The Crass Menagerie

Days of the Deads

2008-11-01T23:11:00.000-07:00

November to Remember. Stay tuned.

More to Come...

2008-10-16T15:30:00.000-07:00

Happy Halloween, everybody. America's favorite funblog will be back soon, pending good election results. Vote Obama or sink deeper.

Left to Write

2008-05-19T12:43:00.000-07:00

Ahh, sweet California again, here with the lovely Annabelle at the Huntington Gardens near Pasadena. Fortuna has dealt me another unexpected turn as the temps here topped out around 100 this weekend in a freak wave of heat, but there is so much here to brighten the soul that I've hardly noticed. Tomorrow the mercury 'sposed to drop into the normal range and by Friday I should be golfing in the seventies, score and temperature (no Centigrade jokes). I'm sitting out back right now at Annabelle's little house in Attwater Village. A quaint arboretum shades me with exotic limbs and vines all above that silently crackle with the brittle, pink, paper leaves that occasionally fall on my keyboard. I'm just missing a cup of tea but I have other delights to make up for it. I spent almost one entire year in one time zone. Weird. Thoughts like that fly at me here and I relish a new perspective. Obviously I haven't posted in a month because I really just haven't had anything to say. Besides, this thing has gotten to a weird point where there are things I wouldn't now feel comfortable writing about since my name is on this behemoth. I do have a new painting on the slab but it's thousands of miles away at the moment. Funny that when I work on it again, it will take on a new personality because some of my experiences here will be in it emotionally. And that's fine.

Cat Snatch Fever

2008-04-20T22:27:00.000-07:00

The heads, you're looking at the heads... I'll explain later.
I'm having a hard time getting the auto focus to zone in on this one. Adding the contrast layer for the phantom image was a gamble but finally I can push it out of the nest. Even when the inspiration comes from within, it can be very delicate. The photo below came out a little better than last time but it's a little fuzzy on detail.

Spoiler alert for the gross part! My animal, Jonny Cat, is infected with spring fever and has taken to killing everything within a fifteen yard radius of the back door. A few days ago I came across a chipmunk head and tail sitting on the kitchen floor. The next day, she carried in two lizards which she had to eat in front of me, complete with little bones crunching. I had to leave her in the house for a while after that but when I got back, there were the lizards, sitting in a pile, a pile of vomit and arms and legs and two heads. Yum. Then, yesterday, as I'm practicing my golf swing on the back porch, she brings up a mouse that has intestines trailing out one side as its trying to get away. I gave it two good whacks on its little noggin with my sand wedge, an open faced club (s0me of you know what joke to insert here). Anyway, I got her to drop the chipmunk today and it ran out of the house, a la Chainsaw Massacre. There'll probably be a sequel.

closer.... Closer!!!

2008-04-08T23:35:00.000-07:00

I beg your indulgence in presenting, here above, a work in progress. The centerpiece was supposed to be the one below, left. I thought I got a few fine enough shots of it using a bounce flash, but when I set it up on the big screen I discovered that the light had drained and bounced out the dark tones so I just scrambled up the order. I'll insert an updated pic in the next entry. It was too late tonight to go back into the camera. Anyway, this is the kinda stuff I've been doing. Feelin' good's good enough.

I attended the Braves' home opener which we lost in heart-breaking fashion, 11-12 in the 12th inning. The hurt receded quickly as I went back to the stadium on Sunday to see the mighty and mystical John Smoltz outpitch Johan Santana of the Mets who look frail in the early going. As for the good guys, we've lost five one-run games. Sheesh. Too early for concern but these things nag like a little spider that's biting the back of you're head and you're not sure what the hell's going on but a win streak will kill the bugs. No sugar tonight in my coffee.

Which reminds me... I got a whiff of the road and life just off the highway in the form of a bouncy, black waitress that sucked all my life for a little while, but in the end... all I got was a little knowledge.

It was twenty years ago today...

2008-03-24T23:09:00.000-07:00

My last post got some nice comments from fellow heads so I'm glad to continue in that vein. This date, March 24, is very special in Dead history with at least eleven different shows on this spot on the calendar. I just finished listening to the first show the boys ever played at the Omni, having outgrown the Fox. It happened on this date in 1988 and I recommend you give it a try: http://www.archive.org/details/gd88-03-24.aud.wood.9540.sbeok.shnf Tripping back through the songs, the memories flood in of that wonderful, dank, old building that shook with emotion. There aren't many venues with any character left. Anyway, this was my second Dead show, having come home from the long road, and I was redirecting my life in Atlanta (a lot like I am now, kinda). But the music on this night went to the next level that I can hear going backwards in time, before heroin had taken that last, extra spark away from Jerry. The second set had four big songs come after "Space" which almost overnight changed with the old men running off stage after a few closing tunes. No, on this night they played large. Even "Lovelight", normally a snoozer of a closer for me, really cooks. I saw many, many great shows after this one, but I didn't know that I was getting a flavor of something that was almost already gone, to be shared by some and untouchable to most.

No big surprise here, but this part of the year holds multiple memories and this date hits another special one. In 1993, we had three sweet shows here at the Omni but that wasn't enough for my friend, Jeffrey Nathan Speer, and me, so we piled in to his Honda and tooled up to Chapel Hill and two nights at the Dean Dome. The 24th was the first night of the UNC shows so it was already an anniversary of a sort but the earlier night at the Omni in '88 had been Jeff's first show so this was his five year anniversary. Sorry if that got convoluted but we had a hell of a time getting into the disaster of the building that is the Dean Smith Center. This stupid joint holds 4000 more than the Omni did but has smaller concourses and fewer facilities. I was in such a sour mood by the time I got settled in that I was shocked when this incredible music pulled me up and out and the energy from that night still shakes in its own unique way only we 20,000 can actually remember. Give this really cool show a try, too: http://www.archive.org/details/gd93-03-24.sbd.nawrocki.16885.sbeok.shnf

In other news, the painting above is my first try at an abstract in oil. I call it "Venus on the Whole" and I give no explanation. The view at left here has a little skull I started tonight. I'm not sure if he's finished yet. I'll probably go in for some refinements. Story of my life.

Night Equals Day

2008-03-19T23:18:00.000-07:00

The equator leveled off 41 minutes ago and we enter the period when night and day learn to share. Still, this shining ball of blue we call our home is tilting toward the sun and I offer my own pale skin, so starved of colour now. Time to cut into the winter growth and expose myself to new forces and problems. The wind thunders and swirls in a rage at this dark minute while the sun is away and I listen to an Omni show of the Grateful Dead from this date, 3/20 in 1993. Those were salad days of a different sort when this time of year meant spring training for the Braves and spring tour for the Dead. I still have the Braves but recordings of Birdsong and all the rest will have to do until the next messiah cometh. I miss the Dead and the Omni and the Hawks and basic decent fair play. This spring will hardly rock which is to say that the manner in which it rocks will be hard.

Lock and Load

2008-03-10T00:58:00.000-07:00

I'm still here. I'm figuring out the direction to take in every facet, right down to the way I masturbate. Anyway, I'm taking my own head, screwing it on straight, and some woman's gonna tell me that it ain't. That's a variation on an SCTV theme. Stay tuned. And a happy birthday to my cousin Liz in Santa Barbara. She's one of my most faithful readers. The injection of youthful, springtime mojo is at hand. Groovy.

Layer upon layer

2008-02-27T00:17:00.000-08:00

Now and again I'm coaxed from hibernation by some element or other, like warm weather or a young pretty face, but I still feel like a few years of scales are falling away and have to be shed. These are crazy times when the west winds rip across Alabama and turn a fine day into a trial. But then I turn to the insane, random chance that is the future, Mr. Geddes, and I feel dizzy with possibilities. Chinatown to the Grateful Dead, no big surprise there. Anyway, I try to locate the proper convection currents to make things pleasant. Baseball season starting is always a good way to get that flowing, actually. Then the next thing you know the Masters are on and you're wondering how you got so far into the year already. Last week I woke up to a dead TV and instead of celebrating, I went out and bought a bigger one that hypnotizes me with its high definition and intense colours. Great. I made a pact with myself that I would not watch it very much but I haven't been very firm. Education or sports....

Beware of the Fog

2008-02-17T22:52:00.000-08:00

A foggy night in Georgia is very pleasant in February. Masses of air collide and we stand at fifty-seven degrees of Farenheit, dew point, which puts the humidity at ... one hundred percent!!! Now I'm able to look up through the cloud tops that rush to the east and can see stars and the waxing gibbous. Little by little the new cycle turns over and collects momentum. I feel like a child, standing in the sun for the first time. Not really, I think that's from Roxanne. I seem to have written myself into a corner here where I don't know what I'm doing so I'm looking for new winds to sweep me out of the doldrums. One of my Youtube offerings has generated some funny comments. I was somewhere near El Paso on my drive from L.A. to Atlanta last March and got sandwiched by big trucks on Interstate 10 while I was listening to Speed Racer music. The theme from the Mammoth Car started up so I grabbed the video camera and shot this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RlQoorEmg5o
I posted it from a motel in Scaryville, Texas which amazed me how easily I could get it online so quickly. Anyway, I begin to miss the terrors of the highway and see myself chewing on some asphalt soon.

ZZZZzzzzzzz

2008-01-30T22:58:00.000-08:00

Oof. Winter has been a tad oppressive of late. I haven't felt for the depths of my soul which gives me hope that I can clear a path to spring and infinity beyond. No, my sanity is right here with me but we're both sluggish and interested in the comforts of shelter and hearth. Yeesh, that sounds old. Keep watching this space. I'll cook something up soon, I swear it.

Gliding to the dock
Step off to start the next trip
A red sky tonight

Now I see the chance
The path not chosen exists
You only live twice

Clearing heart and mind
When I find her tomorrow
Limits start to fall

Winter Gifts

2008-01-20T22:11:00.000-08:00

Brr, it's sure cold here, Pee Wee. The Miata endures another trial. Reality tries to step in but I learn new methods of combat. I gather myself for Part II. Maybe I am only at the half way point instead of in the checkout line. If so, I hope this was a mountain climb and not a canyon descent. Either way, there will be wonders to come.

Lessons come rapid fire and I try to assemble them in the purple haze. Thank God I'm so intelligent. Still, I've never felt smarter or more irrelevant. Yet I will continue to endeavour............

Alone in the Crowd

2008-01-14T22:09:00.000-08:00

The scene is warm but the angle is deceptive and the sun's light has no power to heat the lands. Later, a Viewmaster moon hangs over a cold blue screen, framed by a row of twisted black, empty limbs that lay in ghostly rows. Whispers come in all the cracks and holes that the wind can find, making bedtime and whisky an unbreakable bond. An emptied soul can be filled. Some nights I think of all the girls I've loved when the wicked wind churns in the naked branches just outside.

Blowing Hot and Cold

2008-01-09T22:07:00.000-08:00

Winter sky over Turner Field. One era has ended and a fresh one is crowning. But this is one mole I will not whack. Perhaps this is the middle of life and I am ignorant like a newborn. Or maybe I am mule-headed like General Tso with his chicken. The last few nights have felt like springtime after the frigid onslaught that bludgeoned the South at the beginning of the year. Thunderstorms are not usually a problem in January but they pop up here and again. I like them.

One appearance phases into the other. No one notices the features of the Hanged Man. Gotta find a way to flip over.

Here's Willis. He appears noble and vicious but he suffers from an inferiority complex. Still, he's a good boy and could not leave his mother (metaphorically).

Fresh Dish

2007-12-13T23:25:00.000-08:00

Greetings, people of earth. Sorry to be so out of touch but I've been out of touch. Changes are in store that should cause an eruption of inspiration. I'm about to spend a few weeks downtown in the bosom of the city where I thrive or have thriven. Bit by bit I reintroduce things to my life and I'm reborn with a new sense of what belongs.

I have known moments where I felt like a frail, shell of a man.

There haven't been many of those moments.

I'm still twenty years old, getting away with something.

I am a sleeping dragon.

Dragons wake up cranky, mostly.

I have trouble finding anyone with young ideas, lately.

Computers are ruining movies.

I plan to live long enough to be smart.

It's stupid to plan things.

Always be prepared to plan to succeed without threat of failure when even the ordinary seems commonplace.

If I had my way...

2007-11-28T22:37:00.000-08:00

I could easily devolve into an old man rant and maybe I'll just do it anyway. Tomorrow I see a new sawbones about my bloody leg and this, I pray, should be the final strokes on the tragedy of a surgery. Yawn. Anyway, life in the deep south has many advantages this time of year. The sunlight has found that special seam in the cosmos and turns all the day in to gold. Hearts are light, too, unbelieving that the sparsity of winter is just a handful of days away. I'm not sure where the next surprise will come from but I guess that's the beauty of that. Inspiration comes like a bludgeon but I've not felt that welcome weight on my shoulders in many a night. Samson is standing below, between my feet, and pushing on my columns. Someone tell him I'm not a Philistine.

Startin' to Ouch

2007-11-21T11:22:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year when, after a wind, you can hear the leaves falling for minutes. Unfortunately, America's favorite fun blog is under repairs while I try to keep my leg from falling apart. It's beginning to appear like the surgeon in Chile was a witch doctor. Meanwhile, I haven't been able to get my camera out for a while. Stay tuned and something will turn up toot sweet. Happy Thanksgiving, world.

Forgotten Prisoners

2007-11-11T22:37:00.000-08:00

Back to the grindstone, you might say as I have to hustle a meager living and feed Jonny Cat and other monkeys. Here's some unearthed words from the Grand Canyon last year...

Whisky on the rim

Moonlit canyon through the glass

Ghosts I remember

Night of luxury

The story can now begin

One more highway west

I keep coming back

Three feet from her memory

Embrace the future

Music in the room

Tomorrow fed by tonight

This life for the last

On this day, I remember.

Tricked!! Me!

2007-11-01T21:27:00.000-07:00

As the day of the dead comes to a close, the spooky thoughts don't just go away quietly. Still fresh, also, is the memory of being pelted with eggs as we walked with the last of the children of the night. I've been tricked a time or two, but this was our first drive-by egging. But like a Teflon super hero, nothing could I find on my leg where the egg hit. I could possibly see myself throwing eggs at other men, but there were ladies in our midst which shows a serious lack of character amongst the tricksters. I'm sure some horrible ironic fate befell them at some time later in the night.

The sun before the hunter's moon has turned all the rivers of the south to stone, and some drown in dust without asking question. Time to invest in granite.

Always have candy and booze on hand for marauders like this one. A new kind of year starts for godless pagans and for others, the tilt of the earth itself will impose upon the flesh of us all. Time to start building and protecting our flanks, or working up some flanks. Your welcome.

A Good Harvest

2007-10-30T22:46:00.000-07:00

Smashing pumpkin sorta good times occur at the festivals of the harvest that make this the best spot on the calendar. Hell, look at these two vixens I encountered at the Croker/Stephens bash/cemetery.

Along the way, I encountered other daughters of darkness, willing concubines of satan. What a night. Wednesday is the worst day for Halloween, though. Yesterday, Christmas decorations were going up at Stone Mountain. I went there for a haunted hayride. How fucking stupid is that?

I guess the Invisible Man's formula wore off. Unfortunately, he took off all his clothes and tried to sneak away. He was swallowed by the night.

Every party these days ends with the tasting of the flesh which some of the guests sampled with relish. That's a little zombie joke. I love little zombies.

It looks like April wound up in a shuttered room but she has Oliver Reed to keep her company.

I think this is finished now. I promise now to deliver the abstract, from the Day of the Dead, and beyond.

Rustlings

2007-10-21T21:06:00.000-07:00

Ah, yes. The scary time of year when even a program titled "Bigfootville" catches my attention. I watched "The Shining" again last night, well, starting it at 2 a.m. and that really got the juices flowing. What a masterpiece. And the disc has a special feature documentary about the making of the movie. Big deal, I know, but this is one of the few extras that I watch on any disc, usually preferring just to keep the illusion alive without getting too technical. First of all, the feature-ette is made by a 17-year-old Vivian Kubrick who has amazing access to her father, Jack Nicholson, Shelley Duvall, and the rest. I get so captivated by the behind-the-scenes action that I can't actually believe I'm getting this glimpse into the creation and actualization of art. So I watched the documentary and then I watched it again with Vivian's commentary. I think I'm in love with her. Hell, she's Stanley's daughter and she's my age. You may remember her cameo in "2001" as the little girl who wanted a bush baby for her birthday. Anyway, if you want the perfect Halloween scary movie, I think you, faithful reader, know where I stand.

Patrick and Celeste make their customary Friday stopover at Clay's place.

And here's good ol' Dave Newton with a festive glaze on his mug. I remember him telling me, in 1980, that "The Shining" was filled with 3's because of the mystic significance of the number and I still look for that when I watch. He's right, too. There's all kind of cool triangulations and trios in there.

Also, if you're ever in Yosemite Valley, stop in the Ahwahnee Hotel. The interiors are the inspiration for the Overlook Hotel and many of the main rooms in the atrium are still wonderfully intact. It's truly spooky to walk around in there. There's no room 237, though. Sidebar, the numeric value of 237 is... 3. 2+3+7 =12. 1+2 =3. Coincidence? A one in nine chance.

I finally started painting again and I'm working on this beach scene to get my chops back. I meant to paint something macabre. I'll do it this week. Watch and see.

Gathering Ghosts

2007-10-14T22:03:00.000-07:00

A few nights ago I whirled to get my camera when I saw this apparition hovering just beyond the graveyard. This is the time of year when dodging spider webs is a major concern and now we add ghosts to the list. So far, the spirits in my life have merely been subtext to the mystery of the overall journey. The fall has begun to cast the spell of the harvest and I feel like celebrating lifes and deaths. At the turn of the switch, the spider webs are empty and in disrepair in the cool mornings before the sun, without opposition, returns the most pure and warm lights to fill all the hearts in the south. These are the days when I no longer worry about how much room there is left in hell. I'm going to the Georgia Dome tonight to watch the Atlanta Falcons engage the Giants of New York. Don't that sound great? Engaging Giants and all.

Now I attack each new day with an enthusiasm unknown to this date on this planet. I feed my art and it must feed me. No actual nutritional value.

When it's time to change...

2007-10-02T21:51:00.000-07:00

These are the best days of all. The sky has found its color after months of haze. Early evening brings forgotten coolness and the air is tinted with a touch of sweet decay. Pieces are finding their grooves and I have to unlock the majesty of the star. October makes it necessary to hold on to each day as something special, like Gatsby grasping at the impossible. Gotta read that one again. Certain books unlock the ghosts of my heart and allow them to play which makes everybody happy. Reading IS fundamental and I almost feel like reaching back to the Hardy Boys to rediscover my literary roots and influences. By the days, my camera shall roam and my brushes will stay dipped. I stand by my dish.

Harvest Howl

2007-09-26T22:53:00.000-07:00

Check out this hellhound. Just before sunset I came upon this guardian of Damien in the road and I yielded and turned around, after I'd clicked a few shots. Click on the dark one and look at his fiery eyes. I guess this officially kicks off fall and the spooky season. That's groovy but the mercury still hits the '80s well in to October which wasn't the norm five or ten years ago. The walnuts rain down louder than ever and have created a comedy obstacle if you have to walk down the hill in the back yard. The harvest moon is pouring down through the trees that haven't quite started to give up their leaves. I haven't stood in a purity like this in a long time.

Hooray for Everything

2007-09-20T19:30:00.000-07:00

I don't think it's really so fun to stay at the YMCA, but they make it seem more plausible. Summer dwindles away and certain images take their turn. The Braves' season wheezes on an iron lung, but the fun hasn't vanished. At last, the evenings provide cool reliefs and I often sit with the window open behind me, allowing the song of the nighttime to blend in to the soundtrack. Every five or ten minutes, tranquillity is shattered as a walnut, bigger than a golf ball, smacks into the ground just beyond the carport. They remind me of a time when I was camping alone in Savage Gulf, Tennessee during the peak of fall. The foliage was superb but little flotsam and jetsam rained down through the trees and onto my tent, keeping me deep into the scotch to get some sleep. Then an owl, loud as a car horn, blared directly above about two in the morning and I must have surely turned to black and white in some kind of Little Rascals take as I convulsed in my sleeping bag. This is the time of year for scary stories and remembrances, and scary movies. I saw Rob Zombie's new Halloween. Pew. We'll strive to do better in the next eight weeks.

As the winds pick up in the late night, the crashes come more frequently. One hits the roof every once in a while but none have made it to the cars yet. I'm tempted to go out and sit on the hill under the tree and dare the falling missiles to find my head. Some would come with little fanfare but others would begin the descent with a whistle in the wind and then a rattling cascade through the branches and thick air, with a satisfying plop at the sudden end. The reality of earth. That's where I am. I stand by my dish.

Every now and then....

2007-09-11T21:54:00.000-07:00

A wave passed through town tonight, marking the end of more than a month of pressure-cooker conditions. As if the Almighty's heel had been pressed to the region, today I could feel it lift with a small flurry, no real fireworks. Soon the mercury will dip below sixty for the first time since May and some of us will evolve to resolve to carry on the cycle and watch scary movies. These are the way things go.
Tonight I tried to think of a list of the absurdly lucky. I thought, in no order: Adam Sandler, Dane Cook, Chip Caray, Julia Roberts, Andrew McCarthy (I just saw some of "Class" again [gotta love how they just sweep an obviously disturbed Jaquelline Bisset under the rug]), Steven Speilberg, Clint Howard, Jay Leno, (I'm avoiding the obvious teeny-pop dildos) Warren Beatty, Alan Parker, Robert Redford- the director, Billy Dee Williams (duh), Naomi Watts, Rene Zellwegger, anyone on Seinfeld or Friends, Howie Mandel (touch this man if you get the chance, please!), Soon Yi Previn, Benedict the XVI... I guess.
As the wheel turns, I stand by my dish.

On the Crest of a Wave

2007-09-03T20:25:00.000-07:00

Summer hasn't yet released us, though the grasp is weakening. I feel like so much baked brick at this point. This is Mandrake, the Magician. He appears every night and I give him some tasty morsels. I can't decide if that's a lightning bolt on his nose or a shooting star or an exclamation point. I wasn't ready to break out the name Exclamator (or the Intergalaticater, otherwise known as... The Exclaminator). You can figure out the other jokes about the string in my leg and "Feed me, Mandrake!" so I won't list them all.

Also included herein are Kalu and Tiki. I leave it to the public to assign the identities. Most of these are random images from a season gone by. It already begins to feel separate.

A full moon and lunar eclipse on my birthday felt like the perfect separation to forge ahead and assimilate the protean miasma that the experience deposited on me. Sorry but that actually makes sense to me and I've read it back about ten times. Things are going to start happening to me now.

I bang you with chains of Iron!

2007-08-26T22:45:00.000-07:00

Just like I thought, salt water (the sea, Pee, the sea) has amazing healing powers. Why, it was even able to draw the string out of my leg, Jack. Yep, after a few days submerged in Panama City, my leg spat out some of the guitar string that should've come out over a year ago. Problem is that it's just hanging out on a loop and I can't seem to pull it out. Or if I gave it a good pull, I'm not sure what else would come with it, so I have to trust the medical "professionals" again. Still, I feel like I'll be exorcised at last, the nightmare over. This probably means more antibiotics, too. Well not til after my birthday, goddammit. When you say no to champagne, you say no to life.

More and more I understand the fountain of youth appeal of the Sunshine State. In the film, Network, William Holden talks about death having discernible features. I don't think I'm there yet but it feels that summer hovers at the apex and prepares to ease in to another slow decline. I missed fall last year. In L.A., fall is you notice that it rained for ten minutes one day, and you can't remember the last time it rained, just that it was back in the spring, so this must be fall. And the daylight recedes. The full moon on Tuesday will be the tipping point.

Above the sawgrass prairie I was aware of the sacred dunes, every flag flying at some point, the last rumblings of a hurricane expiring at my feet, the sun and salt feeding my soul.

I Lost the Hat

2007-08-09T23:40:00.000-07:00

This is a photo taken in the summer of '81. That's me, middle left, wearing the hat, peace sign. I had finished a shift at Six Flags, airbrushing t-shirts, and now it was party time. I'm only sixteen here, so this was the first "adult" party I'd ever been to and I was pretty jazzed. I even got to drive one of the cashiers home and made out with her in her driveway in my Kharmann Ghia. Then I went back to the party and stayed there til about six. I'm still very close with a lot of people in this room so it shows that we were a lucky group to find each other. Anyway, thanks to my pal Clay Croker for passing this photo on to me.
Please watch my entry in the Top This TV Challenge from Heinz ketchup. It's entry # 2622 or go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jbYT6HriNw4. Hopefully I'll get thousands in prize money and be able to make bigger and better movies. Meanwhile, the oppressive heat continues but I just roll in it and wonder how long til it's emergency time when the regular rules no longer apply. Somehow I've got to find a way to view the Perseid meteor shower which is just starting but is going to peak on Sunday night. Hopefully I'll find a hole in the haze, in many ways. I stand by my dish. And with Jonny Cat.

Thick, thick nights

2007-08-07T23:59:00.000-07:00

Wow. These are brutal times. It's hard now to remember the gentle July with August providing some of the most intensely thick heat in recent memory. I mean, the low temperature for the next few days is 76. That means you never stop sweating if you're in the elements. I'm no baby, but how did they do it back about fifty years ago when central air was almost science fiction? Did that ultra suffering produce some ultimate character or did it serve to melt the class lines, I wonder.

When I open the door

A cascade of steam tumbles onto my feet
Someone jumping through glass
O' evil sheriff
Give me some swamp romance
The fire goes down to my belly
Affirming my place in the sequel
In need of the southern toughness
Each kiss a fresh baptism
The next touch, flowing life

I stand by my dish.

2007-08-02T22:40:00.000-07:00

I just got around to doing this today, about a month late. Drawing with the mouse is actually a good substitute for painting and there's no messy cleanup. I'm taking one good, deep breath and then I'll open the tubes and get on to the next painting. I've been cutting a video project which was a lot to chew and I'm gagging, but it'll get done. And then there's the business of choosing a vocation. I'm getting out that astronaut application form again. I don't need the diapers and I can do anything drunk that I can do sober. Throw in adultery and cross country humiliation and it can't be too different from the job I used to do. Twenty years ago tonight, I packed into a '73 VW Bug convertible and took off on the road. We drove through the night and stopped in the early morning in Port Neches, Texas. The next destinations would be more exotic. Although, one morning, Joe's cousin, Tammy, woke me with a kiss and whispered, I love you in my ear. So there can be a few good memories to come out of the inferno.

Send me your tired...

2007-07-30T01:34:00.000-07:00

Well, it took longer than it should have but she's finished. I look forward to working on something else now and I'll find out which path I'm gonna follow next. Sorry for the delay and I'll have a new post in a day or two, tops!

Weather Report Sweet

2007-07-22T23:58:00.000-07:00

It's a bit early for Halloween but the weather feels right. A heavy rain blew in from the east this morning, very unusual. If I hadn't been up watching the British Open then my car would've filled with water cuz I'd left the window down overnight. Anyway, the highs for the next few days are supposed to be in the low 80's to high 70's. For July, that's amazing. Sorry that I don't have much more than a glorified weather report but it's actually pretty weird.
Meanwhile, the last sands of this era are waiting for their turn to funnel into destiny. One way or another I'll be reintroduced to society and I feel the opportunity to press advantages must be explored. Hmm, that's a little vague. But perfect for my purposes. This is more serious than when Richie Cunningham was thinking about running away with the beatniks on Happy Days. He wouldn't have lasted two days. Diddy tells the owner of Burger King that he's "hongry". People have to give their money to someone, I guess.

Two Coats

2007-07-11T23:04:00.000-07:00

To all ships at sea, save the dinosaur and buy Sinclair gas whenever possible. Don't let classic brands fade away, help out the little guy.

Sorry for the gap but I've been busy with this gargantuan painting and I think I'll use bigger brushes next time. Anyway, this is the greatest July I can ever remember in Atlanta. Last night I saw the spiral light of Venus from the northwest corner of the brand new crescent moon and you know the crickets are singing away. I think that was an awfully good sign. I'll be sure to observe something that's more interesting next time around so check back in a day or two. Peace and may all your indiscretions be private.

Force of July

2007-07-07T20:12:00.000-07:00

Indeed, an element of danger filled the air. I cannot tell you for sure if everyone left with all of their digits. I just can't. Some of mine swelled. We'll leave it at that. Our country is 231 years old. That's not a lot of time to take over the world. But we did it, by God. So far, July is an impostor with mild, cloudy days and just a rumour of moisture. Quite decent. The future is blank and possibly pleasant.

I've been working on April for a lot of days in a row and today I have to let her be. I was considering Madame XXX for a title. That's probably been done, though. Clearly the future is without shape and form. Or is it? John Travolta should be seen much less and if he were to fly into the Bermuda Triangle, well, I'm thinking of a fairy-tale ending.

Surprised by summer's gentle kiss

Smoking to the song of southern night

Remembering her, I can't resist

A chance to place her within my sight

kiss of twilight

2007-07-01T21:34:00.000-07:00

July begins and the first day brought only mild steam. A fat moon has been lingering for several days, like in the Wolfman movies when he changes every night, even though I figure that he would only have to deal with transforming once a month. Maybe werewolf trouble is like feminine trouble. I'm sure gypsies are involved, either way. Since the end of the school year, the streets go quiet in the afternoon and I'm reminded of my own summer vacations and the wonderful, lazy, days with nothing to do. Just Tom Sawyer stuff inter cut with cartoons and monster movies.

So far the afternoon storms mostly rumble by and treat our area like a delta, albeit a dry counterpart. I fear we've sacrificed too many trees and can't compromise our personal gasses. If that's true, we'll be Houston in a few years, and that's an ugly thought.

Ease in to July

Like a walk in a picture

Any style you like

Slowly but surely, April is coming along here. Got some big decisions on the background to make. WWJSSD? That's what would John Singer Sargent do? But I'm thinking with a nod to Manet as well. Who will win?!? Tune in later to see! I had a better picture of the picture but I like the Joker peeking in on the left, there. Hyuk.

Blue?!?!?!

2007-06-26T22:46:00.000-07:00

I write in angry red letters to protest. When I heard that the Atlanta Hawks were changing their uniforms, I did a little jig in my heart because our unis were pathetic. Not outright terrible, mind you, just dull, no imagination. I even wrote twice this past season, to the Atlanta Journal Constitution, to say that one of the problems of a destitute franchise is a lack of identity. Then the news came down that the top brass agreed so I felt almost vindicated, like I had done my bit, you know, one small voice... Then I clicked on the link to see the new uniforms to be worn by the Atlanta Hawks of the National Basketball Association..... and I felt like I had been punched in the heart bone. Normally, I'm optimistic to the point that borders on fantasy but I couldn't feel good for two seconds, looking at the steaming crap that floated off my monitor. One main thing that jumps out is the lack of imagination, that somehow things could get more forgettable. But the main travesty was that they changed the main color to BLUE!!! And a dull navy, at that. It looks like the color of airport carpet. The Atlanta Hawks are RED. Good God. I sat there on the couch feeling totally deflated for a good while and then angrily read the release from the team, saying that they took this very seriously and that tradition was extremely important. I can't say enough bad things and I'm tired of feeling that way about MY team. No wonder nobody gives a damn. AAARrrrrgggghhhhhhh.
Sorry to go so sports but I had to say that. When I finish this painting, I hope to make a more artful statement.

Able was I...

2007-06-17T20:46:00.000-07:00

Pregnant and scared? I don't know what to tell you. Who's baby is that? I expect a new angle to reveal itself to me at any moment. Until then, hang on to those babies. Or do what your heart tells you- I'm no politician, thank God. I sit here just after midnight and wait for the revelations to come. Any minute now. Meanwhile I am assailed by advertising which I accept but hate, like a lot of things in life. You see, we, as race, are stupid, stupid, stupid. That's all I'm gonna give you.
It's a trap!! That phrase could bring laughter for a long time. Like a fester bester tester. I can't remember if I'm supposed to separate those with commas. Comas, maybe. If only an exile to Elba were in my future. It's all about perspective.

Spring shivers

2007-06-10T22:44:00.000-07:00

This is my latest offering for sale NOW at the Lola Ricci Salon in west Atlanta. The proprietress of the establishment is Lisa Moccia, my personal stylist and quite a cool lady. She's an artist with the scissors and has turned her workspace into a mod gallery. Her boutique is on Marietta Street where Howell Mill dead ends. Go there for a great coif and buy some art.

A year's run from the west and I can't escape the dry and the dust which even sours the beer in my mouth. Some afternoons I watch and hear a tall storm rumble along the other side of the street while my lawn continues to crumble. All the rain is somewhere else in the world but things will rotate into the keyhole if I go freestyle. A new ritual is required since I've tried all the ones I know. The house keeps creaking all around me but I can't decipher the message of the wayward ghost that has looked over my shoulder for thirty-seven years. No one seems to hear it but me. Perhaps Dark Star was a bad choice for a soundtrack in these wee hours but this is the time when my thoroughbred is ready to fly around the track. I seek distraction for fear of what might appear in stark focus right now. The room is .....

Spidey rides with me!

2007-06-05T01:15:00.000-07:00

That's right, world. You've been warned. The photo evidence and the sworn testimony proves that I am now a force to be reckoned with by virtue of my powerful friends, you see. And, mind you, this ain't the weepy waterworks Tobey Maguire Spidey that made Topher Grace look menacing. This is the Amazing Spider-Man that once staggered the Hulk, but enough about webhead because I'm tired from exposure. More chills and spills ahead.

"I'll save you, Mary Jane! Touch my can- with your hand, Spider-Man!"

Wheel is turnin'

2007-05-30T21:34:00.000-07:00

I'm going green a day early as June feels like the first full, green, month. The moon is so swollen tonight that it's hard to believe that it won't be full yet for a day and a half. With no fresh pics to blaze, I picked a few from Utah which got away too quickly. For the moment I'm expected to trust in fortune, so I'll make trouble, because I'm geared for it....
But even when I'm angry I usually don't get that mad. We all go a little mad sometimes...

How many people actually, in their lifetime, get to stand on the edge of a cliff, I have wondered. Some interesting word usements in that structure. Anyhow, I'm totally blind in trying to see the future now. For some reason that's fine so I plunder along and wait for the right thing to happen. I wonder if God thinks I've walked the earth long enough yet. Good old earth, nothin' beats that. Heh heh.

Familiar Falcon

2007-05-28T00:38:00.000-07:00

I didn't expect to find a wormhole in time on the streets of Santa Fe, New Mexico but, there it was, right next to me, a 1965 Ford Falcon convertible. "That's my father's car," I said, memories spinning all around me. There could only be a couple left on the road so maybe this was my dad's car. Ford only made the Falcon convertible for that one year, 1965, and his was white with a white top. One day we discovered a rip in the back window and he had a black top put on which made it unique. In '74, he, gulp, traded it in on a new Mustang II which we thought was a neat new car at the time, but that old Falcon is worth a nice house in L.A. now. Anyway, I came out of shock just in time to grab the camera and snap this shot. I would've loved to have talked to the driver, especially after seeing the tag. Click on the one down below and check it out.

Seeing the original spoke wheels and the old extended housing on the tail-lights opened a little door in my head that had been closed for about thirty years. I don't like the scoop they put on the hood because that appears to be the only thing that wasn't factory original. Probably the reason I have a convertible myself now is because of that car and rides under canopies of green leaves in the Marietta summers. Normally I change the wallpaper on my computer every week or so, but I think this baby will be up for a while.

Now, just a quick rant about Chip Caray. I had to MUTE the audio on the Braves' telecast today because it was making me scream out loud. The little anti-christ spent an inning and a half, all while game action was flourishing, talking about the Florida Marlins and why Orlando is a better city for that team. AAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! He wouldn't quit. I played a little game and would wait five minutes and then turn the audio back on and see how long it would take to hear Florida Marlins during a telecast of the Braves versus the Phillies and usually I couldn't make it more than 11 seconds. I screamed aloud at least four times and I'm not that tense kind of person, kinda quiet really. Ok, that was the condensed version. I could go on for pages and I might yet because it's still May and I'm ready to picket the stadium. Today was the worst I can ever remember and I'm afraid there's more to come.

Contact, he shouts.

2007-05-21T20:04:00.000-07:00

This continent is truly divided, I've discovered again. Dashing from Marietta to the white rim canyons and red rock towers of Moab can have side effects, like extended vibrating and something akin to narcolepsy. Meanwhile, images from our campsite on the peninsula known as BPO, for Big Pocket Overlook, remind me of a ghostly sunset and a bonfire that could be seen from the Island in the Sky itself.

All too soon after dangling my legs over the Canyonlands, we were blasting back over the Mississippi at sunrise. The radio and TV stations started with a W again and the moisture filled the air in the stark sunlight. Still springtime for now but summer churns in the airs and brown waters of mighty rivers.

Breakfast Bongos

2007-05-16T20:55:00.000-07:00

A planet where apes evolved from men? Tonight's post comes courtesy of the Inca Inn in beautiful Moab, Utah. Having just survived another trip down to Hades to fetch Proserpina (came up empty this time, but such lovely weather) a fierce twilight squall forced us, the Mighty-like Men of Moab, in of doors this eve, but truly it was the one hundred mile battering over brutal terrain in four-wheel drive that eased our resolve. The following views come from the vicinity of Dead Horse Point and Canyonlands National Park. Apologies for the minimum of words but the elements took a toll. Included in here are pics of the Green River and the White Rim Canyon and our campsite under the watchful eyes of the towers, Moses and Zeus in Taylor Canyon (anyone who knows me can imagine that the Planet of the Apes lines got used up quickly)

More chills, thrills, and spills to come. Once again, if you need a place to stay in Moab, try the Inca Inn. Very nice lady here.

This is our magnificent Toyota, FJ, while we're plugging things, I guess. Hard to believe we pulled out of the drive in Marietta, Ga. in this baby just five days ago. Only problems are the tiniest visor/ chick-mirror I've ever seen and no hand holds in the back seat, so it was a torture chamber back there today and a mere lump of hamburger is all that remains on the motel spread. Long way to go, though.

Heart's Land

2007-05-13T17:48:00.000-07:00

A mighty, mighty wind battered us all the morning through the rising of the sun over the swirling green fields of Kansas, pushing the FJ to the north while I compensated to keep her heading west. The wind has left us now and we find Ginsberg's Denver Doldrums by the tracks where Neal Cassady's father laid down his hammer.

The Rockies sit in front of us and block the way with granite, limestone, snow, ice, wind, and the threat of the occasional thunderbolt. Uncanny. Beyond, the continental divide will send us tumbling down the Colorado plateau and the brown earth and green plush will quite suddenly give way to the shocking stark orange and red rocks that seem to occur punctually at the Utah border.

The next days and nights will be spent pressed to the living sandstone that cradles Moab and the Cretaceous landscape. May we slip through the elements.

Up and at them!!!

2007-05-08T23:21:00.000-07:00

Hello, world. Look at me. One of the finest springs in memory rolls along. I'll remember this part of the year for afternoons in the driveway, throwing a baseball up in the air to catch in the freshly oiled glove (use Marbo's prime Neatsfoot oil compound) while Jonny Cat saved the house from an army of lizards.
Now the countdown begins to rejuvenation.
A midnight dash to the Denver doldrums looms on the horizon.
The sun guides me to justice.
Giant green mountains will fall away to towers of the red rock.
I'll try to see myself on my next visit to the same footprint.
At this point, I hope I'm built to try.
I feel the thunder gathering now but I don't expect the waters to come for a long time.

...tapes blastin' Iron Maiden Live!!!

2007-04-29T23:28:00.000-07:00

Granted, it may seem that I've been something of a forgotten prisoner... but sometimes even rhythm takes a reprieve. Meanwhile, I must trust in nature and let the tumblers find the grooves. Words elude me of late but I haven't looked deeply into the twilight to see if anything was staring back. One final test to pass, it appears, and the last of the black plague will be expelled into the spring air where it cannot survive. Only I will remain. Hyuk. The doctors orders keep me in check, limiting my activity so I sit and plot and fester and heal and diversify and coagulate and give generously and narrow my views and drink socially and exceed the limits.

My portrait of Coach Petrino rode the console the last two days and there are nine new Falcons to welcome to Atlanta. In this time of growth, hope overflows and my optimism cuts new canyons. The Braves show signs of something special and I become a powerful scanner during gametimes. And since I feel so positive and magnanimous I'm not going to mention the ongoing cancer of Chip Caray and my bleeding ears.

Taking one more spin

The numbers dance in the cave

Feel them in the dark

Lamentations of the women...

2007-04-22T21:26:00.000-07:00

Normal weather seems to have gained a toe-hold and every day is an excuse to take out the reborn Miata. The Atlanta Braves are off to a marvelous start. The winning is a great salve for the blood that seeps from my ears upon hearing the bleating of Chip Caray. Snarl. The seasons of the Hawks and the Thrashers ended on consecutive days last week. The Thrashers made the playoffs and thoughts of raising the cup flashed in my mind but reality thundered back and now we'll have to wait til next year to see if we can just win a playoff game.

Feeling the moment

Certainly a season high

The Smyrna sun sinks

Hockey and vowels
April has to find her way
Baseball in the cold

Home white uniforms
The spin around the bases
House money, so far

Here's Jonny letting out a roar to let all the lizards of the county know to take shelter. The tails of those who failed to heed her warning litter the drive.

Bit by Lightning

2007-04-10T21:42:00.000-07:00

Where does inspiration strike in the night? A spring rain is, in fact, only a mist and disappoints the thirsty clays and mosses. I think I'm probably the first to turn that phrase which is only cool if it sorta works. And I think it does. I'm open to suggestion, to a limit so my shields are down and I'll accept the arrow of the Cupid equivalent that shoots inspiration. Wow, that got away quickly.

The Braves are off to a bludgeoning start, but many games now I must listen to the banal dronings of Chip Caray. Waah! What happened to the soothing voices of summer, the homespun highjinx of Ernie Johnson and Skip Caray and Pete Van Weiren, to a lesser extent. I then grew to love Don Sutton who erased any ill will accrued when he was a Dodger. Now they've handed the keys to the kingdom to the nightmare spawn, the grinning jester that has the king's ear and is hated by all the castle. Ugh.

My own skull stares back at me but no Judgement will be handed down because all are welcome in the light of the flashbulb and I hope it arouses the fire of my innermost soul but more likely I'll wake up to raisin bran crunch in the early afternoon and there ain't a damn thing wrong with that.

Indian Winter, I Guess

2007-04-05T23:08:00.000-07:00

I lined up this smorgasbord of seasonal delights and now the mercury plunges in dizzying defiance. Tomorrow night the degrees will count in the twenties which seems absurd because the air-conditioning has been on for over a week now. Competitors in the Masters will face cool breezes to cold winds which will turn Augusta National into a Chambre d' Horrors, giving this year's tourney a signature from the outset.

The Atlanta Braves are off to a marvelous 3-0 start, sweeping out of the armpit that is Philadelphia. A weekend tangle with the New York Metropolitans promises drama well above the daily norm. I feel the old swagger coming about when questions had been raised. It feels good to feel good. I realize that there are 159 games to go but there seems to be an attitude in place. I'm aboard.

Waiting for Justice

Which has been here the whole time

Find it tomorrow

Sleep under blankets

With the memory of sun

Alive in my skin

Former greenskeeper, about to become.....

2007-04-02T23:14:00.000-07:00

As I emerged from the west and that hole in the ground, I noticed that the green had already taken hold of the southeast, even in my short absence. Like today when the first pitch of the Braves' game was called a strike, that was it; a line had been crossed and the season had begun just as sure as the earth tilts on the axis. The game went in favor of the team with the tomahawks and everything seems to be sliding back into greased grooves. Hopefully the Braves one season on the downs will mirror my own lameness of last summer and we will rise to deserved heights together in 2007.
Meanwhile, I find a happy Justice in the stark blooms that radiate through all the hours and elements. Tuesday will be a day to drive with the top down and escape the seductive, tender shackles of the in-of-doors with its cable television and computers and easel with painting half finished and refrigerator and hollow book with secret compartment and so on. Let's see what I can prove.

The Quiet that Followed

2007-03-28T14:35:00.000-07:00

This, Carlsbad Caverns, was the only territory that I retraced on my way back east. I couldn't resist the chance to stop at the yawning chasm in the beautiful, sparse desert to the north of the Guadalupe Mountains and El Paso. Looking on as I made the drive on the familiar road, I tried to see myself on this same road a year ago and I wondered what I would tell myself. Keep your foot on the pedal was all I could come up with.

I ate Texas in decent fashion and the light switch flipped just past Cisco and West became East which is your actual continental divide. Springtime green showed freshly and a tunnel of oak, maple, and pine soon cut away at the sky and left a ribbon of blue to point the way. I was shocked to find my mother's famous azaleas already in striking red and pink blooms. Hopefully the ones at Augusta National are under refrigeration tents because the Masters is still not until next week. Great to be away from the superhighway but I do miss the wide open two-lane blacktops cutting through the ghostly sunsets of Wild America. I think Neal Cassady would be happy with the effort.

Hail, Me-Sir!!??

2007-03-23T19:36:00.000-07:00

Mostly dime to the occasional quarter. The hail, that is, that pelted my auto outside the Motel 6 here in Carlsbad, New Mexico. It blew up from the south just at dusk tonight as I was returning from Sonic because there was a flood between me and other establishments. In light of the fact that I did not choose the joint as much as it chose me, the food was excellent and those good people have a return customer. Anyway, this biblical storm was bearing down like Exodus just as I hit the room. I was lucky to make it in here with barely a drop on me today during my drive from Lordsburg which was one of the scariest places I've inhabited and I've been all around this world. Tornadoes came out of this exact cell ten miles up the road. I'm a lucky feller. The drive has been smooth and I am blessed with a good car.

I could have easily wound up between flooded highways since the rain is pounding and the desert has no where to keep it. Ever tried to sleep in a Miata?

Tomorrow under ground again...

Vasquez Rocks!!

2007-03-21T01:32:00.000-07:00

What a delight to walk in the footsteps of Captain Kirk, the Gorn, Bela Lugosi, Cecil B. Demille, and hundreds of others. I tried to imagine the perfume of Heddy Lamar still hanging in the air and how the bright sun would have looked on Shatner's yellow tunic. These are Vasquez Rocks, tucked into the San Gabriel foothills above the San Fernando Valley and they've been the background to scores of movies, TV shows, and commercials. Hell, there was a film crew there when I took this shot, probably one there every day. It was a great place to frolic and boulder, what little I could was encouraging anyway. Shit, if Shatner in a girdle can get up there then I guess I can make it on one gammy leg, Jack.

It was a day of beginnings and endings as winter wrapped and the equator centered between heaven and the inferno, meaning spring had arrived in the evening. Now on the first full day of the season I look to the east and seek the red earth of Tara for strength and inspiration. May my escape precede the crumbling of the Tower...

Show me the way to go home

2007-03-19T00:28:00.000-07:00

The sun is on me freshly and I will carry it on my face as I make my way to the east. The Richard Jeni hysteria has died down and my video has been viewed about 225,000 times. Kinda nutty. Anyway, the last few details are being crushed in a slow cycle of destiny that seeks to undermine my own sanity. Good luck. The road beckons in a Gamera-like fashion and I am drawn to that giant, flaming turtle. As I travel east, I attempt to create a new role model that holds validity in this absurd society where fate plugged me. A farewell fandango for the desert until the next trip which could always be sooner than the ordinary can bear.

Jonny Cat, as can clearly be seen, is pointing east, guiding me to her. I'll soon be knowing her warm, vibrating embrace yet again.

Early Death = Value

2007-03-11T23:07:00.000-07:00

This painting was a little hard to photograph because of its whiteness, kinda like me. My death may indeed send the value of this one through the roof. Take today's tragic suicide, for example. I found out that Richard Jeni had shot himself when my email inbox started to fill with comments from my YouTube account. Two months ago I posted a routine of Jeni's from the Johnny Carson Show where he gave Jaws 4 the royal treatment. (the video clip was preserved thanks to Clay Croker) Check out my videos under maltedfalcon on YouTube. Anyhow, in the comments I found out about his death which made me look up the early details. People must've liked him because in the two months that I've had the video up it's been watched 3500 times. Tonight the count is at over 46,000 and that's happened in just about ten hours. Strange to be swept into this, in a weird sorta sense.

One more Sabbath Night Live
With a future to craft
Paint thinning in my veins
Moving my chess bishops
Zig zagging cross country
Past wide-eyed villagers
Looking for my people

Brick by brick

2007-03-08T21:47:00.000-08:00

One by one, moments click off and are replaced by the next adventure, punctuality be damned! Gillette tells me to behold the power of Phantom and I wonder if that isn't a little over the top. However, if the good people of that company feel fit to send a sample of their product my way, I'll be happy to give the Phantom a fair treatment. There should be a bigger thrill to find out there in this wide world of sports. I'll keep one eye open, looking for that sign.
Quiet days have settled upon Smyrna as the moon wanes and wanes and Lucy 'splains and 'splains but she cannot do the show. Same old stuff, you see. Yesterday I biked 20 miles, all the way to Lost Mountain Road and back which made my scrotum leathery. All part of the transformation into a sculpted modern mountain man as we wait for the equinox. The royal we, of course, because who doesn't long for the sweet embrace of springtime? Who has time for such rhetoric? Where did Cain get his wife? I asked this question of my pastor as a thirteen year-old. His answer wasn't located in my memory banks. Nice guy, though.

Druish Princess

2007-03-04T23:36:00.000-08:00

Perhaps this one is a down payment on the future spring and summer to follow. Or the new cruelty could continue but we adapt as a species. "We learn as we go," opined a dour Fred Gwynne in The Cotton Club, playing a character named Frenchy, no less. Our favorite Frenchy launched a majestic home run a few days ago in all the glory of spring training and it stoked the fires within me for the first time this season. Spring cometh, and there's not a thing anyone can do about it. Nor should they.

A knifey wind cut through the sunshine today, making a false front that kept me inside to mingle with my thoughts. In a day or so, typical stability will return and I'll find a way to resist. That's the pattern, anyway. Some times a man's own testicles got nowhere to be but in the way. It's the burden we bear. Some of us more than others.
It's almost time that I experiment with the outrageous once again and a cross country scramble, Cassady style, should stir the pot. Kick this ass for a man, all right?

Here I look west. Each day is sharper than the last. Soon I will cut myself on my own image. The kiss of youth has not faded from memory. I am still capable of tremendous emotion.

Inhale to the Chief

2007-02-27T15:17:00.000-08:00

Here's new Falcons' coach, Bobby Petrino. He'll ride the TV on draft day and for games. Show us the way.

In the photo below, I did all those except the one in the upper right. That one was done by my tia Gloria in Chile.

It's ok to be great

2007-02-20T22:07:00.000-08:00

This was done in the spirit of winter but perhaps that has broken. Today I took out the bike and pedalled for ten miles which left me full of accomplishment and myself. So what if I had to call mommy to come get me cuz I was exhausted. The next week will see the sixties all and that will lift me out of the shoebox of hibernation. This was a good first step.

Cat snores at my side
Puppets kissing on TV
I sort through it all

The first full workout
Many hopes in the balance
For me and the Braves

Here we go again
Breaking ground on flinty soil
Let's see what happens

Good Mornin', L'il School Girl

2007-02-13T22:36:00.000-08:00

To all the girls I've loved before.... The secret ingredient is love, you see. I'm lucky to be able to remember many loves and not all ended in tragedy. Most did, in some form or another. To all the girls I will love, I have no declaration of principles to put in a box on the front page, today's front page, so that means there will be no extra work and the good men of the Enquirer can go home to their plump little wives. I still have love, the young kind of love, in my heart and with my tendon repaired I'm ready to return to combat but I have to buy my way back into the game which is a sour fix.

Here's to remembering your best lusts and conquests. Now, fight like apes, indeed. That's the advice of the new millennium so far. Tonight I remember a girl from California come east to see me and the sex we had during a thunder storm which was a weather phenomenon she had never experienced. Just the first memory that turned up. Roll yer own.

Brrr Daurus!!

2007-02-11T22:16:00.000-08:00

This February has turned to a mostly blue month but my system fights the disease and I am far from the depths that held me all the weak. Seven days without prayer makes one weak, they say. Great, now more of those religious ads are going to turn up. Oh well, Hail Satan. Take that. I am reminded of Anchorage and the night seems to last for a solid week. No matter how much sun comes it still feels like clouds hang everywhere, indoor and out. Satan indeed. The springtime shall be all the sweeter. The kiss of the west will find my cheek once more.

Even the Doomsday Machine was fallible so I wait and wait. One day the world will again spin me on to the secret square and I'll grab on with every appendage.

Focus is a different animal from clarity.

No men are created equal.

I need to buy that baby.

Where does God want me, anyway?

I look up and it's eleven after three.

Husbands and Wives make me dizzy.

Judy Davis is beautiful and Quested.

The best serums are untested.

My feeble interests are vested.

The Braves are hungry and rested.

Rest when my foes are bested.

Choking it back

2007-02-04T20:50:00.000-08:00

I drew this on the flight to ATL but it did indeed predict the future. Now the debate gets juicy. Brady is a bitch and caretaker of a system. He'll never win again, big time. Hail the Quarterback. Hey, Tom, go get 12 of 17 again for 178 and see how far you get. Bring it on.

Ab-Sinner

2007-01-26T13:00:00.000-08:00

These were some of the elements present on the night I got deep into a bottle of absinthe, or absinth in the Czech preference. This "Bohemian Glass" was shipped neatly from Prague to me and I'm quite pleased with the results, although I can't remember many of the latter results, thus the need for more experimentation. If you click to enlarge here you can see the beginnings of a green fairy painting but that's about as far as I got on that night.

I did manage to get green paint on my Chuck Taylor's though I don't know how. Luckily it was still wet on the tiles in the morning so I could wipe it up. I'm sure that happened to Picasso on a routine basis. Ah, he probably had naked women to wipe up his paint. Well, I'm still young enough.

A fog lingers in the stark sunlight two days after. As it dissipates I take off for the west coast in search of the elusive path. I think I'm well equipped but time will be the judge. I tried to evolve a year too early. Release me now, Lord. Or was Nietzsche right?

We need no urging to hate humans

2007-01-21T22:42:00.000-08:00

A champion's night in the deep south proceeds with signs of shock receding. What a game the AFC championship turned out to be. I'm still stunned and admittedly relieved. Through with excuses, I was ready to spend the next few months talking about nothing but the Falcons, bored with the non-super rematch of the '85 Super Bowl. But then the miracle happened, not at once, but slowly built up to a crescendo of... relief. I didn't even think Peyton Manning was really having any fun at the end, he was so deflated from thoughts of someone waking him up and taking it away.

Suddenly my hand is back

My audience, my own work

Another one for the stack

Where a future fortune lurks

A cold, wet rain has fallen steadily all day and a hearty fire has kept me all the hours through all the games and all the canyons of hopes and fears.

This year of the dog has one more cycle to fulfill and then the path to chrysalis, or pupa, shall be celebrated in all the lands. Who would challenge such a decree? I've been listening to the sub-space chatter about it for months now. Now back to meatball surgery.

Winter Grab Bag

2007-01-16T21:06:00.000-08:00

For the moment, the insanely mild days are gone and grim winter sets in with windy, howly fanfare. Just yesterday I rode my bike all over old memories in total comfort. Who watched American Idol tonight? I didn't and I never have, not to be a snob. Why don't they just make a separate show for the ones that suck? The intrigue originally made it seem like these three strutting baboons were randomly auditioning everybody and had to deal with the bad and the good. That's not the reality, of course. They have everything preselected for the "judges" and they probably don't ever see more than a handful of acts and the finalists have already been hand picked by now anyway. That's my take but, truly, I've never watched it. I'll just watch the dorks on YouTube.

I dwell in the house of Mother Strange Bread, and it's a good thing.

Trying to find a way to make my own torture a capital success proves a mighty task but I have no plan for execution. Now I remember one girl and the way she liked to show her body but not get too gritty. She was a good sport, though, and was one of the best rodeo queens I've known. The compliment I give her is that she made the impossible easier. I guess that's more my testament than hers.

Monday Night Thoughtball

2007-01-08T18:02:00.000-08:00

It's 9:03 in the p.m. on January the 8th and I'm watching the college football championship on Fox. The Fox Network is systematically trying to ruin everything, including Family Guy from what I hear of late.

9:23: The Gators are ahead 21-7, I love it. I'm no U of F lover, but I DO love an underdog. I guess hype produces great irony, at least. The exterior of this new stadium in Glendale, Arizona looks creepy in the blimp shots, like part of the Death Star growing out of the desert night.

9:46: The Florida marching band often plays the theme from Jaws as the frenzied fanatics in the stands wildly clap their arms to emulate the Jaws of... an alligator. I guess they have to do something.

9:55: Jonny Cat is on my lap and the vibrations begin. Happy birthday, Elvis. Why is there college football on your birthday? I saw two articles today that said USC would be the preseason number 1 later this year. We still haven't played last year's championship yet!?!? What the fuck?

10:06: 27-14, U of F, just before the half. The telecast has been much more palatable than I would've thought in a million years. That is to say, I've hardly noticed the commentary. Fumble to Florida, looks like they'll score again before the half. Hyuk. OSU was HEAVILY favored. This is fun. The stadium looks more like H.R. Giger than Death Star.

Today the Falcons introduced Bobby Petrino as the thirteenth coach in franchise history. After about three minutes of deliberation, I officially became optimistic and will remain so for the next year, at least. Nice feeling. Good name, too.

10:28: The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B. The biggest game of the college year and they eat air time with halftime marching bands. WHO watches marching bands on TV? They kill time nicely at an arena with no other competing media, save the occasional frisbee catching dog. TBS is running Family Guy. How clever and ironic. I cast my lot.

11:11: I finally check back and there's been no score at the end of the third quarter, Florida in control by twenty. Iggy Pop heard on a Cadillac commercial makes me wonder what mosquito needed to live in the past to have affected the future this way. Great fucking song, though.

11:46: The last look I'll give to the game finds the score in a palindrome, 41-14. That's all I need (bad, fake, Irish accent).

And We're Off!!

2007-01-04T19:57:00.000-08:00

The eye of the hurricane offers many benefits, including Jonny Cat on my lap. The wafting notes of Sugaree weave around my noggin in a glorious parade of memory. Insanely warm temperatures are still the norm with a low temp of 58 degrees tonight. That's about 27 degrees above normal. Good thing I'm childless so the planet can just die with me and my generation. What is the rest of the world doing tonight? Business as usual? That can't last forever. Slowly I begin to find ways to reenter civilization and some of these ways seem viable while others seem to come from pipes, or something. Early January can be a lifeless time but a shiny red bicycle can change that attitude and I'm not so crippled anymore. My muscles are grateful for the ache and I feel like a man again, able to prowl the land and pick the battles.

Five years old again
Picking my nose and my friends
No hurry to grow

Cro Magnon Masterpiece

2007-01-01T20:44:00.000-08:00

I've learned new tricks and embrace the cold which leaves the cold uneasy and confused ... and then I've got him. Perhaps my mother mated with a scorpion. At this point I was going to do a year-in-review piece but the Menagerie is just one big review anyway. Let's just say that 2006 was a link between cycles and let it go at that. "Let the dead bury the dead, Mr. Finch." Right off the bat, the number 2007 is much cleaner and obviously ready for action. Fittingly, the year ended on one of the most ugly kind of days; steady downpour with the moisture and the fog seeping in through the cracks, making it seem like the sun hardly came up at all. Perfect for a couch and football and we'll start fresh next year. That will include a new coach for the Atlanta Falcons, God be praised. We need a southern man for this job, not a redneck, per se, but a tough, steely gambler with riverboat charm. That and technical prowess ought to do the trick. Do I ask for too much? The year really begins on the second, when the norm is restored and most hangovers have percolated down to the bedrock. Now I set myself in the path of the future, not on the rocks but in the hard icy current. You should wager five hundred quatloos on the newcomer, that's me!

Go get some football.

2006-12-21T20:38:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas, movie theater! This is one of the seasons where the holiday sits around a weekend and the new year comes the weekend after, leaving a bridge to gap that feels like a real week but not like a week at all. It's a surreal week where it seems that the rest of the world is on hold and things can go forward at a normal speed next week. In fact, go ahead and be ready to speed things up next month and just fast forward through winter. That's the way it feels now, but winter (solstice today) has a firm, icy grip and demands attention. But we'll give the baby its bottle and find the hot spot somewhere else.

I confess that at times the Menagerie is about fourteen percent psychedelic weather report but the elemental conflicts that define the environment influence my true feelings. Wow, I just might mean that. Anyway, a dynamic front sweeps through the eastern half of the country and cool moisture hangs in the air that drifts up from the Gulf. I stand in the night rain for small bursts before standing back to listen. It's a form of satisfaction.

Not Yeti

2006-12-17T22:56:00.000-08:00

Seasons greetings from the Menagerie, may all your rivers turn to bourbon, and all fish and ... corresponding life instantly adapt to a bourbon or sour mash lifestyle. Things are generally complicated. The weekend proved devastating for Atlanta sports; one of the worst Saturdays I can remember. Only the Braves stayed out of the news and didn't slash any more payroll, though ticket prices went up.

I went to a funeral home this evening and they had to turn on the air conditioning because of the temperatures in the '70s outside. December in Atlanta and they had to turn on the AC at six at night. When I grew up here, you needed a coat for the whole month and our fireplace burned almost every night. I'm happy, I like the warmth but something internal tells me this feels wrong. It's a weird feeling, like a kid telling the babysitter, "Actually, I'd like something besides ice cream."

Surf guitar on Pandora

So many weapons to choose

Now, Tora, Tora, Tora!

The poor can afford to lose

I've now amassed enormous amounts of character and will manifest my own density. There's more than one way to lick a frog. This is the season that champagne should wipe away the taste of any yearly defeat. Mmmm, champagne. I must have some.

Ethnic Kiss

2006-12-10T22:57:00.000-08:00

The steely grip of December weakens in the new atmosphere. My tunnel is almost finished and I can get out of here, metaphorically. The Hawks didn't finish the west coast trip with the glory I'd hoped but I'll get behind this team. Random base elements conjoin and the future becomes a little more clear. Clarity can be damn frightening, though, and I wear my darkest shades by night. Surprises somehow find me at every turn, even though I seem to be sitting still and not turning at all. I just go with the flow.

I accept what may
Like most any day
Five minutes for paint
Cowboys lose to Saints
The movie finished
My strength diminished
The holiday pipe
Rekindles the hype
Five minutes a pop
Or pay me to stop
A few golden rings
To buy back my wings

Yes, speak to me holidays. Show me the colors of 1967 and a drafty house on Atlanta Road in Marietta. A convertible Falcon, white with white top, sits in the driveway. Today the spot can't support the memories. The best bridges are

built of stone, it would appear. So the witches walk among us and that's a fair trade. Some day I'll construct the map of my memory and spend eternity getting lost there, even if that sounds gay. Maybe I've already done that, minus the gay part. That's right ladies, pure West.

Collectin' Statues

2006-12-06T21:20:00.000-08:00

Is Pony Boy still gold? Now I'll get some strange hits. This one guy at the bar where I play poker always calls me C. Thomas Howell. That's one I used to get when people still remembered who he was. When the people start to forget you then you run the danger of forgetting who you are yourself. (Your-Self Storage) There now, that wasn't so corny.

Other things besides dates live in infamy. Perhaps I will yet be remembered for having qualities of the infame. History shall decide. The Atlanta Hawks pulled out a gutty win in the mile-high city by night, coming from seventeen down in the third quarter to win by two, an amazing thing considering the altitude. They can recover in sunny LA today and take on the Lakers Friday night. The high flyin' Hawks came in to the Staples Center last February and took a win from the heavily favored home team. Maybe they won't overlook us this time. I shall deliver an unbiased report later. Thus concludes the sports segment, I guess.

I bought a canvas today that measures 24" by 48" so I'm ready to do a proper portrait. Determining the victim will be the trick, I think. All the tools have been assembled, the fire is at its highest, and my right hand is nimble. Let it be Romper Room to the Sistine Chapel. Go on, let it.

Spirit-U-alize Yerself!!!

2006-12-03T20:28:00.000-08:00

That was some good booze, folks, as we raised several bottles to world renowned artist (and famous botanist), Joe Peery. This image came straight off the video camera and the video itself. Not bad.

Clearly, no authority was present.

A heavy wind presses the house now. Some day the house will be gone. The cold wind breaks my will and forces me to see as far as the house has days. That's one cold wind. It's warm inside and Ella Fitzgerald drips a velvet path to Sloppy Joe's. I feel small against the elements at this time and date and latitude. A night wind in December runs across the land with the intent to hurt. A few hours of sharp sunlight will drive it away.

But the sun goeth down. That's ok, in a few weeks the earth will reach the low point on the giant hammer throw around the sun and we'll start the path up to sunny golden warmth. I believe that. There are few constants upon which to oppose or rely. Tomorrow there are new tortures and heart swelling joys and that's the daily special.

I'll have a heapin' helpin'.

I am a Robot

2006-11-30T18:53:00.000-08:00

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.

Boats of Love

2006-11-24T22:12:00.000-08:00

"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
gophers.

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

Deliverance

2006-11-20T02:02:00.000-08:00

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.

FRAUD AT POLLS! NOT!!

2006-11-08T02:03:00.000-08:00

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.

Walk with the Dead

2006-11-05T22:50:00.000-08:00

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.

EEEEeeeekkk!!!!!

2006-10-30T20:35:00.000-08:00

All hallows are required on this day and night. After that we put away childish things for a few hours and look with false sincerity to the coming winter. Hopefully there’s not a sign of hypocrisy as far as the eye can see because I could sure use some presents or toys. Some of the classic elements are present as another lame-o baseball postseason has passed, the smell of pumpkin guts is in the air, and things are just a tiny bit stranger than normal here in Fantasy Land. The sight of someone in costume doesn’t draw much attention but, of course, that’s why I came here in the first place, to be eccentric and have it go mostly unnoticed. Or at least have my oddities pay off.
This is the perfect time for an inventory of fears. It would be an interesting time capsule for comparison if I had made such a list at this time last year. There’s yer value. Perhaps fear defines a man. I can’t decide even though I don’t really drink that much anymore. Drinking may or may not affect decision making but it surely eradicates fear, for good and or ill. People without fear should be feared? It’s an important decision. Have a tequila or a double scotch, if you have to drive. Then decide.
Take note of how people align themselves for Halloween. For men, the classic choices are all derivatives of three main themes: Dracula, Frankenstein, and the Wolf Man. At least that’s the way it used to be. Now, people dress as poop and condoms and Johnny Depp. Girls could choose between princess, witch, and cat. Those are still prevalent, but you have to add the word slutty to those themes but that’s still the basic spectrum with the princess doubling as a prostitute. Anything else is fake hair on a jack-o-lantern. Some tradition is good to keep everyone in the same realm of fun, or irritation, depending on your disposition. Differences are fun to exploit.

This is my happening...

2006-10-26T23:30:00.001-07:00

A new menagerie has sprouted in the back yard which gives me a warm feeling. Anyone who knows me would be able to pick mine out of the bunch. Again, to qualify, I did it in the dark with an old kitchen knife so I’m ok with the results. Normally I would hold myself to a higher standard or, at least, level of craftsmanship. I’m now able to make the climb up the hillside to the exotic terraces of the back yard. There are dozens of great spots to read or meditate in delicate shade or liquid sun. I’m trying to build back a healthy glow after spending a summer in winter and the pale, ashen look of a vampire or a milkman.

I see God out the window.
He “…reminds me that all of Los Angeles is a jungle!”
But we trust each other now.
What I saw of evil was unintentional
Like so much of nature
But I’ll keep the poncho
Covering the butt of the revolver.

This is my pumpkin next to one that a very cute little lady carved. I spent a good deal of time flirting with her and hope to see her again soon and that someday we’ll marry and this photo will be the theme, representing the bond we instantly shared. A replica will adorn the wedding cake and the bride’s family will be identified with the wild star motif and my folks will have the classy Nightmare Before Christmas look. We’d honeymoon in San Francisco, checking in to the St. Francis hotel and reserving the Fatty Arbuckle suite. Or at least I hope I get to sleep with her, but I don’t remember her name at the moment. No matter, if it’s meant to be I’ll slip on it.
October begins to wind down with its usual fury and I try to hang on. Achilles did not recover from his wound but I climb the hill every day now. My mind knows a new freshness as well, sensing the renewal on the first light of morning. Not that I see that light very often.

Les Fleurs du Murder!

2006-10-22T23:01:00.000-07:00

I am paralyzed with fear. I don't feel I really have to qualify that. My upstairs neighbors had a little Halloween pumpkin carving party tonight and I got to meet some cool, nice people. I took Annabelle with me and she served me faithfully as I carved away. I hashed out a standard classic jack-o-lantern in no time, even with a rusty kitchen knife in the dark on a beautiful twilight as the degrees hit at 69. On a down note, a disturbing trend continued when I was in a conversation about music with someone and the dude had to tell me, "Oh yeah, my dad's into that so I got into it." So I'm left thinking, ".... ah yes, me and your dad. I'm old." Still, I kept some dignity for my generation, though it was also noted by someone else at the party that no one looks their age anymore, especially here. I'm ok with this.
This is 3301 Waverly Drive, better known as the LaBianca murder house and it's just up the road from here a couple of miles. This is the place where they wrote "Healter Skelter" and "Death to Pigs" in blood as well as carving the word war in to poor Leno's stomach. I just snapped this riding by but I'd been hanging out there a while and had a little lunch in front of 3267, the house next door where Charlie and the killers walked up the driveway and cut across the lawn. Back in '69, 3267 was a "hippie house" which has certainly changed because now there are BMW's and Jaguars in the driveway and the house is probably worth three million. I prefer the hippie joint, myself. But the place had attracted Manson so I guess there's a downside to all upsides. Just ask Christians.

Cue inspiration
In search of my own cold blood
Does it rise or sink

Awesome-O

2006-10-18T00:19:00.000-07:00

Sometimes familiar sounds separate in unfamiliar ways and it's either interesting or unsettling, you decide. Cymbal clashes tremor on the night air and then dissolve into black before hitting the ground. I could come out with another jest about the weather but I'm going to ease up and allow the situation to name itself. A waking dream got free and I followed it a long way through a corridor and the door at the end opened to daylight but a light too bright to live in so the music brought me back to Corralitas Drive. Darkness holds onto the hills outside but my mighty oak table that fronts the windows stands firm like the bridge of a ship and I stare out into blackness, looking for a form I recognize. "The Gates of Delirium" indeed pulled me back in to prove Nietzsche correct in that "Out of chaos comes order."
Or maybe I should just blow it out my ass. Sorry for the indelicacies but these are tough times.

Cabeza du Jour

2006-10-11T22:47:00.000-07:00

Now this got a little weird. I started out with this happy dancing girl and I thought, hmm, I do believe she could be Salome. I gave her this kinda disco dance floor but then the big head of John the Baptist, there, came out and I realized that it was coming out more like Charles Manson and I got a mite spooked because now my Salome looked like any one of the gals at the Spahn Ranch in 1969 (..that..year, again). And talk about spooky names: Patricia Krenwinkel, Linda (Drouin) Kasabian, Squeaky Fromme, Leslie Van Houten. Well, I figured this all just went together somehow and added the skull and Old Spice seemed like a natural choice to finish. I mean, Manson was a baptist too, albeit a demonic one. I haven't made my trek to 10050 Cielo Drive yet to peek at the haunted gate but I'll get to it before October is out. I don't know what's left of the Spahn Ranch but I aims to find out. Then there's Death Valley but that can wait a little while longer.
Nice, cool air as Wednesday turns to Thursday. I watch the forecast every few hours to see if they've backed off the rain prediction yet for Friday but no, they've even added Saturday. We'll see but I'm betting there'll be nothing more than a dampening. Still, let fortune's wheel turn. I gots me a walking cane and I'm going to see how far I can get tomorrow without confounded cursed crutches. Bah, it's only bone and sinew, right?

A dark reflection
My own, with something behind
Raging to break through

FRAUD AT POLLS!

2006-10-08T23:51:00.000-07:00

Ah, yes, October and the other sensations involved leave us introspective about next year and the depth of the pain to be endured. Nevertheless, come February, we'll be brimming for news of the stirrings in Florida and Arizona. I really like that the Dodgers go to Florida which just seems more natural. There's something about that Cactus League that feels counterfeit. Anyway, about five minutes of rain interrupted the perfect weather and cleaned things off a bit this afternoon, though it was not nearly the total cleansing that Travis Bickle had wished for when candidate Palantine asked him in "Taxi Driver".

Boo. The mood returns. Some Halloween decorations have popped up which can seem a little redundant in this town but their nature and color comforts me at a time when no real change of season has been that noticeable. Basically, it's fourteen degrees cooler and the days are getting shorter. The foliage is in typical year-round bloom so there's no giveaway there. No jack-o-lanterns to report yet but it's early for that. I may be wrong but I think that's more of an east coast thing. Maybe I'll try to catch the woman who leaves flowers on Valentino's grave once a week. I gotta do something spooky. I heard that Brian De Palma botched The Black Dahlia (what a surprise!). "No, just a heart shaped shower." "There goes that fantasy." But I digress. I'm going to get "Helter Skelter" off the shelf and find out where the Tate house was. I've seen the LaBianca place which is just around the corner from here. That's pretty spooky. Also, Riverside Drive just at the bottom of the hill from here is a hotbed for transients so I'm sure you could kill one and "..do things with the skin.." but I'd rather not. Still, the roadside is filled with old vans and beatup vehicles that are functioning as homes while the road itself is relatively clean and lush. That's a little scary in a way that you wonder which one of these folks you'll read about in a month or two and find out they were holding Elizabeth Smart prisoner months after she'd been recovered, or something like that. Or maybe the next Jewel lives down there. Now that's spooky.
The empty sockets
While Nosferatu watches
Something behind me

Human predators
Swarming by the riverside
Creeping up at night

Through the dog's nightmares
The house is now surrounded
I watch the doorknob

My first ever Halloween Haikus. Oh, did anyone get the significance of the headline?

Coming Like a Ghost Town

2006-10-05T01:28:00.000-07:00

Perhaps charcoal on my fingertips will stay the hunger that roars in my spirit. Only time will tell. Meanwhile, these are the golden days of the Promised Land with the high temperature a cliche 72 and then the chilled nights of sea air caught over a bowl at the edge of the desert. The harvest moon blazes with a blue intensity and blasts through the wispy clouds that collect on the horizon at sunset. And everywhere the sturdy palm manages to thrive, even in the sugar-coated filth for which L.A. is known. I tell you, no dirty city ever looked better. And there's history on every corner.
There's mystery in this corner with a hazy poncho to confuse the issue. Oh, you, hazy poncho! Ahem, back to the Menagerie. I have nothing officially scary to report yet but it's early in the season. I took Walter on a midnight walk to the roundabout at the end of the cul-de-sac in the blistering moonlight and that was kinda spooky. We'll get there, Mr. Homer. I watched "The Trip" starring Peter Fonda and directed by Roger Corman. That was kinda scary, in a bad acted sorta you're-making-me-have-a-bad-trip type of discomfort but I would recommend it for a larf. Keep a stiff upper lip. Sydney or the bush! Give my regards to Broadway. Rebels are we! Born to be free! Just like the fish in the sea! Power has driven me mad.

It starts with a pulse
Add layer upon layer
Collapsing, at last

Like Vincent Price sinister

2006-10-02T01:17:00.000-07:00

Boo. October has arrived and the best month of the year begins with knights waving staffs and the great Magician gets it all started. I patiently wait to get my bounty, lining up classic scary movies to watch and celebrate harvest and decline and the renewal of the great cycle. I offer up my own metaphysical wicker man as sacrifice and warm myself by the flames and know that I guarantee another year of bounty. As I walked out today, drops of rain fell just as I opened the door for about five minutes and then fell no more. Strange coincidence. It did little more than make spots in the dust on the black bug but it was nice to feel and gave hope that more may follow. Next time I'll wish for something bigger. There.

Perhaps it's all in the mind but it truly feels like one day can feel like September and then the next day feels like October, like the air is different on schedule. November 1st, the Day of the Dead, the day after Halloween looks amazingly different. It's remarkable, when you get up on November 1st, the light has changed and it looks a little harder and more serious. I've never seen another change from one day to the next that is so ritually dependable. Something build's in the air from the beginning through the end of October and the end of the month is the perfect time for a pagan festival. These are east coast remembrances and I'm hoping they transpose to the west. Only time will tell. "It's a piece of wood. It's got nerves in it." Anyone?

The tease came on cue
As usual I answered
They still let me play

Put down your mice, people of the world, and play some music and get intoxicated by something, be it wine or a book or a painting or a psychotic game of life and death, the winner takes all! I once filled the skies with my planes but now I seek a different challenge and assemble what troops I have for a last stand before they reach the coastline. I'm in the process of assembling rogues and rapscallions for my private militia. Of course, we're protecting the ladies in the rear. How did it come to this?

The skull's open mouth
A dog's nose under my arm
Encouraging me

Just give me two feet
Months of inspiration held
See what I erect

I'm the high bidder
I'll get what's coming to me
In more ways than one

Gershwin to finish
A perfect path to morning
Tumbling in my dreams

Mister X, Indeed

2006-09-28T23:28:00.000-07:00

Can you be strangled by sunshine? If so, it's a pleasant way to go out, but I haven't come to grips with the lack of precipitation just yet. Perfect days wear you down, make you feel responsible to be out and alive and it rarely comes without a heavy effort. Such is every day here in the golden holster of the westest state in the cradle of the San Gabriel. Baby steps have been taken and the new tendon flexes a little farther every day. I see a day soon when I walk out into the bountiful sunshine and begin to take my place in a new and exciting tomorrow. No, I'm not going to junior college or night school.... or am I? No, no, I just need to find an all-girl band to manage all the way to the top! Of course having affairs with various band members and groupies and hangers-on. Then I can become my own sensation and retire to my island. There are a lot of monkeys that don't know what the hell they're doing out there.

Highway 2 buzzes away now and again in the cool September night and I remember a funny scene that I saw earlier today. Right out in front of the bunker here, on the shoulder of the freeway, was a an armored truck from Wells Fargo or something and it had broken down. Two police cars turned up immediately and stood extra guard until the BIG tow truck came. Does that sound like an incredible Hollywood setup or what? I love it when real things happen that make you say, "There, it does happen once in a while so why couldn't it happen in a movie and be believable?" I mean, c'mon. I'm looking right out my front window and I'm thinking....It's too much, right? It feels forced. No one would buy this just happening. People will roll their eyes. Thank you, but I have no future dates coming up at the Ha Ha Hole on Pico.

Alright, so now the maskses are off and we turn up the volume on the weekend! Well, there's an air of mystery present to the weekend and I may answer her call. I will put the word weekend in every sentence. The serial gambler knows no greater bounty than that put before him on an autumn weekend. I won't tell you that everybody's workin' for the

You suck out the poison

2006-09-24T23:49:00.000-07:00

Let's see who comes knocking with a brand new crescent on the horizon...um..it reads here Strength but I cut the deck a second time, kinda cheated. Poison finds a way to present itself at indiscreet times. There’s a black widow nesting just a few feet outside the doorway. Must I kill it? She’s perilously close to dog level and who knows what manner of travel whims influence the deadly arachnids? I can’t find enough reason to live with a completely unpredictable, venom-filled assassin in a common environment where rehabilitation is not an option. Still, I’ve lived with her here for three days and have yet to act. I don’t take this lightly.
Fighting to live is a difficult situation and poison finds a way to give us a glimpse of hell or at least torture. I can still feel the black rot trickling through my cables and the dizziness comes and goes now and again. My defenses are weakened and take time to smother the invaders that contaminate my system. I pray that a long sleep may come my way but I would like to be awake and fresh on Monday night when the Falcons play the Saints in the Superdome which is where the Saints of football play but not for over a year because of the hurricane. The antidote is tenderness. I’ve gone to a strange place and I feel like I’ve come back to not-so Funkytown which buffaloes me in ways that are hard to fathom. A strong heart is needed to beat poison.
I’m

Just make it good. Why does that make my head throb and a word like... stymied comes from some recessed hole like a black spider and paralyzes me as if there were real venom involved.
I have two skulls framing my screen and they demand so much from me. The deep holes that once contained eyes that absorbed a lifetime twice over, perhaps filled with toil and torment, maybe fulfilled and loved, or just lost and hungry for my soul.
I've got to be honest here, that got a little weird, sort of not what I intended and I could feel it going away and yet... felt... powerless.
Harumph. Halloween is coming a little early this year? Let the fright parade begin only his time I'm Joan Crawford to the leering Baby Jane. I hate it this way.
Nevertheless, I shall persevere and I shall return to some state of glory, only to surpass that. Der Zorn Gottes!

Equal Night = Equinox

2006-09-19T23:26:00.000-07:00

Let's go, brother Help me get to Easy Street or Sloppy Joe's will do jes' fine, thanky. Spitooo! The belly does not cry in the night but there are rumblings and even a stone cutter can land a society dame here and there or anywhere...
Those words came to attach to a separate entity that lurks beneath my surface. I saved this for myself

celebrate success
try the next combination
to differ the same

I guess that's where it is. But let's turn the inner eye and rewind to just a few nights ago...

Easing down on myself
Having ground my own gears
I'll try the easy winds
That were always under me

I demand that everyone celebrate some bit of good fortune and overdo it a little because it's been a while and you've earned it. Go on. Goon.
Reverse the tides unless you like them the way they are and carry on, my wayward son, but forget about any peace bullshit.
I get a kick out of daring myself to myself.
Two skulls are better than one.
Wayward ain't so bad. You get used to it.
Cooler weather comes yet again at the arranged time which hints that perhaps some intelligent kind of design type deal planned this because coincidence is limited to a couple of times in life and it's like you'd say, "Well, what if the Dodgers were behind with first place on the line and were down by four in the bottom of the ninth? They could just hit four home runs in a row and tie the game. Then, if the other team went ahead in the tenth by a run, the Dodgers could just hit a two-run homer in the bottom half to win it." Sure. That happened last night, by the way, so anything can and does happen.
Don't pull that trigger 'cuz you ain't seen everything yet.
I did see a man eat his own head the other day.
With temperance as the watchword, much nicer than forbearance, I must say, I shall start a fresh chum line in an attempt to land a fish to give the taxidermy man a heart attack. Let 'em Google that. I just want someone to swallow me whole.

Behind the Screams

2006-09-18T01:09:00.000-07:00

Sorry, folks. The political blather that was here before looked so tired I just had to get rid of it. Sorry for the inconvenience but who said I knew what I was doing? Well, who? Just go out and have fun for cryin' out loud and reap the whirlwind. Accept luck if it's offered and don't piss in the wind. But enough benevolence, I am sometimes so generous that I run out of time for myself. Ask anyone and they will tell you that Tony the Bold is a river to his people. Does this sound like a poor man?!
Anyway, here are a few photos showing the lighter side of The Crass Menagerie as we had a little fun before this posting went into production. We were worried that the public at large might not understand the process of putting the finishing touches on something that will only exist in electronic surreal limbo. Every idea gets bounced off a few skulls and then if it passes the test we inflate it to hilarious proportions or it could be a philosophical concept that we flesh out together and see if we can generate some dialogue among the higher minds and get this party to the peak that everyone enjoys the most, right?
I happened to notice that the autumnal equinox takes place on the 23rd in the east but it occurs on a more civilized 22nd here in the west. Hey, that's the time the sun picked to cross the equator so don't whine if your radio stations start with W.
What does Walter gain from the sphere of knowledge? Is this pursuit a noble thing or a vane folly? Is it polite to end with a question?

No, you are my guests.

Miss Jean-Louise, stand up.....

2006-09-14T01:12:00.000-07:00

I knew (I suppose) that this day would come but I had no idea it would ever take this long to get here, basically the last third of my life. The Atlanta Braves have officially been eliminated from contention for the National League East pennant. I've been trying to gauge my feelings and pay this the proper respect but I can't get around the mountain. Just trying to pick out a few memories proved impossible but maybe I can slam it all in to one lightning round:
1991 started with a rainout that I sat through while trying to get over the flu and then I came the next afternoon to see us get beaten by the Dodgers, the All-Star Break came and the Braves were nine and half games behind L.A. in the then National League West but the pitching nucleus came together and the run was on, Terry Pendleton was MVP and won the batting title, the city went tomahawk crazy, playoff tickets were impossible to get, I watched a game in a hotel room in West Palm Beach, Florida in September and we went down 5-0 in the first inning to Cincy but we rallied and won it on a Justice homer off Dibble in the ninth, an incredible call by Skip Caray, attending the final games against Houston and watching the last out made on Saturday afternoon and then turning to watch the end of the Dodgers game on the jumbotron in Atlanta Fulton County Stadium as the Dodgers went down to the Giants which gave the Braves the division title, drinking champagne on my front porch on Myrtle Street that crisp afternoon, some of the finest fall days and the sharpest October weather I can ever remember, the rally house, the rally dog, Sheep-Nok-A-Homa, dueling the Pirates and Steve Avery winning two 1-0 games, game seven victory and tequila fuelled party at my place, entire Braves team autographs my naked body in colorful magic-marker while I'm passed out after post game revelry, Greg Olson signs me three times, the greatest World Series ever, to the tenth inning of game seven and we settle for almost, 1992 and we play like the defending N.L. champs, Otis and "the catch", seven with Pittsburgh again but the final in ATL this time and I attend with Erin Mohan, erupting with the rest of the stadium as Barry Bonds' undoctored arm couldn't beat the reconstructed knees of Sid Bream to the plate, BRAVES WIN! BRAVES WIN! BRAVES WIN!......BRAVES WIN!
I also recall watching the black ball of Ed Sprague sail over the wall, just to the left of where I was sitting, in game two of the World Series and a home split with Toronto instead of a 2-0 lead, holding game seven tickets but watching in the kitchen of 1266 North Highland Avenue as Otis Nixon was out by an eyelash trying to beat out a bunt with the tying run (Jeff Blauser {the Fonz: Henry Winkler}) charging home from third in game six, tears stinging my face as the Goodyear blimp buzzed directly over the house on its way to the next big event just an hour after the final out, 1993 and the greatest division race since the leagues were split in '69, trailing the Giants by seven and a half in early August, attending a three game sweep in Candlestick Park with Glavine, Maddux, and Avery doing the pitching and McGriff and Justice scalding the ball, the last day of the regular season and the Braves win 104 games to Frisco's 103, amazing, losing to Philly in a stunner, the lost '94, finally in the N.L. East and first in the division for years to come, the mechanical precision of 1995, watching game six of the World Series at my own Halloween party at 1112 Hudson Street in Virginia Highlands, Marquis Grissom squeezing the last out and the Atlanta Braves were World Champions.
1996 was one of the great disappointments of my life, not just my sports life, I attended every playoff game that year, watched as we faced elimination twice in games six and seven against the Cardinals, the former a nail-biter, the latter a laugher, 15-2, winning the first two games at Yankee stadium and looking invincible, Andruw Jones homering twice in game one at age nineteen, looking good in game four until Mark Wohlers underhand-tosses it to Jim Leyritz who couldn't hit Bobby Cox's fastball, saying goodbye to AFC Stadium as John Smoltz lost to Roger Clemens 1-0, standing there at my seat in the last row of the upper deck and looking at the near complete Turner Field from the converted Atlanta Olympic Stadium across the street newly named Hank Aaron Drive, standing there 'til they told me to leave, multiple experiences at Turner Field and many great games and the great 1999 NLCS when we sent the Mets home crying, watching game four of the World Series at 7-B in the East Village as the Yankees swept us out and one of the great over-achieving runs in history still goes overlooked, incredible teams with incredible class and heart this decade but way too many teams celebrating on our field, building on Jeff Francouer and Brian McCann and Adam LaRoche and Chuck James and old Andruw who will turn thirty early next season. The Braves had my love before the run but now I've gotten more joy out of my team than I would've thought possible in ten lifetimes. What an incredible ride this has been. I still can't see the whole thing at once, it won't fit on my screen. Where were you in 1991?

It's already yesterday

2006-09-09T20:58:00.000-07:00

Step right up and deliver us from stagnation in a time of rapid transit that passes me by; a low steady rumble on the 2 freeway a constant reminder and protector from the less enlightened.
OK, let's slow that way down.
Dominique Wilkins was inducted into the Pro Basketball Hall of Fame this weekend and I hope Atlanta really appreciates him for all he gave the city. I pull for the Hawks with all I've got (I paid $100 to see them play the Lakers here this year when I couldn't afford imported beer) but they've sucked away all my well wishes ever since they hung up number 21. Back in the '80's we literally sang his praises, writing songs for our mighty warriors in red, white, and gold (see comments). The greatest game I ever watched was the game seven duel in the Boston Garden in 1987 when Dominique, se magnifique, went head to head with Larry Bird and scored 47 but the Hawks came up just short at the buzzer. A lot of people I know, not just Atlanta fans, say that was one of the greatest games in the history of the league. I hate to give him any space here because I detest his work with the Yankees but in those days John Sterling was the voice of the Hawks and I listened to his descriptions of the mighty 'Nique in the glory days. The man who gave us El Nique-O (which I called him on in a bar once and he accepted it) once noted during a broadcast, "There's only one word to describe Dominique: indefatigable!" I rarely missed a playoff game in those days and screamed my head off in the old Omni which I can't believe I miss but Phillips Arena doesn't have any soul at all which is sad because it's a great building but it feels flat inside. Back in the days of 'Nique and Tree Rollins and Doc Rivers and Randy Wittman and Spud Webb and Cliff Levingston and Antoine Carr and Kevin Willis, that crusty old building would boil and tremble at the height of springtime, when the Celtics and the Pistons and the Pacers and the Bucks would dance the dance in the richest era of the game, by far. I wish I could have been in Springfield, Mass. the other night to cheer for number 21 one more time.
"Bernstein, am I a stuffed shirt?" asked Jed Leland those many black and white years ago. Sometimes I feel like I saw where the whipping post used to be but maybe suffering is a personal experience that no one could truly compare with another. You know, like with weaker humans than my own self. Galactus would compare them to ants and the comparison holds some wisdom. I mean, come on, we all heed the voice of Galactus.
Through it all the bright eyes of Walter probe me in ways that I cannot describe. He scans me but for now mine is the superior intellect. In my infinite wisdom I play a game and allow him to live under the illusion of rank. I'm such a nice guy.
Oh, and the Hawks beat the Lakers this year, by the way.

Maybe I'm Johnny Utah, Miss Lane

2006-09-04T13:15:00.000-07:00

Here is a last look for a little while at Laveta Terrace and the lunatic fringe which currently has openings for a premium initiation fee, worth every penny. My labours afford me a special otherness today and I allow the festive spirit to boggle over into the mundane and the ordinary seems extra ordinary. On this day the higher force has placed me back in Silver Lake in Bob's Bunker, built beguilingly into the hillside across from Highway 2 at the freeway's very inception. Still, plentiful California greenery creates a scene of great beauty and the hum of traffic is soon lost on thoughts of whimsy in the mighty sunlight which rains straight down to the very base of our canyons at the height of day but we are shielded in the cavity, Walter and I, and watch from the shade as the foliage gently fans and I think about future days when I'll pursue physical exploits beyond the muddled. Bah! Today can still find its greatness.
Today I feel the Crush of Labours
I must wander in the desert to find the way
Back to the Promised Land
Which requires that you get your ass up in 'em woods
Oh, we'll take your money
The winding path has crested
A dark valley full of mystery and promise waits below
Tomorrow's light will reveal honesty and intent
Seeking something close to purity
Ready to leap into virgin folds of intrigue
Without a parachute
Just catch the guy that jumped out before you
That be the way of the American Adventurer
The Republican American Adventurer

They say the Good Times will Roll if you get in a Groove so I'm gonna stop fighting it and see what's in the dark valley that starts to feel like ... I do wanna go. Teach me the easy way because I wandered from the path that I had trusted but got tricked into slavery and now I prepare for my new face on the west coast. Just wait 'til these legs can carry my new face somewhere. That will be special.
The sun starts to lose a little of its nuclear intensity and the light takes on a gold tinge that hints of something potentially sublime or just outright lime.
Twilight of Labours and the last rays clip the hilltops across the highway to the west and the mercury eases down the tube to a respectable pressure which every one can enjoy. I live in the cradle of the mountains
The ocean lingers on an aroma, alive
Perfume and shampoo, skin softener and oils, all out there, somewhere through the thicket
Possibility awaits the earnest

Some ghosts are still left in the night
The ghosts of a dying season
In a few weeks they'll be gone til next July
Replaced by different spirits
That fit other parts of the mind
Shorter days affect the outcome
So proceed with caution

The first walking dream occurred the other night and made me feel fresh in the early afternoon when I assimilated it all, studying my psyche carefully, in spite of the danger, and turning up only dead-end yearning and desire which made me feel like Norman Bates. Maybe I should give myself a break on this one. Maybe.
Regardless, does anyone have regards anymore? They certainly don't seem as freely given in our electronically dependent society. They should shut off the power to the city, except hospitals, airports, etc. maybe three nights a week and we just have to read by candlelight or improvise. Maybe two nights, starting at eleven, or midnight. Hmm.
I, Hatchet Jack, being of sound mind and broke legs, do hereby..... A special no-prize to whomever nails that one.

Knocking on the Ninth

2006-08-31T22:48:00.000-07:00

Our labors earn some of us a three day weekend and we mark summer's passing, even though there are three weeks left on the calendar. That is the case, more so, I believe, in southern California where the dusty days blaze away long after the rays linger in the haze with no relief for the dismayed. Bone Jour Boutique
Sit up! Speak!
Beware of Greeks
Let the fat man wet his beak
If you honor the winning streak
Things will be better next week
And you dig it, you little freak

My spirits rise with the moon which is a comfort I can't explain
Survival is different in the west
I'm learning about trucks
When the next rain comes, I'll drink champagne
or the Spanish equivalent
Time to manufacture some runs
Moderate brilliance is nothing for which to apologize
Breathe deeply, when you're able
Dodge a bullet or tempt a tiger
Those are my words of life, Ten Bears, or my words of death
Maybe I should rethink and reload

Intermission

At the turn of a coin I am enlightened
The best women increase my opacity
But I accept the danger
Before thinking a few moves ahead
With a Latin intensity that would please my forefathers
I can only suppose
So I fight the good fight
And remember the working man
Without resembling him too closely

Calling Squiddly-Diddly

2006-08-28T11:59:00.000-07:00

This was my conspicuous entry in to Santa Clarita, a Stepford-like community tucked away in the hills above Los Angeles and the neighborhood that claimed my tendon. Still, I held no grudge and a fine time with family long absent was had and there should be more pictures here instead of the freakshow that follows but I'm not an octopus, I can't do eight things at once. In fact, show me an octopus that can perform multiple tasks at once. Where are these helpful arthropods? I could use one.
Since squids have ten legs, wouldn't they be that much more efficient? Or is it absurd that an animal could perform ten tasks at one time? I leave that to the scientists. I'm no politician, thank God. But it seems, certainly, that there is something more romantic about the octopus and the number eight but in honesty I think the ladies, if pressed, would say they prefer the line and design of the ol' squid. As always, we welcome all comments here at TCM. Hyuk, maybe I'll get confused hits now.
Beyond that, what are the questions of tomorrow and who will ask them? All answers lead to more questions but conundrums aren't my business so I'll look for a bigger picture as I start the next cycle and adapt like a cave fish and my eyes will fall out and I'll never miss them because we're all in the same dimension when you play it that way. Who needs to see where there is no light? Well, some people I know but there is a choice for every being and the way we approach that choice is what gives us identity and higher standing in the eyes of mother earth or the hairy thunderer or miscellaneous. That's great.
Perfumes tie a man to a time and place in his life like few other fragrances and sometimes the rush of memory can be powerful to withhold and withstand. A candle now makes me think of a hotel where I lived for a month, over seventeen years ago. It was an excited and happy time and I like the transportation ignited by flame to wax. That's s what the spectre of Luke does to me, and some Christians but I can be benevolent as well if not more so, by God. Hail Mary.

Mountainaire!

2006-08-24T21:36:00.000-07:00

California is the Golden State and Nevada carries the name of Silver. I just passed an anniversary of the first time I ever saw the Grateful Dead which took place on August 22nd, 1987 at the Calaveras County Fairgrounds made famous by frogs and Mark Twain. There were hundreds of events that randomly led up to my running across the Dead that summer, most of which was spent on a cross country spectacular with world renowned artist, Joe Peery. Loaded in to a convertible 1970 VW bug, deep pumpkin orange, we set out from Atlanta and shot west with few set destinations, mostly National Parks and geographic oddities. On the road we had a nest egg and after that it was either get jobs or go home but we were camping mostly and had family sprinkled all over the country and could pay surprising visits and get clean and rested and full.
To move on, the bug collapsed in San Jose, California but luckily we were ensconced at Joe's brother place and could relax and work on the car which meant totally rebuilding the poor engine. Having happened upon some deadheads in a VW bus in northern Nevada we had found out about this festival that the Dead were playing and Santana was going to open(what a double bill!). Joe's brother, Ray, loaned us his car which was a nice new 280 Z which we were flabbergasted to be driving and roared into San Francisco at about 115 up US 101 on Friday night, the 21st. We looked for some live music in North Beach and found a little blues club that was a cool place to down some beers and then ate chinese takeout on a sidewalk 'round Chinatown before heading back for a few hours sleep. We forced ourselves up on a Saturday morning and popped in the Sex Pistols to get the blood up. We had precious little to smoke but kick started the long journey ahead and we were flying over the rolling golden hills with giant wind mills reaping the winds that coasted down through the valleys. Our destination was Angel's Camp which was just south of Yosemite and north of Bass Lake and it was my job to plot the course east.
The roads dwindled from superhighway to four lane to two lane and the cluster fuck started. About twenty thousand of us were all pouring in from the same direction at the same time and, like Woodstock, the roads weren't built to handle it. We had a six pack of Dos Equis in the car and the last two were warm going down. Crawling along in traffic, I rolled up our last bit of beautiful California Green which had been a thing of such joy and beauty to us gawkers from the southeast.
At this point the horrible thing was not knowing how much furthur we had to go and the afternoon was starting to crest. Joe made a quick decision and just jumped out of the car and I had to hop out and run around to drive while he just took off running ahead, making better time. For a good half hour I just crept along and wondered what the hell was going to happen next as I choked down the last sip of warm dark beer. That's a good spot to stop off and finish tomorrow, just like an epidsode of the Wonderful World of Disney or Batman. You decide!

Ham Handed Harpooners!

2006-08-20T01:33:00.000-07:00

Sorry, my faithful little dinosaurs, but I'm in the hushed Hollywood hills now and using a Mac so I had to choose these cheeseball icons and I'm not really sure what they are so it's a crapshoot. They just come out with these file names so I picked a couple that sounded a little interesting but my expectations are not high since these little gizmos came with the computer. But let the mighty guitar and the blue dog drive me to greatness and keep my foot from falling off which is a tale yet to be told. Regardless, the hole episode is treptagorious, a word I just made up but means every bit of what it sounds, though I'm not looking for trouble on this occasion and I find no joy in pointing out that fact at this time.
What makes a man query what makes a man a man? It just irritates me but I go on be cause they do. They go on. Who can identify that quote first? It's tricky, just a fragment, like this crazy city they call Los Angeles and the Hollywood hills are highlighted like christmas trees, tapering up to the brightest stars.
And what doth a hollow body make? What maketh a body hollow? Which ghosts that enter the heart never find a way beyond? Shylock is a classy name for a scumbag but I say it stays in the picture, whatever the beasts at the Globe are howling over, return their two shillings if you must. Purpose eludes me at times and the debilitating injury puts it that much futhur away but damn these torpedoes, wherever they came from they can just go right back and tell 'em to tell their friends as a future warning to all civilizations, great and small, deep and wide, furrowed and plained, steeped and rotund, garbled and pointed, razed and featureless, and so forth. We will work with you. Hey, I've got a great headline if Michelle Wie ever wins the women's British Open: The Royal Wie!!! Patent pending on that one although I know fully well that it will anger certain readers that I made myself laugh with that last gag. It was a good laugh, too.
The hills are quiet and a Space interlude deadens the vacuous caverns of the mod house clinging to Saint Ives Drive, just a few feet out the front door. Alas, there are no ice cubes tinkling in my cocktail glass to echo down the canyon to the boiling humanity below but the stairs would make that a death sentence anyway and my survival at this point is certainly in question. Perhaps the river Styx didn't cover all of me when I was a baby. Curse you mother, you forgot the heel. You could've used tongs or something. Fuckin' irony. After all, tinkling ice cubes on summer nights are the mating call to the serial murderer so maybe I'm at least saved that disrespect. They wouldn't kill me, I look too much like one of them.

Truckin' to a Higher Conciousness

2006-08-14T01:16:00.000-07:00

I do believe that truckin' can lead to harder and better things and I intend to prove that in the spirit of Levy pants and I know that my own personal Night of Joy waits for me on the far side of tomorrow which is just right for a full time dreamer like myself. The world needs laughter, if you believe Mr. Spock or a Jewish comedian- wait, they were actually one and the same.
Meanwhile is a great word but be careful how you spend it because the things that are interesting in life are the valuable ones. Ideally, the little red rooster won't crow every day, even though I've never had any complaints with commonplace, another great word. Still, I have to watch the ditch diggers, even though I feel like lending a hand and putting my back into it, I have to be Dr. Smith and hobble off with the robot and Will Robinson which would be fine if I were a homosexual pedophile with a taste for the rough stuff but I'm not and my own brand of carnal desire remains shelved until furthur notice.
The world feels very quiet tonight which is relative but this corner of the cosmos has settled and a black throated wind stirs the palms. One less helicopter makes a bit of difference but it's something else. Jungle rhythms have silenced and there will be no snakes on planes, whatever anyone would have you believe, so I take the plunge because the season calls for it. There are times to be contrary but I don't believe this to be one of them, with so much added security complicating the bigger lies that were invented some months ago, so I YIELD. I knew it. No one was listening. Maybe Dr. Tongue.

Righty-O!!!!!

2006-08-10T21:57:00.000-07:00

One of the things I love about L.A. is some of the oddball stuff you don't see just everywhere, like Felix here of Big Felix Cadillac and Chevrolet, just look for the Big Felix from the 110 Freeway! This is right around the corner from where I work, just south of downtown and I pass it at sunset, for now, as I start my northwest journey to Hollywood. I still get a kick of looking at the exit for the Hollywood Freeway and think, "Mmm, that's my exit." Goofballs, everyone. As I sit here tonight I only have satellite radio for music as my internet signal goes in and out like so much good love-making but bad for the music streaming, you see, so I have been listening mostly to the '40's music with the big bands and the Cole Porters and the Duke Ellingtons but tonight I looked up some different options and settled on a station with the dubious name of "Lifestyle" which nearly scared me away but the description was intriguing. The first thing I heard when I tuned in was Mozart followed by a pretty piece by Paco de Lucia, who I had the good fortune to see play live once, and then they played "The Knife" by Genesis, live. Well, I think I'll stick with this one for a while. Next they played a little number by Tony Levin. Not bad. Between this and Steve Jones on Jonesy's Jukebox on Indie 103.1 FM, which I admit is an amazing station and had given up hope that commercial radio would ever be this good again, I have a nice music blend around for a fine soundtrack. Now I must survive the latino CDs they play at work but I actually am able to shut the sound out so it's just like sitting in a Mexican restaurant for six hours a day. Back when I airbrushed t-shirts at Six Flags over Georgia we had three different stores around the park and whichever one you were assigned to was the one that you'd have to hear the looped soundtrack for that area for the duration of the shift so some were more desirable than others. Usually the third time you hear a song in a one hour period is the one that sets you off but after about four hours of it you don't even hear it and process other junk. There were also times when we would take "breaks" down by the tombstones where the railroad went through and these respites kept the beach scenes and the color schemes fresh and fruity. I can't believe I said that.
But, Felix, indeed. I tried to capture Cadillac Felix but he came out blurred as I was in a car in the dark and I couldn't just hop out in my condition. No, my hopping days are behind and before me. May we all have that bright a future! Anyway, Chevy Felix below will do just fine in a pinch and I'm sure he'll tell us what to do. Which would make a better name for a son: Cadillac Felix Aguirre or Chevy Felix Aguirre? They're both pretty fucking good names.