Insitutionalized 1

Safely here in my little eight by eight cubicle, they finally put a door on the room when they figured out I was truly determined to stay, the entire first week of my stay here, the powers that be left the door off of the room, reason, not stated, but possibly implied, go ahead, get out of here, you really don't want to go through with this detoxification, voluntary removal from party machine, wouldn't you much rather be under the lights, banging some pussy, or snorting synethetic chemical up your nose, why pass on the opportunity, the fun won't last forever, ride it out until the next crash.



I still could not talk myself out of taking a break, getting away from all the four am, five am, six am and longer nights into mornings that had been piling up so frequently in the past year, it was as if I had been living two different lives, completely independent from each other, one persona neatly tucked away as the other took precedent, from half sober to half crazy in a matter of hours and the days afterward ended up in nothing more than a struggle to stay out of the mad house, hospital, or face down in the gutter, where has all this excessive behavior and activity led me

The Conversation

Man and woman of upper twenties, early thirties sitting at a bar playing video poker
strike up a casual conversation on a weekend night. Man takes a cigarette out

Man sitting on left looks over to woman

Man: You have a lighter?

Woman already smoking robotically pushes a lighter over with her right hand
Sliding the lighter across the bar.

Man: Any luck tonight?

Woman twists her hand sideways then blows out a plume of smoke
While keeping her attention on the video poker machine

Man produces bag out of pocket, opens it, pours content in hand
then ducks head down under bar

Man: Snort, snort.

Man raises head back up
Looks over at woman
Who is downing last of red wine

Man: Would you like some?
Woman turns to man
Puts down glass

Woman: Sure

Man hands bag over to woman under the bar
Woman takes another drag from cigarette
Then takes bag
Gets up and sets cigarette in ashtray

Man goes back to playing video poker
While bartender comes by to replace empty wine glass with fresh refill
Man still smoking flicking ashes in ashtray

Woman returns a bit teary eyed
Sits down gathers herself quickly
then hands the bag back over

Woman: Thanks

Woman takes a drag of smoke goes back to playing

Woman: So what do you do?

Man: Whatever, Gamble, Deal drugs, hit the sports book, make some cash
then wait for something exciting to happen

Woman: Anything exciting happen so far?

Man: Not yet?

Woman: Maybe you are not looking hard enough?

Man: You a prositute?

Woman indifferent to the question

Woman: No

Man: Where is your man?

Woman: He's around, who knows, probably with some whore
seem to be quite a few in this town

Man: More than you think

Man: What do you do?

Woman: Bartend

Man: Where at?

Woman: Southwest side of town

Man: What has you down on the strip?

Woman: Easier to blend in, out in the burbs, guys get all over you, start asking me questions
about all sorts of things, kind of like yourself. Here I am nothing more than some
weekender out with the girls or with the old man, plenty of turnover with this crowd
I bounce around casinos to keep the older perverts off my scent, those guys who hover
the horse track betting windows with fistfuls of two dollar betting slips trying to
convince themselves how all those losing slips have transformed them into a winner
the kind of winners who molest my time with grand illusions and empty promises.

Things get quiet for a moment

Man: I hear what you are saying, I see a lot of things here, been spending the past month in this hotel waiting for my house to close, going through all the nonsense of getting a loan, waiting for a basically signing my life away for a small personal space to call my own. I have had plenty of
time lately watching people interact in this environment whether they are tourist, local, or have gone around the bend and become completely insane.

Woman: Have you come to molest my time too?

Man looks down at machine as he gets a Royal Flush
Jumps out of seat slapping his hands together while holding the cigarette in his mouth.
Takes it out of his mouth and sits back down while tapping the ashes

Man: No, nothing really than to do this.

As he points down to the machine

Man: So I can feed, house, and cloth myself for another week, quite a bit of pressure when you have to win, the 10 dollar an hour jobs this town has to offer are a deadend, especially when I can win a couple thousand in a single night, jeez, why work, some side work does not hurt, supplier to the stars, break out the skis, all the out of towerners looking for that special connection, tax the hell out of them for my services, then try not to go insane from all the down time.

Man: Have gone through a real spell of drug abuse in the last year, maybe last ten, for whatever reason, living in a town without much options of what to do, being surrounded by people who have no problem over indulging in narcotics, and throw in the general nature of a resort destination that specializes in doing everything to an excessive ideal that would make most rocks stars run for cover, regardless of the reasons, the fact remains something has shattered inside of me, broken from a past inside a cocoon, a vortex, an abyss, slowly hollowed over the years until nothing was left, now what can I do, go vegetative, turn into a nuerotic freak, for the first time since I have moved here, I feel trapped, without options or an exit strategy, maybe living in hotels for the last month has contributed to this overall feeling, yet what else is left, in this limbo for the young, wake one day, tired, old, and worn out with nothing to show for all my efforts. Scares the shit out of me.

Woman downs another red wine

Woman: Why worry about it, you have already succumb to forces that have long since transformed into a person your past can no longer relate with, paved over like dirt in a symbotic relationship with this neon crystal energy that only takes and offers nothing in return, if you so choose, there is plenty to grasp from this city, these people, and the environment that keeps the overall carnal tendency so high, the impulse to get wasted, stay wasted, and have no emotions in regards to the long lasting condition of a shredded conscience, broken hearts, and shattered nerves. Once the ride is over, there is no going back, being spit out the other end is not such a bad thing, maybe only if you desire to keep the ride going, but for the most part, there have been plenty of people who desired to make it to the other side only to fall short and end up nothing more than a thirty second newspiece on the local television station. Seize the opportunity to make amends with your soul, dig deeper into this maze of Las Vegas culture and shed some light on the things most people here walk right past or are too afraid to acknowledge out of fear of the unknown, this is all that is left, either this or walk away from this city and everything you have built here. Sounds like shit doesn't it?

Minutes pass where no one says anything, while continuing to play video poker, smoking, drinking, and breaking out the bag for a bump.

The man hits a button and waits as he cashes out, a few more minutes pass, as the man recieves his money turns to the woman

Man: Thanks

Then slides a couple hundreds over to the woman and leaves
The money stays there for a while as the woman gets into her game
As the bartender comes around believing the tip was left for him
A quick right hand covers the hundred dollar bills as she exhales a plume of smoke
Pulling the money into her hands and stuffing it into her purse while
still playing

Thursday Night in Suburbia

There is not much that could relieve me from the horrific nature of existence that I was about to experience. Thursday night in the local neighborhood bar, karoake night of all things, completely ambushed by the vocal renditions that would make the worst American Idol audition feel like a well rehearsed stadium rock concert. Delving back into the world of reality has not been an easy task, as so many things begin to creep back into recognition, primarily the fake character most people don out in public, this is once you get past all the poser clothing, haircuts, and tattoos, not to mention any form of conversation, why not start on the bartender; she is phony enough, dashing out enough of a smile to bring home fifty bucks in tips a night, maybe sixty, talking to her is like having a conversation with a half assembled computer, every phrase and word I speak is analyized then what does not make sense puts her in a state of confusion making the entire conversation awkward, myabe she is under the impression that I have arrived at this bar tonight with the same set of social skills as all the other people in here who have nursed themselves on decades of worthless cultural trash in order to arrive at the point with the help of a lot of alcohol to convince themselves that spending the evening howling into an overmodulated microphone is one of the highpoints of recreational entertainment and on that point we would both agree, just as long as they are singing and I am watching.

The first one up is some middle age woman who is sort of shaped like a oohmpa loohmpa, fiery red hair, beer gut that could feed most third world nations, topped off with a sort of energy reserved for meth addicts and hyperactive children. The white t-shirt blue jean look gives her that retro look she may have originally worn back in the mid eighties with a lot more sincerity and fifty less pounds. All of this did not impede the woman from breaking into a scowling sing a long of Blondie's "Call Me". This exercise in humor had the entire bar laughing whether this was her original goal did not matter, there has not been such an embarrasing performance of a song since Rosanne Barr's sang the Star Spangled Banner, many parallels between the two could be drawn from the outright laughter to the impentrable bubble surrounding this woman's sense of shame, no bursting it tonight, just more off key grunting, yelling, and hollering, if she had sucked down some helium before hand that might have put her act right over the top, jiggling and wiggling all that excess weight like a set of maracas, this was her territory, her karaoke platform she let all the others in here share tonight.

Still it seemed the many tables filled with patrons tonight had no reservations about watching her perform, nothing more than a small car load of clowns parading around inside the circus tent she had her place, everyone understood this, except me, as the bartender asked if I wished to have the karaoke book in order to find a song to sing, this is where my illusionary condition of regular old suburbanite begain to fall apart, I had already weaseled a few smiles out of her, just for something to do and possiblity of getting a phone number had begun to enter my mind, this was it, right here, forget all these incredibly hot, well built women who circled the city of Las Vegas,they will have nothing to do with me at all, this is what I get, the run down, overcooked, recently divorced with children, mother who is about 20 pounds on the wrong side of cute, but has not been informed of the situation. I had said something out of character which is normal for me, something out of the well defined logic found at such place as this tonight, I could hear her inner voice saying, "What are you one of those smart people, who has to throw it up in everyones face, who can't seem to get along with anyone cause you have everyone figured out, well look here, you are the one who has not figured out anything, has everything inverted, from the outside looking that is why you roam these neighborhood bars, cause no one else will have you."

All of this in the moment that it look from her laugh to turn to a confused puzzled appearance, right then I knew I might as well just stare up at the television like all the other losers and pretend to be distracted, it was going to take a performance more than I could muster tonight to convince this bartender and patrons in here that I was nothing more than a tourist, a spy, peaking in on the social fabric of suburban Las Vegas. It has always been tough for me to hide my horror, my disdain, for this particular public medium. A consistant source of my amusement ever since childhood when I began to figure out why I exactly did not fit into this mold, this equation with the rest of the masses. Have to cut in as this tall brother in a black Lakers warm up jacket who has sort of an arty look about him, busts out a version of Coldplay I could never forget, the guy must be tone deaf and a bit naive about his own vocal prowess, cause this act is even more shameful than the last, there are those times when others feel embarassed for another person performing on stage or wherever, when things are just going horribly wrong for the entertainer, well this is one of those moments, one of those painful lessons of where people belong in the pecking order of acceptance, not much different than those found in schools, the workplace, and the nightclub. This melodic vocal death knell registered a 10 on the humor scale, straight to You Tube with this person, he would not be stopped from his crackled pubscent tone putting every ounce of effort into the song almost transcending the actual singer into his exsitence.

Ther was no amount of drugs that could mask my emotional state of suffering at the voices of these people tonight that came here with a sense of passing a bit of time celebrating the birthday of the karaoke master DJ who was responsible for this armada of wanna be rock stars tonight, he looks to have quite a following as the place is nearly to capacity with middle aged amatuer drunks, twenty something casino workers with the day off, and the casual observer like myself attempting to avoid detection but doing just the opposite to expose myself as a fraud and a non believer in the ways of the suburbanite. Cast to the fiery pit of the malcontent was to be my fate, but it has become a test of wills to see how long I stand staying here, the crushing reality of all these people in this bar is way too much for my sober brain to handle, there is no barrier to ward off all this poorly rehearsed psychology, to be constantly beat over the head with until my skull cracks wide open and what is left of my sanity pours out onto the bar where it will be readily absorbed by the bar itself as payment to witness such a social cultural experiement as the one undertaken here in this bar tonight, the bar wants blood, bodies, and slaves who will drain away their existence one drink at a time, one lame television show at a time and one badly performed song at a time, distractions make dollars here in Las Vegas, everyone has down time, at all hours of the morning, day, and night, a constant flow of bored people who are either slow or have worked themselves into a state of total collapse, so the bar becomes the modified rehab center, to maintain the juices and the workflow of the city but within a smaller confines, nothing as extreme as the mega casinos out in the distance.

So I will do my last bit of rehab here tonight before I head back down into the sewers of modern Las Vegas, nothing more than another avenue to find out more about a city I have put up so many walls to deter, finally to expose myself to all the intense semi glamorous and outlandish things this place has to offer, will uproot some of the finer details of what makes this city of Las Vegas continue, churn forward like a meat grinder, no emotion, no cerebral activity, and no remorse for how anyone in the town ends up after one night, one week, one month, or one year. No home for the insanely twisted, the entire grounds are open for this kind of mental arena, no one will be turned away, spite of condition, welcomed with arms wide to take part in this carvinal of souls who wander the streets nightly in search of resolution that will never present itself, a finish line that only grows further in the distance, and an answer as complicated as the meaning of life itself. So why not just put the head down and dive face first back into the chemical white wash that has so many people screwed to the walls already, well, if only for the fact I have been missing so much from being debilitated mentally and physically, it is time to go in the other direction and take all this madness, head on, totally straight, I have already seen the absurd nature of Las Vegas, now it is time to dissect the corpse, guts, nerves, diseases and all.

Idol Worship

Even though such a show as American Idol would almost seem to be impossible to have not watched over its past 9 or 10 seasons, I have been one of the few people left in the galaxy to sit down and suffer through an episode of this emotional meat grinder generated for the misguided masses of american society who seek to do the exact such thing, become famous and pull themselves from the depths of obscurity and infamy. Never has there been such a collection of heartbreak, tough luck, and tragedy since my small town high school senior class. They must have culled through the most obscure remote trailer parks, toughest urban ghettos, and broke up downtown artist colonies to produce a willing cast starting from thousands who would succumb to levels of humiliation, embarrasment, and character defamation that would today have parental lawsuits by the thousands if this kind of behavior took place in public schools, instead of television, which gives the entire idea a much need lift in legitmacy, right, sure, nothing the american public loves more than to watch people who they feel superior to, get mashed down into the subnormal cesspool they belong in, I mean at least the Gong Show went in with a certain humorist slant, the contestants knew the main angle of the show was humor. These singers on American Idol are being duped into believing that major stardom and fame await the small few who can survive the vicious scurtiny of how ever many months the contest takes place, granted for the few who make to the end, getting put up on television twice a week can be quite addictive, more so than whores, drugs, and booze put together, something about the limelight that will turn off every rational sensor in the brain and body, everyone seeks it, myself included, why lie, who does not love the attention that is why this show works so well, damn motherlode, trade this product in for all the oil of the Saudi owns and the Saudis would still get a better deal, this kind of show will never die, the constant need to be notice will outlive the oil supply and the next ten forms of sustainable energy invented in the next ten thousand years.

Will any of these so called artists on this show, ever be bigger than David Bowie, Lou Reed, Bob Dylan, or Beethoveen, hell no, that is not their purpose, the singers on American Idol are here for the viewers entertainment, on par with the throwing of the Christains to the lions or whatever other historical lore may fit, once and a while someone survives, a few folks clap then send the poor fool back for more later in the week. This facade of genuine genius is laughable, pop music fodder for the braindead masses could not be more appropriate, this is what the american public deserves, demands, and must be rewarded with, constantly, do not concern yourself with the economy, merely go back to work, if you have a job, or sell drugs, body, or other bodies to maintain a high amount of disposible cash for your disposible heroes on the television screen, buy, buy more is the only concern of the large forces behind the scenes pushing this material into the television viewing public, slay the those minds by the millions, if their own personal substance abuse has not already accomplished that feat ahead of time, then sit back, get some money involved and watch people get more marginalized, more aloof, and just generally out of touch with mainly how 90 percent of this country serves as puppets for the other 10 percents amusement, toys, we are all toys, to be commanded, dictated to, and if not obediant will suffer the humorously horrible and similar fate of all those thousands of Idol fans who know deep down in their hearts they have the talent of all those other talentless other shit bags on tv and the movie screen, but the real sad irony is they don't.

6th and Main

Slow nights don't offer that much in the way of entertainment where the only source of refuge is a bad attitude and the former hatred spilling over from a previous relationship from former lovers who cannot completely let go of their feelings, so they do small almost undetectable things, whether it is a text on day reserved for so called romantic lovers to the old get dressed up and show the former partner what they passed up on, somehow afterwards the only friends become the dark city streets of downtown Las Vegas where crack dealers, low rent meth prostitutes, and nervous predatory pimps come out on the otherwise empty streets attempting to raise cash flow for the rundown yet recently renovated daily apartments that look nothing more housing for the insane, destitute, and freshly grinded brain dead corpses licking on the long since picked clean carcass of a Sunday night.

Easy enough to score around here, not much other reason for middle aged white people to be roaming around these narrow blocks of boarded up housing mixed in enclaves of new high rise condos full of scam artist victims who believed that urban renewal included something more than confining all the drugs, prostitution, and crime to a few square blocks, but unfortunately those square blocks happen to be where these fresh hipsters call home, but where hasn't there been a artist colony that did not come with a bit of dangerous element involved, a place where you can watch desperate narcotics fiends offer up sex for small clusters of crack cocaine and meth, right behind high rise dumpsters, everyone walks away a winner.

Soon enough, there was a crack head in the back seat of our car, the typical loose single track mind shell of a human being who was only interested in getting her hit of low rent mashed up cocaine residue in exchange for the use of the pipe, immidiately she was on the phone, calling the man, rock man, nothing but 20 dollar hits that don't amount to more than small peebles, at first it is really hard to tell what the hell you might be buying, could almost be anything, you have to burn it a bit, maybe set it on the top of a lit cigarette in order to smell that familiar smell that rock will give off once it starts to vapourize, then it all comes back to you. The crispy frying like smell of crack burning, the taste in the back of the throat, while holding a well burnt pipe at one end that has just been stolen from some base head, she does not want to get out of the car, but then is threatened with being dropped off in some place like Summerlin or Seven Hills, where the local authorites will take no time in introducing here to a set of hand cuffs in the unfamiliar confines of suburban Las Vegas, like dropping off a gang member in a rival turf with nothing but shoes in his feet, no cash, no phone, bye bye, good luck getting home in one piece, so with the thought of Henderson police weighing on her mind, set off a series of hasty moves, by exiting the car at a high rate of speed, no need to stop, she strongs, hit the street, bounce once or twice, screaming Fuck You White Bitches, well fair enough, this woman was nothing but an avenue for acquiring black drugs when the white drug connections are laying low, they all have their reasons, today's was Valentine's Day, not much of an event for the likes of the lonely who still hold a grudge against their former lovers, offering the only outlet consisting of pure debauchery, ugly real disasterous, derragned behavior to mask the pain of transitioning from the ordinary comfortable existence of having someone to be with to the polar opposite of being responsibility free taking all actions to their most logical conclusions.

Plenty of alcohol and whatever anyone happens to be carrying on them at the time, so no chance of any substances remaining at the end of the night, eat all the farmies, baggies, and whatever can be bought down the block, load up and let things take their course. Pretty usual surroundings tonight as The Rolling Stones play in the background, soundtrack for the night, feels right to get things giong on this one way crash course to black out mode where life falls apart molecule by molecule reassembling in a entire different entity that most people give a clear path and at least put up in a curious but cautious manner, what does that manner we have become nothing but a sideshow in a world that no longer gives a damn about anything but learning to die slowly while meandering or wallowing in a shallow water filled hole treading for nothing more than the opportunity to waste more years of a life that in the end will offer only a brief services for the slow slide to the exit sign and a piece of real estate in some anonymous landfill for human beings.

This is what surrounds me tonight, all these people, going nowhere, drinking overpriced beer with hip cool music on the overhead speakers, all jingle like sounds of generation who could really care less on why the ladder to success, coolness, and the big takeover is nothing more than a beat up broken rung ladder with no end in sight up toward the darken heavens dissapearing into an abyss where no light escapes, no real meaning or contributions to life, an empty gutter, universe of poorly thought out ideas, turned into marketing schemes whose primary purpose is to get you to buy take out food, binge drink, and jump local crack dealers for their stash, so much to give in this cool society, that's it, nothing else to really say but drowning sorrows on such a regular basis is the definition of this city that has no pity, no remorse, only people whose sole mission is to spread their misery upon others in hopes of sharing the futility of living in a town with people who have nothing to offer but their daily lives, as I stand with a beer in my hand, a research scientist,, studying the environment, taking notes, make observations, as people come and go throughout the night, caught between realities of being cool and being empty shallow and obvious like those they pretend to detest in public life, yet that is what alcohol will do to some, bring out their true nature, acceptance is a cruel and horrible beast that has sent many a good person to an early grave due the fiery nature of vacaous whores and idiots who send people off to the gallows of the social outcast network, who then in turn go out and create an entire another subculture to do it to other people, the hate builds like a wave drowning everyone in its breaking crest, but at least it gives me something to write about everytime I step out the door.

Mannequin Depressant

There are times in life when all forces and objects will try to assert their personal desire to keep me from moving on with my life, roped into a circular track with no end, to offer up a countless segmentation, month after month with a net restult that has nothing positive or organic to offer, straight rotation to the desolate nature of being limited no matter how much I try to get out from under the wasted moments and stupid moves, but life is kind of like that regardless, the thing is now I have wisened up enough to get past all these hurdles, who gives a fuck how I do it, the important part is the actual task of coming to some sort of resolution, I need it, being homeless living on couches, hotel rooms,, and my van have started to run thin, the base has been pulled out from under with no notice, a free fall into a cavernous abyss without end, punishment or reward does not really matter to me anymore, only the fact that I can establish a new beach head to continue this verbal and psychological assualt on the world, granted being in the midst of all this uncertainity has its advantages while providing plenty of opportunity to gather more knowledge from all these people, situations, and outcomes, helps me redefine my own existence as well the rest of humanity, to know that they are not much for the most part and will turn on you if given the appropriate conditions, not everyone their are some allies, but for the most part, people walk with sharp knives looking to carve up llittle bit of every little human being they can get their hands on, to make their own life more comfortable, easier to lay around accomplishing nothing or using physical talents as a step ladder to nowhere where they will be judged by their peers for using those attributes to get ahead in the world, which is fine for all the prostitutes of the world which damn near includes every god damn person, whores, slaves, and simpletons who rejoice at the oppportunity to make than minimum wage even though their intellegence, work skill, and drive are on par with the tree sloth, lethargic, empty, half dead, living a parasitc nature, this what this world has become, one giant parasite, larve feeding off of other larve, nothing ever coming to age, mutation, rapid consumption leads to a society run by infants, children, no different than Lord of the Flies.

All I can do is live in the middle of this, not much of a consolation but at least the material is always there, nothing like watching a bunch of men in their fifties sitting around on a television show, empty headed, derranged from all the substance abuse over the years, nothing but manniquins who not made anything of themselves or the people around, waiting around for the slow death formula, supplanted with decades of alcohol, cocaine, prostitues, and local bars with twenty something cocktail waitress who play head games with them in hopes of getting their rent paid, so what happens when you want no part of this cruel game, this framework of futility where there are no real answers, only vague suggestions leading all to the same conclusion, the bigger, better, deal, where everyone is angling for easy street or the next rung on the corporated ladder, whether it is reality television or fun at the office. I am already sickened yet confused somewhat, not with people, but their real nature and how dead everyone sitting around me at this bar tonight have nothing at all to offer but to buy food, some drinks and maybe talk to some run of the mill being who really has trouble putting more than two sentences together, this is the case all over Las Vegas, not leaving me many options with whom to engage at such places where young twenty something women congregate, we are not talking model material, but that middle class work style or hotel industry worker, so many idiots with tattoos and LA style clothing the cloning machine has been going into overtime, people profit, but we are making more morons in the meantime until there will be nothing but a gradual conversation to a society of totally brain dead souless obediant manniquins and that day is rapidly approaching.

Detox: On the Bench

Lucky enough to have a few days at a friend's house while he was out visiting family, outside of the early call times for work this week I did happen to get to bed before 4am, sans all the chemicals, hysteria, and unusual incidents that have been occuring in my life with much frequency since going solo, alongside all the ups and downs of mentally coming to grips with being alone, without another person to come home to, all the usual bs I have ranted about in the past, this is the first day in about a month that I have not felt drunk, been hallucinating, or calming myself down from rapidly increased heart rates due to a fragile mental state. Is this sobriety rearing its ugly head again? Well, waste no time in beating it back into the ground by going out and getting fucked up once more, reset the clock, start the never ending game one more time, so far have kept that ever present desire at bay, where being in an actual house for more than one night and not some desolate, worn down, and fractured hotel that doubles as a sewer for every last bit of Las Vegas's unpleasant diseased ridden waste which immidiately took to task infecting me into a zombie like state of constant chemical, sexual, and psychological disorder reigns without question.

The sort of unnatural b movie script that everyone dreams of living but finds themselves on the verge of collapse running down the strip, ass on fire, eyes pouring out blood, as the soul leaks out of the body into the manmade lakes of the strip hotels rising the water into boiling levels until there is nothingleft but steam. Thankfully, I have gotten past all this, made with some promises in the night, when sleep is unattenable even with the largest supply of medical sleep inducing pills, there were times when it seemed my heart may never escape its restless nature or making me feel like that overdose induced heart attack had finally arrived, luckily my mind was still strong enough to fight off those ugly feelings, put them back in that little wooden heart shaped box made in the Ukraine, sent across borders, continents, and oceans to hold all those dark thoughts, impulsive actions, and transcendental out of body experiences.

Finally, have some time to write with no work tomorrow morning, happy to be busy and making some money, yet all this shit happening on all sides of me with no shelter, no cover, exposed to enemy fire, always on guard, paranoid, disaster looming, can't rest, no time to put it all down, keep moving, just like the shark, predatory, they run from fury, from aggression, from retaliation, only closing in when, weakness has set in, then look to grind me down into tiny fragments until I break down into tears, asking forgiveness, for what? why? transgressions? you fucking kidding me? who amongst us all is saintly...... exactly that is why we live in Las Vegas and not Seattle or Chicago or Des Moines, where you can keep your thoughts, sanity, and the bars actually close, where being drunk on Sunday at 8 in morning watching soccer is not commonplacewhile afterwards leaving to go pass out at your mother's house cause you have not gone to sleep after having a threesome with two strangers hours earlier, more on the last thing soon enough, but for now have to get back to making it out of the tunnel, out of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, Space Mountain, and the Matterhorn all rolled into one, no happiest place on earth here, just happy to be still breathing and not in some hospital gurney, casket, or back alley, dead, maybe just incapacitated to the point where I would have to call someone, like the ex girlfriend or worse mother, let the cat out of the bag, the fact I have skidded off the roads of all perfectly accepted normal behavior in order to over indulge on all the loose, carnal, and venal ideals that make Las Vegas the decadent attraction so many people come to in order to feed their own personal demons, preying on other willing participants who look to wipe their minds clean of all the daily toils life has thrown their way, cutting out all the normalcy with surgeon scapels, electric shock therapy, and water boarding.

Finally, some time off, had to put my foot down with myself, no more partying, going to be 40, but I look around and people 10 to 20 years older then me that seem to be okay with keeping the fun going who am I to fight that kind of headwind, leaving me confused but for the moment let the merry go round continue on without me.

The Experiment

Slow enough night at the Rum Runner, usual bartender in black clad leather biker outfit with breasts and ass that have long since out grown her former nature of stimulant abuser has somehow now found herself at this crossroad of evening bartending when all the other men and options ran aground like the Titanic. Meeting up with Mitchell tonight, have to conduct some business, new found venture in Las Vegas, which is not very unique or special but nothing more than a new pipeline in a time old establishment amdist a city that serves to every single need and desire not matter how foul and vile. So while I bide my time waiting for a few customers to stop by, not much else to do but take inventory of my surroundings. Mostly just a cast of translucent cretins who never see much light of day, won't see them at Costco, 24 Hour Fitness, or walking their pets down at the local park, no the daytime is meant for sleeping or hiding behind heavy blinds, jumping, twisting, and becoming paranoid anytime a car passes through the neighborhood. Life runs down its options sometimes, so there is not much left but to hunker over dollar beers for hours at a time and hope the other unusuals decide to come in for the daily communion to relish over stories from the good old days when television was black and white, and the president was just plain old white.

One of the older women has a tattoo on her shoulder, she looks about 50 plus, driven crazy by countless events in her life with the tattoo remaining as a mere artifact of an existence lived with multiple personality disorder. The Rum Rummer had become her refuge from the hyper fast forward movement of the 21st century, where it feels like you need three minds and a shit load more guts just to get up in the morning and get out of bed, so this bar was the final compromise, a reflection of a generation of tattooed malcontents who did not receive all those dreams they so readily bought from the sliver screen, now in 3D, isn't that cool? Part barfly, part psychiatristic nightmare, yet this woman seemed to have it sorted out by minimizing her existence, while chatting with some guy who the world had long since forgotten, consumed then shit out into the pile of ever growing human manure filling the streets of Las Vegas like a never ending winter storm of blizzard like conditions.

Just chatting with Mitchell, he has his own troubles with his woman, my only trouble with mine was that she submarined my ass by jumping ship leaving me marooned to my own solitary fate lost in a sea of uncertainity, must be nice to move from one bed to the next, very comfortable and obviously well planned have to give her credit for that at least, probably the smartest thing she has ever done in her life, yet at the loss of ten years of her life, well, everyone has to get out sometime, can't blame her for that angle, surpised I lasted that long with my behavior. so Mitchell is giving me the low down on his current frustrated state, as some sista sitting down from us started going into a drunk tirade about how this is her last week in Las Vegas, also how she can't wait to go home to Detroit, where her 60 year truck driving sugar daddy takes care of her. This woman is already wasted on straight Vodka which by the looks of she has been drinking continously for a week.

Apparently, she had to dress down tonight to keep all the old lecherous men who habitually inhabit the Rum Runner from preying on her weakened blacked out state as some fat dumpy balding 50 something man cozies up next to her with all the ideas of taking her out to his car and sexually assualting her in the parking lot as she vomits in the backseat. This is what I am dealing with right now, all these crossroads coming to a head at one location, this bar, while the sista continues on in her drunken dialouge about how she came out to Las Vegas to take care of her grand daughter, so her daughter could attend night school and work at the same time, apparently her daughter got knocked up again, which might have contributed to this woman's current state of wasted annihilation, too early to tell, feels like nothing more than just your usual Las Vegas shit talker who makes all these unverifiable claims, as if she was Willy Wonka parading off into the Chocolate Factory, nothing of the kind tonight, just her continuous babbling which I will pick up on later.

Throughout all of this I have a few drinks with some other friends who stop by to say hi, chat and a handshake sort of thing, exchanges and they are on their way, as Mitchell goes off to play video poker, so does the sista who in a matter of 15 minutes has gone through all her money, 80 bucks about, according to her, but all she has to do is make a phone call and more dollars shall be delivered, this woman has a nasty tone about her, but is sort of in and out of a reasonable sense of behavior, the couple extra shots of vodka bought by the creepy old man next to her has began to limit any sort of complete understanding in speech. It's the classic ol slapping of the hand against the bar, with that familiar, " well let me tell you something" she sort of thinks I'm cute and is all upset that she did not dress up, which appears to be making her feel very self conscious of her looks, either way, more mad rambling of a booze hound with no pause on the horizon.

I volunteer to drive her over to her apartment across the street, word had that someone, some drunkie got ran down a couple weeks ago attempting to go home from the bar, so why tempt fate, why indeed, I thought, be a gentleman offer up a ride, if for nothing else to see what else might come out of her mouth. Nothing really as I drove her over to the apartment, waited in the car, Mitchell thought I was going over for a quick bang, thought crossed my mind, but rather let this one play out, see what other bizarre nature might reveal itself, made it back to the bar, she began feeding more money into the video poker machine, as the woman,, let's call her Trina, already forgot her real name, like it matters. So Trina is reupping on the vodka, intent on pushing the limits of inebriation to its ultimate conclusion, fair enough, another 15 minutes she is broke again, trying to hit me up for some money. By this time, I have put about 5 bucks in the jukebox, as I wait for another friend to show up with some money he owes me, lives close by and with not much else to do, except go home to my new confines at the Sahara hotel, why not play a bit of old school funk music to get the party started here at the Rum Rummer. This idea was intentional as my mixed race ass had to listen to more about the wonders of Detroit, yeah I have been there, a few times, to fuck some woman, a thousand times hotter than this throwback, I had to let some line out to keep her momentum flowing, this ugliness inside of her initally began to trickle out, now it was turning into a slightly open water faucet and soon enough there would be a flash flood of illicit behavior that might make grandma over in the corner charge toward the exit.

I would not be dissapointed as I played some Parliment, James Brown, and Afrika Bambatta, start off with something obvious, music not normally played in a place like the Rum Runner, these songs will get a reaction out of her, just watch and within 10 seconds she looked over at me and asked if I played this particular song as well as all the others to follow, Trina was at a loss that someone like myself could be so black cultured, sure if you want to call it that, I know music and now people, fairly well, this one went down easy, bust out Curtis Mayfield, now she is dancing with her big black booty shaking back and forth, dancing lost in another formal world of fun where responsibility had no meaning and the night never ended, which brings us to the next phase of the night, where Trina gets it in her head that going out dancing tonight would be a fantastic idea, she has been out in Vegas for almost a month and has not gone out once since she has been here, locked down with a small child and her daughter's errant mood swings, Trina looked ready to explode as I put on some Ohio Players, as I came up behind her, which started her grinding on my dick with the occassional squeeze, then the thought crossed my mind, whether I should bang her or not, looks easy enough, but then she starts getting pushy, making demands on what to play, trying to shake me down for more money, I buy her another drink, get her back in the seat, while Trina tells me in her drunken daze how much she likes me, by now Mitchell has split for the night already figuring that I will close this one down no problem.

So after some more talk, it is off to the dance experience conviently located at the Stratosphere, good, at least it's not Tao or LAX, she never make it past the door with her hard attitude, fight would break out, blood spilt, and ultimately metal cuffs placed on the both of us, Stratosphere would be perfect, total dead zone, no one cares about anything there, walk a block in the wrong direction in the adjecent neighborhood, stab wounds and possibly death might follow, dangerous streets of Las Vegas, which according to Trina were nothing, to her this place was filled with shit loads of pretenders, fakes, and wanna bees who added up to no threat to her whatsoever, that made me feel safe, walking around with this timebomb, problem was when she finally and eventaully blew up I could not be sure what direction the shrapnel would fly, still this whole thing looked to be quite a bit of fun, why not put her into play in the public domain, get tourists involved see what they would make of her schizophrenic drunken characater, tons of amusement, just have to get there in one piece.

First, it was necessary to stop back at her daughter's apartment so she could get properly dressed, so out of the sweats and into some real tight jeans that made her big ass look gigantic, Trina had that going for her, that big fat ass, probably the only thing to keep the money coming in besides her dominate behavior which slowly began to reveal itself as she called me over hold her weave, as she attempted to brush it into some sort of respectable appearance inbetween gulps of straight vodka from a bottle on the kitchen counter. The apartment was a disaster of piled up boxes, throw away furniture, trash, and child's dinner table that double as the house dining table, three little miniture pink chairs to match, not sure Trina could fit that big ass in one of those or her daughter that checked in at about 5'10", she peeked her head out for a moment then walked back into her room where reruns of In Living Color played on the television. Trina's room was nothing more than a random collection of strewn about clothing, tore up paper moving containers and half assembled furniture, she slept on some 70's era couch in the front room, as she pulled on her black velvet boots, Trina was starting to feel sexy and walked over to the home stereo boom box to put on some music, get the mood started, so hear comes the rant on how she does not want me to think that she is so ho, who gets down with anyone, she is respectable as she grabs my cock again, gives it a few pumps, smiles, and squeezes it. Time for me to play fashion expert, this shirt or that other shirt in the pile of clothing off in the dark recesses of her room, I look in, in shock a bit, have not been around this kind of vibe since I was a teen, living in real run down neighborhoods where people did not give a damn, letting everything go to hell, especially their home. More drinks of vodka, I was not drinking, just taking in the noise of the clock that probably could be heared at the end of the apartment complex that kind of tick tock to drive me mad, in an insomniac like state, go completely bonkers, the noise was getting to me already, yet Trina's act kept me distracted, her ass as well, got my hands on it, all mine if I so desired, she hated her current shirt, pretty much ripped it off of her body, leaving her in a bra, she pulled out her tits to show me, okay, nothing special, had those big sand dollar nipples, little sag, sure, they are tits alright as she went back into her cave and pulled out another shirt that with a bit of effort looked to be the final touch on a masterpiece only someone like Picasso could appreciate.

Busted up and fragmented did not deter Trina from asking me for 2.50 cash in case I decided to ditch her later that night, it was on the table, yet at this early point in the night I still was thinking of banging her as well as looking forward to what she might do once she hit the public stage. Bit more drinking and she was ready, weave set, jacket, set, Baby Phat, she kept rambling on about her jacket, Baby Phat, Baby Phat, I acted dumb pretending not to know that it was a clothing company, so Trina felt it necessary to explain to me the history of the company as well as how Russel Simmons ex wife or whoever was the owner of the company and how now she had married some younger guy imported from the lands of Africa, sort of like the Russian bride thing I guess, somewhat confused and laughing inside, time to hit the road.

Pull into Stratosphere, immidiately Trina begins in on how cool this bar was some 3 years ago when she was last here, great I thought, go with it, let the force flow, we found the place, totally dead with nothing more than the bar staff and some cover band who had assembled for financial means to pay the bills while they chased more artistic endeavors that currently were not bearing much fruit, sort of like this blog. Like a magnet, Trina found her giant stripper pole that had been the focus of her conversation for the past hour and a half as she racked her brain for every little detail in regards to this bar I was currently ordering drinks in, server is female, looks Russian, so I said something in Russian and she laughed and left to grab the drinks. Trina had been teleported to disco heaven, forget it, off in another dimension, time warp back to her younger years where she had confided in her lengthy career in bad behavior, not sure if she had been rocking the crack, but she had her hood credentials there was no denying that, Trina told me that she would warn me if some shit was about to go down, therefore I could get out of the way of whatever might follow, I felt myself warned, fine, she could probably hold her own against security for at least 3 to 5 minutes before they put the tasers on her, she looked strong, aggressive, and nasty without nothing much more than a semi sexy smile, danger was on the horizon, time to batten down the hatches, dark clouds and stormy weather ahead, hurricane Trina rapidly approaching who paid me no attention as she got on her knees and began to shake her ass up and down in the general direction of the cover band who had no idea how to respond to this stripper like behavior of leg spreads, fingering, and the ocassional ass smack, the guys in the band were intrigued, the female singer, somewhat nervous at Trina' sexual lustfulness.

I was nothing but the guy who brought her there, under the guise that somehow myself and Trina were together, nothing more than a cover id to keep these people from calling the cops and or local security, if I had cut her loose there, she might have lasted fifteen, ten minutes before getting in someone's face or pulling her pants down while spreading pussy lips, Trina was down for what ever as long as the music played, did not matter the song or the style, she had transformed into the boogie machine, dry humping the large metal strpper pole, the lead guitarists and my knee as she ping pong amongst all three objects, stopping at the table long enough, to take another shot of vodka, nearly spraying half of it out of her nose and mouth, exclaiming, " Damn, they don't water down their shots here do they!" I got up and got her a few napkins that Trina quickly swatted away from my hand, the rythmn of the dancefloor was calling her back for another round of erotic 20 dollar lap dances.

Not sure if she realizes anyone is around her anymore, begins to get verbal with the Russian cocktail server when Trina notices I am talking to her, rapidly things are beginning to spin out of control and it is at this point that this little experiment is taking a turn for the worse, crash right off the highway onto the rocky shoulder of the desert below. By this time, Trina is attempting to rip the leather from her belt, maybe she is attempting to take the belt off of her pants, yet it is still fastened, not to be discouraged her energy and anger increase until the belt finally gives way then is quickly jettisoned off to some unknown corner of the dancefloor, time to corner to the two girls dancing, probably friends of the band, in fact one of them is the singer, while the other, wife of the lead guitarist, impromptu line dancing breaks out, Trina has them secured looking to go for the three way girl fest, ironically a few minutes early the wife had been commenting on Trina's ass, somehow Trina picked up on it and in her drunken delirium tried making out with the wife, now it seems all three of them are in some prison episode like event, bonded through the common cause of female power enclose by the circumstance of their individual actions culminated on the dancefloor tonight in a light female sexual wave of glory.

I have already decided to get the hell away from all the madness, Trina has gone from drunk to ghetto in about three more shots of vodka, give her credit for holding all the booze down, the only reason I bought the few more was to watch her puke all over the place, but she one upped me by holding all that poison down, good show. Quiet time, damn band would not stop playing, it was somewhere around three by now, wrap the night already, but time for some more Journey or Loverboy, as well as a bunch of other random ass shite I pretended to clap along to if only to further this flow of magnetic disgust which slowly turned to glue covering my body in a mess of putrid angst and bitterness. Rode the rest of the evening out, a screw turned in Trina, knowing her actions were getting to me, a battle of wills, so I had to ride this thing out to the end, jeez, even plow her as if to say, hell, is this all you have, this the pinnacle of base behavior and hostile attitude you can muster, not much place for the likes of you in my hall of fame, another number, another frame, so the see saw of manical bi polar mentality kicked into her central nervous system, here comes the rollercoaster of "Hey em I gettin too weird..... You sure?" to "See that bitch over there.... I'm uh fuck her." the comedy was nonstop, had quit drinking by now, still had to drive back to the Sahara, so let us just fast forward past closing down the bar, me taking a piss and coming back to see Trina crying, then getting all aggro, cause she thought I left, already gave her bus money, so why not, as she went into a another riff about having to have some old leech give her a ride home, then having sex with him, the conversation got stranger, some time during the evening I told her I was staying at the Sahara which coincidently happened to be one of her favorite casinos to gamble in, for a second I bounced around the idea of taking her back to my room, then giving it to her , but deep down I knew Trina would be back at my door, soon enough looking to move in for the week or worse, wanting to stay after I had sex with her then getting weird when I decided to chuck her out the door, time to go, bye, shit, would have to change rooms a couple times to get her off my scent. Did not matter, her manic depressive behavior mixed with a pure sense of dark evil cruelity finally broke me, pulled over off the main roads, then told her to get out which she reluctantly did.

Good, finally have that animal off my back, sort of blew up in my face as I pull up the old van into valet, for some reason the parking structure was closed, looks like the car in front me is not in the mood for moving, a White Sebring, lights on, ignition on, so I pull the E brake on the van get out, where the hell is valet, probably sleeping almost consider, leaving the keys in the car and room number, hope for the best, the valet station is one way mirrored so who knows what the hell they are up to in there, may not be able to see me though, cause the other car is stopped so far back, get out, the driver and the passenger are totally passed out, snoring away with no idea that they are in the Sahara hotel valet, makes up for all the other chaos tonight as the valet person tries to wake the two guys up by violently banging on the car's front window while yelling at the driver, does not seem to be working, I move on, walk inside where it is 5am and it feels like I have not gone to bed before 4am for a straight month, but wouldn't you know like all good Las Vegas stories, there happens to be a cute sista sitting at the internet kiosk station checking her email at 5am, maybe she is from Europe, all dressed up minding her own business, causally decides to chat me up as if I would like some company for the evening, Evening? It's bloody 5am, what kind of company do you plan on keeping, turns out to be the 100 dollar kind, so I say, hell, why not, pulling her off the bench for her moment in the sun, bring in those final dollars of the night, where by sitting out here at such an early hour at the Sahara sends a pretty strong signal of how lean her work shift had been already, so off we go like room service for making it through that entire night, enduring all the psychotic episodes of Trina, makes great writing though, as I cut into Savannah, Ms Little 5am and she sighs, the ever such familiar sound in Las Vegas, echoes off the room's walls out toward the casinos themselves where all lust, sin, and excess are absorbed recharging the hedonistic tendencies of such a city for another evening.

South East Asia Pt.1

A few pages tonight from a book in the works on my travels from South East Asia in 2008-2009, when the hell I will have time to finish this, who knows, but some introductions to the fun filled and mysterious nature of this area of the world that runs the gamut from tropical tourist trap to outlaws walking the street with machine guns.

Off to Phitsanulok today and another town which name escapes me at the moment, been on the road now for about a week, already have puked, drank, and reveled in the New Year's Eve of a Bangkok night, been on the train most of the time with the local folk, everyone on the train is calm, our presence does not appear to causing any sort of panic or curious nature, just more afternoon on a four train to Lom Sak then two more hours by bus to Phitsanulok, but still on the train right now moving through the rice field plains, seems so much of the midlands is submerged, no wonder this country produces so much rice, one and a half foot lakes out to the furtherest reaches of the mountains some twenty kilometers in the distance, stilted house litters these flood plains where workers might sleep during harvesting season or if not during the day where even in January it is pretty hot and fairly humid, lush green tropical jungle hugs the roads, where there are roads and even people, land mass fluctuates with every passing station, where old ladies in head wrap bandanas, dark khaki pants, and thin beige blouses balance large platters of homemade snackfoods consisting mostly of bread buns with a variety of meats inside, rice balls, dried fish, not a very popular product, just from the smell alone that reminds me of a fish cleaning station on any fishing pier in America, thankful the woman passes quickly, barking out today's menu with the verbal cadence that would make any drill instructor wet themselves, no one cares, which is fine with me, not too many stares, people tend to leave me be in Asia, not that they are not curious, the younger ones will check me out, tv boy, americano, that urban myth who has taken journey across their lands like Marco Polo, well, why not, having some fun now after getting through that high fever sickness four days ago, feels like an eternity, let's hear it for the miracles of 7-11 convenience stores and satellite television, there was a time that all the buddhist statues in the country could have not brought me back, but luckily the healing power of eastern meditation saved the day.

Just trying to write about the first week right now jotting stuff down but taking in all the traffic passing me out my window, the action has its ebb and flow, so if that gets tame, there are always the passengers who for the most part are off in their own personal bubbleecs filled with Thai dialouge of which I am very nonproficent, learned to say Happy New Year in Thai as well as I am Thai too, this went over a storm with the locals on New Year's Eve who adopted me as their own son, native son, my land, Thailand, off in the distance their is the occasional Buddha statue and one that had to be 50 meters or so way off into the mountainous horizon, as if peering over the ridge to see what the locals down below were up to at the moment, in his illustrious golden presence taking stock of the human race where ideals met with reality, something to ponder even for the likes of Buddha. Tons of Wats, places of prayer, have talked about them earlier, but in this small glimpse of something I am writing spontaneously, a brief description, golden spiral cone shape buildings painted gold, there are actual prayer temples you can go inside filled with Buddhists statues in various poses and forms representing various aspects of the Buddishts culture, example, there is one that is lying down, another has six arms, and another still is standing with hands clasps, there is most familiar with Buddha sitting in the lotus position, will find tons of the those in the souvenier shops throughout the country. Have to take your shoes off once inside the temple, don't show the bottoms of your feet or touch the head of the Buddha statues, in fact don't touch them at all, serious no no, all that land of smiles stuff they talk about will go out the window, easier to stay in the back, kneel to the ground with feet tucked in behind you and have your piece with the gods, leaving some money for the monks never hurts and a bit of water with food for the gods and ancestors goes a long way here, a sign of respect, people are connected with their past here, their relatives long gone, but some how still by their side in the afterlife or whatever people care to call it. Ancestor worship is huge in most of Asia I have been through which is nearly all of it, incense, long whispered talks in Thai, hands clasped, searching for inner peace in a world seeking to smash it to bit any chance it gets, so the mood is very deep in the prayer temple, serious, yet humble at the same time, where families pray together as the father has a brief conversation with the senior monk of the temple, in their bright saffron, (yellow/orangish) robes, don't think it is mandatory to serve as a monk unless you are in the upper class, royalty, or some other established social enclave, just my observation, but the buddhist culture is everywhere from the postcards of the lead monk of Thailand pinned to the bus driver's sun visor to the random sporadic mini temples lining the yards of almost anybody who can afford to buy them with constant burning of incense, complemented with the previous above mention objects>

The religious nature of the country might be pronounce but it is does not feel forced, almost the opposition, like hey if you want to check this out fine, this is our deal, we embrace our beliefs, feel free to have your own, but if you so desire, step inside the temple and have your time with the elders, no pressure. I have always been a fan of eastern religion anyway, better fit for my mental state, does not mean it is absolute but in most of my travels I have found religion to be a big conduit into understanding the people, the culture, and the historical framework of a nation whether I was in Africa, Europe, or South East Asia, insight is what it is all about, cause at the end of it all, fucking postcards, photos, and blurred out memories are not going to cut it, they are worth something, not much, but something, it are those smaller moments like this one, sitting on this train, reflecting in the calm seas of rememberance, being in those temples was like a stranger, an orphan finding shelter on the stormiest of nights, somewhere I could take down the shield and weaponary of living in the rat race of modern western civilization, some days I can't take it, but knowing I have experience the global wonders of such places like those prayer temples and people, the omniscient gods, and monks, all the faith, powerful energy, holistic, redefining, pilgrimage like, this is what I have taken with me, as my allied, friend, and confidant, this stranger in a strange land, unafraid of all the mystery ahead in the next three weeks, I shall come out the other end of all this epic adventure, changed forever, different, increasing my inability to process my surroundings back home, where everything feels fucked up and worthless, as I live on dollars a day here in Thailand, could I do that back home, jeez a beer costs four bucks, have to cut that out, drugs, no no in Thailand, fine can do without them anyway, for the best, even though I honked down some coke in a bathroom in Bangkok, slight memory of doing that, probably have discussed it in more detail earlier, why get off track, back to the train and the outdoors passing me by.

People getting on and off at every stop, not a local train that tends to stop at every stop, no matter how unpopulated the area might be, which can last forever, can be quite a test, easy on the pocket book, think this trip cost maybe 3 dollars US, very affordable way to get around the country, nationalized for the general public, thankfully this train is an express, so it only stops at the bigger towns, does not mean much, the train blew through towns in a matter of minutes, pull in, stop, unboard, board, then whistle and off we go to the next town, where a new set of women sell their goods, drinks in heavy plastic containers filled with ice, these women must have arms of steel and the calm nature of course outside all the shouting, like a circus carney, I get a bottle of water, cost Ten Baht, something like a quarter, crack open the top, take a sip and fall back into the writing

Lom Sak, got here and like most countries in the world connecting forms of transportation do not always on the same side of town, of course no one let me in on that small matter, have to communicate with the locals, brush up on my Thai language guide book, then let it rip, the biggest obstacle is overcoming the embarrasment, self imposed of course, of sounding like I am screwing up the dialouge, yet ever time local Thais will compliment me on my form, even if they do get a big laugh at my wording, go with it, they do, have to figure out if I can take the local bus which is much cheaper than, the tuk tuk's, which are basically motorcycle taxis who work in legion together to charge the tourist the maximum amount possible, though outside of Bangkok, the tuk tuk drivers have not been too bad, tourist sites exempt, forget it there, they just line up and wait for the hot sweaty anglo euro tourists to form a que to get out of the heat and into an air conditioned bar where there is beer and soft drinks awaiting their arrival. After a bit more questioning with the local train station information personel, a kind lady puts me on board a local city bus heading toward the out of town bus station, completely seperated from the local bus station that is in three different parts of town, only to make things more confusing so this is the time I have to roll with it and trust in the knowledge of others, the bus driver has my back, while tossing my travel gear in the back with all the other bags, sacks of rice, as well as the lonely farm animal, not much to Lom Sak that I can recall, except taking a long fifteen minute journey a city of mopeds, small cars, and children giving me the once over as I hang out the window taking in all the nieghborhood streets, sidewalk vendors or produce, meats, and durable goods, locals diving into the bazaar area with Thai Baht in hand, searching for that perfect carp or green onion, maybe even a piglet or set of socks, plenty of cellphone shops, use to puzzle me before I had international service with my current phone carrier in the states, how readily communication was for everyone in no what third or fourth world country I might be in, what a laugh, here was myself, phoneless, could have bought a local phone, but just did not want to deal with all the encryptic nature of understanding the native tongue in order to figure out how to dial a hostel in the northern part of whatever country I happened to be in at the time, so as all the other UK/Euro tourists walked around on their mobile phones, I could only communicate via email yet not having a cellphone for six weeks was not too bad back then, but today, my work claws at me, being your own boss, means you have to answer the phone,even if it is on a beach in Southern Thailand, chillin on the Nile, or in the mountains of the Andes, global economy plays no favorites, be there, be ready, and if I happen to be abroad, well see you in a couple of weeks.

Everyone looks to be getting off the bus, sure feels like a bus station, thankfully the words are in Thai and English unless, might as well be in Russia, yet, have acquired a small grasp on Cyrillic lately, anyway grab my bag, say thanks in Thai to bus driver, he tells me, I am welcome and points off toward a set of white cubicles enclosed in plexiglass that seemed to be doubling as mini travel agencies representing various bus companies throughout the country, some are a bit more than the others, just depends what level of comfort you are will to accept and what I mean by that is, there are air con buses with plush comfortable seats that recline with very little other people on the bus and on the other side of the spectrum there are the non air con buses with wooden seats piled right on top of each other, where I can barely fit my knees into the sitting area have to put my back under my feet while three other people squash in next to me, of course it is uncomfortable and the ride feels like an eternity, sometimes that is the only bus heading in the current direction, so I have to suck it up and get close with the others, at least until the DVD karoke machine is turned on, sort of their version of our movies on an airplane even though it seems stateside airlines are doing away with onboard movies unless you want to pay for them, so be it. The locals are captivated with the karaoke DVD's like a mellow MTV2 music video show, melodramatic, always involving some guy who has lost his woman or longs to be with her seperated by some unfathomable circumstances as he pleades to the gods to be reunited with her and once in a while the wish is granted, mostly it is the guy next to some lake or river, maybe even in a lush palacial estate next to his Mercedes Benz and who says American culture as not rubbed off in a beneficial way. The women have their say in the music video too, but tends to circle around a man who is out of her social caste or has meandered off into a wondering way with another woman, of course she is the last to find out, yet isn't that like life, insert ironic humor here. Well it is something for the masses to keep them entertained and me focused on the road, besides the karaoke, there are the comedy DVD's that tend to have a greater hold on the bus passengers, if they had to have their choice, put on the comedy DVD, the constant chatter in Thai can really test my patience, only for the fact the dialouge is always exaggerated like the action, sort of where the Three Stooges meets The Office with a bit of America's Got Talent on the side. The main theme always seems to be the drunk husband with the dominant wife, who is always getting on the husband's case for drinking his life and money away with his friends, somehow, one of the guys always ends up cross dressing, related to the husband in a friend like way, not sexual, who knows, lost in translation, either way, pretty soon the old rolling pen starts getting a workout on the guys while the cross dresser eggs the wife on, there you go, pretty much every comedy I have ever seen while in South East Asia, should be thankful I have saved you countless hours scouring the internet to supplant my brief discriptions with a full onslaught of bizarre natured behavior mixed in with the random band or beauty/talent contest, the karaoke is worse, but of course being in film and television, I can spend time techinically breaking down the music videos, a few are well produce, while a others are not much different than those cut your face in or green screen booths that have you sailing on a magic carpet across the strip then the Grand Canyon.

Not too long of journey today, so should be able to get into Phitsanulok before sundown, the ruins are about another hour outside the city by bus, standard route for tourist, most just stay in Phi Lok as it is know to the locals others bus it all the way from Lom Sak depends on what you can tolerate in the accomodation department which varies city to city, town to town, or remote inlet to remote inlet, some place have four star deluxe accomodation for quite a reasonable price, maybe less than 20 US, what might cost a couple hundred in the states, view, hot water, that is a big one, three weeks of cold showers can be trying, turns a person into a real polar bear, run right through Glacier Bay, no problem, shrinkage, not worried about that either, just get under the water, let out that first exhale of shock and clean up. I have fairly solid accomodations according to my travel guide, won't get into the travel too extensively, use it as a compass that is about it, in other travels, leaned on it way too much ended up becoming my cross throughout the entire trip when I could not proper interpet the book, the language phrases, and various other inaccurate bits that left me at times in the middle of nowhere with no clue on what to do next, but that is part of the reason for traveling, is it not?

More Teak homes, two lane road, driver like all bus drivers across the globle have an inherent genetic disposition to put everyone's life at risk at all times possible, use to it now, don't even notice all the near misses and roadside fatalities in our wake, why worry, we have pictures of the King of Thailand and Head Buddhists Monk taped to the front windshields, we are in good karmatic company, this is what we do, tread on the thin wire with no fear of tomorrow, the unknown, and all invisible enemy forces not far off in the distance, we are protected, usual bunch of local travelers, a couple of other Euro tourist who are digesting the trip like myselff in their own personal way, chill time now, have to force myself to take notes in small notes books that fit in my shirt pocket thought they might come in handy when I sat down to write about the trip but of course all my stufff is in storage, including those notebook, so have to free style the story line probably missing all sorts of stuff, yet from what I can recall up to Phi Lok was nothing more than putting in some time on the road, transportation and hopefully sleep take up most of my trip time, depending on how much travel time alloted at the begginning of the adventure as well as how much I am willing to spend on transportation, then factor in lastly that not every location is accessible by all means of bus, car, plane, train, or by foot, there are some places in South East Asia that even Gengis Khan would not attempt to venture toward, just for the fact that when the moonsoon season hits and the dirt roads turn to mud or flood plains, possibly even lakes that some places cannot be reach, such places exist on the border of Thailand and Cambodia, 13 hour jaw smashing, spin crushing knee knockers that have your head bouncing like a bobblehead, non stop, to see some old wat in the middle of nowhere surrounded on everyside like landmines where enemy factions of Thailand and Cambodian armies fight for the rights to this turf that the UN has given to one side, but guns rule the land here, no one is moving an inch, so here come the tourists, wow, gunplay, interesting, wondering who is winning, without the least bit of care, hey let's go check out that abandoned 100mm caliber gun turret I saw in the photobook, if for nothing else just to say you took the trip and have been their, where you can feel cool with other insane travelers who have undertaken the exact journey, swapping humorous stories of pain, frustration, and amazement, a pretty exclusive club, a bit snobbish I admit, still a whole lot of fun, nothing more than another wavelength that some people get and some others don't, yet the ones that do, I never forget.

Phi Lok afternoon, the main heart of the city located near a river, just like so many others in , just run this country, after countless laps around my hotel for the night, there is not much to the city in terms of commerce, only run down buildings with fading paint and half finished roofs, locals wandering the avenues, little kiosks shops selling plastic goods from the lands of China, dinnerware, stuffed animals, so many of the buildings already looked closed for the day or maybe they open at night, night market here is big, maybe because so many people work outside of the local Phi Lok area, find my hotel, multistory place with western amenities such as a snack bar with various little goodies I have come to take for granted in such international chain hotels, but never find interest in consuming, today will be no different, need some time to lay down, get all that travel out of my system, the constant idea of being lost at all times with nothing but internal compass to guide me on my way toward the next destination. It can get quite nerve racking, knowing so little Thai langauge, dealing with tourist touts who only want to take your money and having the general feeling of being nothing more than an ATM machine to the masses of commerce oriented business people who follow me like some capitalistic messiah.

Nothing of the sort here, desire to see this land without being molested for my spending cash, the reality is this will never entirely go away, but while in the midlands away from the large cities the hassle does not resonate so much, can almost walk around town with taxi drivers hassling me for tours of places that I have mapped out long ago. Only thing left to do now is clean up, lay down till sunset, and then take a look around. Night time moped fever, popular choice of teens who are compelled by the same motives as all teens who can afford such things, which is to detail their mopeds Pimp My Ride style with all sorts of additions, rare paint colors, and American skate stickers, all in the quest to get laid, mopeds lined up by the hundreds on a Saturday night, I guess, really have no idea what day it is anymore, gave up caring, the city is empty for the most part outside the influx of teens driving around tonight, small park off to the side lit up in kilometers of Christmas style lights, a picture of the king in the middle of the carnival like lights, no one in the park except a few old couples moving into some unknown direction, been told there are some food spots down by the river, whose base is a few hundred feet below my current location, high end restuarants line the lower parts of the river as if to offer up some sort of exclusive dining experience not found elsewhere in the country, way too dark to find my way down there from this side of the river, there is a paved road on the other side yet not ready for the haggle throwdown with the local taxi drivers, decide to walk down the river a bit further, yet nothing much more than the typical overpriced tourist oriented food places who get mostly out of towners ready to get overcharged for mediocre food, plenty of bars with the same idea, moody, karaoke blasting out the doors, not a soul in sight, opt to head down some of the unexplored streets in town, find a place where all the locals are eating and of course it turns out to be one of the best dining experiences of the trip. I like to case the local places first, see what they are eating, get some ideas, then take a seat, service always tends to be casual, yet friendly, prices always affordable, nothing more than a card table, a plastic chair in what looks to be an old bus station, now merely a series of food stall of various food vendors, set in a lime green haze, part paint, part light, almost feel at home, can relax, have a beer, look around at all the other locals enjoying their meals with friends and family, large bowls of soups, noodle, fresh vegetables, cans of soda, some black and white television playing in the background.

Get my mind started on what exactly I need to have ready for the trip to the Sukothai region that served as a former capital back in the 13th and 14th century, the remains constist of mostly Buddha statues, Wats, and other historical buildings set in a region of lakes. Flip through the guidebook a bit to find out what is worth taking in, looks like the easiest way to get around is by bike, the bus ride a solid two hours, of course, need to catch a local bus to the out of town bus station, after finishing my meal I do some recon in order to figure out where to catch the local bus, hit the night market on my way, check out all the various foods for sell on mini metal carts like those of hot dog vendors or taco salesman, nothing to fancy just plenty of great smells and exotic looking dishes, a couple things worth trying from insects to fresh seafood that in no way appeared to be edible, but tasted delicious, there is not enough time to take in all the people milling around, the burning cooking oil, food smells, small children running past me on either side as their parents busy themselves filling orders, vegetables spread out like artists pallet, no in more than a square block, all the action is going down here, plenty of picnic style sitting to relax, enjoy some food, then look around at all the local fruit, weird shaped things that look more like mutated hybrids, all I could do was walk around, get a fruit shake with all these unfamiliar fruits inside and enjoy the pure sugar rush to the brain, while other people, ripped apart pieces of freshly fried duck, chicken or any other animal too slow to run from the butcher's blade.

Turning in early tonight, no much night life in this town outside the night marker and they usually wrap things up around`12a, just beer drinking type of stuff, no discotechs, not what I am looking for out here, heading out for the historical trip thing this early in the adventure, takes a few solid weeks of historical artifacts before it becomes to do something different, ranging from big city night life to a remote jungle hideout with nothing more to do than wake up, walk down the river, bathe, then sit out in the sun all day. Try not to watch television even though this place has all the channels for western entertainment, maybe catch up in the sports department but not for now, have to get up real early to get out to Sukothai by 10am, then hike around 3 to 4 hours, much more time than that in the sun, starts to make my stupid, brain overheats, become too lethargic, should be able to see all the main artifacts in that window.

Free breakfast down in the lobby, have to store my gear, cause I am taking a late bus out of Phi Lok to Lom Sak,, then onto Khon Kean was hoping to get near the Laos border within the next couple of days to save some time, plan on treking through most of Laos, starting in Vientiane all way down to the southern border with Cambodia that follows the might Mekong River, but for now put down the Thai version of breakfast, consisting of rice, a few other local dishes, there is the americano style breakfast too with cereal, eggs, and bacon, but none of it looks edible and getting food poisoning or diarehha on the road is all too real of an incident, better to play it safe, go with what the locals can handle, off for the bus station not soon after, climb on board, offer up my ticket, then go to sleep for a while, if only to speed up the process of arrive at Sukothai.

Sports show on the movie player this time, bores me, back to sleep, other people get into the show, people begin to board the bus more frequently as the final destination of the bus is some larger city a few more hours past Sukothai. At the end of all the driving in an attempt to sort of figure out where I would get off, v ery little information came to my attention, almost got off at the wrong bus stop onto another bus, someone must have figured out I had no idea where I was headed and quickly steered me back to the original bus, not too sure, just got back on board even after everyone else had exited the bus, paralysis nearly sets in, only cure, go grab some snack in the food shop, then stand around a bit, take in the outpost in the midst of nowhere, pretty much where I like to be even if it seems paranoia and frustration ooze from my pours, this is due to the lack of control, unless my Thai langauge mastery improved a million fold, don't think it would matter much, this is still rural Thailand, more livestock and rice fields than human activity today, nothing more than a few folks passing between town, relatives, and possibly jobs. Already hot today, humid somewhat from all the water around us. End up at a bus stop on the side of a dirt road, ultra mega bike shop to my right as the bus takes off toward nowhere, here I am, is this it? Appears to be a some old buildings in the distance, Sukothai is not really a place one can walk around the buildings and ancient sites are spread throughout grounds, well made for tourist buses and the alternate bike riders who don't mind the sun and the exercise, most of the Euro tourists opt for the bus tour, not much more than driving a lap track full of old historical buildings, the buses keep moving offering only moments of rest where commerce is involved, insert here, snack shops and souvenier stands. My first hurdle is negotiating a rate for the next few hours in getting a bicycle, there are hundreds of them and no matter how much, some assistant from the back comes out and preps the bike as if it was emerging from the racing pits of an overpaid high end mechanical crew, the ride always has some sort of defect, the perpetually lowering seat, unloosened handlebars, and failing any of the other trappings like flat tires, busted chains, or bent rims, within a matter of thirty minutes my tailbone will have gone completely numb from all the dirt roads, rock piles, and the general force of gravity pushing down on a seat made from steel springs and no padding.

Getting past all that I get some general directions, heading out with a couple other people, company is never to bad, have my own pace, but why not hang about, start down the road with a very narrow shoulder and a high rate of cars that aim for me like any sort of potential road kill making its way down the side of a highway, of course the grounds are on the otherside of the road, at least the entrance, one way in, one way out, which commences in a head on run toward a series of oncoming tourists buses with vengeful drivers who have nothing but anger in their hearts, leaning ever so subtly into the bicycle lane, if there even is such a thing out here, mopeds, forgot about them, they'll squeeze you off into the dirt too to keep from being plowed down by the buses and the large truck, demolition derby at its finest, nothing left to do but pedal for my life, look forward, and go for self, which puts me some distance from the others, fine, better to hang about on my own, get to the gate, where the guards, want to check everything from my passport to color of underwear, they need something to do, then point me over to the tourist ticket office where they charge me ten times as much as the locals to enter the park, afterward I have to go back, let the guards stamp my tickets, keep everything official channels, just in case there is a massive invasion upon the Sukothai grounds, must be these two knuckleheads, looking to work out on me a bit, cause their job gives them that kind of opportunity, over it, soon enough on my bike riding toward some statue of note, nothing really of historical value, serves as a marker to find all the other buildings, have to watch from all angles when riding by bike here, the mopeds, cars, and buses, yield to no one at best I am a victim here, nothing more, why get excited about, take some arty photos of the statue covered in some blossoming pinkish flowers, then head off toward a series of buildings that served as royal headquarters or some various religious temple, most of the sites have been leveled quite a bit, merely skeletons their former glory, destroyed by invading armies over the centuries that came in and leveled the city into rubble over successive generations, most of the Buddha statues have been worn away from history, erosion, or general vandalism, rows of faceless, limbless, stone carvings, a tore up army of eternity struggling for recognition, but in comparison to other former capitial cities Sukothai is in better condition, probably due to all the surrounding water.

Here are a few photos of some Buddhas:

The photos give a better feeling of just how enormous everything in the old Sukothai capital was built, made for Buddhist divinity, no mistaking the large amount of renovation, competely necessary though may make for quite the overall feel of antiquity at least Thailand cared enough about its history to attempt to preserve some of it, many other countries have faired quite poorly in this department, a majority of the statues had the saffron colored robes on them, plenty of tributes, incense, and various forms of praise laid all about the statues, no matter how badly some of the smaller Buddha statues had been damaged, there had been effort to reinstate the Sukothai ruins to its original state, broken arms, heads, toros were piled up to various rows of statues lining the larger more prominate Buddhists monuments, sort of like a maze of artifacts.

The above photos were the most intact ruins, things started to thin out into smaller areas, more rundown locations that turned into not much more than a casual ride down dirt paths under large trees covering the small lakes below.

Hope the pictures add a bit, writing this material now over a year ago without my notes has been quite a challenge, nothing really intense here except the antiquity and history of the grand Thai culture that feels as isolated as the region must have felt centuries ago, longer, to the point where the Kingdoms of this period stretched in the countries of Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, and Burma, the migration of the Buddhists religion which seems to have quite a few similarities to the Hindu religion that is just my opinion. It was real easy to get lost out here in this former capital, of course, have to get around the tourist nature of this excursion, of something to see, something to do, and experience to be stacked up against many other experiences in this country and beyond, but getting out here to Sukothai in the first place sums up a lot of what I am about, consisting of moving beyond comfortable travel parameters, seeing what all the various cultures add to in the overall culmination of the human race, and finally to remove myself from the safe comfortable womb of American culture, this experiement on myself, brings plenty of times where I am not sure what to do next, comfortable hardly, but continuously intrigued of my surroudings, no doubt, my main motivator to continue forward, no matter how far from reality things might get, there is always something on the other end, another fellow traveler, another half drunken bus ride, or unique piece of life that allows me to adjust, enjoy, and embrace the cultures of the world, a far more rewarding experience than most people of this planet get to enjoy.

Street Spirit

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






The Tele-Marathon

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



Too Much Hot Sauce

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


Through Being Cool?

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