far down to empty as you could, just to see how far you could take it? Then sometimes fate just makes you play the game anyway. No big deal. I've walked my share of highways under starlight, looking for that one break. I feel very short so this hitch has got to be almost over.
Anyway, let's just wait and see what comes out of the river.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006


Paint what you know, someone said, I think, and these guys were sitting next to my easel and things just happened. Possibly this will put a cap on the season but the thrill of color to canvas flows strong within me and my eyes seek out inspirations. I do not, however, covet and all that shit.
This same Tuesday, two years ago, I wrote a manifesto while I was drunk with disgust and scotch over the political outcome and the hard times ahead. Back then I didn't have a blog and just forwarded the email to anyone I thought might feel the same way, or should feel the same way (you know who you are). Looking back, not a bit of sentiment was wasted on that diatribe but maybe today's results signal the turn of the big wheel and we can spin upwards again and start to share the good time again.
Here's the original text of that 2004 Manifesto: Drowning beneath a rush of bad karma I wonder what the next move will be now that she rises from the grave of my memory on the eve of a four year sentence for gross optimism when that type of mism goes against patriotism and the great country which elects me to serf and I can't even afford to go to a beach, not to mention that I can't seem to get drunk on cheap beer like Charlie Kane on election night but, like him, I'd better try because quitting is a nasty habit, even if I know a worse one so I slug away and take inventory of my being and realize change has been out of stock for too long but that's just something I can't explain here in these empty moments of 3:11 where I try to fill this hollow with something to feel anything which is still scarier than nothing so I choose my maker's mark to get me out the door, for chrissakes! Fuck. Shit.
Reading that again, I guess it was bourbon that kept me company. Indeed a much better choice for consolation but tonight the future looks a little better and champagne tastes mighty fine.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Walk with the Dead

I realize that it's well past Halloween but I missed out on a lot of the spookiest bits and have a few skeletons to air before they go back into the closet. The quietest time in all of the United States is the few hours after Sunday has turned to Monday. Only the occasional auto rumbles by the bunker, compared to the steady stream the rest of the over-humanized week. It's a nice time to sit and imagine the desert and the mountains which are just down the road but somehow become obscured by the grind of existence during the normal daily routine. Anyway, it's not even cool enough for me to close the window tonight so I listen out for the indescribable sound of the end of night and the start of tomorrow.
For me, post Halloween always had a feeling like it was time for a new beginning and just as fitting a time for resolutions as new year's day. I haven't made any resolutions yet, though. I don't have the time to fritter away with silly resolutions so stop bothering me. It already gets dark here at five in the afternoon which is a bit of a freakout since L.A. is toward the front of the time zone while Atlanta is toward the back in the east. It's just an arbitrary time but for some reason it makes it feel like the day has gotten away, even though there's just as much daylight here as ATL. It's a trick, I tell's ya. Meanwhile, I've got one more scary bit coming so my mother will just have to live with it. Watch this space for spills, chills, and thrills! Or just something weird.