Custard Charade

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

Mobile Posts

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

Car Wash Simulcast

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

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

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

Dodge Charger and Pink Fishnets

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

Anger/Calm

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

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

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

Change

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

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

Delightful Hopping Across the Road

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

Black and White Shakedown

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

Upbeat

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

Black Widow 2.0

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

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

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

Humble Reality

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

Submerged

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

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

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

Riding the Gravytrain

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

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5

Rehearsal

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

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5

The Hard Dollar

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

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

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

Punk Rocks Last Gasp

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

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

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

Buying Groceries

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

National Mental Breakdown

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

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

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