the time has come.

the time has come to burn down the plantation houses. it is time to flush the rats from their guilded basements. purge this infestation with fire. the scaffolding must be lit at its base, allowing the flames to slowly and unerringly lick the wobbly supports of their ideology. there are no longers walls of perception erected around their crimes.

the fast the furious and the drunk

leaving for san francisco after the show on thursday was simply not in the cards. don't get me wrong, we both had every intention of hopping right in the car and hitting the highway, but several hours and several drinks later going home and sleeping until 6AM and hitting the road seemed a much more appropriate endeavor. but honestly i didn't hear shit when my alarm clock went off. in fact the first thing i heard was, "Hey douchebag. You overslept."

we were in the grapevine by 11AM so it wasn't a wretched setback. the five stretched on endlessly, it was a bloody dry day and every flick of ash out of the window seemed just right for setting california ablaze. we had sil's ipod thingamabob so all we had to find was an empty radio station and viola, an mp3 player for the car. well...it's harder than it sounds. both times i've ridden with one of these buggers it was frustrating. this time however we did have about 90% working conditions, so i can't complain.

by the time we reached the interchange for 80 heading into town i was high as a kite and chomping at the bit to cross those waters. our entry was seamless, kismet was already smiling on us. striking at first the mission district has a bit of a facade feel. the fronts of the row houses sit awkwardly against the buildings conjuring images of wild west towns in spaghetti westerns. the air was cooling rapidly all around us, and in the time it took us to traverse four blocks, we were engulfed in the lazy grey of an overcast and steadily cooling evening.

"Do we have any parking instructions?"

"Good luck?"

"Yeah I guess that counts," ah, yes. we found a spot a block away. a chap was pulling his truck out. he flipped a u-turn and parked on the other side of the street. i went back to the car for something i forgot and the man called out to me. i had no idea what he was saying so i approached him. he repeated himself and i could discern this time he was speaking in spanish. since i still didn't understand i'm sure i had a look of confusion on my face. he repeated himself and i was able to make out 'two hours' (hey, i guess taking Latin finally paid off) and laughed with him. yes, yes i let him know i had seen the sign, and i agreed it was ridiculous. he said something else and pointed to his truck. i could tell he was saying this was the reason he parked across the street. i patted him on the back and waved goodbye. i was glad he didn't try to speak english and i didn't try to butcher spanish. we communicated just fine and there needn't be anymore to it.

fortune struck again, we were only a block from their house. we walked up the stairs and sil knocked on the door. mike answered the door very excited to see us. it was a warm welcome. we set straight to shooting the shit and having the first of many drinks in their astonishing apartment. when hillary(sp?-sorry if i'm fucking it up) arrived home she welcomed us a second time and we all had another drink. at some point sil and i joined mike on a walk with the dog they were watching for a friend. the half shepherd half malamut had a field day sniffing every three dimensional object it's ADD riddled mind could register long enough to garner neck movement. truth be told it was a fucking hike...very steep, and seemingly never-ending. when we finally crested the top hill we looked out over a fog blanketed atlantis. the moisture in the air permeated everything around us. as we smoked cigarettes the fog slid over the hill and sprinkled beads of condensed hydrogen and oxygen across my eyelashes and lips. my black jacket became grey with reflected light and as soon as it had begun it diminished.

the logistics for the evening were ironed out and after another drink and further *ahem* preparation, we struck out into the night.

a falafel place down the block got the order for dinner. despite my protest my food was rife with vegetalia, but the portions i was able to pick out and enjoy truly were superb. we were here primarily to celebrate and commenmorate sil's last few days in the united states, so my picking through something he'll be eating everyday for the next year or so seemed only appropos. after all i'm a full-fledged supporter of the adventurous!

we dove underground and sped inexpensively toward our next mission...columbus ave. as we emerged and began turning blocks i began recognizing the area from my trip in 2001. soon we were on Vesuvio's steps. hillary elected to go in and mike, sil and i walked into city lights for a gander. i wasn't there for a serious look yet, but i enjoyed re-acquainting myself with the place. it would come in handy when i came back for serious purposes.

we slipped into a window booth with a few drinks and toasted something or other that is of no import now. i was waiting for the queen of hearts to arrive and she did not keep me waiting. our conspiracy was complete and we had the entire evening ahead of us. we all came to know the queen of hearts simultaneously, though i admit to a slight advantage, and were thus equally enthralled.

hillary was ecstatic to have another political

junky such as myself along for the ride, mike sil and i all have web-programming/writing/production, as well as vastly different and similar musical and literary passions in common. throw in two young ladies that can match (or kick the arses of) all three of us in any given category, have even more similar and differing loves and hates concerning everything under the sun and what you have folks is a conversation that can go on all night long. slainte`. it did just that. we had grandiose plans of retreating to the mission and striking back out, but mike and hillary's beautiful apartment and the blackhole commonly referred to as the couch, had much

different plans for us. we finished off the evening leaning treacherously close to sunrise and eventually convinced our bodies that sleep was possible.

apparently it is hard to wake me up...

i've heard this before. i did wake up though in time to give the queen of hearts a farewell hug and thank her for a magnificent evening. morning was standing just outside those curtains waiting to kick me in the nuts...oh...i was right. sil had already been out for coffee and back. i figured i needed to take my ass a shower and get with the program.

we had breakfast a few blocks away. by christ their pancakes...and the waitress...too much for the morning, too much most times of the day. sensory overload - we spilled back into the streets just as my head was begining to clear up. philz coffee was next on the agenda. some folks were doin' their thing dancing around and reading poetry, i think, and you know, doin' stuff. it was too early for me to be so abrasively faced with stuff, so i shuffled face down as much as possible until i had a steaming mocha in my hands. the place makes each cup of coffee to order. just one, just for you. they pour enough for your order into a single filter and brew it in front of you. the special attention pays off.

invigorated, i felt much more equipped to handle the day. and a good thing...

we traversed the city by bus in search of a bookstore sil wanted to explore. we found the place and it was a nice little store. we found a few things and stepped out to smoke while we waited for hillary. the pub across the street kept calling my name...william...william...

"Let's eat."

yes, that would also be a good idea. mike and hillary took us closer to homebase and we walked a few blocks to a sausage shop. you take a seat in the bar next door and they knock on the wall when your food is done. of course it doesn't hurt that the bar has manymanymany wonderful beers on tap. the food was splendid and the beer was perfect. by the time hillary's friend and sil's friend showed up we were relatively full and 3 to 4 pints down. they joined the chorus, danica split off first to prior engagements, but we were able to convince mike to come back to the mission with us. mike, sil's other friend is a world traveler and soon that was the topic of conversation. mike, sil's friend whom we came to visit(damn names!) is also a world traveler so sil was soaking up every bit of information the two of them had to add to his research. this time however we were able to escape the couch because we insisted on mike trying philz coffee. it suddenly became extremely important. the two mikes, sil and i walked to philz and much to our robust cussing and disappointment, philz was closed. anger. we walked back to rejoin hillary and eventually we made it to the taqueria. we had convinced mike to join us, but only under the condition that he had to make tracks after. i got fucked by the food fairies again, but it was still good enough to pick through.

we sent mike on his way and decided on the phone booth to cap the evening. the phone booth is a tight little bar on corner of 25th sitting stealthily under a bright light. The inside is a deep crimson under low light. the pool table in the back is lit brightly making the shadows dense as one moves toward the front door. the bar and facing wall allow for tables, chairs a small walkway, and the bar. it behooves one to find a place to sit and protect it viciously. we were fortunate to find seats at the bar…though i lost mine several times. you could smoke inside, but you couldn't smoke "at" the bar...which meant i had to stand in the no-mans land for passing. that fucking sucked. i resigned to smoke outside anyway, fuck them. our nightcap wandered back across the street and we tied yet a few more on in the comfort of the apartment. by the time my lids became too much for me to battle, i was stretched out on the couch and wishing i could use the Force to put the blankets over my already sleeping body...no such luck.

the next morning went much like the last. i woke up late again and hurried to take a shower. soon we were all mobilized and headed to the red cafe' for breakfast. i had more extraordinary pancakes, this time thick, which i'm not usually as into. but they were delicious...even delicious enough to make up for the coffee. so the next stop was...you guessed it. there were no kids singing and rapping about freedom this time, we got coffee and slipped back down the street without a single hindrance.

we parted ways, mike and hil went to walk the dog, and sil and i headed back to city lights. we stopped off at an art supply store and i picked up another notebook. parking was drastic to say the least when we reached the Columbus area. eventually i gave in and paid to park. it wasn't horrible and we were close. this time around i had a few authors i planned to check on. i came away with two more books so the trip was a success. once we had had our way with city lights we decided to get the fuck out of town. such simple plans eh? we made a dodgy right into a clusterfuck of traffic. that's right, the bridge is one lane this weekend. fuck. we waited. we waited some more. we waited because we weren't certain we would head the right direction. our mental layout of the area was slapped together and dicey at best. by the time we made visual contact with the onramp, we realized that it would have been much faster(like an hour +) to go all the way back to mike's house on surface streets and enter the freeway there. so the onramp turns out to not be an onramp at all, it's going the opposite direction. it is a detour. we are instructed to take the ninth st. exit and re-enter there going the opposite direction. when we ascend to the highway level we see the thick groaning mob crammed into four lanes all vying for position across the choked and gasping bridge.

"No fuckin' way."

I couldn't agree with sil more. we continued south and called mike hoping for some advice. we needed gas soon anyway so even if we were fucking ourselves we would stop soon and could look at a map. mike wasn't around so we stopped and sil checked the maps. we had an exit strategy. by the time we reached the other side of the hills two hours had passed from our lives. the ride home was smooth as silk by comparison. sil leaned into it and toughed it out like a champion and i did my best to remain conscious. we were slapped around by a massive lightning storm and then thundershower. it was enough to evoke that, "well, there was this cop who had been struck by lightning and didn't know it..." conversation. the skies over orange county were billowing collisions striking down at the earth and arcing light across the grey canvas. the rain settled down by costa mesa and my drive back was fairly uneventful weather-wise.

caroline

fuck love.
fuck compromise.
fuck people who say they're going to guard your heart as closely as you guard theirs.
fuck elitism.
fuck disappointment.
fuck people that require a change in order to stay true.
fuck isolation.
fuck manipulation.
fuck emotional terrorism.
fuck caretaking.
fuck the emotionally weak and fuck their insistence that someone must be 'strong' for them.
fuck enabling.
fuck humiliation.
fuck distance.
fuck pain.
fuck doubt.
fuck people that can only recognize their own misery and are blind to the misery of others.

...and fuck you for saying i never fight for anything. i fought for you with my life, but i'm not fighting for you anymore, there's a difference.

I need an agent...

...primarily because i have neither the contacts nor the manpower to properly promote my work. in fact, even my research into agents has been daunting! there are so many, and they all have different specifications for query letters and inquiries et cetera but most integral, i have no way of sussing out whether they are legit and good for my work. at any rate, this is an APB: if there is anyone out there that knows of, has contact with, or can suggest a literay agent please let me know. i am hoping to narrow the field a bit through firsthand information because i'm flying a little blind on the matter.

what i currently have to offer:

-an already published 308p fiction novel that is experiencing impressive sales, but needs diehard promotion by someone with contacts to push it to the next level. i am also open to discussion about selling movie rights for script conversion.

-unpublished 100p fiction novella. i would like to shop this novella for publication, it is also a candidate for script conversion.

-ten unpublished short stories, all fiction, on varying subjects, varying genre's, for individual publication or compilation.

-a new fiction novel that is a work in progress, but cohesive/structured enough to shop as a proposed finished project.

-i have an established web presence (seven years and counting http://agentofdiscord.com) that showcases portions of my body of work and i have been published by rain-crow.com (placed 1st in their 1998 Chapbook Contest and had two short stories published in issue #2 of Rain Crow Magazine), interzone.org, and cliterature.org.


again, thank you all for sitting through all of that. any and all information/advice/leads are greatly appreciated. please feel free to contact me at agency@agentofdiscord.com with any pertinent information. take care all, i'm off to work on that new novel, it's going to be a barn burner :-)

jack kerouac was a momma's boy (week two of the birthday binge)

(pictures below, keep on scrollin'...)

jack "i totally lived with my mom for my entire adult life" kerouac's treks across the US


march25th...
my day started wonderfully, i can't say anymore or i'll run the risk of compromising state secrets(shhhhh). sis and i decided on Kaplan's for a spot of breakfast before hitting the road. i was running on week two of the birthday celebratory fiasco and the old stomach needed a bit o' bagel and cream cheese to satiate and calm. traffic was very light, our timing was impeccable. upon emerging from the cajon pass highway 15 a butterfly struck the windshield. brilliant technicolor yellow splashed across the glass. sis quickly hit the windshield wipers, but as soon as she had smudged the yellow across the shield, another hit...then another...then another...two more...monarch kamakazis falling like snowflakes with exoskeletons. the highway was engulfed in suicidal butterflies and all surrounding cars shared our debacle. yellow splashed windshields seemed to be the new black in the high desert and couldn't help thinking that old Hunter would have been pleasantly confused..."not to worry, the poor bastard will see them soon enough".

visual stimuli seemed to be the call of the journey, beautiful 1940s mercuries littered the two lane highway, rebuilt roadsters, chrysler chevy ford and buick yachts sluggishly made their way across the sun drenched asphalt. ah-ha, i remembered, Viva Las Vegas, there should be 10 rockabilly kids to every resident in Las Vegas this weekend. brilliant. so what, i'm a sucker for pin curls and silk stockings, fuckin' sue me! we came up on vegas nice and early, picked up the key to a friend's house and settled in before it struck 2PM. three cheers for us. i crumpled into the couch with a drink and the pipe. unfortunately i got a bit too intoxicated and forgot to take a nap. c'est la vie. once our hosts returned from work A LOT more smoking took place and i was soon back in monosyllabic mode and obsessively text-messaging missives of tenderness to the Bay area. we had two missions to complete:

1) Rainbow Library presents the original manuscript of 'On the Road' by Jack Kerouac
2) i recently became re-acquainted with a friend from sixth grade whose husband was stationed at Nellis AFB

mission 2 called and plans were made for dinner and a drink. the old friend was en route to the dance club, so we had dinner and parted ways. it was really incredible to see her, she looked exactly the same, seriously, so it was a fun mindfuck that she was a mother of three, a wife, and moreover, EIGHTEEN years older than the last time we spoke. my family moved around a lot, never stayed anywhere more than 2 years at a time until i was out of high school, so the concept of seeing someone after that many years is completely foreign to me. sis, her friends and i made our way to a sufficiently nauseating sportsbar and tied a few more hours and inumerable drinks onto our evening. by the time i felt like it was a bad idea to push my luck, the table had reached a consensus..."Let's go home and get high..." god bless america.

the rest of the evening...predictably...had me on the couch periodically taking down notes and ideas. i was already feeling the literary vibe that i had hoped the weekend would invoke. in fact, between you, me, and myspace's servers, this whole three week long birthday celebration, though busy and time-consuming, has provided me with some of the missing pieces i needed to seriously get started on my next book. so yeah, fuck you, i'm a book geek, i'll highlight the drug parts so no one gets bored.


march26th...
wake and bake...it's been a while. lazy, languid day, smoking on the patio, shaun of the dead(highly recommended by the way) drinks and drinks and drinks. finally motivation kicked in and we were off to the library. we smoked outside for a moment and the full gravity of the "purity" and "innocence" of modern libraries kind of got me down. even a library in Vegas wasn't safe. we looked like hoodlums, it was probably just high paranoia, but it was clear that the riff-raff were here to see the 'beat' book... the room was gaurded by a very intimidating woman. it was nice to see that old jack still garners a little security (though it likely has everything to do with the rich owner of the manuscript not wanting fuckers like me to compromise his investment). "NO PHOTOGRAPHY" signs littered the room and the glass case containing the manuscript. i would understand no flash photography, that compromises the integrity of old documents, but in the age of digital cameras i was a bit put off that no photographs were allowed...fascist fuckers. the large glass case stretched to the edge of the room and unfortunately the manuscript was only about half unrolled. two or three other souls hovered over the glass staring intently at the weathered paper. seeing the actual editing marks on the manuscript was what i desired and i was not disappointed. it was interesting to see how and what he changed initially and how that differed from the final publication. my deep desire was to read the edits of the Old Bull Lee section (i've always been a bigger Burroughs than Kerouac fan) but the manuscript wasn't unrolled far enough. it occurs to me that i should explain...kerouac wanted to relieve himself of the necessity to change typewriter sheets while writing 'On the Road' so he used a butcher's roll of paper to create a continous, flowing source (the bastard was hopped up on the Benzedrine, no time for useless hand gestures apparently). this, in turn was the original manuscript. as i approached the end of the unrolled manuscript i caught my sister's friend Daisy covertly snapping photos with her digital camera...ROCKSTAR SUPER-SPY, love that kid! thanks to her, the moment will not go undocumented. we eventually filed out and made our way back outside to continue smoking, ah the simple things in life. it was declared imperative that we have a drink immediately, and i agreed whole-heartedly. we drove a few blocks and slipped into the first bar we spotted. it was perfect, one pool table, completely deserted, and three or four 50-60 year olds engrossed in flirt games and storytime. beautiful. we whiled away another few hours at the bar and made our way back to Daisy's house. upon getting dar too high AGAIN we slipped out to the irish pub to see a friend's band perform. the place was comfortably full. empty enough that i could zone out without threat of molestation and loud enough that avoiding conversation didn't seem as anti-social. back at Daisy's everyone turned in and i spent a little more time smoking and writing in el notebook, i finally gave up the ghost when i seriously considered how shitty the drive the day could potentially be.


march27th...
we woke late, so late i only hosed off in the shower(i'm a "MUST-SHOWER person). i tried to put the photos from the kerouac exhibit on my server via an ftp window, but they are large photos so i was only able to babysit one picture and we had to hit the road. i left it in the hands of our hosts and, well...it didn't work out. the drive back went very smoothly, we hit a few snags, but it only took 4.5 hours, so sis and i were both quite pleased.
two weeks down...
one to go...

enter







jack's path to enlightment





display case











the manuscript

the five days of saint patrick

st. pat's
(names (well, most of them) changed to protect the guilty)

wednesday:
i took vacation time from wednesday through friday for my most sacred of holidays. a day, which if handled properly should be filled with stout inebriation and accordion music whistling in the blowing winds. ah...st. patrick's day. wednesday was warm and bright, the sun poured through my heavy wood blinds and stirred me to action at the ungodly hour of 10AM. bastard Sol, a menace truly. i laid in bed smoking for half an hour and finally rose to shuffle around the house. everything had gone according to plan and i was in my auto screaming toward los angeles by 2PM. all was going according to plan. the 405 gave little resistance to my quest but the moment i transferred to the 710 i knew something was terribly terribly wrong. my first indication was a barrage of phone calls. i detest the phone. i committed to my first cell-phone account late last year and aside from the text-messaging capabilities, i am reminded daily why i resisted a cell phone for as long as i did. my first call was from a client, a gentleman-maker of avant-garde jewelry. in the back of my mind i knew i had 2-3 days worth of work to do on his website before friday, but here i was, on my way to los angeles and working on html javascript and actionscript was the furthest thing from my mind. friday was special to my client because it began the "market week". i still have no idea what that means, but he was adamant about the "press" section of his website being completed by then. the unfortunate part being his demands for the section's presentation and visual acrobatics was more than i'd be able to dedicate myself to while on my five-day drinking adventure. WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR HOLIDAY SPIRIT? we had a pleasant discussion about the project and all was going well until, "Oh, I almost forgot," he panted, "market week starts tomorrow, not friday." SHIT! i was really screwed. i reiterated that i'd be able to complete it be friday, but any sooner would be nothing short of impossible. "I'm on my way to LA right now, Rob is taking me to see flogging molly for my birthday." He understood and in his special way he still conveyed that if there were anyway to get it completed sooner, that'd be preferable. it's one of the reasons i don't mind working with him, he doesn't compromise, but he isn't psychotically unreasonable(a rare-find in clients indeed). i assured him that everything in my power would be exhausted on his behalf. i hung up and called sil..."man, i need a HUGE favor, and pronto..."
"shoot."
"okay, i need a flash slideshow, similar to the one on your website, but i need it yesterday."
"sure, no problem, just send me a directory path the names of the images and the code for the page."
traffic came to a screeching halt...
"fuck, what the fuck?"
"what's up man?"
"well, i'm sitting neck deep in the primary reason you'll never move back to california..."
"traffic?"
"bingo."
forty-five minutes and three phone calls later i made it to the 5. the 101 came rapidly and i slipped off at 1st to make my way through downtown and hollywood. by the time i reached melrose and gower my little adventure had already sucked two and a half hours from my already shortened life. i dropped my things at rob's house and traipsed to the liquor store and was soon the owner of six dark, lovely, and perfect Guinness'. i had a few hours to kill and did so by washing THC down with four of the six beers and reading truthout.org. my kind of day! rob returned from work, joined me in the annals of stoner-dom and we were soon off to the house of blues for the concert. the television station rob works for had been courting flogging molly to make an appearance on one of their programs and as a result rob was able to wrestle two tickets to the show from their manager. we arrived just before the riverboat gamblers(which, no offense...sucked) played and spent our time outside smoking. i continued to drink as much as i could while rob nursed one of three beers for the evening. hot water music was very impressive live, but they didn't play anything from the time period i am a fan of, so mostly it was just the novelty of seeing them live after all these years that i clung too. it wore thin after 4-5 songs and we were back on the smoking patio doing our part to destroy the air quality in los angeles. flogging molly finally came on and though the lads and lass looked a bit tired, they managed to play their entire set at what seemed like triple speed. their hands moving mostly in unison over the strings and skins was mesmerizing at that breakneck speed. when the show was over rob and i filed out into the night air and returned to his home. he set me up with his laptop, the pipe, and a think blanket. before going to bed he reiterated just how much he hated me(his charming sense of humor) and how much he desired me to be gone before he returned from work the next day. i continued lubing my gullet with onyx stout and illicit drugs until i could no longer justify consciousness and gave up the ghost.

thursday:
today was the day. my phone went off at 7AM. i barely opened my eyes and saw rob standing with my phone in his hand returning a text message. my sister had contacted me wishing me a happy st. P's and rob, in turn responded, "fuck off." i love that guy. my sister's call was one of five i received all in honor of catholic guilt and inebriation. i went back to sleep and awoke again around 10 when rob's girlfriend was getting ready for work. after she left i got far too stoned again and drank a little too much but i had quite a lovely 2-3 hours sitting about watching tv. i was struggling with my destiny...should i stay in LA or go back home? LA held a romantic edge over home, but rob was sick, and not much of a drinker, and his girlfriend had voiced no special interest in going out for the holiday. so, in essence i'd be drinking alone if i stayed in LA. this would have been an easy decision to make under normal circumstances, but i was broke, so other people were officially veryvery important to my continued inebriation. a sad sad state of affairs indeed. being a bum is my least favorite thing to do. i received a call from Sil, the website project was complete and i put in a happy phone call to the client telling him as much, he was ecstatic. i decided home is where the heart is and decided on a different and hopefully traffic-free route back to costa mesa via the 110 and 405. it worked out superbly, not even a slow down en route, i was quite pleased. my sister was surprised to see me home, but overjoyed that i'd be hitting the pub with her and jan for the holiday. i neglected to take a nap, jan arrived and the ladies got ready. i slowly plodded through a shower and a shave and slipped into a suit. our master plan was to go to dinner first, then make our way to the pub, but a stealthily placed phone call informed us that the pub was filling up rapidly and NOW was the time to strike. we drove through a fast-food joint and made out way to Patrick's. the place was already packed, but in a comfortable way. old and new faces passed, hugs and introductions were given out, drinks and lies were purchased. i finally met T, Maurice and Ms. D in the flesh, which was a very pleasant experience indeed. eventually last call rang out over the gathered partiers and we all made our way toward the door.

friday:
i planned on doing NOTHING with my day, in fact INSISTED upon it. i was able to convince elaine to have a drink with me that evening and i spent the rest of the day languishing in half-rest half-anxiety. evening came and i made my way to fullerton to pick elaine up. we went to a sports-bar that still allows smoking, a rarity in california indeed, but soon left and slipped over to the Continental. the continental is straight out of a sinatra/dino duet. the young black woman playing with the small, disaffected funk band in the corner wailed like aretha but was spry and mesmerizing. elaine and i drank gin and vodka until late in the evening and encouraged a young man we'll call todd in his pursuit of decadence. he seemed to be on a good path in life and enjoyed the two of us pushing him along. it was incredible, every second of the evening.

saturday:
i had to prepare for my second flogging molly concert in three days. rob and his girlfriend made it to my house and we all smoked a bit of the green and relaxed until it was time to hit the house of blues. once there i realized(because i'm a fucking genius!) that i had left my wallet at home...D'OH! after a short bit of conspiring, it was decided that i'd enter the concert with a "minor" wristband and simply palm drinks until i got drunk, or kicked out, whichever came first. it worked superbly and i was soon drunk again and none the worse for the wear. elaine arrived shortly before the final band played. she arrived with a deadly handsome companion. at first her body language seemed awkward and i feared something had changed since we'd seen each other last. i was far more adversely affected by this than i'd like to admit, but eventually we both talked and realized that she had read my body language the same way. everything was sussed out and i was soon basking in the glow of her affection again, ah sweet bliss! we left the concert and met friends who were not able to attend at a bar just outside of the house of blues. one of the friends was returning from a three-year stint in massachusetts, and it was very good to see her again. we drank for two more hours before finally returning home.

sunday:
my only agenda for the day was attending birthday party that evening for little ones. the party was a blast, all in attendance were very nice and very charming. discussion ranged from the pros and cons of letting L'Amour slip into a western literature class and the definition of shaudenfraude. the kids were well behaved, the parents were all my age, and i continued to drink. all was well. as the sun began to set i drove elaine back home and made the long trek home. sunday evening closed out with a severe THC buzz and another fine bombay sapphire and tonic.

ps.
i totally went to work on monday.

hunter s. thompson

"I hate to advocate weird chemicals, alcohol, violence or insanity to anyone...but they've always worked for me," - Hunter S. Thompson 1937 - 2005


Seachas cothu na gael do faic...rest in peace old man, i'm going to miss you.

The Divine Rita Fowler and the decadent Agent

conversation on the propagandization of jesus de christo with the ever-darling Rita. Rita is in italics, i am the respondent...



One of the things i decry is the over-commercialization of christmass.

what about St. Patrick's day?



The whole glorious birth of Jesus has been bastardized beyond the asinine.

it was pretty asinine to begin with, to read the bible literally one would have to assume Yahweh is a big old drama-queen with the Milky Way as a feather boa trailing behind his swishing prance. (by the way, "bastardization" is a good choice of words!)


The presence or absence of Elves is not what i am truly bothered about, because that in many ways represent the fusion of 'pagan' mythology(nordic) with judeo-christian tradition--a new synthesis. You see this too in literature: the literature of any culture is the thermometer measuring its cultural temperature.

i'm not so sure aout that. i used to agree with that assertion. literature, especially as cliquish and focused as it is, is incapable of being a cultural thermometer. it can be a barometer, if you will, in that it will illustrate an undercurrent of pressure where the facade 'appears' to be seamless and perfect(for instance, one of the reasons i deeply desired Kerry to win was a steadfast nausea when i think of all the "political" books that are going to be coming out of this country). but even with today's fast-print POD lit-scene sitting down to write a book, to say "something" is an act of exerted will, this act in itself removes the author from any viable form of "mainstream" analysis(yes, thom wolfe is a fucking joke). literature is elitism even if the writer is as pungent and broke as Bukowski.


The question now becomes, what is its melting point?

more like oil and water, a melting point seems to infer that at some point entities that were once seperate lose their individual identity and eventually mesh into a new individual entity. this just doesn't happen, for instance, if you know anyone who is phillipino by lineage, it is very common for them to have a "spanish" last name, probably speak at least a little spanish, as well as practice catholicism. these things are very engrained, at times to a point that it appears they are one, but a short time spent in their company will remind you that there is nothing spanish about a native of the phillipines.


You look at some of the effect of the paganization of christianity and you see the decline of purity in christianity, then, you look at the christianization of paganism and you see a revival of the Right Force in American politics. Host/predator -- Predator/host.

paganism was christianized first, a purging process, the move from polytheistic/pantheistic ideology to a new and decidely narrower(no negative connotation implied) concept like monotheism(and of course, not to forget that judaism, before it became law obsessed was a very mystical religion as well. god is in everything, we must dtrive to see his light through every rock, wave, and human heart...sounds a lot like Siddhartha). the political and sociological basis for transfer helped coalesce and solidify concepts of unified authoritarian rule(and on a larger scale, solidify concepts such as personal ownership through law). when it comes to "pure" christianity, pure is a bit of a misnomer. unless i misunderstand your syntax, "pure" would refer to christianity that is post Septuagint/Vulgate, or are you driving more at post-Luther christianity? the ancient texts prior to the biblical canon, as is thankfully still kept alive by the study of gnosticism, very much resembled mysticism. Catholicism kept the feel of mysticism alive in christianity(barely) which, in my opinion is why it was able to justify the "paganization" of it's saint-ocracy in order to smoothe into a political atmosphere of colonization. this willful morphing of political and religious purpose was definitely early fleshing out of 'Right Force'; it was the blank-check for treating "savages" like...savages. in america the rearing of fundamentalist heads is a new concept(as it is in judaism, islam, hinduism, all over the world), when the country was established the push from government architects was one of a secular approach to government, but they were very wary of disenfrachising the non-secular so they walked a tightrope hoping to keep both beasts at bay and make them live in harmony. christian fundamentalism(in america) is a backlash reaction against what was seen as a steady push toward a wholly secular society. this backlash revitalized in the late 1800s in the form of evengelism, and the rest is history.

Still, how much is lost when Christianity attempts to use these techniques to spread their presence?

if you are asking my opinon(as opposed to simply asking rhetorically), i'd say they lose everything. any time a mystical venture alters itself to conform to the stringent restraints of a political movement it loses everything. logic and faith are not the same thing, they're not supposed to be, when ideology forces them to co-exist the "new" entity is neither logical nor faithful and fails to fulfill both requirements, rendering it useless.


Essentially, to what extent is the valuable elements lost because of propagandization? Or if i may rephrase, can propaganda still be art?

is religion art? can propaganda be art? sure, i guess, i don't subscribe to a running definition of art. for me, personally, i think any current or future reconsideration of traditional ideas is relevant and only enhances the "valuable elements". the rigidity of resovle for the sole purpose of dogma is propagandization under the guise of "purity".


(conversation on the propagandization of jesus de christo round two)
rita is enclosed in italics, i'm the respondent...just in case, i know it's hard to follow:



RF(On a purely personal level. A communion between you and God. A consensus might be reached by the elders of the organization, but still, it is between you and God in the final end. The works and life of Martin Luther against the established Church of Rome is an illustrating example.)


okay, but as someone not directly involved in the transaction, how do you validate someone's communion? i completely understand what you mean, but that is a subjective frame of reference, how do you, from an objective standpoint validate whether it is inspired of god, or a false prophet? for instance, do you consider joseph smith a false-prophet, or legitimate?


RF(If you want me to refrain because that's your wish, i can understand. But i can't refrain because you will exhibit an EXTREMELY HOSTILE allergic reaction: The religious devotion and growth in the Lord is made even more abundant by the innumerable violence she or he had to endure patiently. I will bear it all with humility by God's grace, I am more than happy to take pains for the LORD. Thank you.)

i would never be hostile toward you Rita my dear. i'm not allergic to it i just expect the same level of respect for my lack of belief in god as i have for your belief in god. allergic? awesome, how much more potent would joan d'arc's position been if she broke out in divine hives when the Spirit moved?


>>thieves are borrowers, they do not possess, thus they steal. "saying something" is the act of a subjective mind and is as such fallible as a respresentation of an objective concept.

RF(To steal: to take without permission. To borrow: to receive temporarily with intent to return. Well, thieves are not borrowers. It is possible to 'say something' that was stolen:plagiarism.)


you picked THAT to harp on? i'll re-phrase: thieves steal, they do not possess, thus they steal. "saying something" is the act of a subjective mind and is as such fallible as a respresentation of an objective concept.


RF(It depends, cultures do mix:ideas do mix.)

en passe, then.


RF(Not necessarily, influence can be the fingerprints of these forces.)


"can" but that's based on the premise that there is an identifiable force, and that it is identifiable as seperate from the influenced.


RF(This question can only be best answered by observing a completely alien civilization. really?

yes, you cannot objectively observe something that you are a part of.


If we view the human species as one single unit and this question pertains to literatures of this one single unit. Can we advance by isolating a particular culture of human beings, as one single unit, and then study the evolution of their literature(essentially, philology)and draw a sensible generalisation from there perhaps. Scientists do this a lot:study one neuron, then extrapolate to other other neurons.)

yes, but the key is 'generalization'. if you are satisfied with that then mission accomplished(minus the aircraft carrier of course).


RF(Mathematical statements are logical attempts to explain nature. We've known over time that all of them are theories--they are limitedly applicable. To put it bluntly:they are all intelligent GUESSES. You wanted to account for the religious, as such, you came up with an intelligent guess as to what it is. This goes to what i was saying about PERFECT. Generally, i just sigh when i look at both sides trying to defend or rip apart the religious. The arguments for the religious are just guesses as to explain the religious; the arguments against the religious are just guesses to explain the religious too. The difference is that the latter is trying to explain it away, while the former is trying to explain it in. I am too imperfect to PERFECTLY defend the ONE that is PERFECT: How then can i rest my head on *my small arguments* for God? I can't. I can only intelligently guess as much as possible. The mathematics, science, philosophies too are also an attempt to intelligently guess things out, whether it is why apple falls from trees or the existence of God. The best i can do is keep striving for the sublime.)

and why do you strive for it? what convinved you that the sublime is something viable to strive for? to have faith in a god is to have a bias(no negative connotation to the word) toward believing in its existence. is your faith based on internal drives that you can see reflected in part by "small arguments for god" or is there something more solid and tangible that convinces you of a instead of b?


>> the dynamic of > placing all things in the hands of the 'other' is the > basis for authoritarian rule.

RF(Yeah, this goes to the issue of personal responsibility.)


does it though? to truly posit a belief in god, especially in a christian way speaks of immense personal responsibility. if nothing else, to what you think god wants. i think it is the use of religion to wipe away personal responsibility that is the bane of religiosity.



RF(They do not care, they were like the romans:we don't care as long as you pay your taxes. That's why they allowed the Hebrews to worship as long as they pay taxes.)

true, a human-symptom, again. but what else does one care about? another's eternal salvation? then again one must ask why someone cares, is it compassion or is it a desire on the believer's part to fulfill the warped interpretation of god's will?


>> this drive to cut-out > gods that were not suitable to the ideas of certain > leaders or social groupings eventually resulted in the > mono-theistic cry that there was only one true god and > all others were heretical.


RF(Most ancient civilizations are polytheistic, even though they are authoritarian.)


right...
so, the ancient cultures simply had it wrong?


>>>>>>in broader sweeps of> psychological warfare, the stories of sodom&gomorrah,> as well as the great flood, are specifically written > to introduce a collective punishment for social wickedness.


RF(Noah's ark, too? The garden of eden, too? The reincarnation themes? Analets of Confuscianism, too? Check my response below.)


all of it. everything or nothing at all remember ;-)


RF(Look at the rules and regulations of any society. It follows precisely what you just stated above. Let me quote you to illustrate my point "a direct destruction at cancer's hand or viral outbreak's hand or (fill in the blanks)'s hand, because humans were not obeying nature's rule, this is the mindset of scientist's, writer's, politician's, (fill in the blanks) use to force those around them to conform to their beliefs about the events of nature, "i am able to prevent nature's(or whatever) wrath, and therefore i should, if you insist on being ignorant or stupid or wicked, i will force you to change your ways." You see my point? People will make argument against the religious for these things and then these very people will turn around and support any social or political system at all.)


sure, i definitely see your point, it's a point of much contention throughout time. in order for societies to function there must be a level of order. we're not getting off the planet any time soon, so we HAVE to get along on some basic levels. but why attribute this logical need to co-habitate to a god instead of calling it what it is...necessary.



RF(God directs event, and yes, we also have free will. It is just that we do not know where the line is drawn. And humans that we are-- we hate taking responsibility, we have the tendency to blame it on the 'other'. Parents, God, the weather, or whatever. As such, as a rule of the thumb, to counter-balance the human tendency to blame the 'other', i prefer to look into myself first and not rushly point the finger at the 'other'.)


but you do. when you call on god's blessing who are you pointing the finger at? when you give a dissertation on what is and is not proper human behavior, who are you pointing the finger at? do you consider it impossible for humanity to arrive at the same moral and spiritual conclusions about life without the guidance of 'god'? okay, that may be begging the question and entering into the 'chicken or the egg' question since if you posit faith in a creator you necessarily posit that none of this is possible without "It".



RF(these are salient questions


excellent word(i'm not mocking you, i'm a word-junky)



>> i have asked repeatedly myself. Sometimes, my professors and classmates do not know what to make of me. This is why i think a lot of the people that i have met, either for or against, do not really understand these things. The more i read both sides of the argument, the more i am convinced they are both talking about something that they do not even know but are absolutely convinced that they do know. I think somethings can be 'black and white' while not being 'black and white' even though they are 'black and white'.)


i respect that whole heartedly, i'm sure you've detected an undercurrent of non-commitment in my words. but isn't the statment "god exists" pretty black and white? moreover, aren't statements like "there is only one god" "christ died for our sins" and "god's message is divined through human vessels" pretty black and white as well?



>>>>>>but i guess my most pressing question is, > if god waited that long to show his "true" self to > humanity why didn't he care about the people who lived > before and do they litter the torture chambers of > hell?


RF(The perception of the religious could have existed before the advent of the written word to record it. (2) Take a neuroscience exam for example. The standards of neuroscience exams 100 years ago is different from modern times, for obvious reasons. I think the religious standard differs from ages to ages and peoples to peoples and individuals to individuals. This goes to my Luther reference and my suspicions of cannonization of saints, and also to the issue of seamless and uniformity in literature.)


sure, things are refined and perfected overtime, but nothing i have read concerning monotheistic teleology or cosmology allows for those who existed pre-[insert monotheistic faith here] to ALSO be 'right'. christianity writes a blank check for hebrews pre-christ, but what about pre-hebrew? what i'd love to hear is an argument that god, the one true god, in some way shape or form has embodied ALL religious/spiritual leanings to some degree throughout human existence. perhaps god is still working on his message, as much as humans are? i also have a problem with the black-and-white assertions of human religion. islam is the newest offender, they are as guilty of borrowing from christianity as christianity is of borrowing from judaism which in turn is guilty of borrowing from paganism. why assert that now, right here, right now, god has finally decided what he REALLY wants and will never change his mind or refine it, instead of trying to embrace all facets of the unknown and relishing in their struggle to describe the 'other'? talk about sublime ;-)



RF(I am for it in spirit. Bush is a politician,


this is admittedly a matter of personal opinion, but there are a multitude of actions perpetrated by george W. bush that are not indicative of a man VAGUELY in tune with the wishes of the judeo-christian god(we'll go ahead and slip dr. dobson and fallwell in here as well). his stance on homosexual marriage, abortion, and the separation of church and state are precisely what you say...politics. lip-service by a man using your inner-searching and your devotion to faith as his crutch to make his friends rich. as a christian, i would be devoutly against bush. remember, the false prophet is to bring the world together under the guise of god's banner, but his purpose is to decieve and mislead to the woe of all humanity. that lipservice, in my accounting does not counter-balance his anti-christ actions, not by a long shot.


>> do you trust Kerry? or Blair or Ceaser? or the Pope? I certainly don't.)


none of them. i voted for kerry because deep down the only thing that could be decided by this election that would be honest, true, and legitimate was an American denouncement/rejection of george bush's foreign policy. that's all, i don't really utilize the leeway of trust very often and when it comes to heads-of-state i patently reserve the right to remain visciously and unerringly cynical.


RF(So this is what you were refering to. Let me just add this:If newton's calculus was lost, that doesn't mean that calculus is not solid. If galileo was rejected, that doesn't mean galileo was not solid. Essentially:acceptance or rejection does not affect intrinsic veracity. The fact that those men decides on what to put or not put together as Koran or Bible or Baghadavita does not affect the intrinsic veracity of each one of them. God could also be guiding he process.)


it decides veracity if what they choose to include specifically shows no compare and contrast with what is considered dogma. does that make sense? i have a problem with the assertion that other texts can be fatally detrimental to the word of god. perhaps i am lending more power to god's divine influence, but it would be my assertion that the will of an omnipotent god would outweigh naysayers and detractive texts. i understand that god can be guiding the process, but specifically in reference to the canonization of the vulgate bible, i do not posit the slightest faith that the canon's motivation was purely and directly inspired by god. this again, is only opinion, but i want to know why you accept this? as far as the baghad, i've read it and i was not left with the impression of a divinely and purely divinely inspired text. the koran i am painfully more ignorant about, but i hope to rectify that as time passes.



>>
> or, personally involved, striving to exert no outside > influence. influence will be pervasive because the > christian influnces through example, but exerting > political control and basing it on god is a high > crime.


RF(But then, God could possibly be involved in the human affairs we are talking about. Or may be not; we don't know. If God is involved, then it is not high crime. If God is not, it is high crime.)


we definitely disagree here. doing something for political means and attributing to god only to validate said political action is a high crime regardless of whether the politician is a vessel of god's will. god also influences those who are not "of him", god's involvement is not a blank check for action.



RF(Jonathan Edwards is an illustrative example of the Right Force. . He was at the forefront of it during the 'great awakening' period, let just say that he was kicked out of the evangelical movement for criticising the leader's hypocrisy(and stupidity), and for wanting greater status for non-whites.)


sounds like most people who question the authority on any given subject. do you agree that the great awakening was necessary, or do you feel it was a reactionary, and possibly slanted reaction to fear of secularization?



RF(It is possible to use physics for saving or destroying mankind. There is the 'means', existing as the 'means' without any ideological attachment. Any ideology can use that 'means' to achieve its objective.)


but this is a shirking of responsibility. on the high order of sussing out morality, is not the means just as important as the end? wouldn't that be the fundamental purpose of morality? to locate and differentiate the proper means to all human ends? i think the choice of means is extremely indicative of an ideology's purpose and is a direct reflection of their validity.


RF(Take a deductive scheme: All greeks are bald, Socrates is greek, ergo, Socrates is bald. Look at that pattern, it says this much: there needs to be a basis, a premise, a foundation for any subsequent step in logic. That foundation itself is not established by logic--as such--it is establish by faith. Even the pattern of logic itself: "Iff 'A' then 'B'" is an axiom. An axiom cannot be proven, it can only be taken for as granted--and that is faith. As such, logic requires faith, and faith requires pattern(logic) because of the inability(or imperfection) of human coping mechanism with regards to chaos or nondeterministic events.)


and it's a fine and completely logically sound argument, but the key here is that premise one and premise two can be refuted. i personally know of at least three greeks who are not bald, so aside from simply taking the premises on faith, i can actively assert that the above is a false argument. this is the difference i am speaking of, no one has to take "all greeks are bald" on faith. we are capable of actually ascertaining the truth-value of that premise and using that determine the final truth-value of the argument. however, simply stating that premise one and premise two must be accepted on faith is willful ignorance. at best, laziness, at worst willful ignorance. now if you want to get really funky let's put your argument into a four-dimensional perspective. one day, perhaps, all greeks will be bald, this would completely validate the argument even though right now it is verifiably false. the axiom cannot be proven that is correct, but that is why an axiom is not the entire 'argument', merely a part of it. it is the responsibility of the arguer, or the challenger to either validate all or part of the argument's premises until the truth-value of the argument can be attained. if the axiom is spurious, it can be verified by completeing the equation and verifying the realtionship of the premises and the final argument to pinpoint whether the relationship in the axiom is in fact valid.


p1: people are intelligent
p2: people have never completely erradicated themselves
argument: therefore people can be trusted to take carebof themselves


this is full of holes, but we can reasonably assert that premise one and premise two are true(at least for our purposes, premis one could use A LOT of verification), and because of this we can assert that that our argument contains truth. however, to use your analogy, the relationship between premise one and premise two is HIGHLY questionable. what do they have to do one another, are they a direct influence on one another, do they have ANYTHING to do with one another? maybe...maybe not. and all of this, this mind-numbing dissertation of mine, is to further illustrate that all of these questions come as a result of a refusal to accept on faith any of the assertions handed to us.


RF(He is at Yale, teaches there, one of their legends.)


think he could get me into an MFA program? i don't care where, i just happen to be grievously broke(and lacking my BA...nevermind, i'll ask when i have that squared away).



RF(An 'extremist' could be characterized as a religious fanatic, or vice versa.)


true, but not this one.

On Hakim Bey ands Ontological Anarchism

preface: this is in response to a discussion in which one side was denouncing Bey's work based partly on his reputation as a hypocrite, and the other was dogmatically asserting that these allegations were false based soley on Bey's "work". as you can see it was difficult not to interject...

there is a difference between the two sides of this discussion which are overlapping yet completely unrelated. the difference is not unlike the difference between the Iranian Mullahs and those who oppose the Islamic Revolution's institutions. this diference lies in practical, empirical, and political application of ideas that are mythical in nature. one side is defending the idea, and one side is denouncing the application of the idea.

Hakim, for instance, uses the phraseology "Ontological Anarchism", which is accurate. ontology is metaphysical, it is philisophical, and pertains to the nature of "being", which, by definition is a subjective concept. as a subjective concept it is necessarily abstract and inconsistent when applied to issues of an objective nature. unfortunately, because we are truly (biologically) autonomous creatures, sharing nothing between ourselves aside from communicated signals (unless of course you are a conjoined twin) all we have is our subjective perspective. we can obtain a general layout of objectivity by stringently assessing the subjective perceptions of others(which, it should be noted is the primary function of science) and weighing them against our own. this, it has been argued, is a facade, because at its core, it is only interpretive and thus, lacks the ability to truly capture and demonstrate an objective perception.

we see examples of this in every facet of life. some call it predjudice, some call it ignorance, but in reality, is is simply a lack of TOTAL information, non? why do some people hate others? they often have reasons, some good, some bad, some logical, some purely emotional, but in the end, they are subjective reasons. there are no objective acts, there are no objective actions.

this is where we begin to have these conflicting discussions concerning Bey. on the one hand he is revered as someone who is forwarding a cause dear to many people, and indeed at the highest degree of importance for many others. and i would agree that he has/will do much in relation to opening people's minds to the concept of human autonomy. but think about that statement for a moment. human autonomy...

autonomy does not consider the outside. autonomy is a dedication to complete subjectivity. moreover autonomy cannot judge. it cannot judge because it fails, or moreover strives, to erradicate the objective in order to focus on the subjective wholly. by focusing on the subjective wholly, one must ignore, completely, all else but self. one must ignore, rather than assess, the objective realm. by doing so one becomes truly "autonomous". THIS my friends is truly Ontological Anarchism. poetic terrorism, seminars, books, communes, fuck-festivals, music concerts, online chat groups(especially online chat groups, jesus, that's ORGANIZATION!), email wank sessions, communique` pamphlets, radio transmission, these are not autonomy.

this is why i mention the Islamic Revolution. spritually, and ontologically this movement was clear and set a perfect(unquestionable) path for the autonomous individual to walk, however in its application to ALL people in ALL circumstances at ALL times (to the death if need be) destroyed what Islam was innately focused on...the subjective experience of an autonomous creature. by taking their subjective vision and applying it universally to objective reality the Mullahs betrayed the heart and soul of their beliefs and turned Islam into barbarism and totalitariansim. anarchist "movements" disintegrate into socialist and/or fascist movements, not because there is no validity in human autonomy, but because a "movement" is innately anti-autonomous, and in order to impose a subjective credo,or thought process on objective reality one must oppress autonomy. it is impossible to escape until all humans are identical in every facet and experiece the exact same subjective reality. "group-autonomy" is a philisophical, logical, and semantic oxymoron.


when people scream CHARLATAN! FAKE! INFIDEL! concerning Bey, they are sometimes working from a position of jealousy, ignorance, and often opposition to that which he espouses. but take a moment to consider that one would also come to the same conclusion about Bey as they became more aware of his push to create a "movement", his "revolution of the imagination". these, as well as his insistence on "educating" people. indeed, his focus on "corporations" on "governments" on "liars" on "chaos" are smokescreens for banners. these banners muct be waved to create a symbiotic relationship between your subjective reality and his subjective reality(communication). these banners, even between two people constitute an agreement on objective matters and as such seek to nullify and castrate the subjective perception. by nullifying the subjective you make "autonomy" ingenuous and meaningless.

these are not autonomous practices. they never have been, and they cannot be.

i do not write this as an indictment of Bey. do i believe that what those people assert in their indictments of Bey are pure truth? no. do i care? no...not by a long-shot. does it alter my perception of Bey's work? no. does it offer a new opinion for me to assess? why yes, it does. what's wrong with that? there are only two reasons i would oppose another opinion. one reason would be that i have achieved autonomy(and thus it is of no concern), and another is dogmatism.

on a personal opinion note: re-evaluate your emotional impulse. shrieking like Newt Gingrich at a flag-burning protest because someone says something "negative" about Bey is indicative of ideological fundamentalism and in no way reflects someone striving to reach human autonomy.

an old paragraph that still holds viability

Time to go. Time to shake off the wretched dust of this plane. Time to find a place in this world where people mind their fucking business. Walking down 17th St., a cigarette dangled from my gin-stained lips…where did my love go…where did my love for her go? It was gone. Irretrievably lost in the quagmire of bitter intent and an analysis of betrayal. I couldn’t even remember what it felt like to touch her serene neck and not feel disgust. It was a curse that she and I crossed timelines once again. Her pristine image in my universe was forever tainted by the repugnant filth that climbed on and around me as I touched her. A penetrating intrusion of fear. More perfect than torture was her caress, more damaging than the fatality of optimism. She was my link. The one who was supposed to save me from the fantasy, the solid perpetual movement—the wandering lust for change. She was supposed to be the rock, show me that being and remaining were not the precepts of agony, but the ecstasy of devotion. Instead she was every bit as dishonest as the rest, as dishonest as I am with myself. I can’t do this right now…it’s not working…I’m not immersed…back away or be destroyed…arms flailing, slaying the possession, the pain seeps through my pores and is regurgitated in blood…the crimson flood of purification…anguish.

Unlovable.

Bukowski was a sexist? Why wasn't I informed?

my brain hurts. i don't mean to say that i have a headache, i have one of those as well, but my brain hurts. so, the promised report...

the evening, though i expected a colossal flop started off with excellent news. the friend was driving, WOOHOO! it'd be tough for me to have a bad night after news like that, but that's beside the point. so we skipped over to the bar and it was a moderately busy night. strangely full for a Monday, but who am i to judge, eh? i have mixed emotions of repulsion and nostalgia for the place, i spent far too much time there just before the century turn, and shortly before making tracks for the east coast the place turned into a zoo for miscreants of every shape and size. now, coming from me, miscreant is an enormous insult, after all, i'm very fond of cretins in general, but as soon as ocweekly rated the joint 'best dive bar in orange county' it was all over but the shouting. my favorite place to drown an evening had become a sod-infested petri dish for moron replication. but i digress...

the crowd was nicely sized, and this has distinct advantages: 1)slinking into the shadows is much much easier, and 2)the males in attendence were far to busy doing their damndest to impress the lady-folk to trap me in vapid conversation. again, i say WOOHOO! so my old friend and i sat down for the first of three pitchers of guinness and, as ever, started talking music. he and i were in a band together a few years back, and well, it's the only music project i still look back on and wish i hadn't walked out on. things were traipsing along slowly but surely when the curse of the Knight struck again...in walks someone i haven't seen in years. this trend of seeing the "old" crowd is starting to scare me, thus far i've been very pleased to see the people i have, but statistically i'm bound to run into someone i purposely never see. at any rate, this chap was one of my favorites from school. he and i played football together, but both had much loftier ambitions off the field. he's now a professor of chemistry at a college in Irvine. it was great to see him and catching up was fun. soon his guest asked me to write her paper on Bukowski, which, of course, i offered to do but on the condition that she write me a check for 50$. "But it's only a three-page paper!" "Oh, really, I apologize...still 50$ though." she was struggling with topics, choice one was an examination of possible Marxist applications in Post Office, or an examination of sexism in the same. i was vocally supportive of choice one, after all you can go stark-raving mad with that, guy hates his job, oppressed by dumbasses whose intelligence doesn't warrant their authority, class-structure of government employment blah blah blah. but in the end, sexism got the call, and i don't blame her, a Bukowski paper about sexism, shit, you could type that in the dark, there's enough material to write a damned phd thesis. it was very nice to have a conversation of that nature, in a bar no less (i know it's not a stretch to talk Bukowski in a California bar, but the conversation usually never gets past, "BARFLY is SO about me and my friends!" which i always have to chagrin at, "Really? Um, I have to go, you and your friends suck."). plus she was pretty *insert dorky face i'd be making at myself if i were staring into a mirror*

by the time my vision got blurry i had appeared in a few camera-phone pictures which i hopefully will never see, and sold a book (i know, i'm such a whore). the night was topped off with a nice crisp gin and tonic (always balking at the beer before liquor never sicker rule). i'd say it was a perfect night, but i had to wake up this morning. my friend is still sleeping on my couch...bastard.

the silent razor, sideshow freaks, a pub that doesn't even have guinness on tap

incredible, almost no traffic impediments on the way to n. hollywod last night. i'm still a little wary what sort of karmic payback luck of that nature will warrant...c'est la vie. while desperately locating a parking space i recieved my weekly drunken phone call from massachusetts, apparently it's snowing there, poor bastards. sis and i caught otis just outside of the venue and got to chi-chat for a moment, so mission one of two was complete very early on. the venue looked to be a club on most occaisions, laid out like a haunted house with incongruous corners and walkways seemingly leading nowhere. the decor was early-century sideshow complete with bizarro paintings, big-top stripes and a mummy(with a crocodiles' head) encased in glass. no match for the people on hand to see the films though...no match at all. saints be praised a secondary viewing area was setup in the courtyard, so i got to smoke while finally seeing the Silent Razor. bravo otis, job well done! it was worth the wait, i only wished he had the budget to make it longer. as of closing credits, mission two was now complete, we skipped out before The Abominable Dr. Phibes started and shrunk back behind the orange curtain by 11PM. unheard of indeed. Patrick's got the call for a few night-caps and it was the drunken mess i have grown so fond of. it is amazing how intoxicated people get there...actually that's not amazing, their inability to hold their liquor(both literally and figuratively) is amazing. the dive is perfection as far as train-wreck people-watching goes and it is easy to slip into a corner without notice. especially since my level of conversing is many many decibels shy of the norm there(wish someone would shiv the asshole that keeps playing 'friends in low places'...that would have really made my night). a fine evening, mission acomplished, sleep came quickly and completely.

off to play some music, should make day two of the weekend that much sweeter...

salutations...

i've waited so long.