The New Face of Security

In light of the recent attempted terror attacks on an inbound flight from Detroit, I was notified at 3am this morning that increased security measures were being employed by TSA screeners in order to insure my safety and the safety of all other airline travelers so I should expect to be delayed up to 3hrs as the TSA screeners set about carrying out their improved methods of detecting would be terrorists before their plots could be hatched and deliver the onset of panic in the terminals of every airport in the country teeters on the direct collective paranoid witchhunt of anyone who was not blue eyed, blonde haired, and of fair skin. This is the new face of terrorism, looks like every single person I encountered this morning on my way to Dulles Airport, the picutre painted by media outlets and feature films represents the checkout attendent at the hotel, the taxi driver carrying out a baggage dolly full of luggage headed to some distant destination, there is the man who scanned the bar codes on my rental car with his well rehearsed routine of checking the mileage, jotting down, then punching numbers in a machine that wirelessly produces a receipt for me, there is also the shuttle driver from the rental place, more cabbies, baggage handlers, we are surrounded by the so called face of terror according to the powers that be, these are the people who make up the backbone of society attempting to shed away stereotypes, leaving behind their homelands, and create a new, prosperous life that the promise of America holds for so many around the world. Now we are just stigmas, poster children for fear, as well a convenient scapegoat when life offers up tragedies that are not immidiately explainable.

The world has opened up, the global markets have come to the US, jobs bring immigration and with the younger generations of America so caught up in trying to attain lives like the ones they see on television, a gap has developed in a shortage of well trained educated people, tattoos, poser rock/hip, and lifestyle obessesion have driven people away from engineering, chemistry, biotech, granted there are plenty of more entrepreuners than ever before, but there seems to be such a polarization today, no middle ground of technically skilled workers, it is either business or service sector part timer, one supports the other, so here come the millions who have been educated here or abroad, absorbing the jobs that were usually taken by Americans, but are taxi drivers and baggage handlers skilled positions, well no, but I see these families pushing their kids into those skills positions in one generation and within two or three, there is solid development into highly techincal jobs, why not, mathematics, science, not too many students really seemed overjoyed about those subjects when I was in high school, but for those who embraced it, job security is not far behind.

America has put itself on notice, on trial for the failures beaucracy shall never be able to fix, as long as we treat others as the Crusaders treated their opponents, the new breed of the TSA are fresh faced kids from vocational school or twenty somethings off a three tour stint in the military. My face, my appearance is their new job position, rational observation, no profiling here at all, scurtinize everyone, sure, it varies. Some of the screeners are talkative, take in everything, conduct a bit of conversation, smile, small talk, while others, come off like straight border crossing guards, no smiles, they take your ID hold it at arm length, look at the ID, then at me, then back at the ID, play with the ID for a minute in their hand, get the black light out, then run their finger along the surface, while asking where I am going, where I have been, then pause and act as if something is wrong to gauge my reaction as if some hidden guilt of agenda would bring me to my knees in a religous like collapse for forgivenes but I play the game, put on my best phony Anglo presence, as if to say, who the hell are you, some damn lackey who makes 10 bucks an hour to hassel me when I have important business to conduct, you are nothing but a herpes wart on society, a leison, a leech, welfare baby, sucking up MY tax dollars, it is necessary to show them who is running the show, my future, my hard work, and dedication to be sucessful drives this society to prosperity, not this goon, who has watched too many Clint Eastwood movies and feeds into the propaganda spilt out by others marginalized by their inability to reinvent themselves in these ever rapid changing times.

Time to do the japanese game show x ray machine/metal detector contest of stripping down off of belts, shoes, jackets, and all other metal objects, cellphones, pull out laptops, no water bottles, all toiletries should be in a resealable 1 oz bag in viewable sight, of course there are always a small group of people who do not seem to get the fact that their jewerly will usually set off the detector, they walk through with their shoes on, watches, time after time after time, I just shake my head, maybe some people do not travel as often as I do, for me, it is just a routine, from what goes where, down to what order everything is placed, from, belt, shoes, laptop, backpack, then carry on travel bag. Things do move a bit faster than when the clampdown came down the first time. The lines were really 3hrs long back then, everyone was forgetting something, it would drive me nuts, one person might take five minutes getting all their jewelry, watches, coins, pocket knifes, nail clippers, or whatever metal wise, there was no escape, the TSA wanded everyone, especially me, shoes, backpack, sure, why not, but after the tenth time in a row getting singled out, I developed quite an attitude toward the screeners, cause it would always be me, the guy who looked like Bin Laden, and the weird cat dressed up like Neo from the Matrix movies. They always want you to put your arms out, so I would minimally knowing this would not do, so after about five rounds of inching up my arms. the screeners would give up and get the wanding over with, I would get vocal, they had heard it all by then, why I did not get arrested always surprised me, but when you watch some old lady in late 80's being screened then their is something wrong with this whole endeavor. Has it made a difference, not sure, are people more aware of their surroundings, sure, do I get mad dog ocassionly while getting on a flight as if I represent some fringe attitude of getting back at western imperalism by merely boarding the plane. I have learned to ignore it all, what does it matter, no wonder I use to get drunk on planes so often, just to block out all that post 9-11 heat coming from every person on board planes, even from the brothers and the homies, that shit really pissed me off, great, who does not want to push the specter of the boogie man onto another person, I represent no race, no color or creed, just a mash up of races who conveniently looks like anyone, anywhere around the world, has it advantages, but in this case has been wielded to attack me, puts me on the defensive at all times. Today, traveling so frequently, I just think about all the benefits constant travel has given me, airline darling, special service and the turnaround in the economy, as well as the election of a black president has helped turn the corner from the fear monger state we lived in merely five years ago, crazy how things change and for that I will always be thankful.

The Calender

Started on this drug kick, booze too, has been quite overly published already. I marked the days on a calender, mostly dealing with drinking, the drugs are easy enough to put away. Since Apr 13, it has gone 0,0,0,2,0,0,0,0,2,2,1,5,0,0,0. That would represent the time from the 13th to the 29th, feel like a pitcher, had a couple of bad innings, have not gotten through the whole work travel thing where I run into all my work friends who like to drink, but even most of them have started to pack it in, not too much of a crowd to party with at the moment, really do not think my behavior has given others the opportunity or the inspiraton to tone it down, would not make too much sense, who knows, they do what they want, fact is I still felt the need to have a few beers which means I will never really quit drinking entirely, coupled with the fact that friends can still motivate me to throw a few down whenever, even though that particular weekend it did not seem anyone was really in the mood to hangout, Sacramento is not exactly party central and when we all reconvene in Montreal in a few weeks, I have no doubt the party wagon will be valeted right in front of our hotel, guess it is all about the setting, the rep of Montreal, not much of a fan, already can here the calls to hit all the strip clubs in town, which were pretty weak, the whole scene was a bit played out, meth addicted strippers and hookers trying to sell me hits of crack, violence in the streets, drunken bar brawls, street kids looking to move bunk narcotics, the whole scene wreaked of the washed out haven brought down to earth since the late 60's, it cannot be stopped, youth still buy into the dream of substance abuse bliss, enlightenment some people call it, getting high, have it, I look down the barrel from the opposite end that they are on, I know a few things, experienced plenty, more than any meth smoking stripper and a condom could offer.

Anyway, the party wagon is like that, somedays the boys put a tarp over the thing, set it out behind the barn and pretend it never existed. Other days, the wagon is spinning its wheels in well worn ruts, completely lit afire, then catching traction veering erratically in all directions without anyone who has the smallest idea where they might be at the moment behind the controls, time speeds up, the wagon hits light speed and if I am lucky enough I get teleported back to my bed at the hotel. Not too worried already so much to do during the summer that this side trip to Montreal will probably end up with the NHL playoffs going on at the same time, turning into 24hr set, show, and strike fiesta, right back on the plane, then Mother's Day. So damn straight now, feel like an entirely different person, cognitive, self aware, not in the drug dillusional sense, save those ideas for tomorrow.

Train Wreck

Feeling like a train wreck
No control
Just shaking violently
Vibration
The digust of a body that can't stand still
My surroundings
Bearing weight upon withering shoulders
Somehow instills a will to continue breathing
With lungs
Somewhat undecided
On their continuation of service
Unstable
Fragile
Looking for Excuses
To mirror the sun's movement across the sky
So I reach out for voices
A friendly record store clerk
The guided wire of a telephone
The woman on the other end laughing lovely
Audible sounds of security
As I peer over the cliff of sanity
Looking down ocassionly
The permanance of termination
Self conceptualization
Searching for a reason to live
Something desired
To write about
while living a life of interior imagination
Words
Moods and moments
Pass freely
Regrettably
Sailing away
To be soon forgotten
I shake writing
The combonation of no sleep
Joy and realization that life exists
The harden memories
Passionate frames
Abandoned barriers
And cafe style pondering
Behind a removable glass cage
The experience of raw emotion
Is what I wrestle with
It comes bearing the gifts of enlightenment
While leaving behind
The weight of the world
True gravity
Immobility
Frozen
Captive in space
Heart beats louder
Blood fills my ears
I try to scream
But silence fills the skies life a void
Empty
Desolate
No comfort
Just the hope of survival
Tomorrow
And the opportunity to do it again

Dreaming Reality

Kicked off the sleeping pills and on the Melatonin, now instead of not dreaming while sleeping, I feel like I stay awake dreaming the entire time. Still feel a bit restless, tough readjusting to everyday life, everyday people whose lives I inhabit like a moon, a satillite that orbits around them, popping in once in a while to catch up on what has taken place while out working on the road. Not that it is very much, yet to try and explain my nature of existence outside this small oasis of Las Vegas can be difficult at best. All the things work involves, locations, people, the minor glory of recognition, does not matter, but even more does not translate to the repetitive nature of most people I come into contact with, mainly at bars, but since cutting down on the drink, there is not too many others to discuss life or any other topics of personal interest.

Caught the workout bug, probably because summer is on the way, have to sport the tan and looks in order to hang out anywhere in town, caught somewhere between having youthful looks and attaining wealth, both are short cuts to getting laid, lacking in both departments sends those unfortunate off to the of land of middle age and a slow transparent dissolve into the anonimity of letting oneself go. At the gym tonight, technology has allowed all of us to create little bubbles to live with, a soundtrack consisting of part motivation, part spite, part hatred, and part fantasy. Been running for the past two hours, have only heard two minutes of conversation in that time. The loud music videos playing overhead don't help, they drowned out any sort of ability to think, develop reason, or turn to another with the intent of striking up a conversation. Thing that sucks now is I have to cut down on the food, already kicked the booze, so that is the other half of the battle, no more appetizing meals, had the last one today, Thai curry, nice way to kick off the yearly pound shedding.

One would have to ask, why it matters anymore at 40, the only thing I can think of is, not too many people feel I look 40, so no need to fight it, squeeze out as many more summer of juvenille behavior as possible, even though this summer will be a first, a drug free summer for the most part, been two weeks so far, booze is the easiest to get a hold of and lately has made feel like crap after a beer or two, my body has been weaning itself from it as for the other stuff, not much of a problem, just avoid the places, people, and overwhelming desire to get high, everything should be fine. A new grand experiment, I the test subject. Meanwhile reality lingers, more focus, more clarity, at about 85 percent right now, not as dillusional, so not going to have too many erratic, spontaneous like writings, it floats out there in space, just have to pull it down. Done for now, have get into the daily habit of posting, so posts might be smaller, writing a analog form book now to self publish, have to avoid complacency put a line in the sand to where I must admit my sanity has returned, no more pushing back in creative dept. So with that thought the words begin here.

Same Blood, Different Blood

Was working in Abu Dhabi on a show. The television show was over, not much to do, had been assigned to sort of oversee the small details, made sure they got done. Back to the point, one of the local workers started a discussion with me about the nature of how Isreal was established by the English and an Englishman in particular. Actually, the conversation started with this guy, think his name was Qaadi, not exactly sure, he was Lebanese, moved to the Emarities like so many of his counterparts, to make some real money, siphon off the rapidly develping wealth in the Middle East due to the nature of a recent spike in oil prices. Well, I told Qaadi I had no idea who he was referring to and took me as the natural idiot of America, he would later detail as a nation who had their head in the clouds. Once he began to explain, the British involvment in the genesis of the Isreali state, it became apparent which direction the conversation was headed. He wanted my take or moreover to give his take on the conflict between the Arabs and the Isrealis. I basically told him, where the hell is the Arab alligence, I have traveled through a few Arab nations and they seemed awfully nationalistic, as example, using the recent war between the Isrealis and Hamas, why did Eygpt shut its borders down to those Palastinines who wanted to flee the conflict, where was the unity? He blamed his own people so to speak, us of same blood, Qaadi stated, Arab blood could not get their shit together, too busy fighting amongst themselves about the proper direction to the take the Arab world. Well, there seems to be a big disparity between the Palastinines and Saudis, do the rich Arab countries throw the poor ones a bone by letting them work in their country, there were people from all over the world here, working on contract for years at a time that offered a set salary, medical benefits, and month off with free plane ticket back home and from the sight of things, there looks to be plenty of people from this world of 6 billion have taken the UAE and Abu Dhabi up on developing the decadent superstructures of the 21st century.

The downtown skyline of Abu Dhabi is lined with giant cranes an array of towers mostly half built, quickly becoming over the last year victims of the global economic collapse, but as pride will have it, slowly to fade, the construction continues to excessive levels. The streets are empty at night, five lanes in each direction as I was shuttled in a Mercedes Benz to my hotel, sure it was cool, limo style back seat area, extra room, being driven around the city, no hassles or worries, pretty sure Qaadi did not drive an MB, but could be wrong. Western policy and Middle East posturing had put Palastine right in the middle of a bigger fight, who cared about the people, didn't seem like anyone, two kids fighting over a toy, both hands on opposite ends, tugging back and forth, a toy full of delicate things, shaken, shattered, and eventually the toy is rendered useless from all the violence. Qaadi said by to a co-worker, he tells me, "Same Blood" Arab blood. Money looks like the only thing driving the bus here. Not much different than Vegas, not as much activity, drugs are illegal, drunk driving will get you automatic prision, having drugs in your blood stream is the same as possession, no public affection between woman and man, think man and man is okay. I had to be on my best behavior, they would throw away the key in this place if they got their hands on me. No such luck, they had us safely tucked into a inlet of tourist hotels that catered to westerners, the hotel left the bar open to 4am every night, on Friday there was a club music night, at least it was something to do. Abu Dhabi nightlife did not stray too far from Western culture, drink readily available, though the taxi driver could rat you out for being too drunk, drop you off at the police station, this is word of mouth, nothing substantiated, a large cross section of prostitues available. It was pretty obvious, the women sort of hung around they did not fit the tourist mold especially in a city of this nature. Reminded me of one of the first nights where this old geezer came in the place with 10 hot Russian models/prositutes, every guy began thinking of ways to penetrate into the inner circle of all these fine women. No time was wasted, the porn stash brothers got right into the middle of all those hot asses, looking to get some booty grinding on, which I figured was illegal too, but why not push the limits. The Russian women knew the game, this old man must be a billionaire, something, none of them strayed from his nest, no matter how much game the guys in the bar thought they had, denail across the board. I did not bother, found my own way downtown, easy enough to get what you want. These women are not going anywhere, went back to my room, no co-workers, good, people get chatty when you pull someone, like hey, look at pimp daddy there, either way, living the good life and being of same blood were not totally mutually exclusive but I did not figure Arab unity was coming anytime soon, resulting in equal distribution of oil profits.

Qaadi had his say and it did not change my opinion about the conflict in the middle east, it was an interesting conversation, but I had already done my recon, gathering much more intel than his fifteen minute dialouge could offer. This place was no different than the states, gross excessiveness was the rule, the only rule, hedonistic hotels that probably cost more than the annual Gross National Product of many nations throughout the world. Why should I complain, I received the benefits of all these workers here, especially at the bar tonight, where a mainly European crowd runs themselves ragged amongst the many urgent calls for service, luckily I heavily tipped a few bartenders earilier in the night, so getting a beer was never a problem, others only grumbled as their pleas were ignored and mine answered, so spoiled, here on the outposts of greed, where oil tankers line up offshore awaiting the next shipment of liquid gold heading toward the shores of the western infedels, petro dollars ruled this land, for now.

Weapon of Choice 3

Wrap this story up for the most part, final installation, I think. Organic brain chemistry has me a bit level headed, rest is a very underrated commodity, stockpiling for a mellow future of deactiviation from academy of Disco Coma and the Legion of Overstimulation.

The chaos has pretty well developed tonight, no one wants to secure the responsibility of maintaining any sort of decent modicum, random hook ups, overt drug use, excessive binge drinking, spantaneous dialouge with the most diverse set of strangers has become the norm. It's funny how the microcosm of electronic dance music scene brings together so many beings from such varied sociocultural and political backgrounds, the pulsating sounds of bass lines and synths overwhelm the club like a never ending orgasm that continues to escalate taking people into deeper states of comfort, acceptance and universal harmony, whether the drugs, the sleepless days or the absorbing sonic playground control by the record selector, an infection so prevalent in various subcultures throughout the states and dominating practically the rest of the world, demands possession, innate body movement of days, weeks, a lifetime, this sense of dance music energy has over taken the club at the moment. Higgins and the rest of the crew reside at the front line battle, eyes rolled back, trancefixated faces, and a silent force most monks would soon be driven to words after many a decade. This roman orgy may have its roots in history but has since transcended to the pinnacle of dark, sweaty, clustered masses ingesting the gospel of the Raggaman letting the bass flow metaphysical, political, and sonically holistic. A shamanistic ritual of fear exstacy, pain, exhaustion, hallucination, mortality and a temporary clarity few ever obtain and even fewer remember, so I took it easy tonight, wrapped up in the sounds of Derrick Carter, old school Chicago House, half diva rock, half world beat electronic flow. My attention turned to his playlist, programming and the outright willingness of Carter to twist my mind track after track like some voodoo master, telepathically reading my mind. He owns the crowd using each track to gauge the desire of the crowd to get deep, lose their minds, and face all the barriers in front of them to be broken down in order to lead a fulfilling life, then spread the message to all others in the room tonight. The crowd is all on various levels of the path only too happy to be given further direction without fear, regreat, negativity, or attitude, pure unbroken, almost like a first love, unspoiled, virgin, yet equiped to head back out into reality to supercede the day in, day out routine of creating a new world.

Life sort of starts to blur at this moment where time ceases to exist and the moments from 2a to 5a have an ameoba like liquid effect on the mind, nowhere is safe, the brain starts stacking information into three dimensions, no choice,no challenge but to obey the music coming out of the speakers, shut down all conscious thought, doors wide open where all behavior, all visuals, audio, and interpetive thought collide into one larger concept that never really seems to gather a foothold, sure there are a collection of spectators in the club, hanging at the bar attempting to understand this dancefloor core tribal initation, watching people dig deep into themselves to retrieve elements that don't really appear to fit into the real world, just break out of the bonds of the absurb to come to life on the dancefloor, frequencies, into the ears, light into the eyes, and humanity moving as one are some weird things to watch at 4 in the morning from a seat near the dancefloor, have become nonexistence, individuals off in seperate worlds, someone has been talking to me for the past half an hour, have not understood a single word this person has said or have made little effort to offer any nonverbal cues that I might actually be paying attention. This does not stop the conversation from carry on, possibly the only way this person can deal with all this irrational stuff going on around us at the moment. No escape from detection, sucked in to be a witness, how one feels about it afterwards is the beauty of the night, for some, it may not mean much, for others, it may change their life forever, so I try to stay in the heart of all these emotions floating throughout the room. Someone is skipping around the nightclub with a huge smile on their face, small cluster of dancers off in another dimension swaying back and forth as if caught in some invisible tractor beam, jostling them around like a unbalanced washing machine in the spin cycle, pinballing, multiple vectors, and eventual loss of location. The dark veil has been thrown over many people tonight, not much conversation from the rest of club, cause the sound just keeps getting louder and trippier, repetitive sound for hours on end, strips away all sense of normalicy, the only thing to concentrate on is the bass, the synths, as vocals, breakdowns, and changes in the music resmemble language, symbols which are interpeted by the brain and finally the body to invoke a sense of intense desire, feeling, or retreat into a slow moving swell that starts way out in the middle of the ocean, caused by an earthquake. Over time as the wave travels it begins to gather momentum, this appears to be the DJ's main job, momentum, time and space, disappear, until I come to life a half hour later on the dancefloor once more screwed into the ground, completely relaxed and giving in to the music. Hypnotized, it is something developed over the years of going to clubs and dance music events, going deeper inside oneself, trying to go symbiotic with the music a communion of body and soul, I know with all this metaphysical wording, it sounds like a bunch of shit, but it gets addicitive, fucking up the mind to release all that dopamine, serotonine, and whatever else the brain creates to make you forget all bad and embrace all the good, I have developed the ability to get interdimensional but as of late have gone subconscious so I don't remember anything, yet tonight made he smart choice by deciding to listen to the music and let everyone do all drugs, which ultimately has become the new direction of my life.

More and more, hour after hour, almost 6am, damn the lights have been on for an hour and a half, no one wants to leave, someone is motioning me to go, I guess they have been trying for over an hour but for some jangled, twisted gap in reality I do not see them. The attempts continue to attract my attention, standing now but start dancing, some more time passes. Hey, I know this person, okay, will follow, it's KGB, everyone else is already outside, some words are made as to the fact that they have been trying to get me to leave. Well, it was Higgins, Red Amry, and KGB who all looked to lifers in this nightclub, like poster art, decorative pots, or bright enamel paint. Surrender everything to lead this never ending night to hide behind the walls of Midtown hotels or friends couches with a pillow over the eyes to keep out the sunlight of daytime reality while heading home, the business crowd assembles themsevles on the subways, taxis, others with their personal drivers, what did we matter it was the weekend, so no business crowd, they were for all actual purposes probably dancing right beside me the entire night, this group does not have an off switch whether Friday or Monday, there is something going on, something cool, unique, and futuristic. Slaves from years of experience, chasing that chemical reaction, pushing the highs into other universes so they never end, dissolve that mind into acidic goo, eats through any substance no matter how atomcially dense, this is anti-matter, violent, unrelenting, uncompassionate, drilling right into the cerbral cortex of all who dare to tread the fine line of appetite, feast, satisfaction thinking that there shall never be a day when the bill comes due, just burn it out, right out the skull into space, some folks live as a live wire, don't get near, their mere vibrations will send most people into caradiac arrest, amps, volts, and current, they are gonna get ya, musings so deep from these people, so dark, unintelligible that insanity is a short distance away if you get caught up in their ideas, let them be, let them wander off into their own personal well, swimming down to the bottom, never coming up for air until they hit the bottom and for some of them, they never do, for others they hit bottom but keep on digging, too caught up in the chase for getting higher, going further, and expanding consciousness into the realms of so many things we don't understand, twisting in seizures, the context of expression, of communiction, hijacked in science fiction journey through the mind, have to get lost, shut down everything else, some people pass out right there on the dancefloor from falling too far, collapse, no choice but to push it, right into oblivion, makes sense, alternative does not mean anything, direct orders from HQ, must be adhered, subliminal study, deprogramming and reprogramming, psychological warfare, walking into napalm hailstorm, no fear, nothing, except an odyessy with musical score that slowly evolves into an entity taking on its own life, then there is nothing left but to solve what generates this being in the first place, this sound that has captured hundreds in a small crowd tonight, crowd control, turn them into wild beasts or subdued children, completely up to the DJ playing the music, never the same thing twice.

Damn the sun is up, walking the streets of NYC, the moment has past, exhausted, enlightened, and silent, no one can talk right now, what is there left to say after that sensorial bashing, just getting ready for the digital battles of the 21st century, hostilities of the internet, symphony to the future, its here, ready to be heard. Beyond sleep, coma, Disco Coma, that is where I live.

Sleepless

Don't know what is driving me crazy faster; all the writing or the general lack of sleep. Dwelling on this subject does not seem to have done anything but only deepen the rift between getting myself back to some sort of natural routine at as much as my work schedule will allow me. Had to start finding balance between where I have been and where I am going. My current out of control behavior and lifestyle is not going to offer me much of a future. Pretty much should just start walking down toward the airport where the main cemetary is located, find an empty plot, then jump right in at least I can watch the planes fly overhead. Times are fairly lean tonight, tough to keep the mood positive after going through so much change in such a short period of time, feels like I have released from sort of imprisonment, even if self imposed. I am walking around in a society that has a new texture to it, an altered facade, and echo of high pitched noise ringing in my ears, a constant companion which shall follow till death.



Have not been able to find a remedy to fall into any sort of consistant sleep pattern, maybe two to three hours a night lately. All this time zone travel and partying has fried my brain, possibly for the final time, get your wish, here it is, enlightenment, cruel joke, coping has replaced any sort of higher thought, but punching the keyboard for this blog helps a bunch, however their are some residual effects of digging within oneself to mine out what has been masked with the help of various enablers. It's the final battle between, the body, mind, and soul. They all desire certain things to maintain their former stabile existence, now with the narcotics stripped away, the alcohol, and the late night partying, body shock has set in, distress amongst all levels, nothing is safe from exposure, my only concern is how long this feeling will last. There is depression from my last relationship, but hashing it out here is something I don't want to waste my time upon, I have to own my action, which I have no problem doing, but living alone in a small condo from a large house is taking some getting use to even though the space is throughly, individually mine, there still is an unfamilair nature to it.



Past all this, just have to get through it, time inbetween work as well as trying to put my new place in order while hoping to fall asleep, insomnia is throwing my entire schedule off, satisfaction to those who have succeeded in my slow demise this is all you have left of me.

The Evolution of the Tire Jack

Had noticed the other day after being out of town for a bit that one of the tires on my van had gone flat, whether or not it might have been induced by bad driving skills via taking a curb could not be immediately determined. This did not resolve the fact that I would have to find the spare, then figure out some way to swap out the flat. The real bitch here is outside of the fact that the flat was fairly beat up, probably not worth driving on, what really bugged me was the generic sort of ultra small tire jack, made for a compact car but certainly not this multi-ton van. But why not give it a shot, throw on some dirty clothes, get coverd up in grease and tire gunk, then bust a sweat while experiencing waves of frustration ride over me, as the tire jack barely budges the axle a few inches in the air. I gave the jack some benefit, but over the years these stock jacks always bend, never offer enough lift, and take an overt level of brute force to generate any sort of leverage, while the whole time praying that jack itself does not crush under the weight of the car. It can be a time of peril, holding my breath, thinking, just let me get this tire off and the other on. I display the elegance and dexterity of the best nueral surgeon, enough to make any Nascar pit crew proud, yet still this whole thing with these subnormal tire jacks kept reoccuring in my life, guess I like to take curbs, possibly under the influence, still go through the whole ritual, seems to happen a lot during the summer, sit out there when it's 125 degrees on the asphalt, burning my skin, melting my clothes, complaining, becoming angry, looking for someone to deflect upon, nothing left to do but get pissed and complete the task.

Though today I got the great idea of buying a real jack, the ones you see at a tire or repair shop, they weigh about 45lbs. tough get around, but about the same price as calling a tow truck, why not try something else, wander over to Sears, look around, they vary in price from 300 to 60 bucks, go with the 60 dollar one and hope it does the trick. I have finally arrived walking around in the mechanic area of Sears covered in dirt, greasy jeans, and sweat soak shirt, conjuring up all the iconic memories of white trash consumers who hovered over this section back in the 70's when it was the only game in town, no online shopping, no Lowe's, no nothing, real Craftsman, made in America, not Mexico, China, or Vietnam, but here in the states, wearing blue jeans, t-shirt with a pack of Marlboro Reds folded under one sleeve, sounds like my uncle or just general mechanic walking in to pick up a part or tool to take back to the shop. Though the twenty something women in their working at one of the counters did not look impressed, the era of the tough rugged do it yourself man had been replaced by the soft unisexual obidient consumer, my window had passed, left to reside in limbo with the rest of the misfits, where did my mojo go?

Who knows, had to muscle the jack out to the car casually taking a wide path away from some elderly white lady who had a look on her face that I might take to assualting her right here in broad daylight or at least take her purse, jeez she was passing in front of my car what was I to do stand on the other side of the street, but there was a time not long ago when that sort of action was mandated, luckily those times have changed even though paranoid behavior has not, either way, have the jack motor back to the van, rip it out of the box like Christmas, look at the instructions, someone got me in the habit of doing that, use to just make whatever I bought work, even though at times I would assemble the product improperly. This time the new proper jack was like magic, effortless, slid right under the axle, turn a screw one direction and after about 20 cranks the wheel was off the ground. A damn miracle did not shout any obscenities, changed the tire, took the flat and got it fixed, finally something damn useful, have to open a mobile tire changing service with the van now. NHL NBA playoffs, Coachella, the weekend is upon us, there is something to do, so go out and do it. I'll hold down the fort, I have had enough fun for a while.

Weapon of Choice Follow Up

The initial decision to spend the next 15+ hrs on my plane ride back to the state began with a stop at the local duty free where somehow I had convince myself that purchasing a bottle of single barrel Jack Daniels to share with my co workers while on the plane would be a good idea, I sort of did some recon on the way in from the flight from Chicago casually passing the duty free taking a stroll through the liquor section planting the seed in my mind that I would buy that bottle for the ride home, make things more interesting, did not figure on the fact that I would have to wait till after boarding the plane to get the whiskey. Second assumption was the fact that I would be able to drink the whiskey on the trip back, no one questioned why a run on cups filled with ice had become so readily necessary but they did and this is how Weapon of Choice was born, after looking at the multiple hours of writing found it very hard to believe so much writing could be done in one sitting, like Keroauc, just banging away on that typewriter in a time warp. The story revolves around a three day bender in NYC, reasons partially due to my self indulgent nature, a delusional thought of romantic involvement with a woman, and the live up it late night lifestyle of NYC that is so much more rewarding than the usual affair of Las Vegas.



They had a music section on the plane, Fatboy Slim, Peter Weller, Radiohead, and who knows how many other cool recordings were in the Western music section, but these sounds sort of brought out Weapon of Choice, a song by Fatboy Slim and for those not too into music, most of my posting titles are lifted from something music related, so here is part 2, probably part 3 tomorrow, finally have some time off to write and a fairly clear head to get it down, not that it is key but sitting at this keyboard with some electronic music in the background never seems to hurt either.



Part 2 Weapon of Choice:

Higgins agrees as he tries to force the Ottoman couch out the window, luckily they don't open that far and he has yet to figure how to wedge them open any further. No time to waste on those who are not fully committed. Yes! Exactly, while Higgins pulls the screwed in lamp from its wooden foundation the lampshade comes flying off, he's preparing himself for his usual ritual of destruction, chaos, and self induced walking coma, he is a dowsers wand for mischief, reckless abandon, and a carefree spirit long since abandoned from it's last heyday during the late 60's, a living midway fun zone. 12 pack of Stella is gone, medicated, back down to the store, buy a case this time, it should hold. KGB intelligence has an entire liter of Vodka set aside for them, as well as some narcotics, time to hit a bar. Friday night crowd, spent from the work week, nothing now but sports, alcohol, and the Monday morning wakeup call. Not an ideal setting but close to homebase, to end up on the outskirts of town so early would only result in imprisonment. Better to stay where I can see enemy traffic approaching, quick retreat to the Jim Morrison suite, tune up, reload, for later tonight, forget dinner or any formalities at this point, half attempts are made with KGB intel but why generate any further false illusions. Previous collaborations with the Red Army have only resulted in false leads, band intel, and words of manipulation, the kind of stuff that drives HQ crazy and will have me soon looking for new work, so nothing left but go dark, offer nothing, then see how she plays her hand.



Still, former trips have bared character studies that have offered more useful results, so HQ says conjunctive exercises shall continue, off the books of course. No official clearance can be liberating, like an unlimited fun pass, no budget, no real superior to make me account for behavior during an assignment, that's all I need, other worldly forces shall take over from there. Basic juvenille free for all, crowd of white collar suits, sports fans, and the ocassional single woman are regions well charted in this town, nothing left to do but drink, wait a while, then head back up to Moonbase Alpha. Moon Patrol style, shooting at anything that moves, obliterate into cosmic dust, don't be afraid Mrs. Robinson that wart on the inside of your vagina means nothing. Battle scars, lens tissue, all is well, fire fight from the front. S.O.S., Mayday, plead the fifth and eat the cyanide capsule if apprehanded by foriegn officials. With that settled, time to take off the weights, the reins, and the shackles, leave nothing but a blazing trail of fire, saddle up, as Higgins attempts to parachute empty beer bottles from the 21st floor. Dark now, traffic lights, work spaces yet to be cleaned, townhouse condo dwellers burrowing in from the excess of activity happening outside their door. All I can do is sit in my writing chair, calm, braindead, soaking up city life, no cars to drive to work, lawns to mow, or suburbanites to make me question why I should ever leave NYC in the first place. More expectations from the NYC branch, official channels of course, more regional benefits, but a much higher bar to jump over, right now I only answer to the Feds, in a consultant kind of way for some reason life has afforded me more opportunity to navigate these Manhattan streets. A big giant welcome mat, roll out the red carpet, when Johnny Comes Marching Home Again, Hurrah, Hurrah, nice break from the West yet extended stays tend to wear out the quality of my results.



Turnaround on documentation must be swift, now, in order to relay new intel to field agents, should probably be filing right now this moment but drugs have sent me off to Shaman house, awaiting the gatekeeper to usher me through the passage to pool of knowledge, there sit well used soda bottles, dipped in, filled up, capped, just hope they make it back in one piece, what's left of my sanity as well. Trade must be made to secure what is needed, no prob, put rational thoughts on the shelf for a few days, pulling it down once and a while when appropriate, otherwise no need for it. Looks like Higgins has lost some drugs, he's searching around the floor for something, by this point it no longer matters. "There is plenty left." I said, no matter Higgins is focused, pulling out couch cushions, turning over tables, rifling through the empty cabinets in the kitchen, paper bags with empties, and finally his wallet to then search the carpet on his hands and knees. I can barely see at the moment and am not completely sure what we are looking for, fatigue has taken temporary hold of me. Higgins says, " What matters is that it must be found." with a sort of forceful determination reserved for meth addicts and obsessive compulsives. So I join Higgins in his futile search for some missing narcotics and this is the state KGB intel finds us in.



These American hedonists, no style, manners or well thought plans, just jump right in and figure it out along the way. It takes a minute to realize KGB has arrived, I snapped out of drug limbo, grab a beer, regain some form, sit back and wait for Red Army, whose is a bit late as usual, fairly unconscious now, nothing making sense, perfect, music cannot get loud enough. I am sure they can hear it at street level 21 floors below. KGB bides time by ingesting some of the stash, Vodka cranberry, case of Stella already half gone as I open up the refridgerator door to get the things to make the drink. Words barely legible, mostly noise, gutteral, primitive, a collection of narco cocktail already shaken for mass effect. The only thing going through my mind is Bar 13. What is Bar 13? Why does it resonate through my inner skull, nothing more, nothing less. Red Army finally arrives and all I want to do is leave the room and get out into the NYC night, so damn impatient, probably drives Red Army crazy, Soviet Intel sort of begins to fade into the mist of the evening, can't remember why, they sort of just vanished, no real goodbye, no real anything, maybe they just hung in the shadows observing Higgins and I like scientists with a lab experiment or anthropologist studying a primitive species. No clues had been left behind, only my imagination could filled in the details until we crossed paths possibly tommorrow night, so until then it was a mad scramble to Bar 13 in a taxi, who hailed the taxi down, gave the driver directions? Who Me? I have no fucking clue where Bar 13 is, you are the taxi driver don't you know?



Not really sure we ever got there, just remember about a minute when I looked over at Higgins, yeah he was still around, both of us in disco coma, nightclub, music, got all that, only brief flash that was it, how long we stayed, if we went anywhere else, got kicked out due to our usual or unusual bizarre infectous nature of diving down into the club music like some abyss determined to find the other side, compelled to not quit, soon enough there is an entire dancefloor going bezerk and at the beginning of it Higgins and I who are somewhat responsible for the entire fiasco, I meet many people, always have tons of emails, business cards, and names to Facebook, but why bother I don't even remember meeting them and when I do reply they never reply back, with that said the next recollection is waking up at 7am in my clothes on, in bed, somehow got the sheet over me, there is still music playing on the soundsystem, all the lights are on, the door to the balcony is open. Sun is up, no shelter, get up start recovery routine. Hot shower, clean up, brush teeth, fresh clothes, carrot, orange juice, vitamins, then a beer.



Higgins is wrapped up like a coiled snake, wearing his overcoat, straight up homeless style, there are still a few lines of zombiedust left from last night, check the fridge, the case of beer is gone should have noticed when I got the juices out, but overlooked it, must have bought more on the way in last night, more trash piled up to my waist in the kitchen, none of this matters, music from last night, ambient soundtrack stuff, perfect anything with heavy beats will send my brain right over the edge into loony land, time to reel it in a bit gather some of that so called sanity, this is how you get through the dark moments, the time on the edge looking over into infinity, it can suck you in so fast, once lost it is tough to get out, there are so many avenues like the Matrix, just go with these new realities much more interesting than life outside these windows, yeah Empire State Building is still there outside so things are not that bad. Did half of the Zombiedust, left the other half for Higgins who was slowly coming around, his only concern was catching the early morning English Premiership game, give him credit always ready to rumble. He had his track shoes on as he snatched the carrot and orange juice from my hand like a person marooned on an island for a decade seeing his first real tastes of civilization, he munched down half a sandwhich and did the rest of the Zombiedust, thirty minutes to kickoff, about time to get started toward Hell's Kitchen where the closest of the Irish bars would be located. Could have taken a taxi, not sure why we did not, rolled out of Moon Base Alpha in long coats and dark shades straight rock and roll style, not out of character for this place, not even the mothers with their children and the middle aged couples out for their morning walks made a double take, this is NYC, bitch, casualities will be registered I doubt if we were the only walking wounded right now, maybe the only ones with about 2 hrs of sleep heading back out toward the front for more battle. Addicted to the firefight, surrounded by gunfire on all sides unconcerned, just reach the objective, defeat the enemy and find a new target, this was our program, possibly the only program either Higgins and I have ever known. But why walk around with medallions of past triumphs, did not matter, just the next target we never got there the same way twice which feeds part of the addictive nature, base jump right into plume of gasoline explosions like Bruce Wills Die Hard style, who cares, Stage Fright, Come Let Us Blow It Up, is our motto.

8am why sleep, none the difference, sieze the moment, no deposit, no return, that's life, refund not guaranteed, this is what I wanted. Taxis pass by, why not take one, probably got thrown out of a variety of clubs last night, no memory so far, just space, then void, now back at it this morning looking for time clues. False start at the first bar, it's closed, really 8am? Thought every bar would be open this early, sort of puts a brief downer on the fact the two of us have to walk a few blocks back and then up to get to this other place Higgins has still left in his memory which is usually not that big of a deal but in Manhattan a block is a half a mile long, damn early morning marathon, where is my pinned on number 00, blank running toward infinity and nirvana at the same time with no chance of reaching either one, this whole concept is futile but must continue like samlon swimming upstream, something genetically ingrained beyond any willful control ultimate wisdom must be achieved even though it might take some time to weed through all the visual, audio, and emotional clues, straight cerebral helps too, like videotaping an acid experience from the perspective of the brain; it is gonna go way over everyones heads except a few, these are the people I am concentrating on. At this point feels like am gonna die and if it wasn't for the handful of downers I ate fifteen minutes ago as well as the intense fear of dying like some junkie, anonymous in the middle of these New York streets, my body would have laid down like a wounded animal and wait for death's arrival, but were are not quitters, were are champions, metallic terminators walking through aftermath, pestilence, and apocolyptic destruction, does not even register anymore staying up for days at a time with no real goal except to get as fucked up as possible with a remote chance of getting laid.

Fear of idling might set in cardiac arrest let's get going to the next bar, somehow Higgins and I find the place, need a beer immediately to settle down all these thoughts in my head, the streets, the early morning people out for a jog, the tourists wandering the city aimlessly, some person going for the paper and a coffee, others like myself cascading into the next morning without fill, searching for meaning by watching garbagemen piling trash into truck, shipping clerks dolly large boxes into dirty worn inconspicous brick buildings posing as portals to other dimensions, step inside these place to never return, off into another expansion of the universe, good bye earth, it was good while it lasted. Young couples walk their little dogs embracing the city culture, front lawn, no back yard pool, no long stretches of multi hour commutes back to suburbia, this is it, room service right at your front door to the pleasureland of all pleasurelands, some of these locals probably consider midtown more of high end piece of art or geological artifact from the future and here are myself and Huggins treating the place like as if we were throwing a clothes optional, open drugs and bar rave at the Louvre, just burn the joint down, punch threw walls, show no mercy, none shall be given, survival of the fittest at this point as the bartender sets down a couple of beers, Higgins inhales his and asks for another, life of a degenerate, here were are. My arm subconsciously reaches for a menu, Irish Breakfast, translation, greasy, white trash breakfast, oily, fatty, just right, kill this hangover, until the buzz settles in properly. Beer taps in front of me as some Enlish trasnplant goes on about the crappy food and service at this particular bar. He is tolerated, though not drinking, complaining of a severe wine hangover, well Higgins and I are still drinking. Higgins looks at him like a predator sizing up his prey, he does like him or his talk, the Englishman's mere presence has Higgins appearing if he might jump up, pull the guy's shirt over his head then whale on him hockey style and finish by throwning him threw the front window. I can sense this, so only option is to keep putting more beers in front of Higgins, mellow him out, he is hard to read, think he is okay then he has someone by the throat, ninja like, other times Higgins checks out and it looks like his return might be out of the picture, roasted, ready for the rubber room, yet somehow Higgins finds his way back to earth, not sure of his methods but style is up there with the best of them.

Sort of paying attention to my favorite soccer club team on tv, they are demolishing the other side so it gives me some time to wander in my mind, look about the place, nothing too impressive about the bar, just your run of the mill Irish movie look shit hole, plenty of booze but not many takers, the sober crowd, except for the few at the end of the bar who are hitting the whiskey and giving the Englishman a ton of shit, no one else is really paying attention to all the banter between these guys. Higgins orders a cheeseburger and when it arrived on the bar I was sure there was no way he would even be able to get more than two bites down, so off he went into food land, destraction set in once more as the Englishman continued on with his impromtu one man comedy act and for him, no one had bother to throw anything in his general direction so he was holding water, not that anyone really cared for the performance, the guy was about the equivalent of a jukebox playing the background his voice sort of faded after a few moments in the general noise of the tv's, street sounds, and general clatter heard in a bar.

Who knows how many beers Higgins had gulped down by now 8, 10, 14, who knew? That cheeseburger was toast, appeared to be a couple bite marks in the plate as well, a brief sort of flicker had return to Higgins eyes as if to say, "Let's get on with this day, you really too kill? Son, the is war, bodies will burn, cities explode, he looked at me and ask if I had ever seen the movie Cloverfield? "Sure." I replied, "We'll that is what Manhattan will look by the end of tonight. I could see it, Higgins, swatting away F-18's, missles fired, karate chopping the Chrysler building down with one hand, using the Statue of Liberty as a baseball bat, nothing was beyond his reach at the moment. He is a sea of burning napalm cresting over any port on land, no destination, hide all the virgins, sanctified, and innoncents, if not, they will all be transformed into his disciples. He collects souls, plasters his walls with them, an affeiciando of fine arts, lives his life accordingly. Experience shall not be cheapened, he brands victims, scars them like ebola virus.

This is what's called down time, no art galleries, trips to central park, statue of liberty, forget it, only bars, bars, bars. Early NFL playoffs don't start till 4pm, it's about 11am right now, the late game in English soccer is under way which shall last till about 1p, no worry as long as I drink, gonna pass out soon, planet earth, gone, in hyperspace now, only refuge. Higgins tells the Englishman to shut the fuck up so he can concentrate, on what exactly I am not sure, so at the moment it is all a waiting game, clubs are closed, women asleep, daylight tourists, laborers, and normal people rule the streets, don't get caught, we are exposed, obvious, amongst this mix, cops pull us right in and throw away the key, have to stay huddled down. Next thing I know we are walking the street in Midtown, traffic sounds, liberty, humans, old buildings, towers, surround us, one horse town, maybe, shelter, retreat for Moon Base Alpha. 2pm, passout on floor then out on balcony, 6pm, awaken to setting sun, music overmodulating, pull cover over my head, unforgiving sandpaper floor of balcony is rubbing away skin. Still not sane, maybe never again as we pull it together, walk back out into the world, sunglasses on in the evening, no one notices our exit, can't believe it, just usual NYC behavior, lifestlyes of the rich and famous, please, no more photos, the trails are killing me, autographs, sure, what? Yeah, that's my signature, looks like a fourth graders handwriting while on acid, yeah, so what's the problem?

Back to the Hockey Puck, outpost, the outside perimeter, high tower, catch the first flaming arrows and prepare for battle before the main legions arrive, no doubt Higgins and I are in rare combat action form, five empty barstools in either direction, close the place down, VIP, rope this area off for these two, wide birth, might contract some sort of terminal hallucinagenic disease if you stand too close, they look like wolves who have contracted rabies, mange, and flesh eating virus, as long as they drink, they will not go off, cover the building, lock down the block, send in the military, copters, tanks, high end firepower, get the nukes on standby. Nuke Manhattan Sir? What ever it takes! the Puck is not so crowded tonight, Sat. night most honest folk are in front of the television, no such luck for me, wired into this strange design, a cobra in a mink fur, deadly, exotic, high end, quick exit.

KGB/Red Army give glastnost another shot, not much left in the drug department, have lost narcotics again, hidden in something, decide to drink till we remember, a solid plan. Think I hid the rest of the drugs in the back of a cd case, have to remember which one. Saints/Cardinals, not much else, clubs don't open till 10p. Meet up with KGB intel to fill us in on our antics on Friday, scared them off but no such thing tonight, they have come prepared, Soviet HQ must have put the screws and batteries to them, saying such things as "You are geting close to what drives this American machine, we must have the inner most details, we need blueprints, have to win this race of arms into the 21st, the ultimate propaganda machine, don't leave anything out, down to body language or the most inaudible, incomprehensible dialouge, record everything, leave to us here at the Soviet think tank to make sense of it all. So here was KGB/Red Army at our doorstep once more, maybe against their initial will but after a bit of good old American brainwashing, they'll do whatever we tell them to do, it is all part of this global community, nothing more than lab rats in a maze, I know this, if only from my inferences, in too deep, drawing my own conclusions, Higgins knows, he never lets on, cool, insect cool, he could take over the world if he felt like, but still can't get pass the constant destire to ride on the fast track, Tron style, he is Tron, driving around that grid at light speed cutting off all the other drivers, slowing ascending through the Tetris like main CPU to tear the entire cyber network to shreds. He walks in small company, very few can stay at such an insane level without eventually turning into a lobotomized freak. These are dangers out here on the periphery,that's all there is, unknown at all sides, constants do not exist, twilight zone, doors of perception, fear is not an option, jet test pilots, moving through constellations, galaxies, paraell universes. This is our domain, interdimensional, do not follow, you will not return, evening turning back quickly will change your life forever. One night in Bangkok is nothing, one night on the fastrack with Higgins for the average person is a straight suicide trip.

Lower East Side, Soviet Intell is honking down the narco stash, have teleported into taxi heading to some club, lost in all the buildings, the new Mcmalls that have spread throughout the region, a virus, consumers must shop, no choice, this is their lot in life, to go work, get laid, get drunk, buy clothes, foods, and other usless things, nothing else, no real field work, takes a certain mind to get on that train. Whole Foods, Starbucks, and American Apparel are putting the neighborhood business concept to rest. Set up the funeral march, goodbye mother and father, you served us well, bodegas and clothing botiques, gone, internet rules, corporate sales rule, can you buy your goods from China? We can and sell them cheaper, go down to the docks, buy there, I get my shit shipped right to my front door, Megaopolis, take that Italian deli that has been in the hood for four generations and hit it with the recking ball, the youth of today have no room for tradition, it is only MORE, MORE, MORE, followed by NOW, NOW, NOW, all the rest is window dressing, tradition, HA, that's for old people and the ship called the United States sails off the edge of the world. Goodluck, ye old soulless nation, better start learning Chinese, take some internet lessons.

Harm myself much easier than others, yet sometimes my fallout leaves a radioactive residue, causing much pain, terminal cancer, distance from me, only cure, I make no qualms about this, sort of like that crying child on a plane, everyone else on the plane wondering why you would bring a newborn infant on a 15hr flight to listen to that kid crying the entire trip as the other passengers who as first laughed at the cute kid, now only wish the kid's rapid demise, same goes with my behavior, a tidal wave drowning all rational thought, wave after wave as the receding tide sucks everyone back in until complex algorythims become simplified and basic arthimatic evolves into unsolvable solutions. At club, Higgins, KGB, and Red Army all wiped clean, total information erase of hard drive intel, demagntized we say in the industry, defrag for repurposement later back at HQ, not so much for me, talking to a few hipster warm up DJ's, acquaintences online, Higgins, business as usual. I remember more tonight. Higgins special guest host for the club, introducing every available woman to the found stash of narcotics, no one denies his offering. Time does not exist, stepped outside, DJ in house, bringing those beats, sexy women shake their asses as would be male stalkers attempt to get their attention. Higgins has conformed most of hot women into his personal entourage by now, all too familiar, KGB has attracted a few guys, Red Army checked out on an inner mind mission, communication completely cutoff, no words, just slight body gestures, she is held up by her own will power. Music plays on through the night, engulfs club, time travelers on a mystic journey far from the cruise ships and prepackaged vacations.

We have liftoff, I am alone now, the three of them content to entertain themselves at the expense of frying some braincells. This has become the new frontier, the new high art, mental dissolution, hiding it from others at the workplace, secret agent, the general public can have their monthly or quarter yearly night out of alcoholic excess followed up with the ocassional line of coke, X tab, whatever, then it is straight back to reality, but for these people in the club tonight, they are harden vets who have turned their back on society, reality, and all the so called moral fibers that govern this nation. It is about exploration, man on the moon, dissecting the atom, and Bermuda Triangle, linear equations are out the door, too simple, give me something to fry my brain, discover that other 90 percent the scientist say we still don't use, well by the looks of everyone around me, they are using a great deal more than the 10 percent, this place has no more concrete surrounding, could walk right through the walls into who knows what. We are the astronauts of the mind, Star Trek, Jedi style, no turning back now, keeping this from becoming the main talk around the water cooler on a 9 to 5 job would seem impossible. "Did you see Bill last night, his damn arms turned snakes like Plasticman, did you see that woman's face melting, or those three women in the back having an orgy, topped off with, you know guys I finally understand, us, the world, and the universe, now only if I could remember what the hell I was thinking." Not sure any of that dialouge would result in anything but the firing of everyone on that building's floor, just too heavy, general public will not compute that sort of stuff, rather stick to the movie theater and tv, get a small glimpse through those channels, watching some dosed out clubber go so deep, checked out for so many hours, or spontaeously start dancing like some whacked Indian on Peyote, laying down dialouge that Einstein would find compelling, only results in HQ ordering an airstrike on the club, no need for that, burn down the crucible, for HQ it's like killing first new born, don't want to do it, but word of these experiments can never become public knowledge, who wants a society of drugged up dopers babbling government secrets without the slight coheresion, dangerous stuff, be afriad, so you won't hear much about these Think Tanks. " How was that club Jenny?" "Cool." "Really? Heard that place was goddam 60's acid test all over again. Jenny replies, " No, nothing but innuendo, tame, chill, wine sipping spot." "Hmm...." That is how agents are programmed the words just come out of their mouth, like Jenny for example. Being a chosen one is fun, but a hell of a lot of work and at the end of the day, completely denied by HQ and the powers that be, these sort of experiments do not exist, never have existed, never will exist, then Wooosh, all current agents, retired, like myself, done, deactivated, unpersoned back to the general population, this the only reason I can write this and get away with it, general public would not believe such crazy ideas, government generated, "Yeah right."Sucks for you, deactivated, we are going to get our hip hop, shot taking, and menthol party smoking on, holla!" End of Tape Part 2

Coachella and Neighborhood Watch

Started off the day still recovering from the watershed of work, fun, and final farewells to former states of mind. Coachella festival this weekend and since we live in the era of telepresence where anyone can be anywhere at anytime I thought I would join in the virtual community of followers who could be a part of the overhyped, overpriced, and overbearing teenage ritual of multi day music festivals. There are just so many damn people, you have to sneak in all the drugs, booze, and even water now, who the hell wants to pay 6 bucks for a water, damn Palm Springs can get pretty hot during the day, thought I heard there were allowing camping alongwith in and out privledges that should certainly bring some relief from the 12+ hours of watching upcomers, new hipsters, and aged retro tossers who have since lost their usefulness and influence admist the music scene, granted when I was 18, there were not too many Velvet Underground, MC5, or T-Rex reunions, sure there were opportunities to see Pink Floyd, James Brown, and Frank Zappa, so there is a bit of me that understands the desire to see such throwback as Echo and the Bunnymen, PIL, and even Pavement, one gets so nonchalant about the good old days, meaning I am pretty fucking old and spent all my money on going to concerts, not much on the wall street savings vibe, but look at most of my parents generation and they lost a majority of their retirement in the last stock market nose dive, therefore I don't feel so bad seeing Nirvana in 87, Metallica in 83, and The Greatful Dead in 88, so many more bands, just got in on the end of real non over advertised, commodified, and soulless music, as Public Enemy said, don't believe the hype.

Think Gathering of Vibes or the first Lollapolloza were my first festivals, Gathering had Queen Latifah, The Cramps, Primus, Steve Earle, maybe even the Talking Heads, remember that Escape from New York tour when it was Blondie, Heads, Ramones, and maybe Patti Smith, tough to remember, like going to see Oingo Boingo, just passes right by, one band who will probably never get back together, Smiths, saw them too, Pistols when they got back together the first time, so watch Ian McCullah from Echo sing tonight had that sort of retro misty eyed feeling I get when I see Lou Reed sing or Benard Summner from New Order, someone whose lyrics felt personally written for me, whether it was about personal pain, discontent with the general public or musing about the bizarre nature of our society, their words resonated with volumes, like Roger Waters/David Gilmour, these guys were trying to teach me something, the hard lessons of life, the joys, the regrets, the lost loves, and blacked out moments never to be recaptured, pitfalls abound and not all of them are so pleasurable. Ian gave it his best out there, the band sounded great so Bring on the Dancing Horses, Do It Clean, and The Cutter still had that musical flavor, but Ian had become nothing more than another rock and roll casualty, what they don't tell you about in rock school. The pull, gravity's pull, can't turn away from the need to stay on that eternal high, like Kesey, like Cassady or Ginsberg, either pull over or shoot for the edge of the cliff and it look like Ian McCullah had gone for the latter, don't get me wrong, he looked as fuckin cool as they get, dark shades and black winter coat in even that could not have been more than 60F, smack sickness, cold comfort, hidden in the cover of persona, smooth, unfathomable, there was no denying his presence, held for few like Nick Cave and Leonard Cohen. The vocals could not have been more all over the place, so I had to root for him to recover and reach that feeling he attempted to transmit so many years ago, at the end of it all he did not look concerned, maybe only satisfied that he could get back out into the arena once more project that arua of invincible spirit that has driven so many artist to burn up in their own flames of insanity, will his pilgrimage towards that goal continue, guess I will have to check the Echo and the Bunnyman website.

Good old John Lydon, after tossing away the dead carcass of the Sex Pistols, it would be so fitting on a week after the death of Malcom McClaran who had whatever hand in the formation, development, and eventual distruction, died that Public Image Limited would dust off their sarcastic lyrics and avant garde musicianship, so Lydon could wander about in his iconical clown pants and spiky hair, caught only a few songs, cause by this time Jay Z was also being streamed on a seperate channel which was reeking havoc on the main server I imagine, without getting into him, I have seen him live, granted high on MDMA but, he is as raw as KRS ONE and Rakim with a solid helping of Big Daddy Kane, the whole entire pimp everyone and their mother shit is a bit old and he is only in it for the money, but when that whole vibe was around in the mid 80's with the gold chains, Audi's, and fake grills, there does not seem to be much difference just a bigger market for him to expose, more consumers to dupe into a false lifestyle of debt, apartment rentals, and the seasonal weekend trip to Vegas in an attempt to live some of that so called upper class lifestyle, to that I say good luck, it is not an easy task to accomplish, even on a winning streak, I have watched so many people throw away tens of thousands of dollars at the tables, pools, and strip clubs, some may have more but not every one, the lifestyle of the lie, have to do it while you can, cause those looks don't last and there is always another youngster right behind you who everything feels fresh to and can't wait to get in the mix and feel the nice creamy, sweaty, silky ass of a 22 yr old sista riding on his cock.

Back to Lydon with the brief view he has cemented in place in the history of irrelevance, rock, punk rock is not some fat, elderly, and semi sympathic individual, it is all about angst, fury, revolt, and transformation that is why there are so few great bands anymore, there is just too much riding on the mortage, wifey, kids, the retirement fund, summer villas, and if not that maybe just the traditional avenues of sex, drugs, and fast, loose women, the latter is something I find more pleasurable, music as a business, as a means of holding down a job never has felt right to me, has to be better than sitting behind a desk, but having to whore oneself like a Fall clothing line does not seem to be the answer, fortunately today, they have legions of subnormals working at talent agencies who will do that for the artists, so the food chain continues.

Watched some old man get in a fight with some local street youth near a park as I was coming out of the grocery store, could not understand why this potentially derranged and insane old man would call out urban ghetto youth without being prepared to fight him and his friend. There was an initial exchange of some words, but my thinking at the moment was what teenage kid is going to be able to live down being dissed by some stinking old whacked out grandpa wandering the streets aimlessly, his rep would be destroyed and eventually become a target of abuse and possibly violence amongst his peers, so there was not much option as a couple more of his friends were coming over from a nearby Taco Bell to see what all the commotion was about, but as soon as the other two got about 50 feet away, the kid shoved the old man down to the ground. The old man did not even put any resistance, crumbled like a knocked over house of cards, attempting to bluff his way into giving these teens a piece of his mind, this is not the 60's anymore, go for self, you are on your own kid, proceed with caution and know how to read your environment.

The kids stood around for a few seconds then beat off into the darkness of the local park safe from any witnesses making sort of solid identification. The old man laid there motionless for a few minutes until someone came around to help him, he appeared as if he might be dead, you never know, head concussion, but it only seemed to be a plea of sympathy in the end, as if to say doesn't anyone give a shit that I have been assualted by these damn n****** kids, real throwback mentality to that white is right era and unless you live in the south or in the midwest that really don't mean much out in the west anymore too much mixed blood and mixed race youth like myself that put up being fucked with by that whole white right mentality, I mean do I have the wit and intelligence to take advantage of the system, rise above having to beat people down in the middle of the night for personal prejudice, sure, but to say it still does not exist is to really be naive and potentially fatal. A few people wandered over to make sure the old man was still breathing, he rolled over as if shocked that this kid would attack him, all I could think was he was lucky to be alive, some others would have kept kicking, punching, and pounding on him till he was really near death, maybe even death, then walk down to the local 7-11 for a Mountain Dew, say bye to the friends, head home where mom and the younger sibliings would be watching TV. "How was the movie?" mom would ask and the kid would reply. "Okay." then go in the bathroom wash his hands of the blood, bag the clothes in a trash bag, stuff it under the bed, then bus it to the other side of town and dump the shit and pretend nothing ever happen. There are people like this in our midst, in your time, my time, and especially today.

Radical Change

This is the first time in the last five months I actually thought about all the change, this reverent mystery, this exploration, new home, no more alcohol, no more drugs, no more girlfriend, bouncing from city to city, country to country like a bat on acid and speed, wandering with determination, hallucinating, yet with no real goal, no real home and a ton of emptiness in my soul, not to sure I can explain it to anyone, made a half ass attempt on my 40th birthday party about 4am when this oh so familiar film of late night bars, strip clubs, and weird acquaintences brought its curtain down for the last time. Visions of pancake titty mothers of two who have to be home in three hours to take their kids to school is just the sort of sick story that permeates the city of Las Vegas, driving home as the sun starts to rise, why, anymore, I tire, but have retreated from everything I have ever known, every person that I ran over, treated like shit, who were my only shelter, none now, expose, sober, all there is left to do is write and wonder what the hell I am going to do with the rest of my life.

I use to think as a kid when you turned 40 that was it, I mean, you were an old geezer ready for the retirement home, hang up the disco shoes and party pack, head off to the land of family or something, not sure what is there when the family thing has been obliterated, maybe you just walk your little poodle dog around the condo grounds like all the old people in my neighborhood do, it's depressing, this battle with lonliness is temporary, I get it, like going through withdrawls which I am doing as well, so many angles coming to a head at one point has become the biggest challenge in my life, 40 was not what I expected, some bastard son of Keith Richards, highs have been great but the lows are getting too hard to handle, I can see why some people snuff themself out, it is a battle to move on from something that always feels good and when it receeds a bit all you have to do is turn up the intensity a bit in order to feel good again.

I slept like a zombie today, all afternoon, real painful withdrawl type sleep with only the local AM radio to get me through the day, thankfully there is at least that as lame as it sounds listening to local sports talk all afternoon it does the trick, so do some of my favorite comedies, fuck art at this point, I just don't want to die, maybe the art comes from the fear of death or the attempt at understanding the division between existence and mortality, however explained from religion to post modern theory, there is something about all of that either going out the window or becoming painfully obvious when I can't stop harboring on how bad I feel or not go to sleep, or feel my heart racing like an over revved engine, no safety net, but when I am fucked up life without a safety net is no longer a concern and last thing I want is to have my mother show up at the hospital again with me all in disarray. I'm on the fence whether I should be treated for all this addictive behavior, it's like are you kidding, am I that big of a degenerate that I'm half a step away from all the those whacked out celebs on those realities shows and some days I probably am, but been 40 for 3 days now, no more, nothing, how long can I last?

Weapon of Choice

Been out on the road for a while had to report into headquarters east. Higgins would be waiting for me, the corporation had made all my travel plans ahead of time so nothing else to do but land at JFK, depart then wander down to the subway, too clear and sunny for NYC in Jan. 60 degrees outside, weird omen like favorable seas at the start of the America's Cup yacht race. Nothing like a fast track, easy enough by my own will to drive through this weekend, whatever will amount from it, guidelines, Fri., Sat., and Sun., nightclubs, dance music, NFL playoffs, random Irish bars and an assortment of unique individuals only the island of Manhattan can provide. Already forwarded the proper arsenal for such a long, intense and often incomprehensible undertaking, a selection of various narco goods to channel the appropriate mindstate to fully experience a non stop 72 hr ride along NYC's fast track toward self indulgent dopamine bliss, by this point I wonder what my brain might have left in it, so much damage taken place throughout the year, fun year, kind, hardly, with a ton of blank memories inbetween.


Midtown up on street level, crowded Friday afternoon , the general masses making their way out of the town as the tourists mingle about Broadway caught up in the overwhelming presence of LED, neon, and tv technology projecting rapid fire advertising, have to admit I get a bit teary eyed everytime I roll back into town, something about Manhattan, things are so next level, people get me here and I love all cool people here too, they get it and if you don't get IT, explaining IT would require any reader of this to head back to the first blog post and catch up.

Skies are clear today, redish haze begins to set in, blue sky weekend, maybe, probably just an anomaly, sure it will rain tomorrow, but why worry about it, anywhere, anytime, is the new motto. Assignments like this one use to worry me, the long hours, lack of sleep, general disreguard for my personal health, it seems I have come to grips with unpredictable nature of what is soon to follow, the rapid transformation to drug induced degenerate who shall consume till I no longer have any recollection of what I'm doing or how I have become so disillusioned, left to only passout, wherever, the streets, jail or somewhere worse.


Luckily my internal beacon has guided me through many a muddled, grimy and unforgiving late evening/ early/ late afternoon, this weekend would be no different. Manhattan puts a smile on my face few other cities can, maybe it is the diversity of people, surrounding, and cultural offerings or rooted in this high end playground for adults where roaming through back alleys and unmarked avenues holds many new thoughts, revelations, and potentially something worth writing. Accomodations are decent, someone had already checked into my room, don't think it is Higgins, name on the room sounded unfamiliar. My package is down in the mailroom, had expected it right away, valuable cargo, fight for a better room since I do not seem to have one at the moment, they offer me a suite, much better, sort out the package in a bit, walkout to the market down the street grab a 12 pack of Stella beer, some food and fresh juices, early morning material, probably won't eat much, fresh carrot and orange juice, best thing for an empty stomach, vitamins, fruit, a few sandwhiches, nothing overly complicated, not prepared to cook, too much work. Head up to the room and the first thing I notice is a balcony outside with a vieww of the empire state building. Nice, setting sun, amber siene, burnt orange reddish hues, picture perfect Manhattan, lucked out.


Next have to find out where Higgins is located, see when he'll be arriving, find out he is already here holed up in the original room, I tell him to lose that place, this room is far better, balcony, immediately the couch goes outside, place to kick it, thoughts go through my head about jumping from the ledge as if some invisible force has planned to lift me from the ground and toss my body over the side. It is a feeling that takes some effort to subside; last will and testament of a balcony jumper, decide to go back inside instead, have a beer, set up the portable soundsystem, loud music, a must, on a corner room suite, no one really around us, probably for the best, never hear pleas from the neighbors, who the hell sleeps in NYC anyway, too much action, make plans to stay out late, bars, dinner, clubs, late night clubs, early morning bars, walk the city, get lost, lunch in Chinatown, East Village, or Hell's Kitchen but back to the beer.


Music on now, mellow club music, Higgins has been rerouted, call for more blankets, pillows, fresh sheets, towels, hangers, and trash bags, won't bother later, housekeeping is put in action. Higgins arrives with the party supplies, waste no time, line up a few, but remember we are meeting up with KGB agents later, formal type of stuff are usual cowboy behavior does not seem to keep the cold war rhetoric at bay, intellegence has been made aware of our methods of acquiring information, HQ is not too keen on such unusual methods of espionage, true enough, yet we produce results at the end of the day, HQ wants leads, answers, tangible directions, intelligence comes from varied means, some ugly, others obscene, all part of the job that is why HQ resides in D.C. or Prague, possibly even Shanghi, comfortable, pin stripe suits, fat expense accounts, I'm not really undercover, but have to be flexible enough with any situation, adapt, metamorphisize into the immediate environment, undetected, almost like furnishings or an exotic flower, a reason, a purpose, convincing portrayl of sub culture.


This is what I do, hopefully with enough sense at the end of it, all to get down the proper crux of data necessary to justify the project while appeasing the higher ups at HQ, not the easiest of tasks, but gets me out on the road, my local beat of Las Vegas can get old rather quickly, have to dig real deep to mine uncharted behavior, situations, and unique characters, it gets a bit tiring, nice to change up the scenery, this weekend NYC. Many trips here, has become sort of my new route of intelligence coverage, the fact HQ pays the bill always surprises me, an 800 dollar expense for animal crackers, duct tape and a fishing rod, what the hell do you need a wood chipper for? Well, that's classified, great excuse, HQ grumbles but never complains about the results, so I like to push the boundaries, 400 hundred dollars for a case of mini stuffed gorillas with suction cups, hand clappers, sarron wrap, fake blood, and the ocassional alligator skin billfold, designer sunglasses, as well as one or two stain glass pictures of the Virgin Mary.


KGB intelligence is stalling, Higgins chalks it up to cultural protocol, the Red Army thinks my motives and actions can be quite aggressive, sometimes there is no time to think, decisions must be made, committee sessions only slow down the final objectives, windows close without warning. No response, dead channel, so KGB intel will get what they get, however I arrive later tonight, incomprehensible as it shall turn out, no fault of mine, throw them off their game, get into there real sensitive information shared with few or none at all, this is the goal, undermine, find weakness then expose it, this medical trance is merely a channel to generate high levels of confusion to gain entrance to a core of information, genuine, pure, not easily given, real souls, real beings, true human nature, HQ demands it, no matter who gets mowed down in the end, this business is full of casualty, but when two can walk that fine line as double agents, open, vunerable, and symbiotic, who doesn't want that feeling to last forever.


This city moves at light speed, either catch up or stay home, right into fast track status, outline the details for tonight, plenty of bars, women, and possibly a rendevous with Soviet secret service, we never know the entire pciture, they fill in some of the blanks in exchange for participation in some of my off the book operations, strictly freelance shit, action of a thread, fiber of possibly pertinent information, a hunch, I take the risks to develop unrefined rumor into fact, gross, mortal and often hazardous, time has given me experience, wisdom, and a calm demeanor to handle such tasks, fear must be set aside, burning flames, evil beings, the avalanche of mis-information, surrounding the framework of each operation, my job to remain focused on the framework, while sifting through the mire to pull out vauable commodity, deferentiating between artifact and falsehood is how I get paid.

Broadband and Future of Mankind

Forget everything you have learned about business, technology, and advertising. None of it is relevant anymore, gone, deleted, never existed, this is the landscape for the business climate of the 21st century, sounds scary and exciting at the same time, those Harvad MBA's are not worth the paper they were printed on. Now! is the call to action, form is out the door, refinement, save that for Mercedes Benz and Louis Vitton, timeliness, content, and social meaing are the future, a mandate as solid as the 10 commandments. Time to market traffic directly to the consumer, tell me what you want, what you need, own a celebrity, reinvent cinema or manage a multi billion dollar investment fund sparking tech upstarts that gave birth to Google, Twitter, and various other tech apps, no more shopping mall, let's go to Amazon, Netflixs or I Tunes store, bust out the plastic, get involved. The end user will be whittle down to the very last digital piece of information, there is no escape, be processed or put the barrel of the gun in your mouth. Who could have imagined all this digital insanity of the past 20 years, wait for the next 20, wealth only the poorest of the poor dream about, surviving on Top Ramen in small garages or studios looking to make that next seemingly impossible bridge on the cyber highway, look for the signs and don't miss the exit.

300 Steps Through ATL

Just as soon as the plane landed I checked my connection, 50 minutes probably take another 20 min to deplane, I'm in the back; no one looks rushed including myself. Will my bag make the transition to Newark, hopefully, plane is turbulant tough to write legibily of course won't make much sense on a computer screen. Everything calmed down again, I can read my handwriting once more, hand is cramping, use to computer keyboard, going old school this week, not that I post much airplane material. It sort of gets shelved, we are experiencing moderate turbulance according to the stewardess and as a token of compensation they are offering unlimited pretzels, peanuts, and cookies, woot, woot.

I take a few, meal for the day, good enough, my fridge will be at home when I return. Once in the corridor exiting the gate, it becomes a power walk race to B3, currently at B26, maybe 200 yards to a quarter mile away, instantly almost plow through a stunning southern debutante, keep forgetting how many hotties roll through Hartsfield-Jackson ATL, don't connect through here much unlesss headed to South America, FLA, or ocassionally the eastern seaboard to D.C.
The footrace to B3 is on, like a suspensful dramatic movie chase with intense violin strings and panic felt piano play, girls, girls, girls, no time to chat, just smile, we are all in too much of a hurry dodging other travelers, football practice moves, a tango, airport tango where random forces speed by each other like stars in the cosmos, innocent, diffused and anonymous.

30 Min till the flight leaves my right knee is giving out, can't cut on it anymore, so have to slow down a bit, my career as fast paced youthful player is down the drain, have to use my brain now, refuse to give up, keep up the frenzy movement inspite of the damaged knee, 4+ hours on the plane have locked it up real nice, though it is starting to loosen up a bit. B18, crossroads, hesitate for a moment, turn left?, turn right? or go forward?, determined not to miss this flight
motoring like a dragster down a quarter mile track, all octane, pure energy, initeria,, mass motion cannot, will not be stopped. The goal is near as I get clipped by a rollerbag, then screened by the internet wireless spokeswoman for Delta. I arrive to an already well formed line, not much activity try to talk to a older lady about the status of the flight but she appears to be in a well rehearsed, well formed coma doubling as insulation until she can return to the safe confines of wherever her home might be.

An invisible voice beckons a plane load of passengers to hump it across the B gate terminal to catch their plane as it has been diverted to another gate on the other side of the terminal where I just came from, life in ATL, crowded all the time, not enough airstrips, gates, or planes for all these people, none of them look happy, fierce angered mob collectively moved down to B26 looking out for any Delta employee to workout on while being redeployed, midgets, soiled diapers, and Mandy Moore await my arrival for the next leg of my journey.

Trading Places

Few thoughts going floating around in my mind as I watch the married crowd go through their semi annual ritual of men's night, without going into detail to avoid exposing this sacred tradition with roots firmly planted in the historical era of slave owners sleeping with their female slaves. Tonight brings out the old college like behavior in most of the married bunch, granted, guy's night might be their only logical outlet in a life of marriage, kids, and a fulltime 9 to 5 job, fairly foriegn ideas to my 24/7 constant cycle of partying and loose consentual sex with women, the joy of being single. Few rent-a-hoes in the place, mobile strip club, assortment of alcohol deliberately placed in plain view to reinforce the mantra tonight, which is dominate male behavior that these guys have to supress in order to stay married, the smartest of the bunch is serving as the Master of Ceremonies, Pimp, and 5 Star General of Disorder. It's all an inside joke that goes beyond my time of knowing this group of guys, I am fairly late on the scene, so when the inner circle gathers they tend to isolate themselves in hopes of reliving the glory of youth with some financially distraught girls who need money for lifestyle choices, Gucci, Prada, two children and an unemployed pimp/boyfriend.

I'm on one of my sobriety jaunts again, due to a long summer filled with as much hedonism even the most battle tested rocker could not handle, out at least 3 times a week, combined with work/travel/party, it gets tiresome fast, if I can remember too much of it, pull what wits are left, do my job, leave, go home or back out of town where another circle of enablers reside to the festivities going on any coast to any part of the world, so I bounce around these outposts, satellites, and opium dens frying my brain, no need for CAT scans. Something is short circuiting my mind, misgroundings, hot plugged wires onto improper channels, thought process has turned into a hallucinagenic game of Keno where the letters, numbers constantly change till my CPU crashes in a massive memory dump, I arise somewhere unfamiliar with no idea how I got there, no recollection of the previous nights events, only clips, fragments, a badly edited movie, has meaning, sure, but solid syntax and easy to decipher, not really, but the fragments are clear there is usually someone else who can remember the moments during the napalm rain, firestorms, battling against the city, society, and death a one way ticket to a pine box, prison, or the funny farm. How I have managed to dodge all 3 might be partially be to my good nature and Irish heritage. But tonight I'm sippin beers, not really feeling this whole production of well rehearsed mannerisms, forced maled bonding and semi comfortable social antics. There are titties and g strings galore, yet it is so confined, nothing spontaneous, natural, or weird about this event, well maybe these guys have to be so secretive about this entire deal for fear of discovery. It's a bit obvious of what's going down, nothing more than caveman banging on rocks out on the hunt, eating psychadelic berries while laying up in the mountains for the weekend, shoot to kill, kill what we eat and if won't die then fuck it, primitive type stuff here, real biker mentality, all these suits during the day hours seem to have miraculously developed.

Tonight is my night off from playing head buffon at the Love Parade, this where the trouble starts, my reputation as fire eater, warrior and magnet for high voltage fun would have been appreciated for this ocassion, demanded, and unfortunately I have a friend or two in the Guy's Club who have witnessed and overly exaggerated my shenanigans to the rest of the Guy's Club, so now this mock pedestal has been erected in my honor as Hall of Fame degenerate, louse, and all around bad boy, I won't contest I have the ammo, it's just the context is out of place, there has to be flow, you know when it's there, the presence is overwhelming. It's like making a connection in my case with a woman, withing minutes you pretty much establish some time during or in some cases throughout the night sex will come into play. My flow arrives, I few friends who march onward through enemy territory with bullets whistling by just another day on the job, these rare souls make the Guy's Club look like a sewing circle.

People who read the blog know this, so to save time, the Guy's Club is bummed at my attitude tonight, just cause they are plastered and this is probably the only real time these guys get to hang together, not like the old days of summer parties at the lake, road trips, and early morning after parties, those days are gone for them, not me. I carry the torch so I am partially guilty in misleading Guy's Club into believing I would bring my A-game which I left at home, there is usually a resident clown who does such things as sprint naked down casino floors in major hotels, pass out in dumpster on the outskirts of Las Vegas, this man has no boundaries, like atomic partical collision, the net energy result is hard to see, explain, and maintain, theories of lunatics, chaos, intentional self inflicted harm like parading a wild beast in a portable cage, King Kong style. Sooner or later the beast will cut loose, trash the place then take a pound of flesh, so steer clear, give wide birth, learn from the mistakes of others, time plays on through a clouded veil of body shots, jello 151 cups, and liquor birthed as a result of mixing then different kinds of booze, tastes like hell, but gets you fucked up, all too true as this crowd would serve as a proper case. I would much rather work out the ocassional wild hair then retreat comfortably with a slight hangover, rest up Sunday, watch football, appease the wife, hang with the kids, order out lunch, then go back to work Monday onto the work carousel sans booze, drugs, and other vices, but lately until the past couple of weeks, waking up wasted, going back to a fresh pile of narcotics and the random hookup felt normal,, part of the game plan, I was calling my own plays, audiblizing, the coach was pulling his hair out, but results are all that matter, good results get you leeway, superior results put in you in a league reserved for rockers, politicans, and attractive actors and actresses, carte blanche, to do whatever, ask Ben Rothliesberger, Tiger Woods, or Iggy Pop, holding the world by the balls can be a powerful high, no one is out reach. Goddess pray at your knees, financial opportunities galore, but its a fine line between JayZ and J.J. Walker; it takes a special talent to take a taste and even more to known when to decline, something it has taken me decades to understand. The fun goes on; I hang around to talk to a few of the more recluse membersof the Guy's Club, people I see two or three times a year, depending who amongst the clique is expecting or getting married, now it's the Guy's Club, in which I am not invited to anymore, my behavior of late is even too bizaree for their temporary lustful tastes, but I hang around this particular night to watch wanna be players pay to fantasize about getting these 20 something women who outside of this business transaction would look twice at any of these guys. I might be wrong, most of the Guy's Club has money and positions of some degree, money talks in Vegas, right now especially, soon enough, people are either passed out, asleep, or going off the grid with the local talent. Sportcenter is on, Lakers won again, no surprise, I go to the bathroom, piss, look in the mirror and there is glitter on me from one of the girls, like so many other times, whether in nightclubs, from strippers, or out in the streets, final residue. The last recollection till sleep or exhaustion sets in for the night and those on stimulants it never really ends.