Knocking on Heaven's Door

Not sure what was stranger, the fact I overheard Dylan's Knocking on Heaven's Door on the musak at my new temporary home, the Sahara Hotel, or watching this silver haired old man with his wife in one of those sit down scooters and the rest of the family who all seemed quite confused with the new arrangement of closed down public parking structure on the backside entrance of the hotel, shit what did I know, I was not even aware there was any other parking, figured valet was the only way to go, did not get the memo about driving into the parking structure from the front of the hotel. Anyway, this family of four who look to be from humble means were waiting around as the valet driver pulled up in a brand new Chrysler Magnum with 22in rims. total g style kind of ride, not exactly what I was expecting but maybe he just hit his mid-life crises, I began to wonder how they would get the scooter into the trunk of the car, usually people will have a large van or some sort of bicycle like rack to set the scooter on, but this scooter came apart just like a well defined puzzle or mountain bike, the seat came off, the battery was detachable, steering handlebars collapsed, then the father and son lifted the nice flatten down scooter into the trunk and they were on their way, just something I had never seen and in my semi permanent sleep deprived state, the entire event felt very out of the ordinary as the father and son jumped back into the Magnum, dad revved up the engine, then made a quick exit.

Well, today is it, the apex or bottom of the valley depending how one looks at it, as for myself today happens to be nothing more than another night, in another hotel, the sin city orphan without any real place to call home anymore, a damn stranger in my once home town, sent off to an undetermined detention of limbo without a bedroom, a personal address, or customized parking space, but one thing I have learned through this period of transition is how great of a job I did in surrounding myself with family and friends I really never took the time to get to know as people, as human beings, the fact that my individuality and stubborness keep me from being offered help, going through a relationship breakup and feeling really lonely, isolated, and uncomfortable,being somewhere safe, routine, and predictable was something that had been taken for granted, one less thing to stress over in the day, a home to go to, a friend/lover to share the day with, a well designed cocoon to insulate oneself from all the stress and horrors of daily life, which ever direction they might come from, so now those walls, those buffers have been torn down, nothing left to do but take life head on again, can't slack off, no more hiding behind that brick and mortar stone castle, quite a safe vantage point to take down notes as the war waged on in all directions.

I'm not much of a talker, unless I get really twisted on drugs, but then it is tuff to get me to shut up and over the years, most of the time, learned to reel in those fresher, deeper, and more personal words and or emotions, just for the sake that I either get to heavy, outlandish, or hit nerves that some people do not want activated. Henceforth, the blog, besides the blog, I realize just how much I have shut others out, not from spite or anything negative, probably only due to the fact I did not want to expend the energy in establishing an entire network of relationships, my closest friends keep me on the party trail enough as it is, add a few more friends from other cities throughout the states and sometimes I feel like I am out on tour with no end in sight, still much better to be surrounded by those who are actually human beings with insight, stories, and true compassion for degenerates like me who on the best days comes off like a slick con man and on the worst is only a few stumbling steps away from the hospital gurney, choose life.

Been listening to The Arcade Fire a lot lately and I may have talked about it before, but rarely does a band resonate like their release "Funeral" a great soundtrack to my internal feelings for the past month, not a total downer trip, like let's go off and slash our wrists or take a header off the Stratosphere Tower but this catagory 4 set of rapids have become a raging river of emotion, my feelings about being single, moving in another direction, taking the past ten years of my life and zip filing it, then archiving the entire experience onto some external drive of memories that over time shall be occassionally accessed, that no longer happens to be the current software version, this new software has me a bit confused at the moment, a tightrope to be walked upon and down below is an abyss where light bends then is absorb never to be seen again. So there is some solace in friends and music whom without my life would been cut short much earlier. I can remember my 21st birthday, when I jumped off or rolled off a cliff, thirty or fourty feet down toward the ocean, luckily there was a walkway for tourists or whoever that broke my fall, unless I would have probably ended up on the rocks, a broken carcass awaiting the tide and the scavengous seagulls to come clean out my eyeballs from my face. Alcohol tends lead to such tragedic conclusions, that night had plenty on tap, but moreover outside of a real twisted relationship with a female neighbor and a steady diet of binging provided the perfect cover for someone who preferred to live in a constant state of drunken drug stupor, I wanted to walk death's fine line in those days, the end, to be engulfed in a vaccum, to not care to live and okay with dying, even today still feels weird to recall a constant desire to kill myself, not that I could take a gun to my head, maybe a knife the wrists, but I decided to strap myself to a bullet train of hate, anger, and self destruction, could have been the early nineties that went so downer with the likes of The Jesus and Mary Chain, Nirvana, and fiery angst of Public Enemy and Jello Biafra, The eighties crash landed in a nuclear implosion and if you did not jump off the ship by now, life became relagated to a minimal service sector job, cashing your check at the liquor store, and then gettting stone drunk, while making calls to either get drugs or laid and if you were lucky, both.

What the hell even happened in the early nineties, Bush I, Clinton, economic collapse, personal failure, where was college, the four year program, that nice middle or upper middle class job, the internet was this tiny little infant, all those tech giants of today, nothing but mere start ups and those who saw this digital kingdom on the horizon before the masses, today hold the keys to that kingdom, for everyone else just the memories of years gone by, the wine, the roses, trade them in for the coke, the prescription pills, and the medicinal marijauna club, is this all the residue we get, we deserve, have to claw after, on a never ending daily basis, due to either fear or some engrained mentality of not be able to syphion off of the American economy and today, the global economy. I was one of those latter types who still believes in not selling out, even though to get where I am today in my life have done it so many times the faint idea of it, reeks of hypocracy, I wish no harm to most of those around me, there are those of nothing but pure disdain and dark clouds do I wish in their path, yet they are few, the human race is intriguing, how it still goes on, how we have not killed each, and why we as a race still feel the need to be petty over things primarly driven by personal desires, don't really know where to go with this now, going overboard again, feel better though, the primary reason I bang on this keyboard, thankful to live in such a unique and story filled city as Las Vegas as well as to be surrounded by friends, people, and events to make me marvel at how some people make it through a day without killing themselves, someone else, or being murdered themselves. Enough for now, Ciao

Vegas Hustle

You see it everyday, women in purple track shoes, Chanel handbags, and Juicy Couture sweats being pushed by some invisible force immersed in a bubble impentrable by the general public, an array of scars cover her body and her mind, as she readies herself for the cocktail waitress circuit, go-go dancing stage, or worse, while boutique hustlers lay on their most coveted sales pitch, imagination that would put a smile on the likes of Mark Twain, part used car salesman, part lifestyle coach, as customers stand by these spinners of high tales and outright lies, frozen too afraid to offend the salesperson, while the customer unconsciously nods their head to the rythmns of a well rehearsed product advertisement.

Still, slim days on the sales trail as valet drivers sprint past high end luxury sedans and SUV's clutching a handful of car keys like some prisoner on the run or pimp chasing down his money, hotel servers talk casually as big money companies right on the other side of a ballroom door practice the artform of excess on levels not seen since Caliglia, the mood is relaxed, while servers eat extra leftovers of filet mignon, take the ocassional gulp of Chardonnay wine, then top the night off with a couple slices of dark chocolate cake. The homeboys in the back have a beer stash to pass the hours while washing dishes from the corporate event, enjoying their jobs even in the rigided structure of the hotel industry. The drones find ways to take the edge off the routine nature of their jobs.

Fast cars with tinted windows run red lights, hop curbs and pay off the appropriate legal channels all in the name of the sex trade, where every minute, really does mean, money lost. A smile, hello, payment, cum shot, and then its off to the next client, a fix in human form if there is much humanity left in this woman walking past me, as if she was in preperation for the 2012 games in London, she would give any power walker a test, all the while booking her next john, while texting her unemployed boyfriend/driver as she applies a fresh coat of lipstick for the next cock and who says prostitutes aren't talented, outside of what their industry professes them to be great at.

Right on cue, as I hang out backstage at this mega corporate event, is the semi cute female photographer who will use her looks as a wedge in such a male dominated industry, dressing a bit sexy, a look that mediocre meathead technical types and stageworkers find attractive, mainly due to the fact that these guys have neither the social skills or the looks to mingle amongst the business crowd out in the ballroom at the moment, that middle, upper middle class two parent family phenomenon which is quickly becoming something of legend and lore. This kind of upbring though still maintains the most convenient step ladder to socially commerical success if that is what one desires, to be amongst similar folk.

Not with the stagehand worker bunch backstage here, too rough, rebellious, they are too caught up in the freedom that part time employment and good drug connections provide. Let's not take anything away from the ladies, I would rather work with them, cuts through all the BS conversations on sports, loud talk of putting the moves on various female conventioners, and inquiries on my personal escapades while partying, as they hit me up for narcotics. Maybe I am a bit too cerebral for the stagehand crew, not that I can't be base, vulgar, and dim witted, but I can only act that way, not live it.

At the end of the day, I'm left with only these memories, these various people trying to get paid in a city that specialize in taking it away. It is a fight till death who will remain at the end, the towers or the myths, the casinos or the storybook novels. I guess, that's up to you.

Notebook Archives

Going through some of the stuff I have written over the past fifteen years, do not really remember when a few other ideas had been jotted down, yet at the end of the day they all add up to the small fragments that make me who I am and to some degree are fairly foundational ingrediants to American society.

1. Time

Crank it out
cause
this is all you
get
moments
that
add up
to history
still
it doesn't
bother most
to stay up
do nothing
or get fucked up
and procrastinate
people
have made
a livelihood
out of such things
yet most
just end up
bitter
lost in their personal fantasies
or dead
time is a funny thing
if
there was no concept
existence would not apply
we'd be something
insects
household pets
or cabbage in the field
all just guesses
for who knows
what goes on with other species
all that I know
is people
specialize in
waste
avoidance
and counter productivity
life
is already so tiring
overwhelming
rather mundane
unless
you are fucked up
on something
to take the edge
off socializing
with other human beings
and the desire
to fit in
while deflecting
the constant recognition
of how the impression of you
to others can result
in either sucess or failure
otherwise
it's
easier to watch tv
look at the walls
to wonder
then
think about
what you would like to do
everyday
reinforcing it
like a junkie fix
total commitment
to an idea
a concept
no one else
refuses to believe in
or can wrap their head around
the need must live in the blood stream
in order to create
if not
only dissapointment awaits
in a half assed
washed out tide
of mediocre effort
something everyone can
relate to yet
fear embracing
if only to avoid
conjuring up the same
emotions of failure in themselves
so either
don't care
or crank it out
after all
it's only time
when it is gone
you"ll be too.

2. Greatest Show on Earth

Meat is murder
they said
outside
a Mc Donalds
the parking lot
drive thru is still full
but
no longer super sizable
traffic remains
on the streets
gathering
like moss on a stone
people
are doing time
in their automobiles
munching on fries
staring at 4.35 per gallon
at the local Chevron
yet there are
as many cars as ever
the local college kids
wonder about their futures
looking for
a counter theories
to average existence
there's Starbucks
the bar
and a now hiring sign
oustide a Pizza Hut
but what college kid
wants to work there
cause
being different
equates
to where you shop
idealism
is a fashion catalog
too bad
most people don't understand
these philosophies
as they live them
it is only until
middle age
seperation
and mental breakdown take place
afterwards
people become translucent
or dark shadowed
in the moonless night
no one looks
in their direction
which takes
social pressure off immediately
almost a pass
to say and do
what you please
freedom from judgement
from judgement of yourself
still the cold
works at the unsettled bones
immobile
waiting for some signal
paralyized
in order to thwart
potential motion detection
for there are assassins
in the midst
who would
kill
to silent subconscious thought
and active dissent
in the public domain
meanwhile
the trapeeze artists
go through their routines
clowns practice
squeezing into a phone booth
the bearded lady
eyes the razor's edge
and the ringmaster
grabs his bullhorn
then with thunderous applause
the lights dim
spotlights come to life
as the show
called life
gets ready to begin

3. Last Time I Tried to Kick

What do you do
when all
the ammunition is gone
and the heroes
have gone home
just look at the war torn edges
glowing in the night
and far away
halo concussions
turning buildings into rubble
hazy yellow clouds
loom
across semi deserted streets
stripped down
dismantled war machines
become collectors of souls
amidst the public refuse
run for cover
as the arrow slingers
peer through
narrowly focused eyes
generating a body count
amdist the pock marked alleyways
light is sporradic
nearly impossible to remember
the heat of the sun
blankets
wooden boards over windows
are not much shelter
flying off into the night
only a short cut to the cemetary
a few shadowed figures
cling to the edges
of the buildings foundations
no more movable
than the concrete pillars
that hold the building intact
for the moment
Sleep?
a paranoid
haze
taping ones body
to the ceiling
wouldn't stop
the visions
of armed soliders
klicking down the doors
and spraying the walls
with blood
no rest
no rest

4. Cheating Heart's Sinking Ship

We are carving
at the edges
of the iceberg
in hopes of finding
the foundation
to our problems
taking on water
is not a problem
but stabbing a hole
into the boat
as the ice melts
and the oceans rise
does not help
as the temperature increases
deeds continue
in the name of self interest
all is divine
we all pretend
to love one another
just to live with loss
guilt
fear
conducting secret lives
away
from the viewing public
it is seperate
just a job
no relation
to who I am
no part of existence
what so ever
work
is best
left there
a vague memory
slowly dissapearing over time
until the deed itself
become an organism
of pure fiction

5. Lost in Portland

wide
darken streets
of Portland
long avenues
void of people
on this semi raining
friday evening
seems
I've covered
thirty square blocks
without
so much as
a few people
waiting
for public transit
the downtown
really empties
out at night
or all the hip
people and bars
have migrated elsewhere
pockets
of street lamps
emit
enough light
to reveal
the empty nightclub
where workers
sit on chairs
outside
waiting
for the later evening
to arrive
plenty of amber and red hues
bouncing out from
the few open storefronts
tonight
tell of a more
relevant past
than future
a city engaged
in the nostalgia
of classic early
20th America
wooden decor
brick building
siena ambience
refined
formal
and pictureesque
only two blocks later
on a by foot
tour of the city
abandoned buildings
and locked up day businesses
close in on the flanks
chilled isolation begins close in
lost at this point
after
walking around the city
for a half an hour
in no particular direction
where have
the residents
sought shelter tonight?
amongst the suburbs
park benches
or the lonely liquor store
where I buy
some beer
and reside for a minute
then walk
right past my hotel
where I open up
the curtains
to my hotel room
and look out window
Portland's skyline
not so mysterious and maze like
after a couple of beers
but still quite
as impressive

Slice of Life at Wal Mart

About 7p tonight tried to spend most of the afternoon kicking my current addiction to painkillers and sleeping pills does not seem to be working, with all job schedules and business outings, posing as social calls, that really are nothing else but reasons to abuse an entire array of narcotic substances way into the morning hours where a few hours later the ramblings of my ex- girlfriend making her way off to work penetrate through my somewhat conscious sleep, there goes any chance of a deep recovery, the kind where the body gets a chance to send in the clean up crew for repairs on the brain, heart, and central nervous system, therefore at the time being I have been caught up in a battle of keeping a strong mind that wants to call it a day while setting off a chain reaction of physical events that shall either end in a stroke of a heart attack, possibly a seizure of some sort.

These are the slow hours like the ones I experienced in some back room hostel in the old part of Bangkok watching British news television after after hour until I could find some way to fall asleep, I slowly started to run out of the prescribe sleeping pills recieved in a euro medical style clinic when the week and a half of no sleep, partying, and trekking three weeks earlier in Vietnam began to overwhelm my entire system. This seemed like a point where the end was near, at least I had bothered to buy global health insurance, otherwise it could have cost me hundreds of dollars, had a bit of a chat with the doctor who offered me nothing more than a script for sleeping pills and a some advice on taking it easy with the nightlife style, so much for heeding advice, after a couple pills and a few hours of sleep it was right back out to the crazy streets of Hanoi, zipping around on mopeds stoned on grass, pills, and a fair amount of booze following banshee like Viet teenagers who dared me and some fellow travelers to chase them around the city streets of downtown Hanoi, like a video game, a true sense of crashing, injury, and danger did not register with the likes of these youth with faces covered in bandanas, helmets, if they wore any at all, covered in american and british rock band sticks, along with various stickers of profane discription, so by now all I could do was just hold on, get into the entire process of weaving inbetween moving cars at 45mph along tiny darkened streets which bled from one into the next, not giving me much choice but to slide in front of all sorts of cars, clipping chrome bumpers, while manuevering through pedistrian traffic at almost every intersection, all the kinds of things people watch in the movie theaters with all the high speed action and editing cuts, at this point nothing more than a matter of survival for the next fifteen minutes as these rebellious teenagers took us through one of their many curcuit tracks, eventually ending right back where we started to some applause and disbelief on their part that a friend and myself actually could keep up with them, which was more out of fear of being lost in the middle of Hanoi, without much Viet language skills, a true challenge to get back home, more so than the death race we had just completed, so we had the approval of the cool kids of how me and this other mid thirty something showed them how the old school started this shit and they were nothing but artifacts of many generations who turned their back on everything, everyone, and every normal idea, in order to find what the hell that was actually drilling away on their brain in an attempt to make some sense of it, all those blank spaces in the puzzle called life. This is what drives me now and hopefully drives the heart of this blog.



Wal Mart have to go in to get some vitamins and all that other type of shit some doctor told me I needed, of course outside the list of various, cholestrol lowering medicines, don't want those doc, just the strong stuff, vicadins, codines, oxys, xanax, colatypins, real dope, none of this lipitor shit, not much action in those types of medicine, except for people with bad luck in the gene department and more than likely some poor eating habits topped off with a no exercise regime.



Walking into Wal Mart I notice a young slender twenty year old woman probably fresh from the gym wearing a sports bra top and tight lycra pants, a looker and at that age why not take advantage of it to the fullest extend, even though she seemed to be hanging out with one of her old high school guy friends, unyet realizing at the virtual goldmine down the block when she figured out her appearance could take her more places than just the local Wal Mart, but everything has its price, doesn't it?

A couple of guys passing by me give the woman the once over, I would have too yet am still brain dead from a sleeping pill and a couple xanax, ready to focus on getting everything right now before I ship off to the Sahara for a couple of weeks until my condo is ready to move into, just living in this limbo land of the Las Vegas lost, a true orphan of the city which is ironic considering the first week I moved into Vegas I stayed at the Sands right before they destroyed it, even comping another week of rooms.



Finally, got inside the place where the greeter Chris waited for me, not really too profesional about his job while sitting there anonymous in a silent presence pretending to be official in regards to his job, therefore I said hello initiating an automated response from him in the form of hello, a bit of rapid small talk followed, his job would be secure for another few hours. Grabbed some fruits from the produce section which has always seemed too weird after shopping in Sprawl Mart for so many years they have branched out to become that sort of retro general store where anything can be purchased, which is not a bad idea.

Are the prices competitive, not too sure, but if you are already there to buy some other goods, why not get the grocery shopping out of the way as well, just one more parking lot, jam packed store, and battle at the check out counter that can give the DMV a run for its money in the testing of one's patiences department.



Right off the bat Miley Cyrus clothing monopoly guess there is a small portion of the country that has not figured out her whole entire saintly, virgin like routine is nothing but a sales gimmick forced upon her with suits wearing mouse ears needing that massive bottom line revenue she has been able to produce over the last six or seven years, she is a gold mine, the goose, and motherlode all wrapped into one skinny little older teen who just smiles, shakes her somewhat tempting young lust in front of other female teens her age who are looking to figure out their own budding feminine state, the only problem is the army of perverts, conservatives, and sociopaths who take these ideas and girls, twisting them into something coveted, abducted, and unfortunately occassionally murdered as was the case of some 17 year old girl recently who went to a Metallica concert, who from all reports just got seperated from her friends and did not appear to be on drugs, possibly getting a ride home from some freak who had every intention not letting her see the light of day, real fringes lay in our mist, the most stealth, covert, and indectable, real scary stuff.



Regardless, Miley has her own clothing brand cartering to the philosophy of blossoming self expression and sexuality with clothes that are not exactly local Vegas stripper material, but come one, tight booty jeans and undersizr tube tops, granted I don't think Wal Mart would sell too much of her clothing if the brand looked like the kind of homely shit that was around in the late 70's when I was a kid, today anyone wearing any sort of home spun, low rent, second, third generation handme downs would be nothing but the center of ridicule and those dreams of being around the cool kids and dating either the cool girl or guy would be nothing but a crushed afterfact. The picture of Miley in a belly shirt with plenty of skin revealed around her waist, feels a bit risque for a company based in the south who are surrounded by plenty of bible thumpers who might not necessary approve of this kind of nature, yet with the advent of the internet, social networks, and entertainment that promote a certain sexual appearance, what is left for the kids to do, but follow suit or get left behind to be with the social outcasts, misfits, and lost souls whose future revolves around redemption through hard work and innovation or becoming a trail blazing radical who sees through all this insane posturing behavior, making something out of their observations in an artistical way, there you go, not much else, military, dead end jobs and drugs, there it is.

Enough of Miley, she will soon fade, up on the cross at the end she when wants to become a woman and molt out of her childhood celebrity skin that will signal the end for her career and having any creditiblity as a musician and artist resulting in transforming herself into nothing more than a punchline for late night talk show hosts and rich frat boys who look to put the angle on her when she attempts to head back into some high end college she can afford but does not necessarily have the social background to assimilate within, once from the trailer always from the trailer, ask any of these other female pop miracles, look at Brittney, Mandy Moore, and Hillary Duff, all got spit out then left for dead, come back when you have real talent like Taylor Swift and Christina Aguliara, these two can bring the goods, get the grammys and write their own music, no pop brand underwear or perfume to legitmize them, but the label of artist or ho by the commerical powers that be, is quite a fine line no matter what industry.

Spot, the infamous I Love Beer t-shirt right next to the I love Me t-shirts, not much else around here except tons of Chinese produced goods without any sort of value made in deals with sports figures who Wal Mart can take the chance on backing promotionally, Tony Romo, pretty boy, some guys might like him, but more than not, maybe the ladies too, either way, seeing all this clothing that ten years ago you might find a end high surf shop or sporting goods store shows me just how far we have sold this country down the river in order to get a few things at a discounted rate so a generation of teens shall not feel left out or marginalized socially.

At the checkout counter what the fuck is it about Octomom losing 50 pounds that is suppose to be intriguing but nonetheless there she is with her new tits and curvy ass sporting them for the tabloids, all too happy to be back on top in the spotlight where greasy men in business suits will come along making all sorts of promises for tv shows, commercials, and god forbid an offer to pose naked in Playboy, the thought makes me cringe, the fact this person is a celebrity only goes to show the base nature of society in its own personal quest of garnishing their own little fame at whatever the cost, be it a porno flix, a reality tv series, or mass shooting spree at some local church, the desire to be noticed in this 21st century culture as been blown so out of proportion there does not seem to be much of a way to stop it, with 24 hour news coverage, instant messaging, and personal websites, people have become nothing more than advertisements for mouthwash attempting to sell the global public on cons that would have made P.T Barnum take note.

These damn tabloids in every register, Jen, Brad, Angelina, Oprah, Kristy Alley, Gary Busey, and Mariah Carey all in rehab, with marriages on the rocks, either gay, binge drinking, eating, or drug abusing, all the trimmings of stardom have come alive in these pages that would make Dickens laugh and even William Randolph Hearst fall on the ground and piss his pants at the level of yellow celebrity journalism that now exists, hell I even have to give the papers the once over, there they are right in your space between all the packages for beef jerky, various rows of candies and gums to drive parents crazy when the kids start demanding those goods, then get denied and start throwing a fit till they get what they want, instead of a quick smack across the face, still there goes some boxes of candy into the cart, anything for a brief bit of relief, shut those damn brats up, why the hell did you have them in the first place, so in my estimation all the suffering these parents must endure is a just reward for sticking it in for too long, feels good for about five minutes but it's the other 19 years after that making those five minutes fade away rather quickly.

Not sure who else is in the tabloid section, Oprah with her own magazine, sort of a black woman's Martha Stewart lifestyle guide, but look where Martha Stewart's lifestyle got her, yet who does not want to live their life like those two, from house design, what books to read, health tips, cooking, while making some sort of life plan for the future with the hubby and the kids, for the real meaty stuff just go a rack over the Madamosille, Vanity Fair, and a various other boat load of mags with women who starve themselves, painted in highend makeup by artists who make thousands a day in their trade, formulating a lie, an imposter, a diety who has no human qualities what so ever that at least to me seem to relate with the average customer who reads such kind of stuff, really, this 100 pound little freak who shows off her little breasts on some television show has something really profound things to talk about inside the cover of this magazine, please let's read on, get the real inside intel on the metaphysical existence of the human race, world peace, and the dymanic theories of affordable clean power.

But let this not only extend to the women, because I have caught a few male co workers buying into all these men's health magazines, like these guys are in shape in the first place, I am at least 10 years older than all these fucks and can run circles around them, nothing but an opportunity to get sucked into more shit clothing, colonge, shoes, and somewhat semi romantical ideas to spring on your woman or other such insightful issues on topics regarding the true location of the woman's g spot or how to be right by being wrong in a relationship with your g/f, wife, who ever, combined with plenty of dating, do's and don't, as well as how to get rock solid abs while taking HGH and or steriods, finished off with little consumer knick knack sections on all the cool hip tech gear to own.

Use to read Wired magazine for the most part, it had some pretty heady stuff in articles regarding to technology, arts, music, and futuristic type shit, then boom, here come the ads for the gadgets the joneses should own, the multi page sections of models in the lastest cool hip gear to wear for the middle and upper middle class tech heads when heading out on the weekend via tweeter and a few other portable I phone like apps that smooth out the process of calling someone to either have to talk to them or ignore the phone by letting it go voicemail, easier with this distance technology to blow people off, without having to do it face to face, very convenient but not doing much for those who are slowing eroding any sort of person to person conversation, just gets weird, why not just text them from across the room to see if they want a drink with the ol ;)

Think I am over the cashier aisle rack of goods that have no real value but somehow find their way into the baskets of customers all over the US and if there was no market, these tabloids, candy makers, and jerky sellers would have moved onto something else so readily needed. People need to be told how, what, and by the means of acceptablity and norms that will be dictated by these lifestyle magazines, totally forgetting that at the beginning of it all those who set the trends everyone else seems so ready to follow that the trendsetters did not really have this endgame in mind acceptablity, except maybe Andy Warhol, this wholesale liquidation of personal freedom, expression, and design repackaged into a mass consumable idea only to be thrown away in the trash a few years later, has become the next wave of living on the forefront of personal identity as it crashes on the shores of every major continent in the world, a global contest with no soul, no creativity, and certainly no ability to recognize that these followers are being sold down the river with little more than an MP3 player, a packet of pop rocks, and a coke, Enjoy the ride.

Living in a Shotgun Shack

Too tired for anything else but drafts made on the table of freshly snorted cocaine residue in a small hotel room in Oklahoma City, this will be brief, two drafts and a power outage are cutting into my time, have to sleep, have not a had good night sleep in months, falling apart, take this as a rain check, thx.

Racing Heart

racing heart
disturbs me at night
sleep
not so easy
worry
about what
imagination
lets run loose in my mind
heading directly to the heart
the left shoulder
the slowly curling up fingers
days
move
amongst the wind blown leaves
never
enough time
to relax
sleeping at work
minding the store
expansion
eating a meal
taking a shower
cleaning the house
feeding the pets
gives me
other things
to think about
instead of this
erractic heart
breathe
be calm
smile
knowing
that you want
to give up and die
letting go of the pain
without a fight
as
the poison
exits
my body
in a detox
slave driven
bargain with the devil


The High Price of Beer

office day
ordered in
the drinks that is
in order
to stay off the roads today
closed the blins
made some phones calls
battling with cheap television producers
for my wages
while whittling away time
the rest of my day
on the internet
thought about sleep
but more about drinking
like a habit
a need
a commitment
I can afford
good beer now
some accomplishment

Carvinal Dreams

even after everyone
has prepared to go home
the sounds of slot machines
can be heard
echoing like that pop song
play thousands of times
over the pop music airwaves
the weekend has ended
exhaustion
contemplation
and disgust
wear like thick iron masks
on most of these passengers
waiting for their planes
in their minds
revolve
the constant cadence
of some last minute sucker
pressing a button
on one of the machines
in the airport terminal
like an over stimulated rat
as the machine plays
in a carnival like symphony
just like the ice cream man
who can't resist that song
instant feel good memories
slow that damn truck down
so I can get my sugar fix on
click
click
click
slot machine reels
fall into place
small winners
mostly losers
sitting amongst me this morning
as I wait for my flight out
for work
the credits
always run out
as all the other tourists
load up on
food
souveniers
and tabloid mags
sunday football
blackjack
an all night clubbing
are merely
moments in time now
as reality
of life back at home
slowly
works it way past
the booze
the fatigue
still
people show up
week after week
for the last fifteen years
I have lived in Las Vegas
the thought
of being a winner
never grows old
motivating
even the most destitute
to try their luck
which
continues to be bad
as the ever rising
skyling
on the strip
no doubt reflects.

Santana

Santana
guitar riffs of fire
melting down the venue tonight
percussion
hurricane force
rising
building
like a volcanic explosion
a man who
was there back when it mattered
has seen music change
so radically
over his career
yet maintained
command
and the nuturing
of an inner spirit
that posesses
his soul
playing his guitar
with colors of sound
even in shaman animal spirits
textures in the sky
a tone
to make Eric Clapton
envious
this man is timeless
like Beethoven
magically smooth
then explosive
within one song
from acid
to the internet
albums to MP3's
Santana
has evolved
beyond
the normal arc
of musical structure
even his old music
is futuristic
a cross pollenation
of musical culture
spanning the globe
out into the universe
to watch him play
has lasting meaning
posterity
some day will
be without him
and for those
who witnessed his greatness
they shall be envied
indeed

Bulletproof

Is this how
I treat
the ones
I love
shit on them
sell them the same lie
again and again
watch
them walk away
in handcuffs
because
my decision making
in on par
with a juvenile delinquent
who?
choose me
to be this
brave matador
living in some
movie of the week
while
others
suffer
real pain
true emotion
I feel
it now too
through them
suffering
due
to my actions
all I can say
is I hope
those loved ones
are doing well
inspite
of my prescence
in their lives at one time
this story
is not fiction
the effects of some
psuedo
rehearsed reaction
no
this may not
be
the end of the fun
but
hell
when
did it
start
to rule
my life

work
is crazy enough
surrounding myself
with an
army of lunatics
who could
over throw
any government

events
have hit me extra hard
this time
maybe
I am
not
as bulletproof
as everyone
thinks
as immoral
uncaring
caught up
in this viscious cycle
that serves up
some great writing
but who
is controlling who
having been transformed
into a bulldozer of art
one day
I will
have to come clean
either
in prison
or by death
my love
for humanity
life
and the future
makes
everything
so interesting
so special
so unique
whether
it is people
places
things
an most of all myself
yet
the vehicle
Antony Miller
is not
just some
empty vessel
there is real spirit
behind
this animal
why
do I feel
like everybody
thinks
this is my destiny
as some
low rent
bad boy
what a joke
I am a punch line
for drunken conversation
I want out of this game
this appointment
building a foundation
a dark empty house of skeletons
that scares me
tells me to destroy it
without
anything
readily available
to replace it
so the juggling
goes on
happiness
for others
foriegn to me
is the only solution
exile
from the amusement park
for now
forever
but
at this moment
the pain
is my theater
a life
like a canvas
where
the flames
slowly converge
from the opposite
sides
of my mind
scorching the surface
until
nothing exists

Systems Crash Sampler

This is some of the more poetic stuff I have written sometime last year for release as a compilation in digital format which shall be sorted out in the next week, then posted with various links in MSWord, PDF and Kindle, my other pet project, outside of living life on the edge, have a few blog stories in the mix, but work is so heavy this week with the early call times and late night sunrise mornings have made me a prescription dependent freak until I can clear all stuff out from my old life into a new life, which should take a couple more weeks, so here is some rehash, but have to hold on the last bit of sanity I have left or there will not be much from the front live wire documentation left in me, as my hands curl up into gnarled immovable objects, no longer capable of typing on this keyboard as The Clash London Calling plays on the speakers, enjoy the next phase of the daily dose.

A.
Time for a reset
breaking off the rust
From a deep rooted anchor
Recall
The last month
The last year
Has wiped itself away
Avoiding
This task
This pain
This mirror
A sea of many answers
Selection
Generates the only difference
Between
Being vague
or to the point


B.
These damn drugs
Have me all fucked up
More than the usual substance abuse
Or everything has crashed at the same time
What difference does it make
Only that perfection
Even in destruction
Has its highs and lows
This experiment
Can cross into the realm of insanity
Strength
Keeps me from giving up
Cracking in
Rest and sleep
Are temporarily solutions
While waiting for another assignment
Another mission
Action
Heat
Adversity
There is a hunger
For this kind of fix
The adrenline
The moment
The need for quick decisions
Guess I wore the wires ragged
Years in the making
Being sick
Rundown
Or just needing to write
All the crazy things
Going on in my life
Nothing left now
But to get down
To the work
Which for some reason
Always seems to be the hardest part

C1
Sitting at this bar on a Tuesday afternoon
Drinking expensive beer
That would have never
crossed my mind
Twenty years ago
When I was content
With stealing domestic beer
Out the back of the local grocery store
Paying today anywhere from four to eight dollars for a beer
And sometimes even more ridiculous amounts of money
For something crack fiend beer brew crafters
Put about as much passion into
As Owsley did in making his batches of LSD
I still am taken back a bit
At my frivolous nature
That long ago would have cringed at the thought
Of a one hundred dollar bar tab
When I was making four hundred bucks a week
Yet today
The money does not seem too awkward
Could be the social aspect
Of my business
Seems like all high pressure business has this as a factor
If only to schmooze other clients
Or battle through the insanity
Of another action packed street fight
In the business market
Or production meeting
Where dollars appear
To be getting the fine tooth comb
Will the excess of yesteryear be stripped away
From a generation that has become
Wired
To go full on
From the success
To the post party celebration
Pushing the boundaries of accomplishment
To be eventually tempered
By the realization
That this self indulgent circle
Of making deals might fall apart
At any moment

Not today in NYC
Even at this afternoon hour
Where the happy hours
Are more packed than usual
Pints of beer
Going down like an afternoon ball game beer
Towers of lager four feet high
Make their way amongst large tables of co-workers
Moving forward
Only desiring to work harder
Contribute more and expand into the future of global business
Who has time to worry about the fallout
The playing field has only been getting larger
Others have made new in roads
But are new to the game
The refined details
The slick imagery
The dream makers
This is our domain
What we do
Make the customers believe
No matter what the product might be
Call it art
Manipulation
Snake oil
What ever the title
There is still plenty of work
To be done
Infusion of social mediums
Into the new purchasing of digital pipelines to the future
As consuming habits
Move across the pacific
Everyone
Still wants
To be cool
Accepted
And one up on the competition
Even at this bar today
Many of the patrons
Are masters of this illusionary form
unconcerned of the morality
Behind fleecing
A naive public
All too willing to buy
Into a lifetime of motion picure fantasy
Action filled car commerical;s
Multi use technology
Hip clothes
And the transformation
Of the internet delievering the self esteem their families can't provide

M.

Vegas icons

Prostitution

Illegal

Drugs

Illegal

As young women

And dark sedans

With middle aged men

Who have money and need

Look to intersect

On these amber lit streets tonight

I am a tour guide

For a television producer

Attempting to unearth

The already oversaturated perverse image

Of a city

Where men park in dark abandon neighborhoods

To come inside

The mouths of young runaways

While street pro hookers

Gather at bus stops

Chatting amongst each other

As we pass them in a SUV

The video camera hanging out

The window

Probably does not help

Only raises suspicion

The director of photography is focused

On another pass

Down the neon lit signs

On the northern part of Las Vegas Boulevard

I slow the car down to a crawl

Other drivers are confused

And pass us while the director

Hangs out the passenger side with a video camera

Have to drive through some

Of the harder streets of Vegas

to get back to the signs once more

The kind of street where

Merely driving down it

Suggests the driver is looking

For drugs, sex, or both

Women cruise this street at the moment

All black and attractive

Protected by some sort of invisible code

Half street life

The other half dominate male figure

With criminal record

But that does not stop

The random sociopath

From chopping one of these women into firewood occasionaly

Another pass in front of the bus stop

All the ladies have

Either acquired customers

Or ran for cover once

They saw the video camera

Everyone out here at the moment

Has a purpose

Even our guerilla film crew of three

Dramatize

The naked nature of Las Vegas

The dream

Not much dream on these streets tonight

Maybe dreaming

Of being anywhere

But on these streets

Hustling

Sucking

Fucking

Their way to nowhere

Permanetly

Till death

Which some might hope

Comes relatively quickly

Life in these neighborhoods

Either consists of a series of part time jobs

Welfare

Or street income

Who else would endure

Neighbors who stay up

All week

Smoking meth

Selling crack

Hosting johns

Loud jostling sex sounds

Through thin walls

Why protest

They will just beat the shit out of you anyway

When no one is around

Fixed income

Illegal residents

Your own personal war zone

Before and after dark

So easy for us to sightsee

Though a bit dangerous

And not entirely without risk

Still

Visual objectification

Must continue

The conscious

Continual streaming

Of base animal lust

Violence and oppression

For my co-workers

Nothing more than a documentary film

Playing itself out

Right before our eyes

The only shame from their angle

Is they cannot bring all the action

On a Friday night

To the general public

Outside of all the toursits

Who opt for the more colorful accommodations

Littered throughout the North Las Vegas Strip

Hourly Hotels

More than enough time

For Joe Six Pack

To bust a nut

In some random female street walker

Or transvestite

Who knows

I can feel

Dark

Irrational presence

Heathens

Craving

Cheap

Plentiful

Lobotomized humans

Fully stocked of homemade narcotics

And condoms

While shooting some footage for the show

A couple of the more curious hookers

Stop and ask what we are doing

Not out of malice

But out of a business slanted invitation

Worked in at the end of the question

Slip in a possible video shoot

At one of the local hourly motels

Everyone is invited

This one woman

Early twenties

Sure does not look like

The stereotypical prositute

Looks like any woman

You might see her age

On a college campus

Bar or nightclub

Yet this is Vegas after all

As if her being on the streets

Can be considered out of the ordinary

Times are tough

There are a million stories

Avenues of suffering

Malnourished

Invisible to everyday life

Residing where society

Turns a blind eye

A living is a living

20 dollar rocks

100 dollar cocks

I stay inside the car

Merely a chaperone

As a group of construction workers

Come out of an adult video store

Where first timers

Try themselves out in the dollar booths

Not yet ready for the larger stages

Of the more premiere strip clubs in the city

Maybe some first timers

In the construction workers group as well

Guys who might be ready

To cross the line

Into more subversive behavior

On this block

It's more like walking outside

Or crossing a street

Opening a passenger door

To a lonely lady on this Friday evening

The night is unseasonably warm which means business

Should be steady until the first snow or cold weather

Producer says we have captured enough

Visual documentation of the seedier life in Las Vegas

I couldn't agree more.

Let The Economic Good Times Roll

Went to the mall today for a bit of contemporary clothing in response to my recent new venture into the singles scene, not too many parking spaces today, I try to avoid the weekend crowd of mall shoppers so I am not use to the large influx of humanity with 9 to 5, Mon-Fri jobs who need something to do on the weekends, so if not the movies, then why not pass some time wandering the economic shopping trial to Oz. Seems busier than normal especially considering when I do hit the mall, it tends to be on the weekdays where there are nothing more than some elderly walking the aisles for excerise, social means, or for just a convenient place to linger while waiting for the cold hand of death to deliver the final blow.

The economy is offically recovered according to those up to the minute cable news network channels who know such things that those with crystal balls and Harvard MBA's cannot seem to dissect from various financial investment institutions who have the reputation of seeing into the future like the Oracles of Delphi and see where those visions got various characters of Classic Greek Literature, today offers up a great example of mainly working class families from various ethnic backgrounds, wait, that tag sucks, let's just say a new generation of people and youth who are driving the sales registers in this new reformulated consumer block of the 21st century, it is no longer the Anglo middle class families gathering all together for some binge shopping at the local outlet to buy all the lastest cool hip things they see on television, the old joneses mentality, if they have it, so must I, and there folks you have the birth of the American consumer who has driven the global economy for many decades since post WWII, there seems to be a sense of entitlement amongst our society that we have the right to go out and buy whatever we want, does not just have to be clothing, cars, and dinner, but other more off the grid objects, like drugs, sex, and human beings, a dark pure crystalized energy has twisted its way into the DNA of our society, I contain the virus as well, having no problem spending 8 dollars on a beer at a nightclub and other things that shall remain off the grid, this sense of money having any real definition, any sort of long term existence, as if fuck it, at this rate the world might not be around in 20 years, so why not just blow it up and go for broke, I want it and I want it now, this culture of instant gratification is why this shopping mall is here in the first place.

I remember when it use to be just Sears, JC Penny, and for the higher up types Macy's and Bloomingdale's, now there is Target, Wal Mart, Best Buy, Kohl, RC Willey, Home Depot and those are only the big name stores, there are plenty of speciality shops for bathing products, make up, sporting goods, shoes, lifestyle stores that have clothing, furniture, and home design, an overwhelming glut of places to spend money that is without even getting into dining and the internet, could go off on other complete tangets with those two examples, but hopefully the point has been made that we are surrounded like the settlers in covered wagons by the invading army of enemies who are looking to extract every single dollar from us as possible with many angles but the number one angle of course is about being cool. more on that later.

As I walk throughout the mall there is a center section reserved for those kiosks with all sorts of products from places that you have never heard of and companies you would not find in the magazine of Fortune, manned by a legion of slick con artist sales people who remind of the tourist touts from any country I have been to throughout my travels globally, like a starving buzzard with mad cow disease slowly circling the mall attempting to pull would be customers in who tend to be passive making them the perfect prey for these former tourist touts who will have them buying sets of Syrian windchimes, handmade by Bedoiun artists in most remote regions of Syria or there are the perfume and skin lotions from the shores of Southern Crete that have these regenerative properties of youth not seen since the days of Ponce DeLeon and the fountain of youth, the secert formula of Cleopatra herself found from ancient scrolls hidden for thousands of years in some distant cave, nothing but snake oil salesmen in the middle row of any shopping mall, how they stay in business remains a mystery to me, but their con skills tend to have a tractor beam effect that gets many shoppers as well as tourists here in this particular Las Vegas mall all to willing to part with their money.

So now onto some black on black consumerism, the new angle for masses, first it was the barbershop, they make a movie, tie in some cultural relevance to it, missing the old school black panther down with whitey piece of the puzzle where everyone in the hood use to roll out to the neighborhood barbershop to get their haircut or a shave, then sit around and talk shit about everyone else in the hood, I guess that is how it went, or what they are trying to sell, who in the hood has fifty bucks nowadays to get a shave or haircut, I got mine cut at home, didn't have no money for sitting in some barber chair acting like Eddie Murphy with wit humor and actor cool, so without delving into the blackness of the barbershop itself, I stop by a kiosk, checking out this new cultural get your shoes polished con put on buy some slick brothers in creased blue jeans and white T-shirts start who breaking it down for these urban hipsters brothers wearing patent white leather sneakers that probably cost a couple hundred dollars, crooked bill baseball caps, baggy cuffed blue jeans, and big colorful leather looking jackets, straight up music video type stuff, which hey if that's what the kids are down for today, it's all on them, all the wasted time and money in that eternal quest to get laid, have to break it down to the lowest level, why do most guys and girls let's be fair here, go out and spend three hundred dollars on a pair of pants or five hundred dollars on a pair of heels, is to so show that they either have game or want someone who has game that can afford to live a high fashion lifestyle which has so readily spread upon the global internet and airwaves like a terminal disease with a 100 percent mortality rate, so now we have some brothers, working up some other brothers on why they need their kicks (sneakers) polished by someone else and be overcharged for the experience on top that, the experience to watch young women walking by at the mall in tight skirts who might get excited at the fact that two young brothers can throw down 30 bucks to get their shoes shined by these homeboys who could be either be working for Microsoft or the Dopeman, the shoe shine brothers have just brought a once considered perfectly normal part of let us say 50's american culture back to the future, will it work, just depends what kind of mental head trip they lay down on these potential customers, you know shit like, oh we have this special white shoe polish cultivated from deepest mountains of the Andes, brought here to the states by drug mule, smuggled in by trained cartel coyotes who move stealth like the ninja in the night so that YOU, may have the opportunity, no the priviledge of keeping your kicks extra super soft and clean, I mean man this shit has telfon in it, damn dirt just bounces of you shoes like bullets off a vest, can u dig it?

I guess they could, dig it, cause, not more than a minute later those brothers were over there snappin and poppin their polishing towels adding the extra bit of flair and conversation to keep these customers from figuring out that they were being got over on in a public place, quite possibly in front of their friends and potential hot women who might be thinking the same thing I thought when they passed by, who the fuck gets their tennis shoes shined?

Another interesting thing is the consumer trap laid upon these people shopping here right now. This mall is one of those run of the mill 80's type of malls that have all the classic amenties found in suburban malls of yesteryear, Hot Dog on a Stick, Sears, Orange Julius, Hot Topic, Journies, Foot Locker, and the infamous food court of knock off fast food big names serving up the lowest quality of Hepitits B and malaria found in the western world, not going to find any Chanel, Burberry, or Vera Wang here, no high end runway models here with grey haired men in wrap around shades, smiling that smile of a man who enjoys 25 year old hot russian pussy who wouldn't want that gig, somebody has to do it, can't take the money with you.

Mall now abuzz with families camoflauged by throngs of shopping bags ranging from Macy's to Victoria's Secret, Sports Authority to Vitamin World, but where does this cycle lead, the repetition of trashing the old and purchasing the new, a never ending cycle, complete with a job, that is a minimum requirement in order to take part in the shopping spree escapade, does not have to be a legit job, pimps, players, drug dealers, gamblers, and con artists , need clothing too, throw in a few kids to make a family and the spending equation expands exponentially. This is nothing but financial lockdown of a socio-cultural economic prison camp that has become nothing more than car payments, high interest credit cards and the tightrope of living week to week with no savings, no health insurance, and more than likely renting a place to live in. Still the crowd here is not too concerned or deterred by that haunting reaper, like a spector hiding in the shadows biding his time by sharping his long blades for the day when it all falls apart, job loss, relationship break up, a knocked up piece of ass, DUI, manslaughter, violence of all sorts, caught between destitution and the court system with no real legal representation, so melt those thoughts away with the purchase of rockabilly T-shirts, tattoos, and endorsed basketball sneakers, then rejoice.

These people are a neverending gold mine where by just making something hip, cool, and unique teens, 20 somethings, 30's, 40's 50's and 60 year olds want to get a piece of the action, pull the hot girl in the tight fitting mini skirt with ass, body, and eyes to make every other guy in a mile radius want to either, gasp, fight, or freeze up in amazement, same goes with the ladies, who want to see men go through the same rituals they have been putting women through since the beginning of civilization, just one walk through this mall, the colonge, tight boxer briefs, the massive array of dress clothing, designer jeans, sports coats, gel hair products, watches,and patent leather boots, collide with going to the gym, and starvation. Twisting a young generation of guys into the same nuerotic self image conscious women they are trying to meet, no wonder everyone is so stand offish today, communicate through non face to face means, you know all already, so no need to Twitter or Facebook me about it, cause I don't use them.

This ritual of social interaction drives the clothing market, fashion is seasonal and varies from year to year, recycling over the decades, all you have to do is buy in on the trends, go see what the economically poor designer minded teens of America are weaving together from the thrift shops, dumpsters and a sewing machine, then check MTV and pretty soon Target, Sears, and Wal Mart have now become the final stop in the long chain hip urban clothing, even the poor shall inherit fresh gear to wear to school in hopes of avioding ridicule, social outcast, and desire that sometimes follows in one day opening fire on the entire senior class. With the help of China and their highly effective means of getting laborers to work for less than a dollar a day, anyone in the states can afford styles that only 30 years ago were actually handmade in Europe and are now mass produced at the cost of a mass atrocity amongst millions of Chinese workers who are nothing but faceless robots performing tasks that even technological machines refuse to do, walking inside their personal metropolis of lever pulling, folding, cleansing, and then heading home to live a 8x8 cubicle, put on some tea and wonder where the streets of gold might be located that were so dutifully promised in rural lands of China.

Now everyone can be a star who does not want to experience those kinds of emotions, without those dreamers in us all, there would not be any rock music, hip hop, movies or tv shows, no Paris fashion weeks or E entertainment channel but which idea drives the other, I think there has always been a market for fame, going back to the Pharohs, the Greeks, long before mass produced ceramic bowls and togas. but for every cool excepted rocker, there is some free thinker unattached to all the socially accepted amenities of stardom blazing his or her own path whether it is Napster, Facebook, or You Tube, it may not be clothing or cool, but just the same are creations by people looking to do something different, how this relates to the circle of economic entrapment is by the sheer volume of choice today, why spend money on two brands of shirts when you can buy ten different kinds of shirts, creating this new facade of individuality, that's the key, painting your own personal existence, though most choose to replicate socially accepted norms that feed on those trends like locust, creating more anonymous corpses, but generating tons of dollars, even for the socialy unique, there is a global shopping center via the internet, piece by piece the puzzle, the new skin, a fabric compiled at a fiber to fiber, thread to thread, molecule to molecule level, a collage of cool, transcending decades, millenium of individuality. From Ebay to Amazon, a mouse click away from that virtual hologram that makes the other hipsters at the night clubs pull me aside when I wear an indie design hand made T-shirt that no one has and only a few have heard of the brand name, this is our economic consumer landscape, producers of goods have us all on the quest for companionship, clout, and artistic freshness that controls me like an automated zombie, slowly fading this retro artifact of a shopping mall I stand in right now into the cosmic dust of cyberspace except for those who have no other option. The journey for the attainment of popularity will be long, hard, expensive, and at the end of it all nothing more than a vaccum offering empty promises inside a suit which slowly erodes over time, that no amount of high fashion can reverse.

Interlude

Going for something a bit different today, more of the poetic form, just another way I jot down things before they are relegated to subconscious or nonexistence, in the moment thoughts can be so clear, so defined that a scramble of barely legible chicken scratch must be performed to capture a picture frame in time, a critical scene from the events in a night or rather general reflections and musing on the experience of society as well as my place in it.

1. Junkie Twist
Its the burn I feel
the madness
the hate
the lock
another human being
has over me
walking through a bar room door
prescence
washes over me
like a fresh fix
from a needle
a rush so high
my face burns
tingles
to the point of panic
a combined fever
of exstacy
and yearning
is yet nothing
but a carrot
on a string
the bait
to twist
me
like a puppet
from a wire
slowly dangling
amongst the twisted lengths
until I suffocate
then dropped to the ground
disposed
left on the curb
of America's dirtiest streets
murky puddles
in the cold weather chill
today
under cloudy skies
nothing more than a refugee
alone
living with the fact
that all play toys
wearout
their usefulness
their good times
when the bill comes due
and then like all good little girls
they run to daddy to save the day

2. Slow American Dissolve
It's a battle
of the past
and the future
while inbetween
stands a landmark
of architectual history
the Detroit Train Depot
just a mere skeleton now
constructed
in the deepest
of gothic tones
dormant
full of blown out windows
pock marks
of missing concrete
like a facade of deep rooted
acne scars
a local told me
as we drove past
the building one day
how her ancestors
smuggled aboard
the railroad trains
from the south
heading north
back before
the abolition of slavery
silently departing at this train depot
then quickly rushing
into the large variety
of nearby bushes and other foilage
to escape detection
in the cold Detroit midnight
there is talk
of tearing the building down
which at the moment
is fenced off
like some interment camp prisoner
an icon of America
yet quarantined
to avoid spreading a virus
of caring about US History
in this current era
disposable
mediocre
auto erotic architecture
remaining isolated
while amongst the nearby surroundings
the wrecking ball
has played its part
in reshaping the community of Detroit
from industrial mantle piece
to Post WWII wasteland
so stands the train depot
this war veteran
conduit to the west
a sage
a storyteller
by just peering
at the building itself
the masonary
the attention to detail
construction
built to last
now possibly makes
it's last stand
against the future
whether it is a casino
a dirt lot
a parking structure
or just becoming a casuality
from the lack of funding
needed to restore the train depot
this place
has become another victim
in an economy
dissolving
right before my eyes
a brief light
shines upon the structure's pillars
and the archways
as the sun sets upon it
darkness proceeds
to ingest another
shapeless form
into the never ending night
left to die
like a diseased
forgotten elder tribesman
a castaway
to live alone
within reach
yet out of touch
something has been accepted
sacrificed
for the comforts of the new digital age
although the building
humbly praised in small circles
seems largely uncared for today
America has suceeded
in erasing history
in the name of commerce
without realizing
how it is destroying
the very foundation
of the economy
it is trying to evolve
as the wind
rain
pollution
vandalism
neglect
age
and use
leave quite a mosiac of decay
quite a technocolor jacket
of slow intermittent phosphorous color flashes
like a half lit neon sign
a silent Tsunami
of social change
comes crashing down on Detroit
and in its wake
one more link in the chain
from America's past
to its future has been broken

3. The Great Experiment
Got to experience
public hate in Detroit
not much different
than anywhere else
all races
shopping
in one bland
ultra mega shopping center
whether
Arab
White
Black
Mexican
Indian
whoever
I do not fit the mold
the homogenic desire
to chase after
the illusionary American Dream
my mold casted
in a combination of experiement and mistake
first
second generation Americans
wonder
exactly
what I am
as I shop
with a woman
who looks like Mariah Carey
she is half white
half black
all sexy
and I am all weird
but accustom to the stares
from all my global travels
the hate vibe
does not work on me
of course
I feel the judgement
the confusion
the jealousy
of not being born into a homogenic culture
as many these people
are around me at the moment
appear to have resided in
back in their native land
my foriegn mixed race nature
my physical makeup
gives off disdain
to everyone
from hardcore muslims
to ghetto youth teens
My woman friend and me
are a novelty
a television show or movie
walking down shopping aisles
at the moment
getting groceries like everyone else
watch some middle age
white trash man
checking out my friend
have to chuckle a bit
from the confused look
of genetically
environmentally instilled
racial hate
mixed together
with a primitive desire
sexually penetrate her
right here in the aisle
as I look at him
thinking
yes
I am with this beautiful woman
and ocassionly
fuck her brains out
while the white trash man
strolls past pushing a grocery cart
with his fat inbred pig of a wife
he is jealous
as I laugh
directly in his face
as we walk past
no amount
of excuse me's
and pardons
have no real effect
in getting any of these people
to break out of their caustic stench
of predestined internal frozen hostility
as a young black kid
caught up in the wanna be
throw down gangsta mentally
tries to get bold with me
in an attempt
make me move aside
while passing by him
It's a contest of who
will move for who
as he stares at me
so I move right into him
then he says
what's up
which sounds good for the movies
but only encourages me
to elbow him off to the side
no retaliation
no guts
just another posure
who gets to much entertainment
and not enough ass beatings
he tries to leer
at my friend
who is dressed
in a front buttoned blue jean body dress
high heels
baby doll face
now everyone
is just straight up staring
no one knows
how to handle us
I just look right through them
fuck em
ask my friend if she can feel the negativity
she says yes
but has become accustom to it
learning to just ignore the feeling
not my style
rather get hostile
call them out
and get on with it
they all back down
every race has beef
some issue
segregation is alive in America
I don't fit in
a bad batch
early sign of 21st poly cultural people
who have excelled
because of their diversity
and the opposition
it has brought in the past
so here I go
fucking up the traditional socio cultural system
stuck in between
immigrants
and the WASP's of wall street
while putting
food stuff into a grocery cart
there will always be difference
over unity
blame
overshadowing
responsibility
those outside the circle of acceptance
shall serve as scapegoats
for the personal faults
and backwards nature of the old school
white is right mentality
that was a reality for me
only being 40
where as a kid
the words
Nigger
Spik
Faggot
Chink
were heard in everyday conversation
today
not much seems to be different
only a much friendlier mask
is put on during working hours
still the hate vibes
build
crashing on my mind
attempting to induce
anger
fear
but only resulting
in an opportunity
to dissect
the failure of the American Melting Pot

5AM

5am hookers at the Hard Rock Hotel vie for my attention, by this time most of the other guys at the bar have passed on these late night call girls, even the go-go dancers who had been shaking their asses at 3am much to my pleasure, have wrapped it up for the evening, gone off to bed, yet there is no quit in some people especially when their man is waiting at home with a sock stuffed with a large bar of soap as punishment in case the woman comes up short with the daily take so it is a battle between hookers, 300, 200, 150, 120 dollars, a bidding war erupts in the hope of landing any sort of income at this late hour, can't even take a piss without one of the hoes hounding me, she's 19, can't sit at the bar, but wants to fuck me anyway, well, no luck, night before New Year's Eve, all the rooms are sold out and with the room rates as low as they have ever been for NYE, no chance of getting a private space to hit this recent high school grad.

Drunken dazed pleasures of past sexual endeavors like this potential one shall not be repeated as I sit at the bar sort of just letting the night turn into morning with no real agenda, except trying to get pass the hate in my heart and my mind, the thoughts of being dumped and the revenge necessary to feel like a human again, getting drunk will have to do, rather not give my ex and the local authorities the pleasure of slapping the bracelets on me, then hauling me off to county jail on battery charges, too easy of a set up coming from a woman who has been begging me to punch her out on more than one ocassion, true bummer, having a boyfriend in high school that use you as a punching bag and now the outcome has landed at my doorstep, strike that, has left my doorstep, definitely for the best, let's move on.

My business associate Denton has a lock on another little 19 year old honey fresh from the streets of wherever to the realm of the Las Vegas maneater night, does anything get her off, maybe the pain of abuse, Denton got the better of the two young call girls, the smarter one, looked like she could have come off the hip streets of San Francisco or Berkeley, had the cool hipster eye glasses, sort of prepped out college look, not your typical mega booty, red thong, tight shirted, bra popping out mammas that make this bar their home on a nightly basis, nothing wrong with that look though, who can't go for that trashy throw away screw now and then, just another line to cross, in a world full of lines to cross, things is once you cross it, the line dissapears, nothing left except to accept that sort of hedonistic behavior into your life, left to repetition again and again, as if I would know from personal experience, ha.

Denton is off in his own world with thoughts of sodomizing this young hottie some time this morning, the second hooker, keeeps coming by and sitting on my lap, this is a fresh one, not the 19 year old, a smoother looking sista with the old college student look, must work on the clients, easier to get down than the straight gangster feel, who knows, maybe this woman just has more game than the hoochie crowd, either way I almost broke, but just got laid twice in two one night stands within a week, contributing more to luck than anything else, so I felt pretty good about not having to pay for the opportunity to get laid tonight, why not let the thought pass while drinking down an AM happy hour Coors Light for two dollars, think the happy hour runs from 2am-8am or until all the hookers clear out the patrons, maybe there is some sort of cut scheme going on here with the hotel, possible, no one seems in a hurry to move these women out of here, there are at least twenty of them working the bar rails in my immidiate vicinity, like it matters, happy hotel guests spend money, gamble, get wasted, it all eventually falls into the lap of the casino, time is on their side, just sit back and wait like the spider, the line will vibrate then just slide down and collect another meal.

Happy Hour has this bar totallly packed at 6am where the only other place you can find pussy and drinks in the same place is either a strip club or hotel bars who charge much more than the 2 dollar beers I am putting down at about a rate of 1 every 5 minutes, like water, a habit, a smoke, speaking of smokes, anyone have one, start chain smoking right now, until I can't talk, then try to breathe the next day as my heart begins to beat irregularly, oh well. Really getting worked on now by a hooker with the customary cock grabs, maybe a hand down the pants with a pump or two thrown in to seal the deal, so I tell her I have to hit the ATM, then walk out to the parking garage where I head home.

The ex girlfriend is ready for work even though a few days early or later she snuck into my freshly moved into seperate room, crawling into my bed stone drunk looking to get laid, but I curbed her for whatever reason, done with it, someone else's form of entertainment now, hate that cunt too much, she'll never change, as these gamblers hug the rails of the craps table, cheering the latest hundred dollar win, as those hookers circle, time goes on, where sex, beatings, and extortion live happily together, fulfilling the fantasies of middle aged married men who want to be weird for a night, no drugs, or binge drinking, no S&M, lifeless rides programmed like robots to milk you like a cow, then on to the next cock and the next cock.

Dawn Patrol

It's th 4am crowd here tonight at the local bar not your traditional type of bar with dim lights, draft beer and the blue smike of a thousand lit cigarettes> the bar of today has taken a more modern Vegas approach to luring customers out of their weekly paychecks. These establishments have become part high end restuarant, part VIP velvet rope booth, and part strip club. At about this time, the better looking female bartenders begin to finish up their shifts for the night, casually parading around the bar in temptation of initiating some low rent fantasies with some of their regualar customers in hopes of making a bit of extra side money or a least getting the male clientele in bit more hooked on the hot female bartender to keep them returning like some high school dweeb with a bit of money who really has no shot at the woman, yet as long as the tips flow in will be allow a tiny portion of sexual tease via the ocassional tit and or ass shot.

Had a brief conversation a while back with a currently unemployed male bartender friend of mine who use have a steady gig in the industry, but has become a victim of the economic hard times, while being pushed aside in a new trend of local bar establishments bring in some attractive ex cocktail waitres to work as bartenders, with so few lucrative cocktail waitress jobs at the high end strip casino via the wave of massive layoffs in the past years combined with the sharp decline in high rollers, there are not too many well paying postions anymore that leaves a lot of these former waitress with a few alternatives, either go start stripping, prostitution, or hit the party circuit to pay the bill with some middle age sugar daddy providing for them, all which at some point take more of a tool on the mind as well as the body.

Still some of these women who have been accustom to a well to do lifestyle or have the responsibility of taking on the duties of single parenthood, divorce, and or home foreclosure face a sudden reevaluation in their priorities, from that classic big money, big pimpin, coke binging 8am party circuit hot girl of the week, not enough money around to support her gucci lifestyle or find anyway else who will look after their near thirty year old looks or post thirty year looks, the sugar daddies have tired of their abuse, vile, and demanding behavior, along with all the expenses involved in the delicate romance of sexual desire from a check book, so now these ladies have come to roost in the modern ultra bar willing to live off a hundred dollars a day in tips as well as what else they can pry loose from the gathering of male video poker players hitting the random royal flush on the machine.

With a bit of background on the new face of bartender, time to turn back to this particular morning at one of the more places at the forefront of this new bar service direction, some might say the owner of the small chain of multifunctional bar helped begin, develop, and refine what many of the other local chain pubs now attempt to follow, basically hot pussy gets more men spending money equally more cash in the registers. Women in this particular joint wear lingerie and various other sexually revealing outfits to me and the other guys to buy more drinks, strip club barmaids, the conversation with the women behind the bar does not differ much from that one might get in a strip club, the old once over, sizing up of wallet, then the process of manipulation to get that money out of the wallet and into their tiny little faux diamond studded purses. However, the drinks at the modern ultra bar are not quite as expensive, no Champange room or shower room, just hot ass in fish nets and thongs bending over for beers. This is why male friend can't find a bartending job, a few can but are mostly just for muscle, late night shift type of stuff, it's Vegas, meth time, crime time, and criminals will try to rob bars as well as everyone in them, so muscleheads tired of bouncing at the local strip clubs can take it down a few notches, content to dodge the potential bullet at a bar, while keeping the pervo types from sexually attacking the half naked women serving drinks, so my friend is out, suck for him, he is still looking for that bartending job, but hot the women seem to have them all locked up.

Plenty of pervs still here at 430am vying for the attention of the three girls still here, one is okay, the other fairly hot but mental trainwreck, while the last one has an ass to battle for, knives, guns, whatever, the kind of ass you see on supermodels, except for the fact that this woman works at this bar shaking that ass instead of walking a New York modeling runway. So of course every dude in the place wants to get his shot at hitting that fresh piece of tail to go brag to their other work friends or married buddies who get into the place once and a while to drool along with the rest of the bunch, nothing here but straight notch on the belt type of stuff, obviously here someone is going to get a piece, does not look she has much of a life outside of this place except maybe to be looking out on locking down a new sugar daddy to rid herself of existing in the current low point in glamourous life movie drama that use to have such a self indulgent, self fulfilling story line, but why reel in a few cute meatheads to pass the time, bunch them up like fish in a cannery boat net, then whittle them all away at once, a bit more work, but in these times honey, money is money,

So here is the routine all the middle class male knobs have to get in line and do the old show me what you can do for ME routine, though this particular bartender, the one with the supermodel ass is working the crowd pretty well at the moment, she knows she is way out of the league of the regular lonely hearts mediocre pinball that comes to this mega bar every night after his shift ends in whatever going nowhere, non white collar job that they call a life, who wait like good little boys in the lunch line playing the take a number game, but in the meantime show up nightly, spend money, get teased for their troubles, drop a couple bills, not quite as pricey as strip club, but you get the idea, all these guys get taken advantage of, willing this how the world works, either fork out the dough to get involved with some younger pussy, know the game in order to get inside the heads of these pretties to get in their pants, have the young male tattoo muscle head deal down, or just sit back throw out the bait, cash, with the other crew of regulars to be got over on who arrive in all forms, for too many reasons to list.

Somehow got it in my head on this particular night that I had a shot with little miss hot ass, my game could get me somewhere with this piece of ass, knowing quite well thatI only sought to bang her doggie style from behind, then drop a load on her face, total pipe dream, Vegas romance does not exist, total illusion, a laugh, relationships in Vegas are business transactions at even the most lower income levels, peddling ass pays the bills, while the rest goes off to support some unemployed tattooed loser in skater gear who has a dream, no guts, too much of an idiot, scared, and untrainable, been there myself, but one day, got some spine, now write about this shit.

Drinking a beer at the bar, probably close to 5am, taking in all this in, the heartbroken guys, dejected from not getting first crack or even a hello from the hot ass princess, but like any prom queen she heads off with the biggest toolbag in the bar, siding up to discussed whatever mentally challenged people do in conversation such as sizing up this weeks performances on American Idol or the nice size stash of cocaine waiting back at his place, still this guy's days are numbered, age is what all these women are fighting against at the end of the day, those physical looks go south fast and people get tired of being used like a cum towel, the older I get I figure if you are going to pay for pussy you might as well go younger, hotter, still have to put in the time with romance angle, pay attention to them, make them feel special and wanted, but besides all the above, there is a small chance one of these women might be a smart one, could luck into one with a bit of guidance and fatherly direction who can be pulled out of the proverbial gutter and vicious cycle of strip, drug, sex mania, then shaped up into a career woman, the kind you might find in a a real city of with woman of a college educated, middle class upbring, and sense of self, but I have a had a few of these types too and they are no less whack jobs when it comes down to feelings of self worth, so what the fuck, why even try, yet there is plenty of fun and writing material in the process.

Have to look at it like scouting the baseball farm team, check out the prospects, give them a work out see what they bring to the table, of course this excludes any one night stands, random sexual encounters, no thought in any of those things, just needs being fulfilled, so leave the notebook back at the office, out here in Vegas, you get what you get, sometimes hot, sometimes not, you live with it as far as the women dept is concerned, but outside of that mentality, experience allsows to relax a bit more and get things dialed in, but jeez just getting out of a relationship to jump into another does not seem like the right move, still have to size up the current of Vegas headcases.

In Vegas, forget it, it is tough, feels like all the women here are on the take in one form or another, mostly in the financial support and develop into college grad future, thinking global, get a woman from outside the US, be done with the American nightmare, the drama, the over glamourous illusion that only feed into the brain damage society pool of potential new lovers, where is this going at 5AM, all this jabbering, sunrise is beginning to form on the eastern horizon signaling the end to another Vegas night and maybe the second time clock of the day for some of these little hotties who have to go home with someone to bring in that bit more of extra cash to keep the dream alive, as hot ass gets herself so drunk from shots to mask the depression that the good time have gone in the prime of her life, those stories, of flash cars, coke binges, and flash clothings, no more for me, why go shot to shot with this alcoholic, she is starting to become comfortable with her current reality as she goes on drinking some liquor attempting to chase whatever demons lie at her doorstep.

Airline Wheel Chair Brigade

The next series of blogs were done on plane rides over the last two weeks, my life has been uprooted from a ten relationship break, a constant habit of binge partying, and the fast pace nature that waking up in hotel to hotel room from having to work on the road can bring, so the details may be raw at times, but if anyone is still reading this, the caliber of my work has become quite natural.

There use to be a time I might have seen two or three elderly people all bundled up in blankets, dark glasses, and the their most recent work of crochet as they waited to board an airplane in the so called special assistance class, consisting of passengers who required an extra amount of time to wiggle their way out the wheelchair while cursing under their breath at the failure of the physical body and its rapid decline with the onset of age, alcohol abuse, and poor health habits. Well the repear waits for us all, but cuts some down slower than the rest, it always seems the special assistance passengers always have about eight other people in the party who have to tend to grandman or grandpa who have began to constantly jabbing in form of tongues only elderly people of their similar mental state understand about on par with context of your average third grader. Sure Adult diapers, being spoon fed, and taking more prescription drugs than a hypocondriac on speed can be quite a tough road to head down, probably better off driving the wheelchair of over a cliff or right in to oncoming traffic, if only these elderly could be so lucky, now they have merely become a tool for their younger relatives to board airplanes before anyone else, as grandson pushes the slung over sack of drooling, dissolving, and derranged carcass down the boarding platform.

However, today there appears to be an entire new legion of invalids, who can walk speak, and function with a great degree of self sufficiency. I am puzzled by this brigade of pretenders that are agile, self aware, and look perfectly healthy, these people look only to angle on abusing the special needs rule on this particular discount airline carrier, an entire wheelchair symphony being wheeled in row by row as if gathering in formation for the start of a Nascar racing event, this military precision of well defined lines, aisles, and pit crews of families bringing up the rear, remind me of teenagers with fake ids, fools who use their grandparents or some other handicapped family members parking placards to park up front at sporting events and middle age autograph hound seekers who shove young children out of the way in order to acquire an autograph from some overpaid sports player that the middle aged person plans on selling later, even worse those clowns on tv during a baseball game who jump in front of small little leaguers to snatch away a foul ball, then taut them for being so short as they flex theif muscles in front of their other drunken loser buddies who live with their parents.

so now there is a small army of sods who look like circus carnies, staring at the suckers like myself who have to wait for all thirty people to board before anyone else can get on the plane and on a discount carrier like this one, it is no doubt these folks are going right for the front rows as they stand up for a minute to readjust their ailing back, fat rolls, or just general lazy atrophied muscles while laughing behind dark glasses at the rest of the other passengers, I mean what the fuck good are these people going to be if the plane has an emergency, do we have to carry them off first before the flames of the plane engulf the rest of the cabin, shit no, right over them, grind them down, so some one who is not a lazy fuck can kick open a door, or whatever of the various process that are explained in the those guides in the exit rows, where I sit might need to be performed at 36,000 ft. The frauds continue to pile in with big smiles and large waves as the pit crew/family of eighteen cart their 50 yr old obesse lazy gluttonous mother off to the front row seats of the plane, all smiles, as I enter the plane because some of my travel deals require me to go cheap, luckily I get fat city privledges and board with the frequent filiers, inside the plane the first five rows are already filled, I head straight to the exit row for the leg room, luckily these new wave invalid have disqualified themselves from being able to assist in these exit rows, cause we'd all be fucked in an emergency with those types manning the team leader positions, pin everyone else in like a boulder wedged into a cave, forget, done, start praying and hope its quick or somehow come to life in fight or flight mode miraculously coming to life, kicking out the door then leaving the rest of us to a fiery state, as some small child bangs on the back of my head as I sit in the exit row, parents amaze me too.

They use to let parents have front row cuts, which made the procession of half wits twice as long that one kid had three dads, six mothers, seven uncles, five aunts cousins, grandparents, a god damn family reunion, so by the time I got on the plane these families had looted all the best seats. This use to piss me off and I imagine a lot of other non children family passengerss, even with this damn shiny A-list card, what good news was it when so many white trash yahoos heading off to Vegas or Disneyland had overrun the plane, while this fat slob next to me cuts smelly ass farts in the seat two over from me, he has his shoes off, feet stink, pretending to be sleeping so I can't call him out on his nasty stench, probably laughing at me inside his head, have to turn the air jets on him full blast, another fat slob, one-third of American's are fat according to a new study, no surprize, especially those like this lady who had pork chops for arms, so damn fat, they took up two seats and what is even worse, is that these people always try to muscle your space for their fat ass, so I just lean on them with my shoulders on their arm. These people give after a while, offering some resistance, yet due to their out shape nature cave, my 200 lbs of body weight on a 6'2" frame breaks them down, but they don't care they just order up double snacks, double drinks and then a super sized bag of candy inbetween.

I always give the pork chop battlion all my snacks, like feeding an animal at the zoo, entertain me pork chop, who is trying to dress sexy in tight jeans and tight top, damn, rubber tire like rolls of blubber, bigger than her titties, could have had the young hotties sit next to me or small woman riding in the middle seat, but these Large Marge types are the worst, this country has sold its soul for consumption, becoming lazy, because they know circus freaks are for public amusement, never to become part of the beautiful people, la, la, land they watch on tv, support through the tabloids and secretly dream of becoming if they could only stop eating junk food, fuck exercising, damn rat on a treadmill, beyond feeling sorry for themselves, these people have given up and let themselves go, as I fight with pork chop for arm position for the next three hours as she reads some lame ass romance novel, her should has probably gone numb by now, as I write this, time to finish up as her stretch mark get larger, her taste in clothes will only get smaller.