Morning TV Strip Poker

Laundry day in the early am before the rush of desperate, destitute, and distracted invade the shopping plaza of no return over off Twain avenue, almost noon now and I almost wanted to give some old guy short on a bit of change to do his laundry, but the second I reached into my pocket for the money, a small army of handout artists began circling the laundromat to get a taste of my new found generosity, so forget it, guess the old man will have to do his clothes by hand once again. I left a bunch of throwaway clothes in a trash can and someone has already retrieved them alongwith an assortment of remnants from inside my van, tv show souvenirs mostly that have been taking up space. Attempting to watch Spanish version of Today show, except it is called Hoy. There is a magician performing card tricks under the guise of strip poker with a small group of male and female guests/hosts at his sides. The game has been rigged for the women to win every hand as the guys over the course of several hands are reduced to boxer shorts and the sheer delight of the ladies who emphatically cheer "Take it off, take it off." Don't really get much of this on the actual today show, it is pretty tame on comparison to the cast of seductive hotties on Hoy, live commercials for laundry soap, funny enough and other household goods which might lead to more of a domesticated slant toward the Spanish audience, but watching a strip poker contest on live morning television is one thing I had yet to witness, even throught my travels of watching morning shows in hotel rooms and buses across the globe. The last thought had to do with why the men played the roll of loser in the contest, maybe they by letting them win, it is no wonder they get so many attractive women, from Florida to Argentina, just a thought, time to fold some clothes now.

SlyKat

SlyKat sits at the corner of the bar with a shot of Jamisons backed by a gin and juice in a tall pint beer glass mulling over his future, creativity, and the never ending night. He is dressed in a Raiders jersey, camoflauge pants, and black LA Dodger baseball cap, no one would could ever accuse him of not living up to the current hip fashion culture high jump bar of those who endeavor to never be seen out of character regardless of the place or time. For some reason, people such as SlyKat feel the desire to start up conversations with me, maybe just out of boredom or possibly from some inner invisible kinetic energy that radiates from my prescene in such places as this low end college two for one drinks dive I happen to be drinking in tonight.

Either way, it does not seem very possible that SlyKat will resist the need to drag me into some sort of dialouge that will no doubt transcend the realms of the rationale to the irrationale as well as whatever other plasma like particulates that float around the universe, nothing is off the table, when some people drink excessively for extended periods of time; they begin to merge the visual drama of their personal inner mind with the immediate surroundings of the reality around them. The trick is to merely take part in the illusion in a pedistrian sort of manner as if visiting a wax musuem or planetarium, just let the walls dissapear and people such SlyKat will fill in the rest with their own personal surrealist type of painting.

This guy just wants to bounce his weirdness off of someone, of course, nothing really phases me anymore, so why not just let him babble for a while and see what develops, just another means of how I get material to write. SlyKat begins by hunching over the bar and simultaneously yelling at the bartender for another drink, his last drink of the night, but that was almost two hours ago, the neccesity of constant alcohol as well as a stage to act out his routine prove to be to irrestable to pass upon on a Sunday night as the late night football game plays in the background. The drink arrives as the lesson begins with SlyKat reaching over the bar once more to shake the hand of a cook who has come out to the back bar for anothe shot of tequila. I remember the bartender pouring the man a large four ounce shot about an hour ago as he sat near the entrance to the cooking area, trying to look inconspicous, anonymous, ninja like, grabbing a quick drink then heading into the back once more to continue on with his culinary duties.

SlyKat and the cook have a quick conversation, not much more than three or four words, the cook looks as if he has been busted, yet the emotion on his face quickly departs when he realizes what kind of weekend drunk has made contact with him, no different than hanging with his buddies after a long day at work, no threat here, just grab the tequila bottle, then casually make way back the kitchen to finish the rest of the bottle with the boys. Afterwards, SlyKat looks at me and says, "You should say hello to everyone, regardless of who they are." "Doesn't matter if they are a dishwasher....... (voice trails off) ........ "When I am at the club, I say hello to the doorman, bouncer, porter, ........... everyone, (while slamming his hand down on the bar for emphasis)...... " You know why I do that?".......... (as his eyelids fight to stay open)...... I tell him, "Because you never know who might rise up in the game and become a big player."
SlyKat points his finger at me, "That's right" (while swaying back and forth in his chair) He pounds his chest, right at his heart, "You feel me, right here." "I can tell, you get it."...... (drifting from consciousness again) "Everyone remembers me, in every nightclub in town." "It gives me access to everything." SlyKat steadies himself once more.

There are points when a division between being serious or rather insane becomes an impassable rift, by this point in the dialouge I was looking for any way to distract myself with the football game on the television. The talk took on the form a rising tide from a flash flooded river swelling to such a massive proportion that it consumes nearly all of the surrounding state. Words like weights, drowning in high tides of slang, not much left to do but nod, then agree sometimes while slowly tuning ol SlyKat out, luckily for me a friend of his shows up which provided the perfect opportunity to break away from his drunk ramblings. I mean damn, should have just got up and left the bar, yet part of me is busy observing the characteristics of this urban hipster, just another chance to write about the bizarre beings who make Las Vegas their home.

Who knows how long SlyKat stayed; he seemed pretty well connected at this particular bar, no break in the flow of drinks, one right after another as if flowing from some hidden door passing down a conveyor belt directly into his hand. Couldn't drink anymore, could have been watching SlyKat who has been heading down the same path as myself for way too long, another trapped creature attached to the unlimited flow of booze, drugs, and partying, sleeping a lot less than I which almost was too impossible to believe, but with that glazed over, semi conconscious, and almost angelic tragedy upon his face; there could be no doubt that he has no yearning to change his current course of self destruction. He would be at the bar tomorrow for Monday Night Football getting wasted once more carrying on with more hardcore babbling that all the other patrons would fail to understand, thankfully I got it, a silent cry from him to get out from under all the sleepless nights, unachieved goals, and possession by a life that keeps breeding new generations of throwaway children doing the same things SlyKat has spent his entire life doing but with more reckless abandon than ever before; all too willing to take my place in front line of non stop festivities, good, I am done with it, forever.

Walking in the Rain

On the cold nights like this evening, runaway youth walk alone in abandoned parking lots heading toward fastfood restaurants for an affordable meal. Head down staring into the reflective flickering overhead parking lights from the grocery store in the distance with hands stuff in pockets attempting to fend off the cold that wearing a short sleeve t-shirt and black jeans allows to seep through him. The kid can only hope three or four packs of hot sauce might warm his stomach up enough to make it back to the nearby enclosed bus stop before his clothing becomes nothing more than soaked wash rags. A few tacos, no need for the drink it is already too cold, fish out a few dollars in change, then sit down in the semi heated dining area for a few moments, damn shame he arrived so late, the indoor part of the place will be closing in ten minutes. No refuge tonight, no parents that care where he might be, regardless of time, the fact his mother still lets him in the house anymore amazes him day after day. Alternatives for skate rocker dreamers with no ambition is just about the same as if has ever been, pretty close to zero and all the toys everyone else seems to use to create half baked views of reality or fantasy cannot be purchased on the wages of a dishwasher. Most apt to turn towards the life of distribution, do I need to describe what kind of distribution I might mean, certainly not movie or those discount booklets our athletic coaches would try to get me to sell for new jersey before football season, but the kind that can either lead to life in a darker fast lane or 6x6 jail cell, still this requires, drive, social skills, and keen sense of a paranoid schizophrenic, just feels like too much effort why not just walk around all night until his mother has gone to sleep or passed out from all the pills and booze, still she holds down a job, a testament to her genetic makeup, blue collar values, and her mother who did the same thing for 45 years until liver failure and a staph infection turned her into dissolving mass of bile, urine, and shit, but some relatives would argue his grandmother had been that way long before she died.

This kid is done with television; he spends tonight watching the rain fall from the sky at a bus stop where a few other adults proceed to make their way home from whatever tortures they had to endure throughout the day. It gives him time to think, to reflect, and imagine stories, lives of others, and the isolation everyone must feel ocassionally. Most of all it keeps him from thinking about the reality of his own existence, a parent who treats him like a burden, a parasite, and inept dim witted moron who will never amount to anything more than a debt ridden, child breeding, and continously unsuccessful half ass. No wonder he stays out all night, sleeps in class, and if possible lives on the couches of the few friends compassionate enough to attempt to understand him. But on this evening, everything is calm, only the truly stranded roam the avenues pushing wheelchairs while covered in black plastic trash bags or rub their hands visciously at traffic intersections to combat the rain seeping through their torn apart canvas tennis shoes, even the prostitues battle the elements in white leather thigh high boots, marooned, set adrift, allowed only to return when the money is right, not much automobile traffic, except for me, driving past all these people, sober, scared, and not too sure what the future holds for all us.

Casino Sex Doll

See her during the daytime shift when there does not appear for any other means of money to be acquired. She runs from elevator to elevator with cellphone in hand heading toward the next sexual encounter. What am I doing here, white man's welfare passing the next ten hours in a corporate bunker discussing the latest strageies on how to minimize the human condition. Experts who are in deep research carving people into the small mechanical structures. The working class shall obey or become one of the many unemployed littering the nation of the United States. There are software programs to streamline the hiring process, detail after detail to figure out of the cyber candidate from Nigeria or Micronesia is more suited for the task. I want to laugh listening to all these speakers turn the workplace into a windows format existence; we are in trouble with such obiendant cocksuckers that have no problem selling this country down the well for their own personal gain. Isn't this what has created such problem in the US in the first place, besides the general lazy nature of Americans. Still, hookers parade the Venetian hotel today because the rodeo is town. Times are tough, so pussy goes for whatever a savvy buyer can bargain for at the moment, only hardening the shell of the sex worker, but clothes must be purchased, drugs to deaden the morality, and money for the luxury sedan. Software program by software program, we all fall behind, watching our own demise like a television drama. Just make believe? Keep watching to find out.

Tek No Lege

Will digitize your life, then not save it, erase everything you believe in, then change the meaning. We have become slaves to the deletion of our existence, nothing more than internet radio stations, software to doctor your Mexico vacation pictures, and applications that can put all of us in the proper direction to spend cash. Bug me some more to the point of exhuastion, where being rationale no longer matters, having mind splitting headaches can be laughed off by the rest of the population. Do not fool yourself day after day, the beers, the sports, the television comedies, and recreational drugs will never mask the fact that we are only a very small portion of a leaning tower on the verge of collapse, which will wipe out all music, art, dance, and theater. Industry can never die, as long as someone can make billions marketing coupons on the internet; the desire to fleece the general public shall never end, they deserve it. Gathering like animals before the slaughter, get the axes, the sharpened knifes, and the meat grinders, no one will notice or care. Line everyone up, day after day, week after week, aren't we missing something, a connective tissue that once gave all of us a reason to stand together. Where did that fabric go? Have we abandoned the American Dream, to settle on survival, a chore that is becoming more and more of an intense struggle day after day, with each new generation to send the oldest into the holding pens for execution, can you take much more of it, probably so, most people do, not me, why stand for this, rather just lay it out there, already lost 3 pages of a story tonight to technology, going to have to go back to pen and pad or more narcotics to make any sense.

What Lies Behind the Stripclub

Saturated red and blue lights greet the mangled body of some unknown stripper. Yellow caution tape, photographer's flashes, and calm silohuettes surround the crime scene on an otherwise quiet Tuesday morning in Las Vegas. Small pools of vibrant colored blood following the force of gravity toward the nearest cesspool bacteria infected gutter as an homage to the slain victim, a sort of return to the home country, down the sewer channels with the rats, the homeless, and hybrids who have all become sickened with modern society while seeking the most effiecent way to survive as parasites on the puss filled open soar known as the Las Vegas Strip. Bike cops from the stripclub talk amongst each other wondering how such a criminal act could slip right through their collective fingers. Nothing left now but a mess for the Hazmat team to remove, body parts, dissectated flesh and a few missing fingers are nothing more now than tallys in a criminologist's statistical catagories chart. Someone's daughter has died tonight, the street surface quickly absorbs the blood, then digests it as sustanence, a gang hit, a low fi tribal sacrifice, and a movie of the week's plasma soaked graphic religious possession. Dogs bark in the distance, a disturbing force is present, demanding souls, expliotating the weak, while pulling the veil of darkened control over the minds of every pleasure seeking plantation drone with enough clout to sneak off the farm for the night to take part in the historical roots of mystical magic hypnotic transcendental behavior. Searching for clues, to answer well known, but denied from conscious belief, a crown of thorns, self flagallation, and multiple personality disorder. Day will come to call soon enough as seen by the lights growing brighter in the eastern sky, not all shall make it home safe tonight, so run from this field, from this town, this pleasure island marooned in the middle of the universe, where no sancutary exists, the nation, the world, and the mind have exiled everyone in this palace of the insane. Doors welded shut, permanent incarceration where a life sentence would feel like probation, no amount of self destruction, suicide, or drug abuse can lift the shackled weights from the bone, fusing as one while metallic stretchers haul off human remains inside a bright yellow zip up body bag.

Internet Killed the Video Store

Drove by the local Hollywood Video today and like its former counterpart Blockbuster Video; it seems Hollywood has met the same fate, closure. Not the kind of closure that heals the wounds of victims haunted by some unforeseen tragedy, but the kind that puts teenagers and single parents out of work. Does this mean my outstanding overdue charges, long ago sent to those bothersome, pesky, and persistant collection agency phone services, shall be absolved in a gelatinous mass bankrupcy bile. What a boon for the working class, service sector human being who did nothing but leave old videotapes in their automobiles during the summer to melt or accidently misplace a well used pornography DVD in place of History of the World Part 1. Am I the only one with a checkered past when it comes to the retail video rental business? Who doesn't remember those days before bootlegs, torrents, and leaked promo copies which could all be downloaded from a computer from the comfort of home, or the office, or on the college T1 line in the computer science building? Ahh, those days when, I couldn't wait for Tues, maybe it was Wed, or Mon at midnight, when retarded geeks like myself would huddle around a counter to plea for the first copy of Tombstone, The Mummy, Titanic, and classics like Moulin Rouge, clammering around a few clerks of the late night shift who were only interested in getting home, going to bed, and dealing with another day in a high school environment that no longer offered them anything of genuine substance. The low paying service sector gig is like going into hibernation, slow down the heart rate with just enough resources to get by, close the eyelids, pray that the mind takes over with a library of dreams to manipulate the rest of the body into remaining in that cocoon like state, day after day, year after year, until you wake up married with two kids wondering if taking something like LSD at your 10 year high school reunion will be strong enough to deal with a vague memory of the past.

Not sure, worked for me, but I seek adventure, to twist the minds, confusion, and generate dialouge, a false idol with a reputation not even the gods of rock would want to undertake. Anyway, this Hollywood Video store is now nothing more than a gravesite for a generation that now takes its orders from a laptop or cellphone. The darkness pouring out from the building like flooded river symbolizing the closing of another American past time, another break in the chain from what use to unite this country to now what is dividing this country, fragmenting us into subgroups, subcultures, and subnormals. We now talk at comfortable distances all over the world, city, and street, sometimes no more than five feet from one another, when I will text a friend something completely juvenile and disposable, this is train station our society has arrived at for the moment and everyone is in a crunch of mass corpse stomping hysteria to be part of the phenonemon.

I can remember walking through that video store on more than one occasion looking for something new, hip, and cinematically edgy. Why go to the movie theater, sit amongst others, in front of an enormous screen with extremely powerful sound; when I could lay in bed, drink a beer, quietly, and if the movie sucked, turn over and go to sleep. Now, there is a Netflix app on my phone, so while someone is paying me to act productive, I can log on, browse the movie selections, and bide my time watching the latest releases, as the local strip malls begin to resemble Wild West ghost towns, store by store becoming more like abandoned movie sets where shadows, apparitions, and spirits still walk along the aisles scanning over movie titles like books in a library, where kids run around stuffing boxes of movie style candy into their pockets and where movie dorks like myself use to cull through all the previously viewed movies to find that rare gem of cinematic history which still resides somewhere in a moving box in my home. So say goodnight to the bad guy, cause your never gonna see one like me again.

Year Two

Already been a year since the concept of writing ideas, musing, and witnessed events on a digital platform became somewhat of a comfortable indulgence. In this time, life has continued in its abundance of pyschedelic rollercoaster like activity from the submergence of the darkest fringe nerve frying second by second sanity grasping lows to the most blissful transcendental humanistic conscious expanding humbling highs while turning 40. All this makes me want to smile and laugh at irony in the process of acquiring wisdom. People from all walks of life across the globe have taught me by their actions, thoughts, modesty, and blatent sense of excessiveness while the ever expanding tree of humanity that now thanks to social media and internet technology has crossed pollenated so many unforeseen socio-cultural-politicial themes, that the hybrid variations created in the experiment are like new undiscovered species found in the deepest depths of some previously untraveled tropical forest, however doubtful it may be nowaday that there are few if any uncharted terrians left in this world. Either by the videocamera or resource explioation; those indigineous natives of lands across the planet are relucantly becoming familiar with foriegners like myself poking around dirt shanty towns or cobblestone mountainside pueblos. Unsure of my intentions, part researcher, part refugee, seeking some larger intangible ideology blown apart millions of years ago like an exploding asteriod in the upper atomosphere, spread across the earth wandering guided by an unknown beacon that continously changes location. On my travels throughout the decades I would like to think I have found some of the asteroid fragments bury in the ground, laid spread upon a shore or up along a mountains peak of a semi impassable range, even on the streets of my own hometown that provides no end of literary mining gold which is hopefully conveyed with some form of clarity and if nothing else a sense of awe and emotional amazement in experiencing life without judgement, without filtration, and without fear of what I don't understand admist forces potentially seeking to change me, lie to me, and even kill me.

Mobile Posts 2

Portable technology has been exponentially taking control of the slower moments of the past couple of days. Combined this with my constant grazing at the junk food snack table trying to stay off the booze can be quite a task. I am substituting one vice for another, candy crack addict left to sit in a corner and write about how big of a pain in the ass it can be to fight the urge to drive over to the local bar down the street for a couple of brews, just to take the edge off the day, release some boredom or if for nothing else maybe out of habit. Will there every be an end point to what others have no problem maintaining in their daily lives, the masses live chemically imbalanced, chemically induced, flesh based robots with no goals, cares, or desires to anything more than survive. I am getting too old to just exist, an insect, consumed, squashed, or occasionally flying into the bright burning light of some far off beacon. Some might find the latter dramatic, superhuman, or martyr like, but it all remains the same, zero sum adventure with a fresh spot under the sun in the dirt on a cloudy day. Resisted the need to waste the day under the influence no matter what kind of weirdness comes my way. A slight reward and victory in year of losing battles, still breathing and partially sane fighting the urge to annihilate the few remaining brain dead resistant strain of cells searching for permance in a world nanosecond change.

Custard Charade

The things I do for a paycheck, the rest of these people on this awards show rehearsal this afternoon. From the bad jokes between winners to the unlistenable musical parodies that would make newbie Youtube video producers howl with bladder bursting laughter at their over ambitious attempt to be suburban cool, does anyone really sponsor this kind subhuman afterthought, besides the writers on the show itself, rehearsal after rehearsal the comedic factor comes on like a tsunami destroying all rational thought like a mind paralyzing plague, but a few more run through I can only muster a numbed aura of sensorial abuse akin to low grade amateur brainwashing. Calm returns to the stage, still my ears and mind are ringing, as only my decades of battle tested willpower allow me to rationalize the otherwise painful reality of indentured servitude.

Mobile Posts

The typing remains difficult in an era where I hold electronic gadgets affectionately like familiar lovers, my digital crutch . We use to talk to each other but now hide in corners content to desalinate our minds on the mass appeal but what happens when communicating with invisible beings supersedes personal contact? People are gathered by generations , the older ones talking with each other from the periphery of 21st cultural data play and people like myself libe in a hybrid space, all in somdays and all out on others, while my kids post their club party pictures online without any thought of the perception from other people. Their motto, Share All Now!

Car Wash Simulcast

Cold windy afternoon in Vegas where no one wants to stand outside for any period of time than necessary. Distant isolated figures stand motionless under the dark blue canopy of a nearby car wash where business is slow this afternoon, not even the steady line of automobile drivers getting their oil changed and a free car wash begin to make more than the occassional whirlwind of mechincal noise as large sythentic brushes, industrial size foam generators, and hi speed forced air turbines give off a volume of sound sometimes heard in the busier moments outside an airport terminal gate. Not much happening for the workers who hold themselves in their arms squeezing themselves in any effort to retain and create as much heat as possible, does not appear to be helping them as no one talks but just walks in small circles waiting for any signs of customers who continue to pass them on the adjacent avenue.

There is a drunk woman, always happens to be someone drunk in Vegas no matter what time of day. The lady is kicking an empty soda cup in the direction of a few pigeons attempting to assert her dominate authority against the lesser species of the bird, without much success, the animals only fly away for a moment then return to continue snacking on tossed away processed snack crumbs, dried up food wrappers, and an assortment of used cigarette butts. This does not stop the delirious beast from running blindly into one of the other customers sending the person off a set of concrete steps and onto a sidewalk. Steel wool hair, rubber lip mouth, vomiting a waterfall of jibberish, posing as communication, what is the creature trying to convey, no idea, beyond even the most stereotypical thoughts that might come to your mind, her appearance contains much more visual cartoonish like style. From the undersized shirt with overwhelming gut laying on top of the region where her stomach might have at one time been less than the mass of harden fat sagging day by day into something like a fat bottom lip from a loser in a 12 round fight, drooping, dangling, gravity holding court, urine, dirt stained pants with spots of dried blood, and shoes that can no long contain the masses stone blocks that have mutated into a foot one might see on the statues of Mayan ancients, the footwear resembling sandals where moisture starved, diabeties cracked skin heels detail the first steps of lossed blood circulation, death black dead stumps will not stop her from taking her act to the next nearby neighborhood grocery market.

The fallen woman is taking her time from recovering from the shove off the steps, a few of the car wash attendants are gathering up a purse, the spilled contents, and a some words of forgiveness to keep the victim from filing charges against the nutbag or a threatening a quick call to the local money happy attorney for a lingering lawsuit floating above their heads at the moment. The crazy pigeon chaser wanders off to another corner of the detail center blabbing in an unknown form of debauchery dialouge, hi speed garble like a cassette tape chewed up in a car stereo, a final scream before heading off the cliff into the depths of permanent insanity. This must be her goal, only here at the car wash today for a brief visit on the looney circuit, plenty of locations for a farewell tour in Las Vegas, tons of headliner spots where the citizen of this city can watch the antics of the clinically destroyed, if lucky a few might get to participate in the fun like the woman who got blindsided eariler, ask that woman now how she feels about funding for the mentally disturbed; the response would probably be along the lines of feeding the lot into self sanitizing wood chippers, take them right off the books, what a great tax relief boon, take the meat grounds and feed them to the homeless, a double win. The delusional jester doubled back at the wounded woman who stood up to beat on the leatherfaced clown with a large designer bag, vicious strike after strike, cries of an assualted prey, gasps, retaliation, clawing, twisting, maligned, vortex of violence. The workers let the ladies gas out before moving in to break them apart, by this time my interest in the battle to the death had lost its appeal, plenty of other things in this town to pre-occupy my time, attention span is such a difficult mindset maintain in an era of unchecked lunacy in the feed troughs of the metropolis.

Dodge Charger and Pink Fishnets

The old man did not know quite what to make out of the retread hooker hanging out of the side of a beat up classic Dodge Charger. The Arizona license plate on the rear of the automobile read such a muscle car deserved the title of retro antique in spite of the trailer hitch and dangling electrical wire connectors meant for whatever wagon this fried out grey hair wildabeast who looked like he had just passed through the center of a cyclone towed in his spare time, mentally debilitated yet with enough insight to land the streetwalking pride of North Las Vegas. During the brief time at the stop light this lady took the time to tempt the other old geezer at the light who happen to be riding a moped, maybe it had something to do with his mirrored shades or she had a thing for men in their seventies or fifties who had spent way too many years ingesting narcotics in order to cultivate that Keith Richards/Iggy Pop look. Pink fishnets covered her arms anchored by the fold between her thumb and index finger, tan suede jacket, bright red lipstick with protruding tongue aimed in the direction of moped man who sat their frozen ignoring her presence or slowly rising to a boil where at such point he would pull the tramp out over the door and force her to give him oral sex in the street, however such a tipping point never occured and I got to watch the hooker continue flick her tongue at Mr. Moped, licking her lips, while I imagine jacking off the driver of the Dodge Charger who did not appear to be conscious of his time on planet earth. He did react to the signal change while the woman gave moped man a psuedo hand near the mouth jack off send away. The car nearly drove up on the edge of the curb heading toward a small gathering of people waiting for the bus. No one appeared phased, disturbed, or even slightly aware of the impending tragedy coming toward them, not one flinched, just a swift adjustment of the steering wheel as the Charger regained course in the direction of the nearby low rent apartments, where robbery, drug sales, and prostitution occur as frequently as the movement of the second hand on a clock, right down the street from the neighborhood police precient, just as the manic sociopath driver hung an a left turn on a red light in front of the police building in the process of a myriad of potential felonies. People with nothing to lose never care about laws the rest of us who so tightly cling to what little we have all too willingly obey. The hooker was hanging half way out the window now, back in her home turf, giving the cop shack the middle finger, showing her beat up twat to whoever might be staring out the window as the driver began to fumble around in a black duffle bag looking for something to turn this street creature fresh sushi.

Anger/Calm

A man sleeps in the trunk of an automobile as his partner works the power washer for a mobile detailing service in the parking lot over in a section of town where not too many people own cars that actually run, sure there are plenty of broken, stripped down, and burnt out shells of passenger vehicles but not too many worth the money spent for a customized cleaning. The detail artist looks to be more intent of using the high powered spray to remove the finish from the paint on the automobile at the moment, could be from a heighten state of boredom or the selfish cause of enacting a bit of retrobution for a transgression thrown his way earlier in the day. Either way by the looks of his work ethic, today might be his last day on the job. The suds are drying on the car, he has dissapeared like a magician on stage, so after a few minutes of silence the other guy sleeping in the trunk rises, then takes a look around, hmmm, nothing, oh wait, the detailer has been ducked down drying off the rims, well great, satisfied, the other guy goes back to sleep in the trunk.

I had to get some quarters for laundry from one of those change machines that never seems satisfied with taking dollar bills unless they have been freshly printed. No time for patience today, well shit, the local drunks have arrived this woman in a pink hoodie holding a Steel Reserve tall boy can barely stand up, she is swaying as if all sense of gravity has temporary left her at the moment, while her man rolls past me with a couple more tall boys in the sack. The woman sat down in a near by chair, abandoned all hope she cries, content and unfettered by the bills, the world, and the need for a residence. The two of them have already been kicked out of three eating establishments like refugees without a country, don't these business owners realize this couple really want to eat, it probably has been a week since their last slice of pizza or trash found leftovers from the regional trash bin. Cigarettes and alcohol are on the menu today, easy to digest, time passes so quickly standing still, waiting, for anything, a new job, a new lover, a day where everything goes your way, or a day wasted on the rails of excessive light speed, time warp they call it in the business, over the edge into the abyss, subconscious memory slips, optical drives encode all events perceived or otherwise, zombie statis program, move through the familiar, clouded, distant, yet somehow present, response, offend, and carry on, shelter is for the weak, out in the open plain for us, where the guns are constantly aimed upon me.

I always feel like I am on the clock, yelling at the change machine cause it will not take my five dollar bill, been spending the past five minutes running from washing machine to dryer while all the other people in the laundromat look at me as if injected with an overdose of medical grade stimulants. No one else in here cares, they just stack 50lb sacks of dirty clothes in any available corner, as if they had their own clothes cleaning side business. On the way in I watched a family walk out with at least thirteen 50lb pound sacks of clothes, sheets, and towels, amazing, a garment heist of epic proportions,someone backs up a large van and pick up truck while family members appear from out of nowhere, like clowns out of small car during a circus act. Just as quickly everyone filed in, grabbed the bags then made their way back out to the vehicles, speeding out into the afternoon sun. The laundromat assistant came over to help subside my current state of anger, I felt embarrassed that the man had discovered me in my self centered dumb ass mind set. The assistant took my five exchanged it for a fresh bill, then calmly walked over to the change machine, put the bill in and out came five dollars in quarter and left the scene with a smile making me feel like a complete idiot who had no control of my emotions. The event brought me back to a more relaxed nature, pondering my aggressive state in regards to the change machine, a big waste of overcharged action. Well, all that was left to do was make a return to my previous hyperactive mode of putting my clothes in the dryer, then head back out the van to write this down.

Change

Can instill fear in the best of people, a complete loss of all material wealth, livelyhood, and recognition might make some folks become drug, alcohol, or media dependent. All too easy to wipe away the pain with mountain peaks of distraction, give up on everything, such a waste, sleep is only a temporary option to get fit enough to fight back, stay the course of delivering material to get under the skin of the human race, like a tick, burrowing down for comfort during the long haul of becoming a parasite, yet for a lot of creative so artists; they have not acheived anything beyond the concept of leeching on humans, vampires drunk on their own power, reinterpeting the laws of benefit their own success. But how come the audience still feels empty, lost, and sexually abused. No substance, idealism shall not be tolerated, only mocked, twisted, and synthesized for undescrete financial gain.

Time has always been running out and everyday I wake up once again feels like another day on parole, one more chance to get into the ring like such fighters answer the bell's call even though both eyes are swollen, closed up in attempt to protect busted up orbital bones. An inner drive is the only real commitment left, not dead end nights on a barstool discussing the lethargic nature of others who live to cruise, exist, and have no concern with the sharp blades of death standing right before them. I can't get it out of my head and watching the humor of the general public everyday is way too addictive, but finding the time to document their behavior has become some what of a problem. From the insane prostitutes walking down the neighborhood to the service sector workers sitting at midnight bus stops with no coat waiting for local transit systems which never arrive on time, a punishment, a long term sentence with invisible shackles, of course not the dark nature of the US prison system but a circular track with no beginning or end, only a final collapse, no mercy, caring, or assistance. Everyone passing me as I write this shall die, as they go grab a bite for lunch, shop for holiday gifts, or wander the trashbins of the apartment complexes, at this border the future does not exist, survival is a video game, and getting over nothing more than a movie of the week. Ingest the booze, fix on the drugs, and become entranced with social media, all distraction lead back to the crossroad where the devil shall greet you with open arms.

Delightful Hopping Across the Road

Some people live within there own boundaries, jumping and skipping when all else seems dark and hopeless. It amazes me how certain folks can live beyond the everyday pressure of existence, please teach me, I have not figured out how to do it. Reckless abandon shall be supported, no problem, where does the check need to be forward to, don't hesitate, publish, say something, come on, the masses are all alone waiting for your call. Green lights from one city to the next, oh yeah, regardless Monday Night Football or not, we need the constant presence of the European influence, ask those in Italy, they know, Barcalona too, global expansion is our game, to take over the everyday and make it into something extraordinary, stay tuned.

Black and White Shakedown

What does it matter, the digital forces have already wiped away two editions of this rant, have already forgotten about the original point, execept that humanity is the way to go, do not give up, the public parks are filled with patrolman who seek to put the fringe of society in cuffs with a long drawn out opera like performance. Stealing from the grocery store shall not be permitted, do not even try it, slap the cuffs right on you, get the numbers ready, otherwise, caution, this computer keeps moving in and out of stereo sound. The holidays are approaching does your family love you anymore, take stock, remember, Jesus loves me, maybe not you, tough luck, but being Catholic does have its advantages, tight pussy, wet dreams, and the passage to the eternal. Most meth tweekers will not make it past sight surveys; condemned, judged then arrested for making the feeble attempt to come off as human beings. Really? This society is way too judgement to let such subversives go unnoticed, right back to the gallows for permanent death, no escape or bargaining. A real sad state to live in, but welcome to the 21st century.

Upbeat

Good to feel upbeat again even though the warmth of the Latin summer has faded away I can still keep a small piece of it hidden like some high grade narcotic, stashed for that appropriate time when everything and everyone else around you has gone south of their mind for the winter. Please don't let me be one of those people who have given up on themselves and life to supplant it with such wonders as social media, lite beer, and the occasional feature film release. Who wants to be a slave to bad times that hang around the neck like a noose that only tightens enough to make you feel like you are going to suffocate but still get a small amount of oxygen to keep alive. Such a poor limbo when everyday is no better than the previous one, let us all get pass the negativity to remember how enjoyable life can be when we fight to live with friendliness, harmony, and a greater sense of good. Smiles on the street corner, doors opened for old ladies, even the simplist of greetings go a long way to keep others on the path of positivity, don't lose it, truly the only battle worth fighting for, one that pays great dividens all the entire world benefits from at all times.

Black Widow 2.0

She is not your average dawn patrol afternoon throwaway transparent apparition walking the streets of Karen Avenue with nothing more left in a overly desentized lobotomized brain than on how to score enough money for drugs, rusted metal bedsprings, and some new clothes while furthering her delusional nightmare of fantasy game show reality television success. Nothing gross, obvious, or involving low grade STD transmissions who clings to a searing perverse nature that would induce any upper class Roman turn in sheer terror from the master class levels of obscene behavior exuding from her acidic toxic skin; it is difficult to tell whether the actions are for effect or obsessionally genuine. The night stalker walks down the back alleys at night with a body which make most sexually deviant middle age men contemplate thoughts of Ted Bundy like murders, Silence of the Lambs come to mind, an all out assualt on everything socially relevant with scapels, acetelyene torches, and an ameoba like gelatinous filled fluid sac where the mind has completely dissolve into something more telepathic, like a radio station for mass sacrifice where nothing but the hits of such predators throughout history all talk in a hyper frenzy paranoid state, a stadium of sadists cheering these men on to become the next media headline forever branding their particular or peculiar sense of of female worship on the hearts and minds of the human race.

The Black Widow walks like a lion closing in on a kill, totally emotionless, seeking to only spread fatal sexual diseases amongst the fringe cases of society, her time on this planet is running out like the sand in an hourglass, definitive, permanent, and absolute, a vindictive suicide mission to infect as many of the enemy of possible, jacked up on high speed trailer park crank her heels leave indentions in the sidewalk, a heavy footed nature that shakes the entire block with every step; those around the neighborhood know exactly who she is once those earthquake like vibrations start, spinning, picking up momentum to a terminal velocity on par with sub-atomic particals, near light speed, this woman becomes almost an illusion, barely visible to the human eye that is why none of the authorities can catch her for she does not really exist, nothing more than a lingering trail of red tailights passing through a congregation of acid munching bystanders, caught up in the spectacle of witnessing the presence of the Black Widow as if a comet in the night sky had passed, such a short window of visibility before the object vectors off pass our small window in the universe.

Shoot to kill, aim to thrill, by the short track to the death ride, her sermon, her victim, an eruption when the clothes come off to anyone to naive, ignorant, or schizophernic to cross paths with her, no wisdom, mercy, or escape, once in the web, turning to stone would be an easy way out, but not with this woman, she will spread her infection laced with the dreams that disturb her every living breath, kill, kill, kill, is her motto, every night, when the sun sets, with shark like persistence she feasts, no choice, keep moving, keep deavouring, keep converting innocents into zombies without morals, goals, and a dedication to uphold the invisible pillars of decency that keep this fragile nation in tact. All those ideals are out the window when the clock whispers into your ear that time is an invention and that your time is being revoked for lack of proper usage. The assassin closes in under seina street lamps, tempting would be dominators in for the surprise of their life, paralysis, soul eating viruses, and passage to the fast lane of misery, take a seat, find her true nature where curiousity does not only kill the cat but murder an entire generation of misguided subverts only looking to escape the pain of everyday existence.

Humble Reality

Never been to trusting or willing to interact with the general public, so when an employee of a auto parts store offers to change out my car battery out of sense of goodwill, it takes a bit of effort on my part to just merely say yes, without retreat into myself self absorbed nature, but I did it and offered up some conversation, for if nothing else to make me feel a bit more comfortable in accepting assistance from another person. The cold night was only tempered by the heat exhausting radiating from the engine, yet the whole scene made me think about how my subtle transformation from my preconception about most people here in the states need some fine tuning, it was time for me to get over being such a crank, highbrow weirdo who would not responsed to something unless it happen to orginate on the far edges of reality or from another dimension entirely, yet this small event helped me feel more at ease in engage the public, good stuff, reason enough for a few drinks.

Submerged

Passed through the neighborhood bar this afternoon where the one of my favorite bartendars has decided to go sober. One can never be sure of the reasons, but she has lost a bunch of weight and looks ten years younger, granted not very many people could over indulge in the alcohol like this woman. She claimed it made everyone looks prettier after ten shots of tequila, which might be true but does not change the overall theme of working in five shifts a week in blue collar video poker bar. The place is slow as the sun starts fade in the sky, a veil over the sun reflecting the larger nature of Las Vegas, the erosion, the demise, the final act, whittling people away one at a time, seeking to break them into weakend desperate souls who have nothing left to do but retreat to such places as this particular establishment to drink one dollar or two dollar bills. The sports books are crowded still, especially during football season, any sort of information betters can pick up through the many conversations floating around during the hours before game times may make the difference between paying the rent on the weekly room or just giving up, heading down to Sands Ave to score to cheap street drugs.

Desperation flows like the floodwaters of a river past its natural flood zone. Every winning bet a small victory of stemming the inevitable tide of self mutilation or suicide as the small time gamblers file past me like workers from an assembly line shift. They appear transparent, faceless, and emotionless, robots seeking a temporary solution to a mortal problem. Success has escape us all, turned everyone here today into manic pellet seeking mice pushing the feeder button that no longer respsones to our requests, doling out nothing but puffs of stale cattle fodder filled air. Begin the funeral services why delay our true calling as conveyor belts for cheap beer, video poker, and the ocassional sexual encounter, for most that would be considered quite an existence in this town, a small time champion with the ability to hurdle the most dynamic troubles that grind up the majority of part time laborers in this town. I have watched them kill themselves one day at a time, then dissapear in a vague fog of anonimity where for a brief moment their time on this rock will be recollected then forgotten with a good night sleep, so don't be fooled into kindness for the reason of survival because it is an empty game with no rewards those whom you offer such things will only see them as belated gifts on birthdays long since celebrated where the trash can embraces discarded loyality. If you are going to care, just care and think nothing of it more.

I tipped the bartender then thought about writing something more than a daily blurb, luckily sleep can delay such tasks one more night and that is just about all I need, one more night with no distractions, thoughts of failure, or delusions of distilling my brain into pop culture trivia. This world needs impact, raw emotional truth, and understanding of a larger idea than people in American society seem capable of embracing, so as the our society moves along into the night of the 21st century cutting the ties to the self indulgent nature of the 20th century remains the only thing left to move on to recapture the world, not with guns, but with our imagination.

Riding the Gravytrain

More artists today, with plenty of high end technical gadgets, my hearing is so awful the extremely loud soundsystem does not bother me, hate to think about the day my ears fail me completely. Still obsessing over sexy female dancers, they are on display for my personal entertainment, time to sodomize my mind with thoughts of these women in compromising positions, happy to be able to post while on the clock, get too beat up after work, would rather watch a tv show, cook something, or run around the neighborhood, dodging all the hookers, dealers, and police. Nice way to earn a living this week, amongst the higher ups in the food chain, where the money is a prelude to larger dreams like screwing young twenty something dancers.

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Rehearsal

Can now communicate from my cell phone not sure how this post will look, not much on the edit, lots of hot female dancers keep my mind and thoughts occupied with dirty intentions, life in the live tv production world consists of many people coming to the conclusion of riding out a turbulant tsunami like wave till it crashes on the beach destorying all inhabitants of coastal area only retreat from gravitational pull leave nothing a path of destruction as the only evidence of its presence.

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The Hard Dollar

There are days like tonight where the money I make comes at quite a sacrifice of sanity. Every time a large sense of failure as well as ineptness seeps into my mind questioning the entire purpose of existing in the first place. Old grey hair weather beaten malnourished unkept discarded throwaway men circle the parking lot looking for parking space at the Las Vegas Convention Center dressed in the same clothing they have been wearing for the past thirty years. Their appear use to give me a great deal of laughter and thought in my younger days working as a laborer, now time has played its cruelest joke making one of them. This sense of humility and humbleness more than likely fuels my desire to return to such jobs where the gathering of people might resemble a typical weekend NASCAR crowd or line down at the local food bank. The style consits of beat up jean shorts, casino themed giveaway t-shirts, and non descript athletic shoes. However, one of the first things I hear a couple of fellow laborers talking about are the recent purchases of luxury sedans, hourly wage earners on a six hour call can afford seventy thousand dollar automobile when they give off a vibe of someone you might run into walking the AM streets in a meth stupor put me in a state of disbelief.

The crew of laborers outside of myself and my assigned partner had taken their own personal liberties to play the waiting game. A time oriented excursion of long walks, smoke breaks, and cell phone calls around the large multi-stadium sized building where anyone with enough skill and experience could find a hundred place to remain hidden amongst the biovauc of anonymous faced workers going about their business. Our supervisor was around yet almost seemed to be in on the relax nature of our endeavors. What did he care, slowly dole out the instructions, be vague, and offer little assistance, it was no wonder the overall process of getting things done in this trade slowly down to a near grinding halt. This entire scheme happened to be nothing more than a charade to extract as much money as possible from the hundreds of national and multi-national companies displaying their products for this particular tradeshow. All expenses looked to be built in from the high end technology media exhibits to the legions of street creatures lining up for battle at the perimeter of the labor check in tent.

There was the customery ra-ra speech from some employee of the month candidate foreman who praised the crowd of workers with large amount of bullshit psych gibberish that went completely over the gathering's heads, plenty of confused looks and silent faces until the finale where the supervisor grunted, screamed, and raised his arms in a hostile stance of victory as if the infidels had been crushed for the last time an indirect reference to a few vulgarities was all it took to get the people around me patting themselves on the back for another successful trade show. I felt cheated, misled, and soon to be regretting my decision to take this call. The work at this level is pretty dumbed down as my immediate supervisor raised up a two signs that our crew were to collect throughout the convention center. At first I thought he was joking, sort of giving the dumb dumbs a bit to chew on and the obsessive compulsives an incompletable task to drive them right back to the aslyums in which they had escaped earlier in the year. Either way, gathering up the signs turned out to be an exercise in looking busy while getting paid. A group of twelve wandered throughout the various halls spread out through the convention space collecting small signs that were folded then taped together and placed in small cardboard boxes. Well, at least it beat rolling up carpet which plenty of other laborers had drawn, one of the worst jobs ever, cause you always get paired with someone who does not give a shit, second, the rolls always come out on uneven provoking some supervisor to materalize out of then air and get all shitty in regards to how the carpets need to be rolled evenly so they fit on the metal lances placed upon the forklift. I never cared when drawing the carpet assignment, just kick those things up into a roll, then move on, those supers. would go apeshit after about twenty or thirty of them, getting out of his electric cart, which was something those types never did and giving us a clinic on how to properly roll a carpet, here I am standing around with convicts and killers, they certainly did not care, in fact I could see one or two of them making mental notes on seeking this fool out after work for a bit of a clinic in taking a knife to the bellying then being wrapped up in one of those carpets bound for the city dump. Still, the supervisors never appeared imitimated, merely frustrated and or confused at our overall lack of ability to grasp the concept of the carpet roll, there were no other jobs as dumb down as this, nowhere else for the supers to send us, except maybe pushing around crates, getting them to the proper booths, but even that required paperwork and an ability to read. It was nothing more than the fact all those around me at the time just did not give a fuck, never have, never will, content to eek out an existence on the fringe and if jail time was involved that just happen to be how shit went down at the moment. Personally, I felt like a retard for volunteering for such labor when earlier in the week I was working on a big budget entertainment show, but fortunately these gigs give me perspective, material, and a bit of reconnection with those days when such type of work was all that I had, nothing else, just life at the convention center with the masses, grinding out money to support a family and hopefully get drunk.

Punk Rocks Last Gasp

Is there really any true sense of anti-establishment anymore, where hundreds of young kids pay 25 bucks to go watch a bunch of middle aged punks from yester year attempt to rekindle the flames of anarchy and defiance. In this overweight, overly indulgence, and boats filled with cheap consumer goods from China fest still contain meaning, validity, and identity, it feels like the people of today are rebelling against having too much, as opposed to at least in my opinion back in the early days revolting against not getting what people wanted. The problem turned out to be the masses were given the opportunity to consume, more than before, maybe some people, there are plenty of others out there sleeping with boxes on their heads in worn out threaded shorts with no shoes on and a small plastic piece of cardboard to use as a blanket. Not much of that tonight at this particular music venue just plenty of 30, 40, and 50 dollar bar bills being rang up at the cash register without much thought. The so called punk ethos did not exist tonight here at a corporate ran facility where the only other thing more noticable than the deseperate reach to channel some hostility out on the dancefloor was the throng of swapmeet like cubicles selling all sorts of band merchandise from bandanas to painters caps, where were the thong panties I thought, probably had to ask for them and in the immortal words of the opening bands lead singer who looked like she belonged on one of the many Disney Channel teen oriented television shows, had said before their last number in order to get the crowd into a mosh pit fevered frenzy, "Let's punk rock like it's 2002!" maybe 1982, even 92, being old, does not make me jaded, but merely gives me a large window to view the world from, I personally enjoy this perspective because it is really the only redeeming factor in life, whether others want to hear about it tends to fall into the negative catagory, due to a few reasons, the first being a so called era, genre, or calling is new to some people, music is always a battleground for this concept.

I have watched 40 plus year old grown men start fights with 18 year old kids over, being down, being real, having an understanding of wanting nothing, getting nothing, living with the lies of family, friends, and the larger world, being discounted at every turn, where music and art meet in the form of communication, not just a reunion tour to go see so you can tell your non cool friends you got to see Band X twenty five years after anyone stop giving a shit about them, which in a lot of ways is valid, cause for some reason, it means something to go watch a band crank up the hits one more time, damn, the Stones still do it and I count myself amongst the people who will find someway to get into that show, even the Roger Waters doing the The Wall in its entirety breeds more of the stairway to nostalgia, which only stagnets, music, art, and culture, being reflective is one thing, but breaking out the head of Walt Disney from the cryogenic chamber is another, yet this what our society has done on an epic scale. Homogenize everything single thing ever produced, digitized it, then reassembled the pieces to make the masses homesick for catered spoon fed emotion, it is so American and so dead, no one else outside of this country cares anymore, why can't the people of this nation get that in any capacity. The ship is sailing, reliving the good times will not make them anymore significant, just, or real; no matter how many drinks, pills, and drugs you take, it is nothing more than masterbation of the body, mind, and soul, a death sentence, no parole, possibly escape.

So as the crowd in the mosh pit, lightly push each other around, authority rules instilling paralysis in those people to not let out the anger, the fear, and disgust with our society, muted in potential consequence they become passive, subdued, and negated by a band call the Ministry of Love an appropriate titled band for the ocassion who in Orwell's sense did their job tonight very well.

Buying Groceries

Have not really thought much about getting groceries for anyone beside myself in the past year, being alone affords me the luxury of have to worry about my friends and ocassionally my own sanity depending on how bad I abuse its own fragile existence, but at the store, here I am putting in items for someone else who has stayed over a few times and without getting into all that happened, the thing that stands out the most right now is this idea of buying food with another in mind, yeah, she likes bagels in the morning, I have no toaster so just throw them on the stove for a few minutes, of course it is nice of have a half naked woman walking around in a t shirt that never gets old, no matter how old I get, even funnier the older I get the more juvenile shit like that takes on a fresher meaning, like it might be the last time, who know, more than likely.

National Mental Breakdown

Could have been due to the uncertainity of the election for Senate or my weekly excursion out onto the streets of Las Vegas, people seemed to be awfully distracted today with a heighten sense of fear, maybe the realization of how permanent our nation's transition into the 21st century will not offer all the advantages is so readily abused in the 20th century has something to do with it. The era of contemplation, incestous corporate ladder structure, and petty baseless xenophobic views is coming to a close. A once wide open fast track has been rerouted across the Pacific to China where young adults of certain social standing will have now have the opportunity to rot their minds on pop culture, social media, and the illusion of attainable success. I sense a dark curtain beginning to draw around the US, one group attempting to draw the drapes shut, while the other desires to pull them wide open in a global embrace that does not really care too much anymore about our place in the world, outside of the possiblity of not destroying it. The US as a rouge nation, an axis of evil, sounds crazy ,but in some circles that projection has already been solidified, luckily the extent today only made it as far as the intersection of a local Las Vegas intersection.

Already had two close calls today with drivers impaired by stress or genetic defect which causes them to run red lights with complete disregard for any other cars in the general area. It was possible a lingering hangover from the Halloween weekend could be having an effect on the people in town, how would I know, slept in on Sunday night, however an invisible hostile air happen to be telling me other things, like how no one is happy with anything going on in the states, suicides, murder, and overdoses are probably on the rise, giving a shit about the future has become out of fashion, overpopulation, not enough work, adults, teens, and kids, still having more children, the impact of metal upon metal transportation vehicle turned into a symphony of high impact mayhem plays on the midday airwaves of gridlock traffic. The worst of the damage had to be a driver who got T boned on the passenger side by someone clearly running a red light by at least ten seconds, not sure if the driver was fleeing a crime, but she caved in the driver's side door knocking the person inside unconscious then got out as if high on speed with a naive innocence as if trying to negate the realization that her future had possibly just taken a turn for the worse.

The car hit happen to be the person in front of me at the turn signal thankfully I was distracted talking to someone on my cellphone not too worried about driving about like a bat on PCP and speed, so I got to offer up a play by play to the friend on the other end of the line, like a movie stunt gone bad, immidate impact, a short silence, then the sound of far off sirens as strangers nearby gather like beings at a funeral. I was probably obligated in some moral sense to stay there and offer up my thoughts on the accident to the proper authorities, but explanation of such things is like the telling of the Rashoman story, four views of the same incident all told in quite different manners of interpetation and the growing curiousity of sizeable legion of witness set my conscious at ease that the matter would settled, as my own sense of self preservation kicked in that invisible of force of hostility had pulled my name today, on the streets we are all fair game, open season, chalk it up to laws of gravity, darwinism, and a primitive sense of blood feast during the pagan moon. I had escaped luckily, just have to watch for the signs, those faceless beings who are nothing more than angles of death with judical courts at their back, guns, autos, drugs, and an extreme sense of fear to kill everything to diminish those feelings of their own mortality, a last ditch effort for the obsolete of the 21st century to be heard before they are grinded up into cement and used as the foundation for the leaders of tomorrow.

Self Destructo

self destruction
rampant
alumni
live in coffins
or as ashes
spread across the globe
I have looked in their eyes
as the living
death films over
everything they see
no fortune teller
or special gift
only the obvious reality
of how people
will kill themselves
over and over again
until the job is finished
does it matter?
when an auto accident
choking on dinner
or allergic reaction
can do the job just as easily
control
must count for something
to watch oneself
wither
decay
and eventually die
pain
to live as an outlaw
means pain
suffering
revealing wisdom
most people choose to ignore
when under the realm
of cultural comforts
take those away
an there is just the self
the mirror
and realization
that mortality
is more than a word
its the final word

Crime Report

So many assualts
burglaries
stolen cars
and narcotics busts
in 89109
every week
I get the neighborhood paper
with such light topics
as the haunted locations of Las Vegas
or Halloween cookie recipes
but on page 2
in every issue
resides the crime report
a street map
littered with stars
squares
and triangles
all representing
a variety of reported illegal activity
by looking at the overwhelming smattering
of symbols
one might think I live in a dangerous area
yet people walk the streets
around here at all hours
the prostitutes
crack fiends
junkies
pimps
theives
and bad asses
cops sit next to patrol cars
in front of a 7-11
with siren lights on
a neon garage sale
or maybe a cue to conduct business
but be discreet
cause even with the addition
of a police division
down the way from my place
near the Hilton Hotel
not much has changed
besides the demolition of a few apartment complexes
no problem
people just move down the avenue
tons of empty apartments around here
some just boarded windows
no doors
people squat
does not cost a thing
others refuse to pay rent
why should they
the accomodations look bombed out
no power
window shades
pad locks on the front entrance
yet next week
there will be another map of the 89109
with the same exceedingly high amount
of crime traffic
as the local labor force
dodges all those stars
triangles
and squares in an attempt
to do it all over again the next night

Rock Diet

Things you see
on the table
on the rider
bags of oxycotins
lora tabs
vicadins
valiums
percasets
piles of coke
weed
an entire array of whisky
vodka
jager
151 rum
and tequila
there is always more
we need more
excess has no boundaries
except
sleep
and death
the insanity inbetween
only fuels the gravitation
back to the safety
of drug induced comas
where happiness exists
while the pain of humanity
ebbs away
like the receeding tide
as the moon stop
ceasing all further ocean movements
it is showtime
load up
numb up
feel good
and forget for a bit
that life shall never
get any better than this

Age

Funny to see someone
who I have not seen in five years
she has aged a bit
but still maintains quite a fit body
wanted to have sex with her back then
and even more today
maturity has masked that once innocent youth
boyfriends
partying
one night stands
fill in the voids
for living in a world
where people have expectations
based upon traditional family values
values that have since
been blow to smithereens
showering new generations
with fragments of beliefs
twisted through media
friends
and personal choice
sitting across from her tonight
it was plainly obvious
my intentions
which probably got my friend
to make a hastily exit
no problem
my door is always open
and she now knows where I live

Open Season

The storefront is open
after a brief vacation
where old friends meet once more
time has no concept here
merely the rise and setting of the sun
formalities
mysteries
and reason
have no foundation
just another evening
to connect with greater sea of insanity
cresting over the Las Vegas Strip
every bill comes due
ignoring it
will not make the issue go away
only fester
like an annonying family member
or flesh eating virus
total consumption
give precious blood
sanity
surrender to the waking hours
which never cease
even during the off moments
all these folks pay
heading off with their product
to tiny little islands
marooned in a mental sea of conversation
sex
and rememberance
until the feeling wears off
redailing friends numbers once more
to recapture the white light

Safety Conscious Recycling

He passed by me
wearing
industrial grade
black rubber gloves
that went up
way past his elbows
armed with a trash picking
mechincal tool
he rummaged through the sanitation bins
behind the liqour store
careful
continously aware of his surroundings
the man lifted each layer of refuse
with the manner of treasure seeker
coming upon a rare and exclusive find
focus
patience
coarsed through his veins
with the precision of a surgeon
removing each layer of garbage
assessing everything for potential value
The recycling artists of Columbia
were not so particular
taking no shorts but to just dump
the entire of waste on the street
then figure out what was worth saving
and leaving the rest in a pile on the street
for the next person

Langauge Barrier

Spent 3 weeks in Columbia
No more fluent in Spanish
Than when I left
A woman
Ask me for help
Could not understand
Thought she wanted some money
Americano tendencies kick right in
when back in the states
someone
always wants something for nothing
she looked homeless
that's enough
to be judgemental
when all she wanted
was a bit of help
figuring out how
to put more air in her car's tires

New Pop Fantastic

Teenagers in their Halloween Costume
Roam the Aisles of the Neighborhood Convenience Store
Pop Implants for the Mind
We Dance
We Sing
We Fall in Love
With the Thoughts
The Dreams
Of Escaping a Nightmare Reality
on the City Streets
Moonwalkers
Hip Hoppers
and Body Rockers
Dancehall Divas
and Beauty Queens Take Notice
Time Moves on
Yet the Illusion
Remains the Same
Youth Burns Like a Short Fuse
Smiles Fade
Turn Hostile Faces of Stone
Where No Light Shines
and Those Thoughts of Dancing Your Life Away
Fall Victim to the Wandering Predators of the Night
Talking in their Sleep

Join the Human Race

No Desire to embrace, accept what others do so readily, there is nothing wrong with have a enormous sense of disgust for contemporary anything, commericalized, over processed, made for material profit. Many of my acquaintences call me a hater, never satisfied, completely incorrect, there are plenty of great stories and moveable creations, but interacting with the general public who pay to view garbage cinema, backyard brawls of ultraviolence, and happy hour key busts can do nothing but provide me material in which to write, not much else, in the end people want money, security, and the illusion of upward mobility without these concepts the knife will cross the throat or the pills down the throat, all of this gives me immense amounts of laughter as well as a greater desire to press past all their inadequate ideologies that only spawn, violence, transgression, and expliotation. Those things run our society and more we employ them up on our fellow humans, the greater the gain but the quicker slide down into a society of paranoid, self conscious robot, without feeling, thought, or compassion, grinded into paste and served on a cracker is to be fate of the human race, bow down to your superior who have no shame in abuse, cons, and destruction, nothing more to them than blowing your nose or blowing up the neighborhood architectual relic.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Appears that post 2am time frame has been the most suitable lately for putting down any sort of information, living in hotel rooms dodging all the usual drug addicts and chronic alcoholics so I can drink in peace without the discomfort and peer pressure associated with people bound in chains who prefer to live in denial of their self destructive natures masks by the socially acceptable roles of playing parents or discovering religion, anything, an excuse, a legitimate angle to cure the ham, to come back home, hit Orwell's Room 101, go braindead and forget that you had anything called a pulse. I know this is all a big scam, shitting on the toilet, my disiciples running back to the comforts of reality. It is too late for me, no matter all the hangovers or cardiac arrest, my lot is to go down as a dengerate, a substance abuse, a person who sits in bars in his middle age, staring at the asses of 20 something female bartenders watching them talk to douchebags, laughing at the entire display, the wasted nature, the complete and utter joke of witnessing the process of courtship in the 21st century when all people want to do is get wasted, fuck, then move on. I speak of Las Vegas, of working in the entertainment industry, right away reason goes out the window.

No one wants to here about the reality of being a cog for the ministry of truth, a tele-internet communicator to the masses who believe whatever I tell them, then attempt to come up with a lie, a bigger lie to seduce a piece of pussy back their way. I watched it happen tonight, when the cockblock crew heard I was from Vegas and the female bartender got excited, then began talking to me, these recording machines, shifted gears to begin talking about their Vegas experiences, nights at the craps table, the money won, lost, and spent, as well as a bunch of other tales of fabrication, really?, the entire process was ridiculous, the effort spent by these guys to win back the bartender's attention amazed me. What did I care, she wondered if I was coming around the next night, no such luck, don't really need anymore hassles, there are a million bars throughout the world, been to half of them, still the drama at the local neighborhood tavern is not to be underestimated. Bogota, leaving next Tues night, no plans, itinerary, or direction, just show up and let the country speak to me, just the way it should be, later. No edits

Closing in 5 Minutes

Still have not gone to sleep once more, just another week of running around the country earning money that has already been spent. The attendent at the gate is all too ready to start boarding the passengers so I have to make this one quick. No assigned seating, cattle call mentality has taken over, mostly older people on this early flight, no one my age or younger would even think of doing anything at this time but partying, getting on a plane would be the last thing, unless it was time to escape the impending wrath of actions conducted the previous evening that would constitute a reasonable decision to escape the local authorities, federal agencies, or street level pimps who are more than upset at a non payment for services rendered with a few of their body sex vehicles. Not too excited about getting out this morning, slave, slave, slave, could right that for another five thousand pages and it would still get through my mind, have to live in denial with the booze, pills, drugs, and women to twist my mind day after day, I think about the waste, the purposelessness of all the behavior, but there I am at 3 in the morning on a day off, instead of sleeping putting chemicals into my system to further the friend nature of my brain, the heart is all over the place this morning, no sleep puts a lot of stress on me, done for now, calling us to board, have to get my free peanuts and drink, the high life.

Burning Red Eyes

Keep me from seeing properly, fuzzy, out of focus, straining to make sense of anything in my view. Second time this week, I have not gone to bed, luckily it has only been due to work and not drugs, shall probably pull another all nighter in a few days as a result of scheduling. Eating poorly this week has only exacerbated the impending heart condition I have been feeling, that muscle has been overused as of late, processing all sorts of bullshit food, drinks, and stress, why can't I keep these people with self destructive tendencies at bay? Feel like I did alright this time, hid in my room away from beasts of the midnight hour, all the cities seem the same to me. The same bars, same restuarants, same brick buildings, and throngs of tourists milling about, attempting to take in all the notable hotspots without any real sense of purpose.

Have to brush up on my Spanish, heading off to Bogota Columbia for 2 weeks, time to get out of the US again, disconnect, get some of the global effect back in my system while shedding away some of the Las Vegas spiral of death I seem to be in lately, bleeding money from all sides, whether on the road or at home, not much to do but drink, hang around at bars, and go out to dinner, would rather stay in the condo, eat rice, do a bit or writing, yet being out in the world always results in a large amount of usable material. Living surrounded by 4 walls has never really panned out much result beside the slow rising babble of introspective contemplation that grows so obtuse and surreal, a severe case of depression will be soon to follow. Excited about the trip, a little fearful as well, been quite sometime since I have gone out of the country for non work purposes, just have to go with my instinct, has served me well so far.

From the outposts, communications are being recieved on old battlefronts, serving in long ago settled wars, lost in the jungles where the sound of percussive rythmns do not get to the lone survirors who are so far gone into their personal mania an entire new reality has developed to further serve to slow the decades of destructive abuse beset upon their minds, bodies, and souls. So rather than face that tidal wave of pain, denial has been substituted to ensure no minds snap, no arterties bleed, and no souls dissolve. Sounds like a sure fire plan to keep the pleasure channels open and for the likes of these folks nothing else shall take precendence over the innate cumpulsion to get bombed, pan fried, and transcendental, there is nothing other way, means of escape is possible, living on the ship of the damned in reality while floathing around in outer space in a vessel that has long since ran out of fuel, lost all direction, and ever so slowly is being sucked in by the invisible forces of a black hole, time will cease to exist, a never ending dream that becomes a daily soap opera, one the television networks ever cancel, take solace in that idea alone, a true comfort and ultimately carte blanche to destroy without fear of reprisal, the eternal being, words from the next demension, I can't quite hear it, but sense the soft delicate voice playing like a melody in my mind trying to get me to retrieve the image, the character, and the substance of that voice, of the person from where it eminates, to bring them back to the world of the living.

4am Indy

All of the bars are closed but the neon beer signs remain on as early morning shift workers clean out all the stale alcohol, vomit, and sexual discharge. A battle raged on these streets tonight with anxious weekend party people seek a refuge to over indulge. A kid is selling hot dogs from a cart on the corner, he says there is only one more dog left, as an older man, quite intoxicated, begins to munch the thing down like a starve wolf eating for the first time after the winter season. The roads remain half paved, covered with metal plates, construction time again as the downtown renovation continues. Pizza shop appears to be doing some business, same pizza they served after the show was over tonight, all pizza tastes like cardboard at 3am, but the booze, the fatigue, and starvation make it seem somewhat tolerable, though the food is far from it.

MMA fans still remain outside our hotel in hopes that one of their superhero will materialize out the thick fog of afterhour party nightclub dancefloors, not likely, most of them are either face down in a pile of coke or balls deep in some fight groupie who seeks to have her personal fantasies fulfilled by the fighter of the moment. Everyone has beers, why not me, no one cares to share any, might just have to break into the hotel bar in the lobby and reopen the place, it would be a total windfall for the hotel. Other fans, take pictures with unrecognizable people, trainers, coaches, or some other facets of the machine of violence, these fans know way too much about all these fighters, over obsessive supporters snapping away photos, video, as if the president had just arrived in town, focused on getting some sort of evidence that shall link the two of them together for eternity, a prize to take back to their friends, like a fresh carcass from the hunt. Nothing left to do now but stay up the rest of the morning, take a taxi to the airport, watch people, write, then board, close my eyes and let the overpowering noise of the jet engines lull me to sleep.

No One Is Safe

Loyality, dedication, and efficency, all staples of 20th century work ethics have been thrown aside in the 21st century, strip everything down to the bare bone and declare a profit, hard to understand where the economic recovery has sprouted, sure have not seen it much in the US over the past few months. The media in their Orwellian nature to back a president who has done little for the constituants who put him in office, manipulate ideas, facts, and mathematics to tell the public, not to worry, go ahead and spend some more, buy up everything in sight, what choice do you have, all this is being financed by the Chinese anyway, so as long as our country hands over the latest technology for them to mass produce everything shall be fine, if that fails then go ahead with the encoded sequence to launch the the nuclear missles in the general direction of China, but who the hell will make all our cheap creature comforts? Furthermore, our addictive nature to television, food, and wasting time supercedes any real political ideology, wait, will whittle ourselves down somemore, wait, cut, slice, extract the remaining amount of reason, then go about the day.

Surrounded by spongers and two faced people who shall be the cause of your demise, undermining everything you do with a smile, we all lie to each other and pretend to be allies, but in the process continuously seek new ways to sandbag our fellow humans, so we can wake up in the morning to grab a bagle or coffee. Do not be fooled with camraderie, having beers, lunch, or hanging out in the strip club, it all means nothing, you will be ran right over with no one else looking back, shaking their heads as they pass while being thankful it was not them. There has to be a stopping point, are they any decent people left who are not already full of a thousand excuses from having to buy diapers to being upside down in a mortage they should have ever taken on in the first place. The stories of misery run so deep, no wonder the suicide rate has gone through the roof lately. People can no longer take the strees of living under a pile of bills, with the uncertainity of retaining employment, so don't participate in other people's bullshit anymore, realize most everyone for who they really opportunists with no real sense of purpose but to consume, procreate, and stand on the sidelines when the hard decisions have to be made.

Midnight Travelers

They wait folded up in chairs enduring long layovers in US airports, delays, cancelled flights, missed connection due to excessive drunkeness in the streets of Las Vegas, coiled up like snakes fighting to get some sleep the past week has seeked to escape. I know the feeling doing time in so many international airports throughout the world, flights abroad leave at certain times, very infrequently, once a day, miss that flight, might as well head back into town for another night beating the going, trying to stay up or not sleep through another alarm. From excessive indulgence to bad timing, I have had to stay up more than a few days at a time to get back home, completely derranged, possessed, and erased, life becomes a thin film of existence, celluloid, can't understand anyone, just nod, grunt, and attempt to say a few words, no one can understood me. I watch these midnight travelers in the early morning as I catch a domestic flight to somewhere in America, still somewhat jealous that they are off out into the larger world, a world much grander in scale than the crap they sell here in the states, but soon I will be out amongst them once more, free for a brief time to live with judgement.

Tabloid Racks

What is about the magazine racks at the check out counter, almost is if they had placed a bunch of sex mags on the shelves, something compels me to look over, analyize the latest gossip about A List movie stars with whom I have nothing in common with what so ever. Not much different than surfing the internet, just passing time, dumbing down, feeling the fantasy of digging into the hard times of those more fortunate than myself, a rally cry, a pledge, a victory over those who we allow to manipulate, control, and dictate our futures through social culture, economic trends, and the elusive fantasy of success. There is no real reason for these magazines, except to supplant, drugs or booze, they have the same effect, crawling away into another space, into another world, far away from the vicious reality of surviving in a world drowning in overpopulation, wasted natural resources, and a union of masses who would rather flush the mess down the toilet then fight to save anything.

All these celebs, stalked like wild animals wherever they go, no matter what place on the planet, there is always some photographer hiding the tall grass, a catcus, or cocunut tree waiting to capture that golden moment which will put them on the map in the paparazzi department, either way, people must love the mags cause the store keep putting them out on the shelf to be sold, I get pissed at myself whenever I look over to read the headlines, a guilty pleasure, not even a real pleasure, but curious to see what the hell someone has painstakingly gone over in order to shape up into a some form of reading material, total junk, but to our society it supercedes, the evening news, politics, and global harmony, this is the real world, the silver screen, the super hero idealistic man and woman who the public shall never resemble, the masses live through the actors and their superstardom, somehow feeling connected, intertwined, and relative to their experiences when in fact most of the people live in hollow compact apartment, slowly dissolving on obseity, alcohol, and depression, drifting further away from sanity into another realm of no pain, where belief is enough to invoke change while riding the escalator to heaven, saved by the grace of Hollywood.

Retiredpornstars.com

Saw the name on the back of a window, a sticker of ill fortunate nature, where the relics, dried up whores, and drug fiends of the sex world unite for another trip down memory lane. Stories of syphills, HIV, crack cocaine, meth, 80 men gang bangs, and a total loss of conscience all merge together under one heading. Is a porn star ever really retired, jeez, some diseased pervert will pay money to fuck just about anything anymore, animal, children, freaks of nature, whatever, money crosses all lines and supposely washes away all sins, total bullshit, looking around in Vegas in the suburbs watching all the stripper, hookers, and sluts going grocery shopping for their kids will tell you enough in one day to know that the scars run deep, there is nothing proud, worthwhile, and meaningful about sucking cock and taking it up the ass, I'm sure plenty of prisoners in jail detest being on the receiving end of prison politics, sodomy, rape, animalistic ritual sex, we all crave it, watching it on the internet, television, or on some street corner in the alley only feeds the desire to enact, perform, and take part in such high levels of deviant performances. People have to find new ways to make money and luckily in society such ours there are a million new ways to scam the public out of their wages and most porn stars are savvy enough to know this, so expect the clone site of retired sex stars to give the Facebooks of the world a run for their money, cause that pussy is a cash machine right up until the moment the last bit of dirt hits the coffin lid.

Opposing Forces Unite

A deranged man walked around the Vons Gas station looking for some spare change. Why lie I need some beer, give me a few bucks, broken down here in this car over down the way, just something to keep me going. All the lines, a thousand more, did not matter, just get out of my presence, etched across the face of an uncomfortable white man, being confronted by a black man over who needs what, who gets what, and by the exact means. There was no way the brother possibly even thought about asking me for money, I don't waste anytime, just beat it, don't have time to listen to the soft sell or the hard sell, intimidation, guilt, or a general sense of oppression, skip it, might give them a few swallows of the gas going into my van, otherwise not interested. The best part is when the panhandler thanks me for turning down their pleas for money, oh the good lord...... on and on, doing my suffering for the afterlife where things will be much better that is why everyone is on drugs, booze, or food, distractions galore, forget about life as a failure, induce coma, lay back and imagine a better world in the mind.

By now, the local store clerk cretin has been alerted to the handywork of the bum who resorted to calling the white guy a racist while transcending into another entire diatribe blaming this man for the every atrocity conducted by the white race since the dawn of civilization. So the lackey clerk sent in the rent a cop security officer who happen to be black, like a repellent or avenue to mitigate the race card being overused at the time. The rent a cop had seen the brother's routine all too often and told him as much. This activity snapped the brother out of Farrakaan mode and into the united brother front, we are in this together to defeat the white man, let us unite, overcome, and rewrite the history books. The security guard got the homeless man moving in a direction from the customers off toward the bus stop where such behavior would easily be tolerated without judgement, rebuttle, or any sense of recognition, just another looney out on display. Negating race, pitting brother against brother, one paid by the streets, the other by the mechanisms of corporate America, shows you no matter what you have to choose a side, who will you defend when the time comes down, only one shot in which the rest of your life will be judged, a corporate slug or comatose binge freak, opposing force seeking death in the streets of Las Vegas, show teeth, violence, or death, nothing else will be tolerated.

Lord of the Carts

Part good samaratin, part obsessive compulsive, there did not seem to be any obvious reason why this street broken, mentally aloof, and universally disconnected human being felt the desire to organize the grocery carts in the metal corral left out in the parking lot which served as holding station for them until some teenage clerk found the time to wander around the area to grab all the baskets. Out of disarray came a blossomed flower of orderliness; the guy wanders around the lot gathering every stray cart as if it was a lost lamb in need of shelter and security. He did not work there, pushing the metal baskets between rows of oncoming vehicles, focused, committed, and unwavering, determination flowed out his pours like sweat from a person on a overly humid afternoon. This was all an attempt at one person seeking to control his environment, dressed in a well soiled, oil stained t-shirt, cut off pants, and a pair of dumpster salvaged dress shoes that looked to be a few sizes too large for the master of the carts.

He did not work there, still his nature to neatness felt a bit misplace especially after giving him the physical once over, personal appearance was nothing, but the calling to act as personal shepard to the grocery carts of Food 4 Less took the upmost precendence. I could not figure out exactly what was motivating this human being to undertake such a ritualistic routine, no one else around bothered to give it any thought, they were too caught in up whether to buy generic or brand name goods, what to cook for dinner, and if they really could afford to eat in the first place anymore. Such heavy weights on the minds of your average grocery shopper could create an unintended short sighting in regards to the personal mission of the Lord of the Carts who at the moment fell back in ranks to the rear of the parking lot, standing between empty parking spaces observing his domain, like a cattle rancher watching the herd as the sun sets in the west, stoic, proud, and overwhelmed with personal hubris, a champion overcoming the impossible, relishing victory in a subconscious moment of reflection. His actions created effiecency, facilated happiness in the eyes of the clerks who merely had to push the carts back in the store now, and finally feed his personal need to generate order in a society so bent on giving up to the everpresent eroding tide of urban decay. The battle would continue on forever, but his own individual front amdist the grocery store parking lot shall serve as a glimmer of hope for those cumplusive types who wallowed in the vices of self control, a psychotic fung shei episode that had no resolution, crumbling blocks stacked over and over again, yet if you forget you ever piled them up in the first place, there would be nothing to get angry about, this guy at that idea mastered, toiling relentlessly once more to reestablish a balance, no amount of lithum, methadone, or antipsychotic could remedy, this fight was his rehabiliation, maybe that is why no one stopped him from continuing the effort, just reaping in the benefit of the constant struggle to the entire house of cards from collapsing, no emotion at all, a robot of specific actions, applause held as the shoppers filled up the carts, then emptied them into their automobiles, unaware to the toil taking place amongst them.

The Backwoods

There is a discreet balance in the scenery out here in the Ohio backwoods. Large, thick tracks of treelands surround the retro grade neighborhoods that have been frozen in time since the 50's. General stores, gas stations with service attendents, and a myriad of local drivers in half broken down rusted out domestic brand lifted trucks with confederate flags are the norm. Yet no matter where my travels have taken me over the decades, the invisible magnetic beam of the weird somehow continues to pulls such outlandish individuals as those who drive such trucks into my presence. The first one must have been supplementing his income with regional meth sales as the guy behind the wheel and his friend cranked up the latest death metal sounds that Wal Mart had not already gone out of there way in banning due to sacriligous nature. Either way, these two epitomized the essence of rebellion in the small town country of southwestern Ohio, which happen to more or less border Indiana and Kentucky, don't think the proximity really had anything due to the stereotypical characteristics of the two individuals who in their cut of sleeve/ shirtless nature took turns leaning out their respective open doors while crusing down the roadway. Couldn't tell if this might be part local custom, mating ritual, or an all out effort to invoke a new form of intimidation not scene since the movie Deliverance. Of course, the fact I was driving a shitty little Hyundai compact car in the land of the free, home of the brave may have highlighted my already unwelcomed arrival.

There was not much I could do, besides turning back around to the Indiana border, most anyone with all their teeth and a bit of an education would stand out in these parts which makes the fact that a major university sets somewhat hidden in these mountainous hills, a bastion of learning where the overall intelligence level probably makes the entire state of Ohio appear partially capable of thought process, but do not be fooled it is down home right here in the backwoods, as the two screwballs bang on the sides of the truck doors to the death metal music while driver revs the engine somemore, not much else to do but laugh, already half pissed off because none of the road signs match any of the maps in my possession. There must be some sort of code or legend on the map I am missing which shall translate the myraid of posted highway markers alongside the shoulder, going on nothing but instinct at the moment, roadside taverns be damn, should just pull over and forget it, have a few drinks with the locals, instigate some violence then head down to the police station.

Regardless, the Dukes of Hazzard turned in another direction motivated by other means of spreading narrow minded hate amongst the citizens of Hamilton Ohio or wherever I happen to be at the time, everything looks the same, the houses, the treeline, the shaved mullets, and mini cars with sticker letters spelling out car detail services even though the car with the letters on it has not been detailed in years, missing bumpers, primer paint job, cracked windows, and enough junk the back pickup to make even the most endeavored horder turn awash in envious bliss. Guess the whole rebel flag thing might have to deal with our current president or proximity to Kentucky, quite possibly just small town America period, as if it matters anymore, symbolic if anything, like any other extremist activity in the US, outside of ideology Muslim related. Had to stop in a convenience store for directions finally, did want to spend the entire night driving around in circles looking for Miami University, the place just sort of appears alongside the road without much prompting which makes me crazy, either way, not much left to do but roll down the window, crank up the Greatful Dead and open a beer.