Street Spirit

Well, fell asleep for a few hours earlier in the night, now can't sleep, fast food poisioning for some entertainment, television has become the avenue for lunatics, makes very little sense anymore. so here are a few excerpts, written roughly back in Aug-Sept. 2009, had to access the external drive for some business related material and went through some of the writing. Here are a few, another project gathering digital dust, complete in thought and on most days that good enough, enjoy.






The Tele-Marathon

Watching live television
Can't sleep without drugs
Or even think
Knowing I have just come off of a 28hr day
Filled with the ultimate fodder in entertainment
My brain should be mush
It is just such a heavy trip
To undertake
A real blitz to the mind
To endure such an experience
Of ideals and behavior
That are no longer relevant
In my life
A time warp
I only visit on occasion
For the rest who work in entertainment television
All the time
It seems
They have come to grips
With the lack of feeling
Soul
Depth
Maybe they feel it too
But have their own way
Of dealing with the bullshit
But this past week is as heavy
As it gets
I made it through the show
And the payday is huge
Just like those king crab hunters
Braving the vicious winter seas
I brave polymorphic induced invasions
On the television viewing public's emotions
And have to endure
All the messaging
In order to get paid
Yet
This show is full of writing material
Another reason to work on it
So much emptiness
Revolving around a cause
To help the helpless
While creating even more in the process
No difference
As many of my fellow techincal workers
Will be back in Los Angeles
Generating more brain dead material
While I head back into the arena of death
Physical and mental brutality is how I get paid



Too Much Hot Sauce

Late Argentina night
Doubled over
From food poisioning
Next door from our hostel
Sounds from a nightclub
Seep through the walls
As if I had been sleeping
On the dancefloor itself
The idea crossed my mind
Every time
That ever present bass line
Rumbled the entire building
Like the shockwave
Of a nearby explosion
The only motivation
For living
Were the constant trips
To the bathroom
Where
Whatever was left of my sanity
slowly oozed
Its way into the local sewer stream
While staring
At my face in the bathroom mirror
When the hell
Is this nightclub going to close?
This thought continued on
Hour after hour
Hunched over on the toilet
Kneeling in the shower
Vomiting
Out nothing but spit and spite
Bile and anger
Trapped
Far from home
To ride out
Like a bad acid trip
No quick
Safe exit
On the desperate contemplations
To somehow fall asleep
That never arrived
Finally
Just kept
The front door open
Began to wonder
How the owners of this house
Dealt with the constant noise
I could not believe it
Maybe they were working at the club
No difference
1am
2am
3am
Vomit
Vomit
Vomit
Boom
Boom
Boom
Never Ending
I am empty
Stomach muscles exhausted
There is nothing to do but
Wait out the morning
For the early crow of the rooster
Who knows if the club
Will ever shut down
Most of them stay open till
Seven or eight in the morning
Nothing like watching thousands of people
Doing the walk of shame
Down local city streets
Filing out of dance music venues
Somewhat reluctantly
Gathering their senses
In the strong early sunlight
Some to drive
Others by cab
The rest just walk
Woman and men
Arm in arm
Laughing
Joking with other friends
In larger groups
But for now
I sit at the edge of my bed
Decide to walk downstairs to find
The landlord
But the place is pitch black
Back door is locked
Fuck it
Slowly
Walk back up the stairs
And wonder
How and the hell
The tenant in the adjacent room
Directly next to the club
Can sleep
Not even one slight door opening
Throughout the night
He must have OD'd on Heroin
4am rolls around
The music stops
The rooster crows as I wait for the sun's arrival
And a chance to live again
Lying on the airport floor
For some reason
Cats are allowed to roam
This airport
Not sure if this is something
Prevalent in South America
But notice
People really don't seem
To pay much attention
To feral animals
Such as cats and dogs
Just let them roam around
For entertainment
Or possibly an appetizer
Can't move
Not happy
But heading off to wine country today
On the border of Chile and Argentina
Thank God
We are not busing it
Up those hills through the Andes
A suicide mission indeed
On a fifteen passenger microbus
Driving along a road
Barely
Wide enough for one bus
Only to have to watch
Semi tractor trailers
Appear from blind corners
At high speed
In a game of who
Will go bounding
Over the side of the mountain
With a good half a mile
Tumble to prepare for death
Alcohol is the only cure
Drugs
Anything to dull
The thought of impending doom
And the driver's constant desire
To test the laws of physics
Today though
Things will be a bit easier
Lounging around
On the floor
Like a leper
Begging for change
Expressionles
Hardly able
To keep a sip
Of water down
At times like these
Same as the real hardcore hangovers
Or blackouts
Anytime multiple felonies
Conjure up through the subconscious mind
No prayer here or thoughts of redemption
Just the plain realization
That I am stupid sometimes
And make dumb decisions
Based upon that lack of momentary reason
While slowly rising to my feet
Off toward the next unpredictable adventure


Through Being Cool?

Who knows why
Maybe nostalgia
Or just a general desire
to feel old
Or young
I started watching
The movie Pretty in Pink
On the internet
Teleportation back to the 80's
After getting over being
Nothing more than an old geezer
I watched
To see its relevance
On me
On culture and the world
Can't even really call it mod culture
Maybe
Things felt so blended
Together for me back then
Between
The punk rock
Reggae
Rap
Skate Music
Stoner rock
And the various subcultures
To see them
All piled into a movie
I did not really
Pick up on as a teenager
Sort of confounded me
But amazed me
Just the amount of great music alone
Even the theme
Of the outsiders versus the in crowd
That theme alone is timeless
And will always
Be revisited in its various forms
But how less is more
Seemed more prevalent back then
In comparison to today
Where more is more
And even more is better
This idea did not make the movie archaic
But more like a frozen memory
When cool meant something
At least to me
Maybe cool
Which has always been a tool of commerce
No doubt it has validity
But mentally
Back then
The lives of others
Especially all the rich kids
I hung around at school
Was a million miles away
From what I knew
Which was some 8x8 room
In a hell hole
Living with a mother
Who was clinically insane
All my friends had houses
Cars
Whatever
That is not the point
They did not have
To look over their backs
Walking around their neighborhoods
Or find bullet casings
While coming home
From school
Getting away from the point
And back to the art aspect
Versus the love aspect
Both vague
Yet strong to those
Entwined in its grasp
And a scar
To those who have been afflicted
Then slowly
Watch the symptoms dissipate over time
Emotion
Meant something
Today
Things feel so robotic
Maybe
It is due to my age
Or history
Career
Responsibilities
Past mistakes and fears
Or knowing
What lies beyond
All the blinders of falling passionately
In love with a person
Thinking of nothing but them
Very scary in the 21st century
Where sex
has replaced feeling
For feeling good
And having nothing more
It's a temporary fix
With less attachement
Less risk
And less possibility
Or being driven insane
By the grasp of emotions
You can't shake
A thing that keeps
Fucking with your mind
Till the booze
The pills and drugs come to the rescue
Love junkie
Or drug junkie
Both have their hang ups
Both have something to give
Selfish has become our nature
When we think
Of all that we have to lose
Instead
Of all that we have to give
And that's when being cool
Will cease to be important
Until then
I'll stick with being cool