Gogol Bordello, Start Wearing Purple is running...

through my brain constantly this AM> As usual on this day, there is a thin, transparent fog coming down, kinda like sleep comes down. Noone sees it with me ever, never on this day. That's funny. I wonder if Billy Idol sees it alone each year too. I wonder if he will rock out with his cock out today unlike any other... I wish I could go to his party. I shall, however, have my own small intimate time at home, in the fold. Sounds yummier to me than some big to do.

Why do I need a circus when there's constantly a three ring in my brain? I would like 100 years of solitude in 20 minutes for my birthday today.

This is the best one... Featuring the Damned & Sex Pistols drama...
On this day 28 years ago...

On November 30, 1977, after the Seattle SuperSonics begin the 1977-78 season with a 5-17 record, team ownership fires coach Bob Hopkins and replaces him with former Seattle player (and player-coach) Lenny Wilkens.

Executive Order 12021
Amending the Civil Service Rules to exempt certain positions from the Career Service
Signed: November 30, 1977

Benedikt, Prince of Croy, born November 30, 1977

Ghosts would like to think they could have a drab of whiskey.... ;)

Walk the Line. A dispatch from Folsom.

After four days of lounging, cooking turkey and being with my baby doll. Yesterday ruled. Seriously ruled. Lounge until afternoon, Mom swings by and sweeps the babydoll away. After a split-second loss of what the hell to do without her, we decide we'll go see Walk the Line - neither of us have seen a movie in ages. We parked as usual right near the movie theater and walked the mall down to K Street. We've got an hour to kill. Looking for George's bar (Papa tells me it's a great dive) we arrive at the cross walk as he mumbles something like.. "is it down there?" I say, "yes, let's take the sunny side of the street, shall we?". So we take the "Sonny" side of the street and arrive at... "George's" was it? I leave my coffee outside & duck into the dive out of the bright crisp day...turn my eyes up and who is it behind the bar? Only the only other Sonny I know. :) Immediately... "Xenes!"
Me, "hey baby! Man, it's been a long time!" So, we're in the fold, with comfort, street family. Pour them up buddy! We'll have two buds & two burbs for Johnny!
I then push away from my stool and wander to the jukebox, the epic symbol of Papa & I eventually colliding. Smackwater Jack he bought a shotgun, because HE was in the mood for a little confrontation. He just let it all hang out, and led his bulldog south... (this song almost tops Stagger Lee...but not quite). Then a nice rendition by Willy of... "Where Thinking Gets You". Then, in honor... a little "Sunday Morning Coming Down". I have to chalk this up to one of those lost days in the sunshine where things are wholly perfect in the world, between you, outside you...within.
A proverbial Delta Day. (Which reminds me, I gotta take my Dad to Al the Wops.)

The film. Everyone did a fabulous job. I thought that Joaquin was sounding a little retarded singing on the previews...a little slow, but upon viewing the whole thing, this was not the case. It must have been hard for him and he did a fantastic job. Sonny also mentions that what's her name also had all the right nuances. I have to say at the end I felt as though it cut off it's nose to spite it's tale. So soon. There's so much about Johnny in the end, but I guess that's for his legend to live on and tell. Cheers!

Is anyone happy?

I turn my head to the left, and see someone who is not happy, to the right... only the illusion of contentment. I gave someone props the other day for being happy. I know, I assumed, but for appearances sake, it seemed that way. Come to find out, it's not happiness at all. Yesterday my boss informed me, "nobody's happy dude". This is where, in my mind I'm thinking, well, I am. But I don't dare say it out loud without a big log to knock on right beside me.

All of these things good or bad are there for a reason. Every moment we have to stand here and stare was given to us for a reason. NO matter how bad things go I'd like to think that I can savor the moments that I'm in your presence, the moments I am here in this world to exist by your side. My love makes me think of this thing that will tear my heart apart. Do I want my bones to still exist or would I rather have the vessel burned? The way we collided and how we will evolve and remain makes me happy. I am happy...

Go Home!

Going home! I can't wait to see my baby. The weekend should fare well... with nothing to do but be there at home. Lay down in my yard midday and feel the sun warm everything up. Watch my baby run around and fall down and laugh her butt off. Whiskey and smokes and getting things done... Pulling out some frames one by one. Going to get some things started. I feel as though life is pulling it's threads together and around me the scenery is fine. Home sweet home, my beautiful man and my darling child. My two damn dogs... lately I've had the time to walk them alone. It's wonderful. The streets near my house are fabulous right now... So, I'm going to get on my way and enjoy my life outside these walls I've spent seven years in. It should be a weekend to beat out all others if I don't have to go anywhere at all. Life has reached a certain pinnacle, and I love it.

Eclectic Vulgarity & Verbal Stunts...

I wake up at 5:30 to a nudging, and I'm not budging... It goes like this... Stop it! I'm awake and if you do it again I'll give you a fudging! If my head stays horizontal I drift away again...teetering between this world and that "I know how you breathe when you're sleep...wake up!" I think it's nice that he pays attention.

As I twist and writhe out of sleep, sometimes I think of things that make me weep...
As I sit on the edge of the bed, otherworldly, unordinary things swirl in my head. Demon seed and angel wings. Wishes and luck, and terrible scenes. There's a woman in the kitchen and it ain't me. Men who appreciate beauty are a rare breed.

I'm standing in the shadow of a streetlight post. Thinking of the side of a mountain, where this city sunrise is coming up and I watch. One side of the sky swathed in pink orange rays, rocks that turn warm under my foot. The moon is full and pregnant this morning behind me in the dark side of the sky, drooping over Sacramento like, as if it missed Hallows Eve completely and decided to linger and wait until now. It brings heavy calm feelings in my psyche, in turns. There's something behind, beyond what we see, what we feel physically. Just like being charmed, I don't like to acknowledge these things except for in the back of my head. Just the knowing is enough. No need to elaborate. Power.

Disturbingly interesting...

The fact that there is NOT a drug called Hetracil is very relieving to me, This guy has nonetheless put this story out there... claiming to be the poster boy for Prop 313: ANTI 313 (Benjamin Leo) His writing is great... It's a very disturbing hoax. Maybe he just wishes there was a drug cause it's been so hard for him to live a lie all these years... I'm still reading it but wanted to post... Peace...

Disgust and Anger...

I'm disgusted. I'm angry. I have hate in my soul. I guess there's always a little bit of that element there, if it wasn't there always, how could it ever manifest. It's the catalysts. I tell myself that I don't care, I tell other people that I don't care... that I'm cool with it, that it doesn't matter to me. UNTRUE. In a little goblin way, I'm upset. Although, it's manifesting itself it this really wild way... in my writing. I hate to give myself kudos, but it's more punchy than ever before. Except for the fact that I can't develop my kink story like I wish I could right now... maybe it's the setting - the office. If I were at home with my pj's on, touching myself, I could probably come up with a blow away story about kink, and perhaps I will one day. And I think that the change, the anger and disgust is what I needed. So there, in the end, it all works itself out. There is a reason for everything. EVERYTHING. The reason's are what we live for aren't they?

It's like you take the world for turning... circumstances may fail or be good to you, but you turn your head toward or away, your soul and your heart change and nothing can resume the way it once was... circumstance.

There are leaves in my yard, there are broken parts in the fence. I want to walk my dogs in the morning but it's cold. There is an anxiety in me about wanting to plant a bunch of seeds, I lost the season for it. There's tension between my Mother and I, there's freakish things going on in the universe. I cleaned my car. Except right in the middle, my quarters ran out and I had to drive off in a soapy car to get more money... There's a friend I can't speak with any longer, and friends that I haven't spoken to in so long, that I don't care to ever see again. There are times in my life I want back... things I think about that I should never think about. I want them, just not with the same person. I sometimes miss my estrangement period... I want that loneliness back, but it will never be the same. If I was ever lonely like that again, I would not ever speak another word. Because if I became lonely again, it would be due to the loss of the little family I'm creating. I would go directly inside, and never come out. I would like to have this trip to Boston come off without a hitch, will it? I need to encourage Sonny to write, so I have something to edit. I have something to say, but won't say it. I feel bad for Jehovah's Witnesses cause they don't buy pumpkins. I want to be fashionable on the outside, but don't have the money, so I'll just have to keep fashionable on the inside and fuck everyone else. I don't want to hear any of those songs anymore, but I do. I want that summertime feeling again, but we're headed right into the cold. Fuck you all and I love you just the same.

The Kink Is In Your Brain...

Let's see, how do I want to put this.....? Kink, good ol' kink. Some would think that kink is fishnets and whips, chains and fists. Maybe, a little. But really, folks... the kink is in your brain - the dark recesses where things go awry, where trainwrecks and bad sex happen - even the smallest sexless things / like how I like it when boys hands are working on something.... The Merengue is kinky because of it's history - and the sugar and egg in the name - but only because I think so? The way Sonny dances it is kink supreme. Your senses can take off inside your head so far, things no other human should know about you...The brain:


Just look at that. It's kinky. The things it dreams up are sexy and horrible and strange. The tentacles it has, this receptacle for garbage, knowledge, logic...what goes on in here? Even just the thought of that is kinky - the fact that I don't know enough to elaborate like some scientist would, gives me a flash of tingles on my belly, anxiety. Some people are much to soft to even imagine their kink, because they are afraid. Poor souls. It's almost more disgusting to not connect with it than to have some outlandish fantasy. I'm fucking bored. I'm gonna go have another posting now...something about disgust and anger.

My Husband

My husband flew with me before in times of old, before we had bodies, before the world. He married me once about forty years ago, he told me so. We were dinosaurs together in other ages. We played pinochle with the terydactyls. We climbed up out of the muddy, murky muck and grew tails together - popped our newfound eyes open and rejoiced in one anothers visions. God gave us life and we fornicated together. Our fins turned into arms and our hands clasped for the first time. We ruined the garden of eden and life hasn't been the same since. The rebels yelled & Jesus, Merlyn & Buddha hid in the bushes.

My husband and I danced around eachother in this place called Sacto for eight years this time, before we crashed into one another finally and created a galaxy. I ate so many burgers waiting for it to happen - more burgers than all my lifetimes combined. Since we collided, we haven't stopped this cosmic merengue. All the trappings of a normal life can't stop this wonderful dance. A kaliedoscope of life and times that keep creating together. Noone in the world could have created what we have / we've spawned an amazing child. My husband is dirty and sinful and good inside and so am I, he loves to love me and feel me and taste me and I feel likewise.

We were clouds and then made thunder... death finds those we love and puts them asunder. We rock and roll and reel and rock - in fact, we have been rocks... The world free's us and imprisons us all the same. Bury us in the dirt & we'll come back again. We'll be hot boy vampires together planning a hostile takeover!

We go to the same old haunts as before and it's never the same. We're old together now and there's noone else to blame. Time has it's courses, time takes it's time. Time is a big old bitch, that is on our side. What is it that will happen after I die? I do not know, but I need to find my way back into his fold. That's all I know. Will there even be a way, or shall I lie back in wait...like I did in this life...will it work out so great next time?

My World...

My world seethes, writhes under a big wet blanket. It sizzles and cracks and flips around to peer directly into the future. It has to look forward, no choice at all in the matter. If it didn't, it would not withstand the the forces grappling at it's ankles. My world is a foot path for fate to play out it's dirty sex scene in the grass. My world is a punk rock show for an ant farm, because really, I might as well be playing to noone. My world scrapes it's knee like a three year old. Only the three year old deals with it better. It's a package of clothing enclosed in rope with the tattered edges hanging out. There is no streamline. Fate has grass stains on it's knees and I have sucked the life out of it's balls and it's dripping down my throat. I lie in wait, for fate to shake me awake.

It pulls me close under the cover of dark, sneaks it's hands down my pants and fucks me, fills me up and sucks me. I've stepped onto another train. I took that little plank over to the other side. Still moving at full throttle. This is my world. Rotation.

I cry oyster shells, those fucking salty oyster shells. Hell on your hands. Noone should talk to me unless they've cleaned a whole stainless steel sink full of fucking mussels, fuzzy, rock covered mussels. Why wouldn't I have contempt. I slave over a sink full of mussels while the beautiful ones sit and for some reason know what to do with a mussel in their mouth. All I know how to do is clean then cook the little bastard shell creatures. If you try and assault the beard out of a mussel, do you know what it does? It responds. Retracts like my world from all the silly things I see, back up into itself, into a shell, a womb, a home, They don't want you to have their beard. Strong little fucking things, they have this muscle, it's like a tongue twirl, twirl, twirling around.

My world shape shifts every single day. It's colorful and anxietous, it's not sure and very fucking sure. It's so confident and then meek. It's sexy and gross and dirty and clean. It's dogs and fences and beer, it's twisting tongues and vulgar raw senses, it's peeling a fucking scab off my knee, it's whiskey in my tea, my world is riding me.