Monday, January 25, 2010

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.


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