Slept in 'til noon today. For once I wasn't goaded into the day by a coughing jag that demanded I get vertical to quell it. I pulled some presents out of a plastic bag that had been delivered surreptitiously by Ambra from her mom.
With my breath, face, and voice still in morning mode I told Julienne that I saw some fat guy leaving the house last night when I came stumbling down from Ritchies stoned on triptiphane and THC. I told her I thought Grizz had returned, but figured it wasn't Grizz because he didn't howl. I said he must of left this stuff here and then I gave it to her.
Then I called sister. We had plans to go to a matinee and spend the rest of the day in the theatre copping free movies. I made a couple of egg sandwiches and grabbed a couple of sodas and hit the road.
Life Aquatic: Bill Murray and crew deliver flawless flaws in a subtle comedy that didn't pander to the lowest common denominator. Excellent directing. Two thumbs up.
The Lemony Snicket flick: A series of situations that allows Jim Carey to show off some of his physical comedy gags. Panders to tweens that are certain that all adults are either bumbling or evil. Obviously and unashamedly derivative. Wait for video release.
The Fockers: a paycheck for some actors that needed a gig this quarter to keep the Blue Cross insurance current. It did pander to the lowest common denominator. DeNiro and crew would do well to observe Johnny Depp and see what an actor that consciously chooses projects looks like. Then they could study him and method act their way back into the realm of artistic integrity. The director was asleep or is a sadist that gets a kick out of further dulling the cognitive functions of the paying audience. Glad I didn't pay.
There. I just threw my hat into the movie critic blog ring. Being a critic evokes my most brutal honesty. I like it, but am unnerved by the karmic tremors I feel dopplering off every time I mock the people that I once aspired to be like. A wave to ride later.
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Mercury is no longer in retrograde...
At least that's what I heard. From a source I don't recall... So I don't know the validity or veracity of this bit of inf. However, I'm acting as if this were true and relevant to my life condition. Because of this, my witness self seems to perceive (metaphorically) a waning of a shadow that has been dimming my cognition.
So, I feel better. A bit of relief, really. Also picked up an eighth tonight; that helps heaps.
And on this line I had hoped to write something profound, that would bring this whole entry into a radiating sphere of poetic cohesion
At least that's what I heard. From a source I don't recall... So I don't know the validity or veracity of this bit of inf. However, I'm acting as if this were true and relevant to my life condition. Because of this, my witness self seems to perceive (metaphorically) a waning of a shadow that has been dimming my cognition.
So, I feel better. A bit of relief, really. Also picked up an eighth tonight; that helps heaps.
And on this line I had hoped to write something profound, that would bring this whole entry into a radiating sphere of poetic cohesion
Thursday, December 16, 2004
Eh...
Rockstar Nation.
Rockstar Nation.
Superstar on the world stage for a page or two in the book of evolution.
High on our own press
Stoned on state of the art pharmaceuticles
Economic blow jobs from corporate groupies
that have posters of the 50's plastered across the lenses of their perceptions
Rockstar Nation
Rapid morphing of a national personae
analogous of Elvis:
the Young Rebel Elvis
Pop Star Elvis
King of Pop Elvis
Vegas Karate Elvis
Fat Pill Popping Armed and Dangerous Volitile Chicken and Jelly Doughnut Eating Burnout Elvis
America has become that Fat Armed and Dangerous Burnout Elvis
A has-been still riding high on what was
As the buzz of the New and Improved Rockstar Nation
starts a vibration that shakes the Earth to the core
The Next Big Thing
The Company wants to bank on the Next Big Thing
The Label finds new pastures with cheap labor
and that look in the eye that says "I will Dominate!"
China will take our best riffs and make then their own
turn their citizens into good consumers
A Super Power without the unwieldy onus of an ostensibly free public
A Rockstar Nation of Billions instead of Millions.
As a has-been America sits on the can
As a has-been America sits on the can
sequined jumpsuit around the ankles
eating chicken and popping pills
yelling at the TV
and reaching for the gun
I watched TV for several hours tonight at my sisters.
I've felt less guilty for drinking excessive amounts of alchohol, dropping acid, or masturbating excessively. The madness stuns me. This brutal media experiment on the minds of the past few generations has turned a fantastic and noble species into a kind of livestock for obscure vampires. We are called citizens, or people, or Americans far less often than we are called consumers. I am so dumbstruck by the audacity of this programming that I just stare in disbelief at the extent to which we humans endure this demeaning marginalization of the finer qualities of the species. If the TV is on and we are viewing, submitting our minds to the insidious pandering of the Sponsors to our most primitive capacities, we are passively allowing ourselves to be defined by these base media steroids. We are complicit addicts to a mind warping media diet. My compassion for the species falls under the shadow of my outrage over our idiocy and lazyness. And I walk away thinking: we are lost, hopeless, entranced by a cheesy mesmerist that siphons off our souls into I don't know what.
The image of the fat Elvis haunts me.
I've felt less guilty for drinking excessive amounts of alchohol, dropping acid, or masturbating excessively. The madness stuns me. This brutal media experiment on the minds of the past few generations has turned a fantastic and noble species into a kind of livestock for obscure vampires. We are called citizens, or people, or Americans far less often than we are called consumers. I am so dumbstruck by the audacity of this programming that I just stare in disbelief at the extent to which we humans endure this demeaning marginalization of the finer qualities of the species. If the TV is on and we are viewing, submitting our minds to the insidious pandering of the Sponsors to our most primitive capacities, we are passively allowing ourselves to be defined by these base media steroids. We are complicit addicts to a mind warping media diet. My compassion for the species falls under the shadow of my outrage over our idiocy and lazyness. And I walk away thinking: we are lost, hopeless, entranced by a cheesy mesmerist that siphons off our souls into I don't know what.
The image of the fat Elvis haunts me.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Busted. My number came up.
Today while canvasing for plumaria trees I was pulled over by a cop in Aina Hina. He was stern and not very friendly. I told him I didn't have insurance or current registration, and he saw that my safety inspection was expired. I asked him if he could give me a little break. He told me to go sit in the car. After he punched my name in he walked around his car polishing specs off his chrome and glass listening through the window to the radio. After a while, while still facing his car and polishing his glass, he called me over, told me I had an outstanding violation. He asked me if I knew about that. No, I said. He handed me back my liscense and told me to take care of it, then got in a pulled off.
I drove away a little stunned and thought about how much I liked the Honolulu Police Department. They are so much more humane here I thought to myself as I marveled at my good fortune.
Tonight I had dinner at Cee and Jessicas. He invited me over to meet his parents (He originally from Iriguay, she from Costa Rica) visiting from D.C. I was completely charmed by the whole scene. Lots of candles, shrimp and veggie shish kabab, wine, and fluid conversation about nothing in particular. Then smores and chocolate shaped and wrapped like little booze bottles and full of various liquers.
When time for me to go, Cee came with for the ride to my sisters, where I needed to pick up an invoice before she slept. I was telling Cee about my near miss with the police earlier in the day when a cop appeared at an intersection. I passed it and another cop came over the hill and passed me. I took my next right and the cop followed. I turned into what looked to be an apartment complex and parked and the cop passed. We sat for a minuite. When I pulled back out the cop was parked on the side of the road, waiting. I passed it, it pulled me over. The cop that passed on the hill pulled in as well. thre cops circled my truck and two simultaneously interviewed Cee and me. My cop looked nice enough, big blue open eyes, Brazillian accent. I tried to ask for a break but he shrugged uncomfortably and nodded toward the other cops, a third cruiser pulling in to check out the scene. Ok. So after the other two cars left, the officer returned, with his partner behind him. Tickets for insurance and registration, but they let me go on the safety. I turned to the shadow officer and aked him if they would have come back for me if I had not pulled back out. Yep, he said, he had already seen my year expired tags and know from eight years on the beat that my truck didn't belong there. Ah. Ok. Got me. he lightened up a bit and officer blue eyes seemed a little less nervous. They made it clear that they didn't want to ticket me, but I chimed in and said that I know, it's their job, no hard feelings on my part, we all live in the same neighborhood, I don't need any enemies. I cruised for a year, saving more in insurance and tags than I would pay for the fine tonight(I pray). They have their game, I have mine: Cheers to the games we play.
I love my life and my work, though I haven't made it a priority to make them copacetic with the state power/insurance juggernaut.
As I was getting the tickets I thought, this is small in the scheme of things. I can take this opportunity to get to know more people from my community. I'm here for a while. Ticket or not, there was no reason to be rude, surly or poor-me-baby like. Th Brazillian officer seemed so relieved when he didn't have to deal with me making faces and sounds designed to make him feel bad for the economic slap he just gave me. It made me feel good to not make him feel bad. We both made impressions on each other tonight. They were more profound than the tickets.
I gave them both Monkey Works cards with the by line "Don't Be Afraid to Grow" at the top. I dropped a meme on them I thought as I drove away.
Talked with Cee about guerilla theatre concepts. Like some stuff that came up.
Tired now. Will sleep. Deal with life again in the morning.
Today while canvasing for plumaria trees I was pulled over by a cop in Aina Hina. He was stern and not very friendly. I told him I didn't have insurance or current registration, and he saw that my safety inspection was expired. I asked him if he could give me a little break. He told me to go sit in the car. After he punched my name in he walked around his car polishing specs off his chrome and glass listening through the window to the radio. After a while, while still facing his car and polishing his glass, he called me over, told me I had an outstanding violation. He asked me if I knew about that. No, I said. He handed me back my liscense and told me to take care of it, then got in a pulled off.
I drove away a little stunned and thought about how much I liked the Honolulu Police Department. They are so much more humane here I thought to myself as I marveled at my good fortune.
Tonight I had dinner at Cee and Jessicas. He invited me over to meet his parents (He originally from Iriguay, she from Costa Rica) visiting from D.C. I was completely charmed by the whole scene. Lots of candles, shrimp and veggie shish kabab, wine, and fluid conversation about nothing in particular. Then smores and chocolate shaped and wrapped like little booze bottles and full of various liquers.
When time for me to go, Cee came with for the ride to my sisters, where I needed to pick up an invoice before she slept. I was telling Cee about my near miss with the police earlier in the day when a cop appeared at an intersection. I passed it and another cop came over the hill and passed me. I took my next right and the cop followed. I turned into what looked to be an apartment complex and parked and the cop passed. We sat for a minuite. When I pulled back out the cop was parked on the side of the road, waiting. I passed it, it pulled me over. The cop that passed on the hill pulled in as well. thre cops circled my truck and two simultaneously interviewed Cee and me. My cop looked nice enough, big blue open eyes, Brazillian accent. I tried to ask for a break but he shrugged uncomfortably and nodded toward the other cops, a third cruiser pulling in to check out the scene. Ok. So after the other two cars left, the officer returned, with his partner behind him. Tickets for insurance and registration, but they let me go on the safety. I turned to the shadow officer and aked him if they would have come back for me if I had not pulled back out. Yep, he said, he had already seen my year expired tags and know from eight years on the beat that my truck didn't belong there. Ah. Ok. Got me. he lightened up a bit and officer blue eyes seemed a little less nervous. They made it clear that they didn't want to ticket me, but I chimed in and said that I know, it's their job, no hard feelings on my part, we all live in the same neighborhood, I don't need any enemies. I cruised for a year, saving more in insurance and tags than I would pay for the fine tonight(I pray). They have their game, I have mine: Cheers to the games we play.
I love my life and my work, though I haven't made it a priority to make them copacetic with the state power/insurance juggernaut.
As I was getting the tickets I thought, this is small in the scheme of things. I can take this opportunity to get to know more people from my community. I'm here for a while. Ticket or not, there was no reason to be rude, surly or poor-me-baby like. Th Brazillian officer seemed so relieved when he didn't have to deal with me making faces and sounds designed to make him feel bad for the economic slap he just gave me. It made me feel good to not make him feel bad. We both made impressions on each other tonight. They were more profound than the tickets.
I gave them both Monkey Works cards with the by line "Don't Be Afraid to Grow" at the top. I dropped a meme on them I thought as I drove away.
Talked with Cee about guerilla theatre concepts. Like some stuff that came up.
Tired now. Will sleep. Deal with life again in the morning.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Trade winds blowing like mad.
Feet are cold. Up early to hike to the waterfall today. Fixed the water line fairly quickly. Walking back in the morning sun I felt grateful to be here. Glad to be alive again. Paused to soak in the trees swaying on the mountain, the gnarled old koa with the banyan parasites, the stream running full, the dog that is my friend. Emoted gratitude to and for all of it.
I considered the state of the nation that I live in. It is falling, undoubtedly. Buckling under the weight of its delirious good fortune. Like a roman candle, brilliant but brief. Rockstar nation burning out. Overdosed. Going out like Elvis, fat and armed to the teeth. Over run by addiction and parasitic economic groupies. China will recycle us, take our best riffs and capitalize on the trends we set. Like we did to Europe. Now maybe we can go back to being humans, instead of Trade Marked Americans.
One day we will laugh at all this. The immature and flatulent media covering posturing arrogant stars of the left and right coasts. I think it's funny now, only because I am not heavily invested in it. I know how to take cold showers and I've given up most of my addictions. I can live without TV and cigarettes and marijuana and the myth of security. Does your insurance cover falling nations?
Feet are cold. Up early to hike to the waterfall today. Fixed the water line fairly quickly. Walking back in the morning sun I felt grateful to be here. Glad to be alive again. Paused to soak in the trees swaying on the mountain, the gnarled old koa with the banyan parasites, the stream running full, the dog that is my friend. Emoted gratitude to and for all of it.
I considered the state of the nation that I live in. It is falling, undoubtedly. Buckling under the weight of its delirious good fortune. Like a roman candle, brilliant but brief. Rockstar nation burning out. Overdosed. Going out like Elvis, fat and armed to the teeth. Over run by addiction and parasitic economic groupies. China will recycle us, take our best riffs and capitalize on the trends we set. Like we did to Europe. Now maybe we can go back to being humans, instead of Trade Marked Americans.
One day we will laugh at all this. The immature and flatulent media covering posturing arrogant stars of the left and right coasts. I think it's funny now, only because I am not heavily invested in it. I know how to take cold showers and I've given up most of my addictions. I can live without TV and cigarettes and marijuana and the myth of security. Does your insurance cover falling nations?
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Hoo. Boy.
Living on farmers hours these days. Early to bed and early to rise and all that.
Up at 06:45. Clean out a few buckets, throw 'em in the truck, drive down past the gate, but forget my toothbrush. Back up the hill and grab it. Down the drive again past the gate. Forget my phone and notebook. Back up the hill and grab them. Down the hill again and past the gate, and into town. The Sun is perched atop the hill of Waialai Blvd. Driving up and straight into the Sun. I imagine flooring it and jumping through the flaming hoop of a full eclipse. No eclipse today, I am squinting with my hand in front of my eyes dragging an inordinately long shadow behind me.
07:35. Rockstar parking at this early hour. Feed the meter and grab the buckets, enter Coffee Talk. Drop the buckets and order a coffee and bowl of granola, fruit, and yogurt. Take my antibiotics. Grab the full buckets of coffee grinds and off to the dentist. On the way I return a call from yesterday, a guy I met driving down the street in Betty a few weeks ago(he only talked to me because of Betty, wanted to use her to haul some tree trimmings). He wants to buy a tree. Yippie. I had no idea how I was going to pay the dentist today.
08:14. I'm late, but so is the dentist. The good Dr. Is one of the funny dentists, not like the Dr. Tisk-tisk I had far too many years ago. He makes me feel good about my level of neglect. He's seen worse I suppose. I have a host of mouth projects for him; where to start? Somewhere cheap I say. Two fillings and the pulling of a broken molar. I tell him I'm broke, ask if I can pay in the afternoon. Sure, he says with a don't screw me look. The Dr. And nurse are good with the distracting banter that one must master to be a good dentist. Still needs to find a way to include the patient without asking questions though, unless this is some inside dentist joke that they like to play on people. I refuse to attempt answers with the menagerie in my mouth. I just focus on the magic bright dentist light that doesn't burn the eyes. What he lacks in a "professional" demeanor he makes up for in his expeditious technique, a trade-off I am happy with.
09:30. I sit in the truck for a few minutes and work to get my bearings. Blood tinged drool on a quasimoto lip. Nose wants to decongest. I call sis, check in for the morning briefing. Drive back to Coffee Talk to recuperate, drinking cold coffee. Call tree guy, Jordan. He will meet me and follow to farm. I write this:
College radio DJ
informs me that Mercury is in retrograde
Just out of dentist office
a broken tooth pulled
two cavities filled
head feels like a battle field
antibiotics attacking
sinus infection insurgents
Trying not to dribble
fizzing cold medicine
over numb lip
meditative sips
coffee house in Kaimuki
waiting for Kahala home owner
meeting to sell a tree
to pay for teeth
end of year fiscal dredging
money gauze to stop the bleeding
10:45. Drive to the farm. Jordan with a lady feeding my mosquitoes. Show them my trees. They settle on my most impressive pua kenikeni. A fair price for they and I, a dollar five short of the mouth work bill. I smile brighter. They ask if I can plant it for them, then go to pick up compost for the hole. The Poet is planting the Showers. Pay Grey, he helps the Poet. Tree, pick, shovel, saw, stakes, tape, knife loaded and down the hill.
13:00 Coffee Talk for the third time today. Sandwich and lemonade and antibiotics. Talk to Noel. Shining face I won't see this Christmas. She and Shawzy both hopping off this rock in different directions. Tais comps my lunch. Cruise the neighborhood around the golf course looking at landscapes. Listen to NPR. An interview with the big cheese catholic priest of DC. I laugh out loud at the straight face answers. Ludicrous religion. Ludicrous politics. Ludicrous culture. Tragically so. How Nature will show this to the blankly blinking buyers of the scheme I don't know. Though,I imagine the curtains parting for the real deal. Feel the anticipation in the audience, sense the calm before the storm, see the conductor in the orchestra pit readying his baton.
14:00. Dig a hole. Avoid a line. Cut a root. Plant a tree. Sweating profusely. The sickness dripping out of me. Jordan asks questions, senses my situation, asks me to put in more plants soon. Wants more trees. Wants to pay me cash. We make a plan for the weekend. He pays me for the tree, pays me for the planting.
16:30 Pay the Dr. And and marvel at the beauty of this life. Then blow my nose. Go to Kokua and buy Vitamin C, Vitamin E, ginger root and tea. Eat Pizza at Boston's. Talk to Grizz. He feels better about being in South America. His back feels better. He's making friends on the way to Machu Pichu. I buy some more generic robotussin and fluids for the body. Drinking cough syrup from the bottle on the way to the back of the valley. Sun is setting. Kaau crater is wreathed with indistinct clouds.
20:51 Goth Mom delivers dinner to the sniffing writer. The family is up at Ritchies doing laundry. The stream behind the house is raging now. It was quiet when I started writing. The clouds split and a brief but powerful downpour hammered my little shack in the jungle. Water streamed down and around the light socket that illuminates this office. A drop fell from my nose. I continued the prose.
Living on farmers hours these days. Early to bed and early to rise and all that.
Up at 06:45. Clean out a few buckets, throw 'em in the truck, drive down past the gate, but forget my toothbrush. Back up the hill and grab it. Down the drive again past the gate. Forget my phone and notebook. Back up the hill and grab them. Down the hill again and past the gate, and into town. The Sun is perched atop the hill of Waialai Blvd. Driving up and straight into the Sun. I imagine flooring it and jumping through the flaming hoop of a full eclipse. No eclipse today, I am squinting with my hand in front of my eyes dragging an inordinately long shadow behind me.
07:35. Rockstar parking at this early hour. Feed the meter and grab the buckets, enter Coffee Talk. Drop the buckets and order a coffee and bowl of granola, fruit, and yogurt. Take my antibiotics. Grab the full buckets of coffee grinds and off to the dentist. On the way I return a call from yesterday, a guy I met driving down the street in Betty a few weeks ago(he only talked to me because of Betty, wanted to use her to haul some tree trimmings). He wants to buy a tree. Yippie. I had no idea how I was going to pay the dentist today.
08:14. I'm late, but so is the dentist. The good Dr. Is one of the funny dentists, not like the Dr. Tisk-tisk I had far too many years ago. He makes me feel good about my level of neglect. He's seen worse I suppose. I have a host of mouth projects for him; where to start? Somewhere cheap I say. Two fillings and the pulling of a broken molar. I tell him I'm broke, ask if I can pay in the afternoon. Sure, he says with a don't screw me look. The Dr. And nurse are good with the distracting banter that one must master to be a good dentist. Still needs to find a way to include the patient without asking questions though, unless this is some inside dentist joke that they like to play on people. I refuse to attempt answers with the menagerie in my mouth. I just focus on the magic bright dentist light that doesn't burn the eyes. What he lacks in a "professional" demeanor he makes up for in his expeditious technique, a trade-off I am happy with.
09:30. I sit in the truck for a few minutes and work to get my bearings. Blood tinged drool on a quasimoto lip. Nose wants to decongest. I call sis, check in for the morning briefing. Drive back to Coffee Talk to recuperate, drinking cold coffee. Call tree guy, Jordan. He will meet me and follow to farm. I write this:
College radio DJ
informs me that Mercury is in retrograde
Just out of dentist office
a broken tooth pulled
two cavities filled
head feels like a battle field
antibiotics attacking
sinus infection insurgents
Trying not to dribble
fizzing cold medicine
over numb lip
meditative sips
coffee house in Kaimuki
waiting for Kahala home owner
meeting to sell a tree
to pay for teeth
end of year fiscal dredging
money gauze to stop the bleeding
10:45. Drive to the farm. Jordan with a lady feeding my mosquitoes. Show them my trees. They settle on my most impressive pua kenikeni. A fair price for they and I, a dollar five short of the mouth work bill. I smile brighter. They ask if I can plant it for them, then go to pick up compost for the hole. The Poet is planting the Showers. Pay Grey, he helps the Poet. Tree, pick, shovel, saw, stakes, tape, knife loaded and down the hill.
13:00 Coffee Talk for the third time today. Sandwich and lemonade and antibiotics. Talk to Noel. Shining face I won't see this Christmas. She and Shawzy both hopping off this rock in different directions. Tais comps my lunch. Cruise the neighborhood around the golf course looking at landscapes. Listen to NPR. An interview with the big cheese catholic priest of DC. I laugh out loud at the straight face answers. Ludicrous religion. Ludicrous politics. Ludicrous culture. Tragically so. How Nature will show this to the blankly blinking buyers of the scheme I don't know. Though,I imagine the curtains parting for the real deal. Feel the anticipation in the audience, sense the calm before the storm, see the conductor in the orchestra pit readying his baton.
14:00. Dig a hole. Avoid a line. Cut a root. Plant a tree. Sweating profusely. The sickness dripping out of me. Jordan asks questions, senses my situation, asks me to put in more plants soon. Wants more trees. Wants to pay me cash. We make a plan for the weekend. He pays me for the tree, pays me for the planting.
16:30 Pay the Dr. And and marvel at the beauty of this life. Then blow my nose. Go to Kokua and buy Vitamin C, Vitamin E, ginger root and tea. Eat Pizza at Boston's. Talk to Grizz. He feels better about being in South America. His back feels better. He's making friends on the way to Machu Pichu. I buy some more generic robotussin and fluids for the body. Drinking cough syrup from the bottle on the way to the back of the valley. Sun is setting. Kaau crater is wreathed with indistinct clouds.
20:51 Goth Mom delivers dinner to the sniffing writer. The family is up at Ritchies doing laundry. The stream behind the house is raging now. It was quiet when I started writing. The clouds split and a brief but powerful downpour hammered my little shack in the jungle. Water streamed down and around the light socket that illuminates this office. A drop fell from my nose. I continued the prose.
Sunday, December 05, 2004
Twelve hours later...
I am alive. The worst has passed. Am taking it easy today, not boggling my mind with things not done. I am not depressed. Thinking about it though, or I wouldn't have said so.
Shawzy called me today. She had a similar illness a couple of weeks ago. In the height of her fever she decided to quit school, sell everything, and run off to a remote section of Moloka'i to help uncover an ancient Hawai'ian village. I am missing her already. Respect her for choosing freedom over the pretense of security.
I'm not chucking everything, though the thought did cross my mind in my fevered state. I'm digging in. I want to know what it feels like to accomplish this task I have taken on. This experiment is still young. I have borrowed money and called people in to help me. I have committed myself to this. This sickness was a well timed slap in the face. A good place to re-calibrate.
Tomorrow morning I hike to fix the water. Set the crew to work then deliver some airlayers. Pow wow with sis in the eve. I have a notebook that I keep with me constantly now. Phone messages, to-do lists, long term projects, appointments.
My parents have a home video of me as a kid standing on the edge of a swimming pool, pumping my arms back and forth in anticipation of jumping in. Then a pause. Then more pumping. Eventually I leap in. My nature caught on celluloid.
I am alive. I don't know if will be tomorrow, but today I am alive. I am thankful for this.
I am alive. The worst has passed. Am taking it easy today, not boggling my mind with things not done. I am not depressed. Thinking about it though, or I wouldn't have said so.
Shawzy called me today. She had a similar illness a couple of weeks ago. In the height of her fever she decided to quit school, sell everything, and run off to a remote section of Moloka'i to help uncover an ancient Hawai'ian village. I am missing her already. Respect her for choosing freedom over the pretense of security.
I'm not chucking everything, though the thought did cross my mind in my fevered state. I'm digging in. I want to know what it feels like to accomplish this task I have taken on. This experiment is still young. I have borrowed money and called people in to help me. I have committed myself to this. This sickness was a well timed slap in the face. A good place to re-calibrate.
Tomorrow morning I hike to fix the water. Set the crew to work then deliver some airlayers. Pow wow with sis in the eve. I have a notebook that I keep with me constantly now. Phone messages, to-do lists, long term projects, appointments.
My parents have a home video of me as a kid standing on the edge of a swimming pool, pumping my arms back and forth in anticipation of jumping in. Then a pause. Then more pumping. Eventually I leap in. My nature caught on celluloid.
I am alive. I don't know if will be tomorrow, but today I am alive. I am thankful for this.
4:11am Information...
I will breathe freely again. Breathe free or die. Learning to relate to the body. Head has been separated a long time. Most my life probably. Reintegrating.
Restless miserable "sleeping" til 9 am this morn. Called sis. She's sick too. Made plans to meet and head to the Waikiki Heath Center to see if antibiotics would hep us. Asked her to make a deposit for Grizz, told her I was going to the bank to cash a check, would meet at India Cafe. Woke the Poet and his lady. Asked them to expedidite the donning of their costumes. The Poet must shave his head every day he says. It's a god thing he says. A primadonna thing I says.
Load the people in the truck. Walking into the bank, sis calls. She said the bank was robbed while she was there. I asked her if she made the deposit. Yes she says, and thanks for your concern. I was sure no one was hurt, or I would have heard it in her voice. She's one of the most sensitive people I know. We balance each other out. Drop the family on the street to catch a bus then meet sis. The last walk-in was accepted just before us. I think of the Poets shiny head as we sniff and cough our way out to the car. Grab some food at India Cafe then run to the mall to make a credit card payment for Grizz. Christmas season traffic. I am suffering. Sweating. Walk into the mall, hit the head then make the payment. I saw some faces that I liked, that shined, but mostly was dismayed by the culture of my birth, seen at it's worst this time of year.
Home. Crash in bed with my head pounding. Fever. Little sleep. Dream of creative ways to kill myself. Thought of using the high tension powerlines as a zip line then jumping before I hit the next tower. Saw myself crashing through someone's roof below, naked. Leave 'em scratching their heads. Toss and turn in bed twisting my sheets into knots. I embrace the fever. Yes. This is good. It will kill the virus, or the bacteria, or whatever. Or me. Burning. Purifying. Drinking green electrolytes to rehydrate.
Pua'a visits again. Dreamed there were a dozen pigs in front of the house, during the day. With Kolohe. The pigs were rooting around all tusks and snout. One plowed into the ground behind Kolohe and burst forth in front of him, facing me, snorting. I feel no threat though. Admire the power. I turn and see other holes, one is big enough for me to climb through and I enter the underground. There is something going on down here. A whole other world. Other people. And I am skiing down insanely steep mountains. There are others there and it feels like I'm at some kind of resort. Caverns accommodated with Ikea like furnishings. Feels like a timeshare set up.
Sit up at 5:30pm and call the Poet. Direct him to a drugstore and grocery store, tell him to catch a cab from there, back here. Try to eat. Pull the lone ginger root from the garden and make tea. Read. Sweat.
Family enters, eats, sleeps. Can't sleep. Fever has broken and I feel some relief. Still have to cough it all up though. Hurting to do so. Write an e-mail to Griz to try and convince him to stay in South America for two more months while I set my house and business in order. I think that I should start chanting again. Heal myself so that I can breathe again.
I have decided to resign as King of the World. Too much stress, not enough perks. At least it's on my resume now.
I will breathe freely again. Breathe free or die. Learning to relate to the body. Head has been separated a long time. Most my life probably. Reintegrating.
Restless miserable "sleeping" til 9 am this morn. Called sis. She's sick too. Made plans to meet and head to the Waikiki Heath Center to see if antibiotics would hep us. Asked her to make a deposit for Grizz, told her I was going to the bank to cash a check, would meet at India Cafe. Woke the Poet and his lady. Asked them to expedidite the donning of their costumes. The Poet must shave his head every day he says. It's a god thing he says. A primadonna thing I says.
Load the people in the truck. Walking into the bank, sis calls. She said the bank was robbed while she was there. I asked her if she made the deposit. Yes she says, and thanks for your concern. I was sure no one was hurt, or I would have heard it in her voice. She's one of the most sensitive people I know. We balance each other out. Drop the family on the street to catch a bus then meet sis. The last walk-in was accepted just before us. I think of the Poets shiny head as we sniff and cough our way out to the car. Grab some food at India Cafe then run to the mall to make a credit card payment for Grizz. Christmas season traffic. I am suffering. Sweating. Walk into the mall, hit the head then make the payment. I saw some faces that I liked, that shined, but mostly was dismayed by the culture of my birth, seen at it's worst this time of year.
Home. Crash in bed with my head pounding. Fever. Little sleep. Dream of creative ways to kill myself. Thought of using the high tension powerlines as a zip line then jumping before I hit the next tower. Saw myself crashing through someone's roof below, naked. Leave 'em scratching their heads. Toss and turn in bed twisting my sheets into knots. I embrace the fever. Yes. This is good. It will kill the virus, or the bacteria, or whatever. Or me. Burning. Purifying. Drinking green electrolytes to rehydrate.
Pua'a visits again. Dreamed there were a dozen pigs in front of the house, during the day. With Kolohe. The pigs were rooting around all tusks and snout. One plowed into the ground behind Kolohe and burst forth in front of him, facing me, snorting. I feel no threat though. Admire the power. I turn and see other holes, one is big enough for me to climb through and I enter the underground. There is something going on down here. A whole other world. Other people. And I am skiing down insanely steep mountains. There are others there and it feels like I'm at some kind of resort. Caverns accommodated with Ikea like furnishings. Feels like a timeshare set up.
Sit up at 5:30pm and call the Poet. Direct him to a drugstore and grocery store, tell him to catch a cab from there, back here. Try to eat. Pull the lone ginger root from the garden and make tea. Read. Sweat.
Family enters, eats, sleeps. Can't sleep. Fever has broken and I feel some relief. Still have to cough it all up though. Hurting to do so. Write an e-mail to Griz to try and convince him to stay in South America for two more months while I set my house and business in order. I think that I should start chanting again. Heal myself so that I can breathe again.
I have decided to resign as King of the World. Too much stress, not enough perks. At least it's on my resume now.
Friday, December 03, 2004
Sick.
Hot and cold. Thinking of death. Old god concept come back to me and I consider groveling before it out of some imprinted Christian guilt complex. Odd sensations over my whole body. Don't know which are the sickness and which are the over the counter "remedies". Was tossing and turning in the bed flashing hot, blowing snot into aloe infused tissues. Sister brought them over. My adamant non-consumerist bent hates to admit that they are better than the cheap toilet paper I've been using. Both are piling up inside a shoebox beside the bed heavy with yellow green from inside me. I have hit a low spot. First time I've been this ill since I left LA five years ago. I got up to use the bathroom and was dismayed at the pathetic size of my penis. Usually it's a source of comfort, a magic wand that provides an almost mystic sense of empowerment and confidence. Now it's like a whimpering mutt trying to back into my pelvis like a doghouse every time I cough. I think the hacking is building my abs though.
Speaking of LA, The Poet is staying here with me. I haven't seen him in years. Last time I saw him he was riding high on the Dot.Com bubble in San Fran. I was working at the bread counter at a Whole Foods market in Glendale. Years before that, he was living on my couch in Laurel Canyon in a place literally as wide as a sliding glass door. We were both certifiable, dropping heaps of top notch acid and getting ripped on mind expanding books. We both had messiah complexes. We were going to turn the world on to the obvious reality of our interconnectedness as a species and planet, and beyond. But other stuff happened. The poet wrote a book and produced an album. I produced two children and volumes of writing that pile up to this day. His works are still unreleased. My daughters are with their mothers in other states and the paradigm shattering poem still eludes me. Ten years later.
The Poet has been staying with me for a couple of weeks now. Last week his fiance and her nine year old daughter joined him. I warned him about the life I was living: a shack in the jungle, no hot water (when my water is working), close to the earth living basic. I have had time to adjust to my lifestyle. He and she have not. The idea was for him to come out, work on the farm, make a few bucks and get a place where his lady and her little could join him. He couldn't bear to be separated that long and reasoned that if she came out sooner, they could both work and expedite the process. City slickers bandaging blisters. She grew up in the rural, so this is not completely foreign to her, though I wouldn't have guessed when she showed up from the airport in pink and black vynals with mistress of the dark makeup. The Poet has a high maintenance manicured bad boy biker image. He seems to have become more anal since he was "born again" a few years ago. He admits to being a control freak with no apologies. We have clashed over this once already. We are all counting the days. Except for the little. She stays well rooted in the moment.
I must sleep. and try to have productive coughs so that this load in my chest and head is lightened. My life is special.
Hot and cold. Thinking of death. Old god concept come back to me and I consider groveling before it out of some imprinted Christian guilt complex. Odd sensations over my whole body. Don't know which are the sickness and which are the over the counter "remedies". Was tossing and turning in the bed flashing hot, blowing snot into aloe infused tissues. Sister brought them over. My adamant non-consumerist bent hates to admit that they are better than the cheap toilet paper I've been using. Both are piling up inside a shoebox beside the bed heavy with yellow green from inside me. I have hit a low spot. First time I've been this ill since I left LA five years ago. I got up to use the bathroom and was dismayed at the pathetic size of my penis. Usually it's a source of comfort, a magic wand that provides an almost mystic sense of empowerment and confidence. Now it's like a whimpering mutt trying to back into my pelvis like a doghouse every time I cough. I think the hacking is building my abs though.
Speaking of LA, The Poet is staying here with me. I haven't seen him in years. Last time I saw him he was riding high on the Dot.Com bubble in San Fran. I was working at the bread counter at a Whole Foods market in Glendale. Years before that, he was living on my couch in Laurel Canyon in a place literally as wide as a sliding glass door. We were both certifiable, dropping heaps of top notch acid and getting ripped on mind expanding books. We both had messiah complexes. We were going to turn the world on to the obvious reality of our interconnectedness as a species and planet, and beyond. But other stuff happened. The poet wrote a book and produced an album. I produced two children and volumes of writing that pile up to this day. His works are still unreleased. My daughters are with their mothers in other states and the paradigm shattering poem still eludes me. Ten years later.
The Poet has been staying with me for a couple of weeks now. Last week his fiance and her nine year old daughter joined him. I warned him about the life I was living: a shack in the jungle, no hot water (when my water is working), close to the earth living basic. I have had time to adjust to my lifestyle. He and she have not. The idea was for him to come out, work on the farm, make a few bucks and get a place where his lady and her little could join him. He couldn't bear to be separated that long and reasoned that if she came out sooner, they could both work and expedite the process. City slickers bandaging blisters. She grew up in the rural, so this is not completely foreign to her, though I wouldn't have guessed when she showed up from the airport in pink and black vynals with mistress of the dark makeup. The Poet has a high maintenance manicured bad boy biker image. He seems to have become more anal since he was "born again" a few years ago. He admits to being a control freak with no apologies. We have clashed over this once already. We are all counting the days. Except for the little. She stays well rooted in the moment.
I must sleep. and try to have productive coughs so that this load in my chest and head is lightened. My life is special.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
A gripping introduction...
I spend a lot of time some nights just thinking about the opening line to these entries. I didn't think about it much tonight.
I am alive. I tell myself that sometimes. I need to be reminded.
I don't smoke cigarettes any more. I am not a non-smoker though. I refuse to be defined by what I don't do. There are some people that have never smoked that define themselves as non-smokers.
"I'm a non-murderer." Sounds so odd when applied out of the smoking context. "Hi, I'm a non-heroin addict." there is something to this. I could spend the next hour ranting about the influence that tobacco wielded over the American Century, but I don't care about it that much.
As the story goes, Guerdjieff challenged Ouspensky to quit the cigarette habit.. Some time passed during which Ospensky did quit. More time passed, and when Ospensky met with Guerdjieff again, he exulted that he had quit, proclaiming that he was now free. As I understand it, Guerdjieff lit up a fine Turkish blend cigarette and said to Ospensky "If you are free, then have one of these."
Dr. John Tell related this anecdote today at Coffee Talk. Dr. John is mad, in some of my favorite ways. There is trepidation without fear, righteousness without arrogance, wisdom in the whispers, and original behaviour. My faith in humanity is fueled my the loons on the street. The irony is that the loon has not taken a mental vacation, but lives in relation with the moment. He may have a rap, but is not on auto pilot. A holy moment can arise when he looks you in the eyes if you do not disguise our common thing with a dream of separation.
I spend a lot of time some nights just thinking about the opening line to these entries. I didn't think about it much tonight.
I am alive. I tell myself that sometimes. I need to be reminded.
I don't smoke cigarettes any more. I am not a non-smoker though. I refuse to be defined by what I don't do. There are some people that have never smoked that define themselves as non-smokers.
"I'm a non-murderer." Sounds so odd when applied out of the smoking context. "Hi, I'm a non-heroin addict." there is something to this. I could spend the next hour ranting about the influence that tobacco wielded over the American Century, but I don't care about it that much.
As the story goes, Guerdjieff challenged Ouspensky to quit the cigarette habit.. Some time passed during which Ospensky did quit. More time passed, and when Ospensky met with Guerdjieff again, he exulted that he had quit, proclaiming that he was now free. As I understand it, Guerdjieff lit up a fine Turkish blend cigarette and said to Ospensky "If you are free, then have one of these."
Dr. John Tell related this anecdote today at Coffee Talk. Dr. John is mad, in some of my favorite ways. There is trepidation without fear, righteousness without arrogance, wisdom in the whispers, and original behaviour. My faith in humanity is fueled my the loons on the street. The irony is that the loon has not taken a mental vacation, but lives in relation with the moment. He may have a rap, but is not on auto pilot. A holy moment can arise when he looks you in the eyes if you do not disguise our common thing with a dream of separation.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Out Here in There...
Monday:
*Was still on the computer @ midnight as Monday rolled around. Stayed there 'til There closed @ around 3:35am. I am happy that There closes. I would not sleep otherwise.
*Sleep. Alarm sounds at 7:am. I hit snooze. I am supposed to fix water first thing this morning. I don't. Tired. Eyes bloodshot. Chilly in the mountain valley and the mud fresh and deep.
*Ant calls at 8:am. I don't get the phone though. My clock says it's 11:am. I panic for a moment, then turn to look at the light on the bamboo and banana leaves. I see that I reset the clock in one of my slapping snoozes. Sister calls half hour later. I don't get that either. I'm striving to clear my head, to prepare mentally for the day. Then dozing off again.
*I hear Ants truck pull in. I hop up and dress, walk downstairs and out. Check the Hong Kong Orchid airlayers. Fat. Ant and his Nephew unload and I get it together. Call Alan. Get fliers for plumarias.
*Meet Alan @ Coffee Talk. Coffee and bagel to go. I wore the wrong shirt. Was cool in the valley, but warm in the city. Long sleeve pullover (broken water; no laundry). BDU pants with a big knife shoved into my pant waist. Slippers. Asshole glasses. Folding saw in back pocket. Tree farmer costume.
*Drive Betty, loaded with plumarias, to Kahala, park her, ride with Alan to troll for trees. A timid transvestite talks to me through the veil of a white steel screen security door. I tell her that I want to trim her tree for free. Suspiciously she takes my card and says she'll talk to her boyfriend. Then gives me the once-over-up-and-down with her eyes and her face opens a bit. Bye bye.
*Find an old account from two years back. Five trees in the back. We get the ok to go. I call Ant and give our 20. Alan takes me back to Betty and I drive her to Waimanalo, drop plumaria cuttings at Koba's. Need 75 more. Back to Kahala.
*Alan cutting the last tree. 80 pieces. Excellent. Load. Back to Waimanalo. Finish the order. 200 6' to 12' cuttings. 215, actually. Bonus for them.
*Pick up a hitchhiker on the Makapu'u bend. Paraglider from Canada. He had the whole thing in a back pack. Wanted a ride to Koko Head crater (Hawai'ian name:----------Means Flaming Vaginal Lips?). Drop him there.
*Park in Aina Haina. Hop across the Kalanianole Highway to the center median. Cut seeds from manila palms.
*Stop for pizza at Boston's. On the way back to the farm up I pass Paul in his drive. He says he is waiting for someone to go down so that he could pick up his truck. "It's 4 o'clock, someone has to come down. "
*Go home. Feed animals, pilfer in the garden. Talk to Mayor Ted about using Betty to haul street sweeper leaf mulch from the University (peppered with nutritious pea gravel for an excellent loamy potting compost).
*Make calls. Arrange tomorrows schedule for me and the crew, Chings and Spizannos.
* Laundry at Camp Palolo. Uses Ritchies shower (hot high pressure water...mmmmmmmmmmmmmm....such a luxury). Drink some Chilean booze, _______. Smoke a dube. Rant about There and the implications, the applications, boggle their minds with my guilt stricken enthusiasm. Drop some papayas and split.
*I go There. Find people to Jump off Jesus's head with me.
*Hop in the truck. Door stuck. Hinge giving away. Damn. Pass Paul in his driveway. It's 10:pm. "Hey" we say. "Can I get a ride down?" he asks. "This isn't the same ride you were waiting on at four is it?" I Q. "No," he A's. "I took the car down to get the truck. Now I need a ride down to get the car." I don't ask questions. Sometimes not knowing is better. Paul rides in the back (my wet laundry in front) and tells me jokes through the window. He says we have to stop meeting like this(second time in a week he's seen me driving around at odd hours in me red bathrobe). He asks questions. Going to Shawzys to dry clothes I am to wear out to Keolas b-day party at Hale Noa kava bar.
*Door is closed, but the open-door tone screams. I try to drive and hold pressure on the door. Turn up the classical. The tone faded behind violins and I was struck at how well it was camouflaged by the strings. Then I think of the social metaphor for this: a steady tone of warning, alerting the operators that something is in error. But the din of media neurosis screams higher than the warning, and the operators plow on through the cacophony of modernity.. Caca phony. I try to drive and pull the door tighter into the frame. I exhaust myself after a couple of miles. Let it go. Then the interior light flashes when I hit the shudder bump, like lightening flashes. The music doesn't help with this.
*Paul gives me a beer before he hops in his car. Between the beer the Chilean hooch and the dube I have an excuse not to drink the kava ( I like the kava, but the kava doesn't mix with the booze.), and not to spend money I don't have right now anyway.
* Shawzy, sitting in a pink kimono, is wrapping jewelry and surrounded by a treasure box of things from Carson in Chicago. Noel and I chat as the dryer spins. Belly dancer neighbor enters with warm chocolate peanut butter m&m cookies. Alex enters. I rant more about There. The There economy, the thrill of finding people to jump off Jesus' head with me. The mind numbing implications. I understand how the concept of the Matrix movie is manifesting. I could put in an IV drip and a catheter and somehow goggle my screen so that There is all I see. I could start a cyber nursery and design landscaping plants for the new community developments. A cyber plant wholesaler. In my spare time I could start a cult of Jesus jumpers. Flimflam them out of their money and sell them salvation in the cyberlife ("...afterlife was just an error in translation from Hebrew to English..."...Not the meek shall inherit the Earth my deluded young vixen, it is the geek. You embrace your geekieness as you embrace me..."). Then I look down at my finger and it's print and I fall in love with this world all over again. Nothing beats the thrill of mortality. Jumping off the head of reality and falling into the myth of separation, just for fun, not to be taken too seriously.
*Kava bar opted to close and party moved to Keolas house. A Wednesday garage party on a Monday. Low pro local musicians playing in the carport. Real people on real couches playing some real nice music in the late hours of a nice night. Low tones, respectful of the neighbors. Drummer playing trap like a cat: tata tat tata tat tata tat tat. Electric bass and unplugged ukuleles, big voices in island falsetto. We wish well the host. We parked rude and blocked someone so that we would have an excuse to leave early and retreat back to our Palolo homes. On cue we're asked to move and our appearance ended there.
*Home. Type this, or half of this, then crawled under the net. It is the next day now, the next night. Another day of adventure come and gone, un documented, not archived, live and unexpected. Then I go There to fly off Christo's head and fall down a mountain and run around in the desert.
Monday:
*Was still on the computer @ midnight as Monday rolled around. Stayed there 'til There closed @ around 3:35am. I am happy that There closes. I would not sleep otherwise.
*Sleep. Alarm sounds at 7:am. I hit snooze. I am supposed to fix water first thing this morning. I don't. Tired. Eyes bloodshot. Chilly in the mountain valley and the mud fresh and deep.
*Ant calls at 8:am. I don't get the phone though. My clock says it's 11:am. I panic for a moment, then turn to look at the light on the bamboo and banana leaves. I see that I reset the clock in one of my slapping snoozes. Sister calls half hour later. I don't get that either. I'm striving to clear my head, to prepare mentally for the day. Then dozing off again.
*I hear Ants truck pull in. I hop up and dress, walk downstairs and out. Check the Hong Kong Orchid airlayers. Fat. Ant and his Nephew unload and I get it together. Call Alan. Get fliers for plumarias.
*Meet Alan @ Coffee Talk. Coffee and bagel to go. I wore the wrong shirt. Was cool in the valley, but warm in the city. Long sleeve pullover (broken water; no laundry). BDU pants with a big knife shoved into my pant waist. Slippers. Asshole glasses. Folding saw in back pocket. Tree farmer costume.
*Drive Betty, loaded with plumarias, to Kahala, park her, ride with Alan to troll for trees. A timid transvestite talks to me through the veil of a white steel screen security door. I tell her that I want to trim her tree for free. Suspiciously she takes my card and says she'll talk to her boyfriend. Then gives me the once-over-up-and-down with her eyes and her face opens a bit. Bye bye.
*Find an old account from two years back. Five trees in the back. We get the ok to go. I call Ant and give our 20. Alan takes me back to Betty and I drive her to Waimanalo, drop plumaria cuttings at Koba's. Need 75 more. Back to Kahala.
*Alan cutting the last tree. 80 pieces. Excellent. Load. Back to Waimanalo. Finish the order. 200 6' to 12' cuttings. 215, actually. Bonus for them.
*Pick up a hitchhiker on the Makapu'u bend. Paraglider from Canada. He had the whole thing in a back pack. Wanted a ride to Koko Head crater (Hawai'ian name:----------Means Flaming Vaginal Lips?). Drop him there.
*Park in Aina Haina. Hop across the Kalanianole Highway to the center median. Cut seeds from manila palms.
*Stop for pizza at Boston's. On the way back to the farm up I pass Paul in his drive. He says he is waiting for someone to go down so that he could pick up his truck. "It's 4 o'clock, someone has to come down. "
*Go home. Feed animals, pilfer in the garden. Talk to Mayor Ted about using Betty to haul street sweeper leaf mulch from the University (peppered with nutritious pea gravel for an excellent loamy potting compost).
*Make calls. Arrange tomorrows schedule for me and the crew, Chings and Spizannos.
* Laundry at Camp Palolo. Uses Ritchies shower (hot high pressure water...mmmmmmmmmmmmmm....such a luxury). Drink some Chilean booze, _______. Smoke a dube. Rant about There and the implications, the applications, boggle their minds with my guilt stricken enthusiasm. Drop some papayas and split.
*I go There. Find people to Jump off Jesus's head with me.
*Hop in the truck. Door stuck. Hinge giving away. Damn. Pass Paul in his driveway. It's 10:pm. "Hey" we say. "Can I get a ride down?" he asks. "This isn't the same ride you were waiting on at four is it?" I Q. "No," he A's. "I took the car down to get the truck. Now I need a ride down to get the car." I don't ask questions. Sometimes not knowing is better. Paul rides in the back (my wet laundry in front) and tells me jokes through the window. He says we have to stop meeting like this(second time in a week he's seen me driving around at odd hours in me red bathrobe). He asks questions. Going to Shawzys to dry clothes I am to wear out to Keolas b-day party at Hale Noa kava bar.
*Door is closed, but the open-door tone screams. I try to drive and hold pressure on the door. Turn up the classical. The tone faded behind violins and I was struck at how well it was camouflaged by the strings. Then I think of the social metaphor for this: a steady tone of warning, alerting the operators that something is in error. But the din of media neurosis screams higher than the warning, and the operators plow on through the cacophony of modernity.. Caca phony. I try to drive and pull the door tighter into the frame. I exhaust myself after a couple of miles. Let it go. Then the interior light flashes when I hit the shudder bump, like lightening flashes. The music doesn't help with this.
*Paul gives me a beer before he hops in his car. Between the beer the Chilean hooch and the dube I have an excuse not to drink the kava ( I like the kava, but the kava doesn't mix with the booze.), and not to spend money I don't have right now anyway.
* Shawzy, sitting in a pink kimono, is wrapping jewelry and surrounded by a treasure box of things from Carson in Chicago. Noel and I chat as the dryer spins. Belly dancer neighbor enters with warm chocolate peanut butter m&m cookies. Alex enters. I rant more about There. The There economy, the thrill of finding people to jump off Jesus' head with me. The mind numbing implications. I understand how the concept of the Matrix movie is manifesting. I could put in an IV drip and a catheter and somehow goggle my screen so that There is all I see. I could start a cyber nursery and design landscaping plants for the new community developments. A cyber plant wholesaler. In my spare time I could start a cult of Jesus jumpers. Flimflam them out of their money and sell them salvation in the cyberlife ("...afterlife was just an error in translation from Hebrew to English..."...Not the meek shall inherit the Earth my deluded young vixen, it is the geek. You embrace your geekieness as you embrace me..."). Then I look down at my finger and it's print and I fall in love with this world all over again. Nothing beats the thrill of mortality. Jumping off the head of reality and falling into the myth of separation, just for fun, not to be taken too seriously.
*Kava bar opted to close and party moved to Keolas house. A Wednesday garage party on a Monday. Low pro local musicians playing in the carport. Real people on real couches playing some real nice music in the late hours of a nice night. Low tones, respectful of the neighbors. Drummer playing trap like a cat: tata tat tata tat tata tat tat. Electric bass and unplugged ukuleles, big voices in island falsetto. We wish well the host. We parked rude and blocked someone so that we would have an excuse to leave early and retreat back to our Palolo homes. On cue we're asked to move and our appearance ended there.
*Home. Type this, or half of this, then crawled under the net. It is the next day now, the next night. Another day of adventure come and gone, un documented, not archived, live and unexpected. Then I go There to fly off Christo's head and fall down a mountain and run around in the desert.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Late now. 00:24 on Wednesday and I don't know who the president will be. I suspect it's Georgie. I wonder how long I can go without finding out. I wonder if I could avoid finding out for a whole week. This is my goal. Success does not look good I fear. I will try to go as long as I can.
Monday, November 01, 2004
Bush and Kerry share genealogy. Both can trace their blood back to a Transylvanian guy called Vlad the Impaler, a real life character that inspired the fictional character Count Dracula.
The twin fangs of Bush and Kerry sucking our attention with their Punch and Judy routine: softcore S&M. This election has been a summer blockbuster the likes of which Hollywood only dreams. Vampire media eyes hypnotize concerned citizens. Concern focuses attention. Attention feeds ratings. Ratings sell ads. Ads brand us. Citizen becomes consumer. Leader becomes entertainer. Humanity produces tragicomedy. Enjoy the show!
Election over tomorrow. Bin Ladden tape has been transcribed. He makes more sense and is more articulate than the Cowboy. Played him for a chump then called him out. Perhaps the definition of the term terrorism will be read by people and the war on terror can conclude right back where it started. Then with all that excitement out of the way, the fear driven kitsch economy will surly lag and we will have to be dosed with an economic Viagra in the form of an even more insidious, everpresent danger to the American Brand Lifestyle.
The twin fangs of Bush and Kerry sucking our attention with their Punch and Judy routine: softcore S&M. This election has been a summer blockbuster the likes of which Hollywood only dreams. Vampire media eyes hypnotize concerned citizens. Concern focuses attention. Attention feeds ratings. Ratings sell ads. Ads brand us. Citizen becomes consumer. Leader becomes entertainer. Humanity produces tragicomedy. Enjoy the show!
Election over tomorrow. Bin Ladden tape has been transcribed. He makes more sense and is more articulate than the Cowboy. Played him for a chump then called him out. Perhaps the definition of the term terrorism will be read by people and the war on terror can conclude right back where it started. Then with all that excitement out of the way, the fear driven kitsch economy will surly lag and we will have to be dosed with an economic Viagra in the form of an even more insidious, everpresent danger to the American Brand Lifestyle.
The War on Relevance.
Maybe a war on InterDimensional Beings.
In order to protect yourself from IDB's it is essential to stay tuned to the TV. TV is your inoculation against the subtler influences that threaten to sweep you into the evolutionary stream. Do you wish to rush into a boundless sea of love and understanding? Of course you don't. That is not the American Way. Have you not witnessed a friend, relative, or member of your community that has fallen prey to this wickedness? Have you not seen the way the victims no longer relate well with normal consumers? It is a slow unfortunate downward spiral into simplicity and gnosis. Now how American can that be? To stop the spread of this unproductive mental influence, and preserve your American Brand way of life, report any suspicious, non-commercial activity. Hint: If it's not familiar to you, and you're an American, then it must be un-american.
In order to protect yourself from IDB's it is essential to stay tuned to the TV. TV is your inoculation against the subtler influences that threaten to sweep you into the evolutionary stream. Do you wish to rush into a boundless sea of love and understanding? Of course you don't. That is not the American Way. Have you not witnessed a friend, relative, or member of your community that has fallen prey to this wickedness? Have you not seen the way the victims no longer relate well with normal consumers? It is a slow unfortunate downward spiral into simplicity and gnosis. Now how American can that be? To stop the spread of this unproductive mental influence, and preserve your American Brand way of life, report any suspicious, non-commercial activity. Hint: If it's not familiar to you, and you're an American, then it must be un-american.
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Halloween. Not feeling that keen on going out. A wet weekend up here in the jungle.
No smoking cigarettes for three days now. The physical addiction to the nicotiene has past for the most part. Now it's just the compulsion. My mouth is insatiable. Drink something smoke something eat something kiss something chew something talk something sound something something something. All the time. It seems.
Anyways. I noticed that I had only one soggy little bud left. I've been cleaning house and catching leaks in the roof. I found a Marlboro light box on the desk. I stared at it. Using my nicotene vision I assesed that there were no cigarettes in the box before I picked it up. Before I tossed it I checked it anyways. Found half a dozen fat joints rolled in nonstick papers. Yippie. Went to a party at homie Jadi's in Waimanalo. Met a couple that had come to the islands for to marry and were leaving the next day. They passed their stash on to me. Forgot about it. I was flush at the time. Ok. So I have THC and Caffiene. Mexican Expresso from Chicago and local herb from tourists. Yep.
I reamed the kitchen last night. Every corner. Every dish. Somehow the rest of the house deterioriated in the process. For an hour or so I wandered around the house with a roll of masking tape and a can of flat black spray paint. I used the inside of the roll as a stencil and painted black dots all over the house. I don't know if it was a good idea. It's mildly disturbing having nonreflective voids all around. Then I thought of the Adbusters black dot campaign. The anti-logo logo. The dots were evident last night. My eyes kept darting from one to the other, an inadvertant game of connect the dots. Black constilations. Today I hardly noticed them. But they're there.
No smoking cigarettes for three days now. The physical addiction to the nicotiene has past for the most part. Now it's just the compulsion. My mouth is insatiable. Drink something smoke something eat something kiss something chew something talk something sound something something something. All the time. It seems.
Anyways. I noticed that I had only one soggy little bud left. I've been cleaning house and catching leaks in the roof. I found a Marlboro light box on the desk. I stared at it. Using my nicotene vision I assesed that there were no cigarettes in the box before I picked it up. Before I tossed it I checked it anyways. Found half a dozen fat joints rolled in nonstick papers. Yippie. Went to a party at homie Jadi's in Waimanalo. Met a couple that had come to the islands for to marry and were leaving the next day. They passed their stash on to me. Forgot about it. I was flush at the time. Ok. So I have THC and Caffiene. Mexican Expresso from Chicago and local herb from tourists. Yep.
I reamed the kitchen last night. Every corner. Every dish. Somehow the rest of the house deterioriated in the process. For an hour or so I wandered around the house with a roll of masking tape and a can of flat black spray paint. I used the inside of the roll as a stencil and painted black dots all over the house. I don't know if it was a good idea. It's mildly disturbing having nonreflective voids all around. Then I thought of the Adbusters black dot campaign. The anti-logo logo. The dots were evident last night. My eyes kept darting from one to the other, an inadvertant game of connect the dots. Black constilations. Today I hardly noticed them. But they're there.
Downpour. Civil War. Cleaning house. Trap a Rat. Fix the Dog. Find the Cat.
Just recieved an important memo from an undesclosed source
Just recieved an important memo from an undesclosed source
(see important memo)
Talk of a country divided.
Some go as far to say civil war.
Barbarism employed in the sterile style
of fascism.
Brutality with clean lines.
Yes, the Face of America is changing
morphing like the face one sees when tripping.
A projection beyond definition.
It's open season now.
Who's going to call it?
Will conscious intention best armed reaction?
Will we wake up from the Scheme of Things?
Do we need to know if what we want is what we need?
We might soon need to know what we need and how to have it without leaving someone out.
It would do us well to know this now.
Blahg blahg blahg
It's 03:20am on Halloween. I will sleep soon. (Note to self: add "belly dancer roady" to resume)
In other news: I ran over my dog with a dumptruck. Just one leg. No bones broken. Dog audibles and blood though.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Firesworn. Beadtatch an prelease. Hit sollen ther. Ayenad dowerin tunder flossalalia, petal tuda mental. Falun goff odd head. Idano. Hee winthere, La-ongt tymago. Fister.
Halo gram; eye bee as sigh sea inn might ream.
Calous soul outer age of a pic perp whore shuns.
Sigh lent Sir cuss mass sing indi wings.
Scent her staged, Adai Ying grace.
Odd the ants sin raptured.
Die rector off theme om it cap toured, lost tint I'm.
Produce hers ray king hit hen.
.
Monday, October 11, 2004
Coffee, tea, nicotine, THC, and music....
Ok. What are we doing here, you and me? I'm writing stuff, and you are reading it.
In my mind I see all the web pages glowing in front of people, all of the pages possible to pull up. Phosphorescent slates of digital symbols branding the brain. In a very real way it becomes a part of us (or, some might say that by viewing we are bringing our awareness to that part of who we are, being that we are one. whatever). Google claims over three billion web pages in it's engine. World population estimate at the time of this writing: 6,393,577,323. crazy. I don't have much of a concept for what a billion means. It boggles me. So this page is one of more than three billion available to be viewed by the more than six billion people of the Earth. So the odds of you sitting here, pulling up this page, and actually reading this are staggering. Hi. thanks for stopping in.
Now, this brings me to the question: What the hell am I doing this for? Well, i would like to think that I'm writing for you, to offer some perspective or meme that might foster a direct experience of our undeniable interconnectedness. I know that I write to expectorate perspectives and memes that I find usefull or entertaining, in order to make room for fresh ones. I don't see either of the motivations being mutually exclusive, fortunately.
This serves to illustrate a point I want to make. Who hasn't heard the word that we inhabit a planet? Is there anyone here that still thinks that it's prudent to make choices based on an US vs. THEM territorial premise when the totality of the species, and all related, has been seen from space? The borders are ink on paper. The thoughts and beliefs are mental lines that define the extent of what aspects one will accept from the obvious reality of totality; subject to revision at any point the operator chooses.
Ok. What are we doing here, you and me? I'm writing stuff, and you are reading it.
In my mind I see all the web pages glowing in front of people, all of the pages possible to pull up. Phosphorescent slates of digital symbols branding the brain. In a very real way it becomes a part of us (or, some might say that by viewing we are bringing our awareness to that part of who we are, being that we are one. whatever). Google claims over three billion web pages in it's engine. World population estimate at the time of this writing: 6,393,577,323. crazy. I don't have much of a concept for what a billion means. It boggles me. So this page is one of more than three billion available to be viewed by the more than six billion people of the Earth. So the odds of you sitting here, pulling up this page, and actually reading this are staggering. Hi. thanks for stopping in.
Now, this brings me to the question: What the hell am I doing this for? Well, i would like to think that I'm writing for you, to offer some perspective or meme that might foster a direct experience of our undeniable interconnectedness. I know that I write to expectorate perspectives and memes that I find usefull or entertaining, in order to make room for fresh ones. I don't see either of the motivations being mutually exclusive, fortunately.
This serves to illustrate a point I want to make. Who hasn't heard the word that we inhabit a planet? Is there anyone here that still thinks that it's prudent to make choices based on an US vs. THEM territorial premise when the totality of the species, and all related, has been seen from space? The borders are ink on paper. The thoughts and beliefs are mental lines that define the extent of what aspects one will accept from the obvious reality of totality; subject to revision at any point the operator chooses.
Whoa... I'm getting dizzy. Running a spherical argument, hoping that the gravity of it keeps me grounded.
So, we have these cognitive pedants dominating the palate of the American media diet, and our critical faculties are starting to resemble the bodies of kids raised on McDonalds. We can't continue to take in this much fat, information pap, and expect to be mentallly healthy enough to process our world in a healthy way. We can argue points of difference between the personalities of the polentertainers to amuse ourselves or impress our friends, but in doing so we endorse the premise that these power junkies are worthy of our attention in the first place.
In the yard of the old school
the crowd gathers around the two with something to prove
and waits for the blood.
The bellowing and posturing of the ape men facinate the people
to the point that their awareness of the rest of the world is all but missing.
Outside this fevered ring:
a circus with silent clowns and and a freak show unseen.
.
I suppose I consider myself fortunate enough to be surrounded by people that are more relevant to me than this cock fight distraction. I know very few people that still talk in this crusty bi-polar rhetoric that seems to be so popular with the politistars. Nobody in my world talks to me like those dudes on tv. Dichotomous, pedantic, neurotically repetitive tripe dumped into the collective through our individual subscription to the drama. The time we spend masticating the prescribed madness robs our lives of more healthy input. To play the part of consumer to the mainstream media market is to be branded with base premise after base premise. The cost includes sacrificing true communication in the family, and community at large. Our viewing pleasure compromises our relation with the environment outside our own doors, healthy sex, and our destiny as humans.
Becoming aware of addictive behaviours in my own personality has shown me the power of habit, the seduction of compulsion, and the will destroying cause of choosing to do what you know is not healthy. From my experience: quitting the addiction isn't hard, it's making and implementing the choice to quit that gives us the fit. Then the fun part: choosing the new addiction.
I haven't owned a tv in six years. When I did own and watch tv, I hardly knew anyone that didn't. Now, I'm hard pressed to think of people that I know that do. The former group seemed heavily invested in (massivly funded and skillfully marketed) consensus culture. The latter seem far more active in (an inherent and necessary)local community culture. I have found one to be more relevent, vibrant, fulfilled, and interesting. Inspiring.
Look ma, no alarm clock...
I'm up. it's 07:13. Got a call about an hour ago from Grizz in Bolivia. Wanted to know if we Western Unioned the money. We did. For some reason the Rurrenabaque office wasn't giving it up. Grizz was out of cash and down to the wire on his calling card. He can be a little difficult to work with when he gets stressed. Karrie got him a confirmation number. Hope it works.
I spent about three hours writing last night, ranting about the imbicilic pedantry of our presidential candidates. Then I somehow erased it. It was virulent rhyming prose, biting, incisive, and offering possibilities for a more relevant agenda. I went to sleep restless and irritable over the loss of the work. Then my scrotum was bitten or stung by some creature irritated by my tossing and turning. Recording session slated for Wednesday and the new material down the drain. Now I'm halfway through a mean cup of cowboy style mexican espresso. It's a new day.
Lungs are heavy, weighted down with nicotine, and I'm coughing compulsively. and I'm smoking a cigarette.
Did an I Ching reading while eating yogurt and papaya. Fellowship With Others changing to Revolution. ya ya. Eyes are dry and irritated.
Karrie is on the way over. Ant and Allen are waiting for my call. Going to Waikele to start the big rainbow job.
Feeling a bit unresolved. Vaporlocked on a few issues arresting my energy: potential unevolved. I could be breathing and stretching but opt to sit and moulder. Boulders gathering moss in my head. Powder keg with a fuse that got wet.
Birds outside the windows carry on, greet the day with the same old song that is never wrong. Original yet in the improvisation. I make my sounds and walk around gathering the tools for the day.
I'm up. it's 07:13. Got a call about an hour ago from Grizz in Bolivia. Wanted to know if we Western Unioned the money. We did. For some reason the Rurrenabaque office wasn't giving it up. Grizz was out of cash and down to the wire on his calling card. He can be a little difficult to work with when he gets stressed. Karrie got him a confirmation number. Hope it works.
I spent about three hours writing last night, ranting about the imbicilic pedantry of our presidential candidates. Then I somehow erased it. It was virulent rhyming prose, biting, incisive, and offering possibilities for a more relevant agenda. I went to sleep restless and irritable over the loss of the work. Then my scrotum was bitten or stung by some creature irritated by my tossing and turning. Recording session slated for Wednesday and the new material down the drain. Now I'm halfway through a mean cup of cowboy style mexican espresso. It's a new day.
Lungs are heavy, weighted down with nicotine, and I'm coughing compulsively. and I'm smoking a cigarette.
Did an I Ching reading while eating yogurt and papaya. Fellowship With Others changing to Revolution. ya ya. Eyes are dry and irritated.
Karrie is on the way over. Ant and Allen are waiting for my call. Going to Waikele to start the big rainbow job.
Feeling a bit unresolved. Vaporlocked on a few issues arresting my energy: potential unevolved. I could be breathing and stretching but opt to sit and moulder. Boulders gathering moss in my head. Powder keg with a fuse that got wet.
Birds outside the windows carry on, greet the day with the same old song that is never wrong. Original yet in the improvisation. I make my sounds and walk around gathering the tools for the day.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Dear Diary...
I left the office light on before I left for the Studio 1 fundraiser show thing. A plethora of gnats swarming over the desk, buzz and tapping me to distraction. I turn off the source of their facination and turn on the other office bulb in an attempt to lure them away. The harsh naked bulb evokes the striotypical movie portrayal of the interrogation room.
"Where were you on the night of October 9th 2004?"
At around 18:45 I left for Studio 1. I didn't really feel like going. Iona Contemporary Dance theatre was there, and the Hawai'i Slam Team. And Communication, and Melodious Solutions, and Quadraphonix. and Squirril. All good reasons to go. I don't feel social though. I can't sit still. I let the cigarettes lead me around tonight. Outside to smoke, out of respect, and an excuse to move. Back inside to see who's onstage. Pace. Greet people. I know lots of people. I say hey and hug, smile and kiss, how are you and I am good and miss the moment by a mile. Some kind of insulation redux. Not connecting. Weak. Heavy.
But the show was good. I missed Communication, or most of it. Was there for the intro, the opening, then left for a cigarette, or a drink, or something. I tried to be social. I asked some people some questions, listened to the answers, I enjoyed company, I saw people I have not seen in long time.
Melodious Solutions were tight, solid and original in an infectious way. They actually got me to stay in one place for a few numbers in a row. I was on the sidewalk smoking when Ted came out shaking his head, reeling from the visual sensory impression he sustained from the band. I had to check it. I walked in and viewed from the side the band. Yes. They were grinding on Jah's leg in a Taoist sex kind of way.
So many interesting people there. Characters. Dancers. Beautiful people. Trippers. Talent out the door. But I wasn't feeling it. Quadriphonix taking note of the Solutions. Uh huh. Oh yeah. Oh yeah? Ok. They took the stage with a lilt in their steps. I haven't seem them play in a year or so, last Halloween I think. I think the recent tour to the West Coast greased the wheels. Was tight and smooth and moved the people out of their chairs. I sat and stared, catching glimpses of the band through the flashing gaps in the dancers. I itch to perform as I sit on the sidelines. Inspired to step it up. Someday. When I feel like it.
After, Johnathan asks me if I want to smoke I say yes. Leaning on minivans on Nuuanu passing a joint. Post show show. Stage adrenaline amping the dialogue. I'm stone silent, thinking about how to get back to the truck. I feel that I should have at least a little interaction with the people of the circle before I puff and blow out of there. But the ball wouldn't drop and I wasn't grabbing for it. Tightnit wits staging it between two minivans. Sardonic freestyle.
Old black man in camoflouge pan handles the curb clique. Words were exchanged, but no money. He said he'd be back to give us another chance. People started saying goodbye and I took my que and withdrew. Across Nuuanu to King. Then I hear that thing. A freestyle ring of boys and girls just being. Free. Joel holds it down with the beat boxing and Kealoha on the Uke. A shining man in baby blue is excited about this happening. He sings, wings it through his awkwardness and participates, relates. He tries to include me in the circle but I back up against the wall and roll a smoke.
The camoflouge comes up and makes his pitch, Joels says he has to sing for it. He doesn't miss a beat and chimes in with it rhymin' for a minimum of three minuites. Takes his cash and splits, smiles all around. I use the break to take my leave before the baby blue man insist I open up and be loose with myself. Serenade from Joel. Spreading that melifluous love of his all over the streets of Honolulu. I sever any attempt at connect and retreat down the street, missing the opportunity for community that I say I want to see so badly. I put it off sadly. Claim it as my kink. Think about how I can put it into words.
I left the office light on before I left for the Studio 1 fundraiser show thing. A plethora of gnats swarming over the desk, buzz and tapping me to distraction. I turn off the source of their facination and turn on the other office bulb in an attempt to lure them away. The harsh naked bulb evokes the striotypical movie portrayal of the interrogation room.
"Where were you on the night of October 9th 2004?"
At around 18:45 I left for Studio 1. I didn't really feel like going. Iona Contemporary Dance theatre was there, and the Hawai'i Slam Team. And Communication, and Melodious Solutions, and Quadraphonix. and Squirril. All good reasons to go. I don't feel social though. I can't sit still. I let the cigarettes lead me around tonight. Outside to smoke, out of respect, and an excuse to move. Back inside to see who's onstage. Pace. Greet people. I know lots of people. I say hey and hug, smile and kiss, how are you and I am good and miss the moment by a mile. Some kind of insulation redux. Not connecting. Weak. Heavy.
But the show was good. I missed Communication, or most of it. Was there for the intro, the opening, then left for a cigarette, or a drink, or something. I tried to be social. I asked some people some questions, listened to the answers, I enjoyed company, I saw people I have not seen in long time.
Melodious Solutions were tight, solid and original in an infectious way. They actually got me to stay in one place for a few numbers in a row. I was on the sidewalk smoking when Ted came out shaking his head, reeling from the visual sensory impression he sustained from the band. I had to check it. I walked in and viewed from the side the band. Yes. They were grinding on Jah's leg in a Taoist sex kind of way.
So many interesting people there. Characters. Dancers. Beautiful people. Trippers. Talent out the door. But I wasn't feeling it. Quadriphonix taking note of the Solutions. Uh huh. Oh yeah. Oh yeah? Ok. They took the stage with a lilt in their steps. I haven't seem them play in a year or so, last Halloween I think. I think the recent tour to the West Coast greased the wheels. Was tight and smooth and moved the people out of their chairs. I sat and stared, catching glimpses of the band through the flashing gaps in the dancers. I itch to perform as I sit on the sidelines. Inspired to step it up. Someday. When I feel like it.
After, Johnathan asks me if I want to smoke I say yes. Leaning on minivans on Nuuanu passing a joint. Post show show. Stage adrenaline amping the dialogue. I'm stone silent, thinking about how to get back to the truck. I feel that I should have at least a little interaction with the people of the circle before I puff and blow out of there. But the ball wouldn't drop and I wasn't grabbing for it. Tightnit wits staging it between two minivans. Sardonic freestyle.
Old black man in camoflouge pan handles the curb clique. Words were exchanged, but no money. He said he'd be back to give us another chance. People started saying goodbye and I took my que and withdrew. Across Nuuanu to King. Then I hear that thing. A freestyle ring of boys and girls just being. Free. Joel holds it down with the beat boxing and Kealoha on the Uke. A shining man in baby blue is excited about this happening. He sings, wings it through his awkwardness and participates, relates. He tries to include me in the circle but I back up against the wall and roll a smoke.
The camoflouge comes up and makes his pitch, Joels says he has to sing for it. He doesn't miss a beat and chimes in with it rhymin' for a minimum of three minuites. Takes his cash and splits, smiles all around. I use the break to take my leave before the baby blue man insist I open up and be loose with myself. Serenade from Joel. Spreading that melifluous love of his all over the streets of Honolulu. I sever any attempt at connect and retreat down the street, missing the opportunity for community that I say I want to see so badly. I put it off sadly. Claim it as my kink. Think about how I can put it into words.
Saturday, September 25, 2004
Waimanalo and a show....
Just walked in half hour ago. Went to a retro sci-fi movie, with Karrie's and Zoe, staring Angelina Jolie's lips. My living room and kitchen were clean when I entered. They weren't when I left this afternoon. Far from it. Dishes washed, counters scrubbed, floor swept, sink clean, table cleared save my ostrich egg and a few art supplies.
Last week I mentioned a work party to build a bamboo aqueduct and have a dinner party, small, with Blake and friends. I didn't see Blake at the open mic last night, and heard not a call to day. Was going to clean the place this afternoon. Rachel called and said Zoe was invited to a birthday party for Hoku in Waimanalo @ 1:00pm. Next weekend is Zoe's last weekend here before her mom takes her to Montana for a year, or so. So, Waimanalo. But first I stopped by Mikes to pick up a couple of magnolia trees that he'd dig out of the yard. Said he'd planted them with her. Now she's gone. So I stopped by with Zoe with rice milk and cookies for Mike. I asked him how he was doing. he said he didn't know. I knew what that meant. I gave the same answer last year to him when he asked me the same question. He asked me if I needed some herb. sure I said, and he wrapped up what he called surplus. I invited him, on Karrie's suggestion, to the movie later. he said sure.
So, off to Waimanalo. Mammas and children, and turtles and chickens that climb up next to you on the couch. Delivered a pua kenikeni to Koalani for the marking of the fourth birthday of the little. She was planning on planting the placenta from Hoku's birth and needed a tree. Lemonade and cookies and little girls in princess dresses. Grouping of adults brought together by the children, some pulled apart over the same. Drumming by the righteous, preaching by the same, ironic this game of life. A piniata that had to be hit while it was down.
Trampolined out, Zoe and I head back to town for a big screen event. Mike ended up on North Shore after yoga in Kailua. Rain check. So, pizza and a movie and clean house upon arrival. Rice milk and cookies and then some. I count my fortune.
Just walked in half hour ago. Went to a retro sci-fi movie, with Karrie's and Zoe, staring Angelina Jolie's lips. My living room and kitchen were clean when I entered. They weren't when I left this afternoon. Far from it. Dishes washed, counters scrubbed, floor swept, sink clean, table cleared save my ostrich egg and a few art supplies.
Last week I mentioned a work party to build a bamboo aqueduct and have a dinner party, small, with Blake and friends. I didn't see Blake at the open mic last night, and heard not a call to day. Was going to clean the place this afternoon. Rachel called and said Zoe was invited to a birthday party for Hoku in Waimanalo @ 1:00pm. Next weekend is Zoe's last weekend here before her mom takes her to Montana for a year, or so. So, Waimanalo. But first I stopped by Mikes to pick up a couple of magnolia trees that he'd dig out of the yard. Said he'd planted them with her. Now she's gone. So I stopped by with Zoe with rice milk and cookies for Mike. I asked him how he was doing. he said he didn't know. I knew what that meant. I gave the same answer last year to him when he asked me the same question. He asked me if I needed some herb. sure I said, and he wrapped up what he called surplus. I invited him, on Karrie's suggestion, to the movie later. he said sure.
So, off to Waimanalo. Mammas and children, and turtles and chickens that climb up next to you on the couch. Delivered a pua kenikeni to Koalani for the marking of the fourth birthday of the little. She was planning on planting the placenta from Hoku's birth and needed a tree. Lemonade and cookies and little girls in princess dresses. Grouping of adults brought together by the children, some pulled apart over the same. Drumming by the righteous, preaching by the same, ironic this game of life. A piniata that had to be hit while it was down.
Trampolined out, Zoe and I head back to town for a big screen event. Mike ended up on North Shore after yoga in Kailua. Rain check. So, pizza and a movie and clean house upon arrival. Rice milk and cookies and then some. I count my fortune.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Soulfull. Interaction. Within. Without...
Needed to make a list, an itinerary, an articulation of things to do that I can see. The evening was dawning and the light compelled me to putter around the garden. I passed a bucket 1/4 full of refined mud and 1/4 full of water. My attention was caught by a green frog floating sprawled on the surface, pointed nose just touching the side, looking like a docked boat. Stuck. When I reached, frog dove and I drained the murky water to reveal him. Caught him and looked him in the flaming eye in the amber light. Frog didn't resist. I let him go in the fish tank where the other, smaller frog comes and goes.
Said hello to Richie throwing priority garbage into the brimming roll-off dumpster. He asked me up to smoke a roach. I went for the empty water bottles in the kitchen, grabbed a pocketful of lilikoi and walked up to the construction zone.
Michel came up while the cherry was still hot. Richie asked me to stay for dinner. Chris and Angela's kids come by to eat dinner in their pajamas while mom got a little break to watch her program in solitude. Ritchie fired up the grill and Michel lit up the congas. TV was on loud cartoons. "Adult Swim" was the program the kids were watching,; cartoons for adults. The oldest of the kids,4, was tuned in, the three year old more interested in leggos's. The baby walked around all smiles. I realized that there were three adult units present, and I was the only one noticing the programming. I thought about changing the channel, then thought otherwise. Kids used to get carried off by alligators. I have an aversion to remote controls. I look at them like a dry alcoholic looks through a bar window.
I was fixated all night. Watched a foreign film, some local news, Bill Maher, and some King of the Hill. No commercials though. Michel is a good driver, he navigated with skill and close attention to the vibe of the room. I felt this nice absolution from dealing with people in close quarters, excused by the box. I could sit in Richie's house for hours and hours, be socially non-responsive, and socially correct. I all but drooled.
I sat on the new plywood floor and leaned back against the couch due to the state of my workpants. I cleaned out Betty the dump truck earlier. There was a new smell in there this morning. I sniffed around as I was deciding whether or not to resort to a tow truck to get me off a banana that had my tires spinning. I saw some maggots traveling on the passenger floorboard. I looked closer and saw some ants carrying tiny baby maggots off somewhere. The padding under the floormat had been catylized by a leaky window and a wet summer. I had a working ecosystem. So After driving a queasy Karrie around to work lunch and home, I ripped the mat and pad out and hosed down the entire cab. In those clothes I ate porkchops smothered with applesauce and steak and salad with ranch. (I think Ritchie used three quarters of the lighter fluid on the coles as he grumbled about how expensive charcoal grilling was compared to gas. The flames were worth the money. The kids and I all stood transfixed for ten minutes straight.)
I have a court date tomorrow in Ewa. I just made the plan for tomorrow on a manila folder: it was circular and led me right back to having no idea how I was going to pull off tomorrow...
A order for Big Island, and order for China, liriope to be planted, six people to administer in the effort, court, puttering in the garden. Or some permutation....
Needed to make a list, an itinerary, an articulation of things to do that I can see. The evening was dawning and the light compelled me to putter around the garden. I passed a bucket 1/4 full of refined mud and 1/4 full of water. My attention was caught by a green frog floating sprawled on the surface, pointed nose just touching the side, looking like a docked boat. Stuck. When I reached, frog dove and I drained the murky water to reveal him. Caught him and looked him in the flaming eye in the amber light. Frog didn't resist. I let him go in the fish tank where the other, smaller frog comes and goes.
Said hello to Richie throwing priority garbage into the brimming roll-off dumpster. He asked me up to smoke a roach. I went for the empty water bottles in the kitchen, grabbed a pocketful of lilikoi and walked up to the construction zone.
Michel came up while the cherry was still hot. Richie asked me to stay for dinner. Chris and Angela's kids come by to eat dinner in their pajamas while mom got a little break to watch her program in solitude. Ritchie fired up the grill and Michel lit up the congas. TV was on loud cartoons. "Adult Swim" was the program the kids were watching,; cartoons for adults. The oldest of the kids,4, was tuned in, the three year old more interested in leggos's. The baby walked around all smiles. I realized that there were three adult units present, and I was the only one noticing the programming. I thought about changing the channel, then thought otherwise. Kids used to get carried off by alligators. I have an aversion to remote controls. I look at them like a dry alcoholic looks through a bar window.
I was fixated all night. Watched a foreign film, some local news, Bill Maher, and some King of the Hill. No commercials though. Michel is a good driver, he navigated with skill and close attention to the vibe of the room. I felt this nice absolution from dealing with people in close quarters, excused by the box. I could sit in Richie's house for hours and hours, be socially non-responsive, and socially correct. I all but drooled.
I sat on the new plywood floor and leaned back against the couch due to the state of my workpants. I cleaned out Betty the dump truck earlier. There was a new smell in there this morning. I sniffed around as I was deciding whether or not to resort to a tow truck to get me off a banana that had my tires spinning. I saw some maggots traveling on the passenger floorboard. I looked closer and saw some ants carrying tiny baby maggots off somewhere. The padding under the floormat had been catylized by a leaky window and a wet summer. I had a working ecosystem. So After driving a queasy Karrie around to work lunch and home, I ripped the mat and pad out and hosed down the entire cab. In those clothes I ate porkchops smothered with applesauce and steak and salad with ranch. (I think Ritchie used three quarters of the lighter fluid on the coles as he grumbled about how expensive charcoal grilling was compared to gas. The flames were worth the money. The kids and I all stood transfixed for ten minutes straight.)
I have a court date tomorrow in Ewa. I just made the plan for tomorrow on a manila folder: it was circular and led me right back to having no idea how I was going to pull off tomorrow...
A order for Big Island, and order for China, liriope to be planted, six people to administer in the effort, court, puttering in the garden. Or some permutation....
Sunday, September 19, 2004
In the Astrology chat room...
lalonsengupta: hi
guerrillakingx: Hey
lalonsengupta: I am from India
lalonsengupta: and U?
guerrillakingx: Hawai'i
lalonsengupta: COOL
lalonsengupta: Are you an astrologer?
guerrillakingx: No
guerrillakingx: King of the World
lalonsengupta: what is that
lalonsengupta: can you change the world?
guerrillakingx: Nah, just facilitating a change already happening
lalonsengupta: good
lalonsengupta: what is your future planning
guerrillakingx: No future...
guerrillakingx: it doesn't exist...
guerrillakingx: there is only now
lalonsengupta: future means that has not yet come
guerrillakingx: and how we deal with that
lalonsengupta: by dealing the present
guerrillakingx: Future is a concept,
guerrillakingx: Now is a reality
guerrillakingx: How we deal now shapes the next moment
guerrillakingx: Right now
guerrillakingx: You and me...
lalonsengupta: like the exam
guerrillakingx: and how we see the world
lalonsengupta: you prepare
lalonsengupta: to pass the exam
guerrillakingx: ...no
lalonsengupta: which has not yet come
guerrillakingx: You meet the moment with no expectations, hopes or fears
guerrillakingx: You and I could realize heaven on earth, here and now, if we choose to
lalonsengupta: you can realize the heaven
lalonsengupta: which is in future
lalonsengupta: by changing the present
guerrillakingx: Not in future
guerrillakingx: Only now
guerrillakingx: "Heaven" is a state of mind, you can enter and leave over and over
lalonsengupta: you cannot be in that state for long
lalonsengupta: like you cannot be in deep sleep for long
guerrillakingx: Some don't know the option of being there at all
guerrillakingx: It is good to excercise the option
lalonsengupta: can you get the same purity of oxgen when you are in a road full of traffic
lalonsengupta: in which environment you are living
lalonsengupta: that determines how long your mind would be in peace
lalonsengupta: or joy
guerrillakingx: I found this experience in LA
guerrillakingx: Now I am in Hawaii
lalonsengupta: so what
guerrillakingx: you are right
lalonsengupta: take the example of Oxygen
guerrillakingx: ya
lalonsengupta: and try to get same level of purity
lalonsengupta: when you are in the busy road
lalonsengupta: if you can then
lalonsengupta: you are GOD
guerrillakingx: That would be working against the environment
guerrillakingx: Try changing your location...
lalonsengupta: environment does play a great role to determine
guerrillakingx: where god is easier to be
lalonsengupta: how your state of mind would be
guerrillakingx: yes
guerrillakingx: LA was like a purgatory for me
guerrillakingx: it burned off all my illusions
guerrillakingx: It does have its function, the rough environ
lalonsengupta: Mind is not Static
lalonsengupta: it is dynamic
guerrillakingx: ya
lalonsengupta: so it experience all sorts of experience
lalonsengupta: so when you see sorrow
lalonsengupta: you will feel sorrow
lalonsengupta: immediately you will lose peace
guerrillakingx: We can choose the way to deal with sorrow
guerrillakingx: We can be at peace with our sorrow...
guerrillakingx: by not resisting
lalonsengupta: that is called adjustment
guerrillakingx: objectivity
guerrillakingx: ya
guerrillakingx: objectivity allows adjustment
lalonsengupta: when you adjust that means you are managing the situation
lalonsengupta: like
lalonsengupta: i do not like my Boss
lalonsengupta: but i cannot do anything
lalonsengupta: I have to adjust
lalonsengupta: or like
lalonsengupta: you are in the crowded bus
guerrillakingx: Why can you not do anything?
lalonsengupta: you need to adjust with other
guerrillakingx: Be true to yourself
lalonsengupta: you need to adjust with other
guerrillakingx: It is our duty as humans to be honest with ourselves and others
lalonsengupta: you cannot like everything in the world
lalonsengupta: but sometimes you need to adjust
guerrillakingx: Do not encourage incorrect people
guerrillakingx: ya
lalonsengupta: and when there is a concept of adjustment
lalonsengupta: peace is not 100%
guerrillakingx: All is one, no need to like or dislike, just accept all as one, necessary as a whole
lalonsengupta: that is good
lalonsengupta: but difficult to attain
guerrillakingx: Shit makes good compost
lalonsengupta: yes
lalonsengupta: but you must have the courage to bear the foul odour
lalonsengupta: of that
guerrillakingx: No need to judge the odor
guerrillakingx: I compost my shit
lalonsengupta: your senses will not allow you do that
guerrillakingx: I use pine chips to absorb the odor
lalonsengupta: for that you need to practice
guerrillakingx: Nonsense
lalonsengupta: to attain that skill
guerrillakingx: Acceptance...
guerrillakingx: easier than resistance
lalonsengupta: that requires practice
guerrillakingx: No...
guerrillakingx: it requires making a single cause
lalonsengupta: that means what you have attained today
lalonsengupta: is a mere by chance
lalonsengupta: and not the result to practice
guerrillakingx: A lot of fruit is hanging, will you pick it or look at the ground at what is rotting?
lalonsengupta: to pick
lalonsengupta: i need to give effort
guerrillakingx: Or starve
guerrillakingx: Your choice
lalonsengupta: so everything is a result of effort
lalonsengupta: when you accept certain thing
guerrillakingx: Every moment contains opportunity to bridge the divide that separates unity
lalonsengupta: you are giving efforts
guerrillakingx: More effort to resist the truth of life...
guerrillakingx: believing illusions that act as guards to direct experience
lalonsengupta: do you practice spiritualism or only read the books related to that
guerrillakingx: I have no practice other than my writing
guerrillakingx: www.undeadpoetry.blogspot.com
guerrillakingx: oh, and my gardening
lalonsengupta: so to make your garden beautiful what do you do
lalonsengupta: give water and so on
lalonsengupta: here also lies effort
guerrillakingx: I enjoy watching them grow
guerrillakingx: it is not work
lalonsengupta: then it cannot be called garden
guerrillakingx: it is visiting a friend
guerrillakingx: helping to nourish
lalonsengupta: I need to go now, for I have some work
guerrillakingx: I recieve joy from their health
lalonsengupta: it is office time
lalonsengupta: thanks for chatting
lalonsengupta: take care
guerrillakingx: Did you see my site?
lalonsengupta: see you soon
lalonsengupta: no
lalonsengupta: later i would see
guerrillakingx: http://www.undeadpoetry.blogspot.com/
guerrillakingx: Aloha
lalonsengupta: what is that
guerrillakingx: Good bye in Hawai'ian...
guerrillakingx: also hello...
guerrillakingx: and spirit...
guerrillakingx: and breath...
guerrillakingx: Aloha!
lalonsengupta: BYE
lalonsengupta: hi
guerrillakingx: Hey
lalonsengupta: I am from India
lalonsengupta: and U?
guerrillakingx: Hawai'i
lalonsengupta: COOL
lalonsengupta: Are you an astrologer?
guerrillakingx: No
guerrillakingx: King of the World
lalonsengupta: what is that
lalonsengupta: can you change the world?
guerrillakingx: Nah, just facilitating a change already happening
lalonsengupta: good
lalonsengupta: what is your future planning
guerrillakingx: No future...
guerrillakingx: it doesn't exist...
guerrillakingx: there is only now
lalonsengupta: future means that has not yet come
guerrillakingx: and how we deal with that
lalonsengupta: by dealing the present
guerrillakingx: Future is a concept,
guerrillakingx: Now is a reality
guerrillakingx: How we deal now shapes the next moment
guerrillakingx: Right now
guerrillakingx: You and me...
lalonsengupta: like the exam
guerrillakingx: and how we see the world
lalonsengupta: you prepare
lalonsengupta: to pass the exam
guerrillakingx: ...no
lalonsengupta: which has not yet come
guerrillakingx: You meet the moment with no expectations, hopes or fears
guerrillakingx: You and I could realize heaven on earth, here and now, if we choose to
lalonsengupta: you can realize the heaven
lalonsengupta: which is in future
lalonsengupta: by changing the present
guerrillakingx: Not in future
guerrillakingx: Only now
guerrillakingx: "Heaven" is a state of mind, you can enter and leave over and over
lalonsengupta: you cannot be in that state for long
lalonsengupta: like you cannot be in deep sleep for long
guerrillakingx: Some don't know the option of being there at all
guerrillakingx: It is good to excercise the option
lalonsengupta: can you get the same purity of oxgen when you are in a road full of traffic
lalonsengupta: in which environment you are living
lalonsengupta: that determines how long your mind would be in peace
lalonsengupta: or joy
guerrillakingx: I found this experience in LA
guerrillakingx: Now I am in Hawaii
lalonsengupta: so what
guerrillakingx: you are right
lalonsengupta: take the example of Oxygen
guerrillakingx: ya
lalonsengupta: and try to get same level of purity
lalonsengupta: when you are in the busy road
lalonsengupta: if you can then
lalonsengupta: you are GOD
guerrillakingx: That would be working against the environment
guerrillakingx: Try changing your location...
lalonsengupta: environment does play a great role to determine
guerrillakingx: where god is easier to be
lalonsengupta: how your state of mind would be
guerrillakingx: yes
guerrillakingx: LA was like a purgatory for me
guerrillakingx: it burned off all my illusions
guerrillakingx: It does have its function, the rough environ
lalonsengupta: Mind is not Static
lalonsengupta: it is dynamic
guerrillakingx: ya
lalonsengupta: so it experience all sorts of experience
lalonsengupta: so when you see sorrow
lalonsengupta: you will feel sorrow
lalonsengupta: immediately you will lose peace
guerrillakingx: We can choose the way to deal with sorrow
guerrillakingx: We can be at peace with our sorrow...
guerrillakingx: by not resisting
lalonsengupta: that is called adjustment
guerrillakingx: objectivity
guerrillakingx: ya
guerrillakingx: objectivity allows adjustment
lalonsengupta: when you adjust that means you are managing the situation
lalonsengupta: like
lalonsengupta: i do not like my Boss
lalonsengupta: but i cannot do anything
lalonsengupta: I have to adjust
lalonsengupta: or like
lalonsengupta: you are in the crowded bus
guerrillakingx: Why can you not do anything?
lalonsengupta: you need to adjust with other
guerrillakingx: Be true to yourself
lalonsengupta: you need to adjust with other
guerrillakingx: It is our duty as humans to be honest with ourselves and others
lalonsengupta: you cannot like everything in the world
lalonsengupta: but sometimes you need to adjust
guerrillakingx: Do not encourage incorrect people
guerrillakingx: ya
lalonsengupta: and when there is a concept of adjustment
lalonsengupta: peace is not 100%
guerrillakingx: All is one, no need to like or dislike, just accept all as one, necessary as a whole
lalonsengupta: that is good
lalonsengupta: but difficult to attain
guerrillakingx: Shit makes good compost
lalonsengupta: yes
lalonsengupta: but you must have the courage to bear the foul odour
lalonsengupta: of that
guerrillakingx: No need to judge the odor
guerrillakingx: I compost my shit
lalonsengupta: your senses will not allow you do that
guerrillakingx: I use pine chips to absorb the odor
lalonsengupta: for that you need to practice
guerrillakingx: Nonsense
lalonsengupta: to attain that skill
guerrillakingx: Acceptance...
guerrillakingx: easier than resistance
lalonsengupta: that requires practice
guerrillakingx: No...
guerrillakingx: it requires making a single cause
lalonsengupta: that means what you have attained today
lalonsengupta: is a mere by chance
lalonsengupta: and not the result to practice
guerrillakingx: A lot of fruit is hanging, will you pick it or look at the ground at what is rotting?
lalonsengupta: to pick
lalonsengupta: i need to give effort
guerrillakingx: Or starve
guerrillakingx: Your choice
lalonsengupta: so everything is a result of effort
lalonsengupta: when you accept certain thing
guerrillakingx: Every moment contains opportunity to bridge the divide that separates unity
lalonsengupta: you are giving efforts
guerrillakingx: More effort to resist the truth of life...
guerrillakingx: believing illusions that act as guards to direct experience
lalonsengupta: do you practice spiritualism or only read the books related to that
guerrillakingx: I have no practice other than my writing
guerrillakingx: www.undeadpoetry.blogspot.com
guerrillakingx: oh, and my gardening
lalonsengupta: so to make your garden beautiful what do you do
lalonsengupta: give water and so on
lalonsengupta: here also lies effort
guerrillakingx: I enjoy watching them grow
guerrillakingx: it is not work
lalonsengupta: then it cannot be called garden
guerrillakingx: it is visiting a friend
guerrillakingx: helping to nourish
lalonsengupta: I need to go now, for I have some work
guerrillakingx: I recieve joy from their health
lalonsengupta: it is office time
lalonsengupta: thanks for chatting
lalonsengupta: take care
guerrillakingx: Did you see my site?
lalonsengupta: see you soon
lalonsengupta: no
lalonsengupta: later i would see
guerrillakingx: http://www.undeadpoetry.blogspot.com/
guerrillakingx: Aloha
lalonsengupta: what is that
guerrillakingx: Good bye in Hawai'ian...
guerrillakingx: also hello...
guerrillakingx: and spirit...
guerrillakingx: and breath...
guerrillakingx: Aloha!
lalonsengupta: BYE
UH: Ono Pono open mic...
The open mic at UH is happening. I counted fifty people there at one point Friday. Not bad for word of mouth on the third week. Joel and I are co-emceeing. It has rained every week. I sat behind the musicians and did a panoramic scan of the scene. Intelectuals hanging out around Ono Pono, a half dozen men doing Ta'i Chi, shirtless in the rain. Moon scientists dancing with hippy girls, Zoe dancing with a dog. I saw Karrie tapping her foot. Adam came down to play for the first couple of hours, then stayed to the end. A non-stop jam for nearly four hours straight. When we did stop to try and work out the sound for a couple of accoustic guitars, the pause cleared the dancers. It was like all the strings on the puppets were clipped. The trance broke. Norman the sound guy came at that moment and so we wrapped it up. No kick the can this week.
The open mic at UH is happening. I counted fifty people there at one point Friday. Not bad for word of mouth on the third week. Joel and I are co-emceeing. It has rained every week. I sat behind the musicians and did a panoramic scan of the scene. Intelectuals hanging out around Ono Pono, a half dozen men doing Ta'i Chi, shirtless in the rain. Moon scientists dancing with hippy girls, Zoe dancing with a dog. I saw Karrie tapping her foot. Adam came down to play for the first couple of hours, then stayed to the end. A non-stop jam for nearly four hours straight. When we did stop to try and work out the sound for a couple of accoustic guitars, the pause cleared the dancers. It was like all the strings on the puppets were clipped. The trance broke. Norman the sound guy came at that moment and so we wrapped it up. No kick the can this week.
Monday, September 13, 2004
Sunday, September 12, 2004
Sucking on a lemon drop...
Put my camera phone through the wash. I used a new laundry mat. The wash cycle is 10 mins longer and .25 cents less. So I washed my phone longer for cheaper. It's clean now.
So, I made a deal (sometimes I wheel and deal with the ineffable out of nostalgia for when I was God fearing). I said I'd loose the smoking habit (for at least one year [after I exhaust my current supply]), if the phone would recover (fully functional).
I taped the phone to the dash and drove around the last two hot summer days with the defrost on high. Through a screen of condensation I finally saw the the thing flicker back to life. It worked. then failed again. I gave it another day. I could make calls, but the display screen is iffy.
I have enough tobacco for one more cigarette, but no papers (note: I don't recommend smoking tobacco through a bong; at least not the way one would rip a bud). Whew... I have to go for a walk or vomit now...
If my phone works and I quit smoking I'll probably start eating again. I had two eggs with cheese and kutuk two hours ago. Just now I chopped a potato, pulled some rosemary, minced some garlic chives and sauteed this in olive oil with pepper and basalmic. Crystal sauce and ketchup. Yummy. It would be nice to appreciate flavors again. I'll have to buy more expensive whisky though. Jim Beam is fine if you smoke.
I've heard it said that when a person drops an addiction, there is usually another to replace it within 30 days. So, I should start shopping now...
Food is fine, I can start with that. I have papayas, bananas, lilikoi, avacado's in stock in the trees, herb garden can handle some grazing. But I need something else. Some kind of hand to mouth pocket food. that is fattening. My pants keep falling down.
Maybe I could come up with a usefull addiction. I do have a pakalolo credit that I will need to cash in soon. Maby I could write habitually, again. Amuse myself.
I have been satiating my little desires at the expense of the big dreams. whatever that means.
Put my camera phone through the wash. I used a new laundry mat. The wash cycle is 10 mins longer and .25 cents less. So I washed my phone longer for cheaper. It's clean now.
So, I made a deal (sometimes I wheel and deal with the ineffable out of nostalgia for when I was God fearing). I said I'd loose the smoking habit (for at least one year [after I exhaust my current supply]), if the phone would recover (fully functional).
I taped the phone to the dash and drove around the last two hot summer days with the defrost on high. Through a screen of condensation I finally saw the the thing flicker back to life. It worked. then failed again. I gave it another day. I could make calls, but the display screen is iffy.
I have enough tobacco for one more cigarette, but no papers (note: I don't recommend smoking tobacco through a bong; at least not the way one would rip a bud). Whew... I have to go for a walk or vomit now...
If my phone works and I quit smoking I'll probably start eating again. I had two eggs with cheese and kutuk two hours ago. Just now I chopped a potato, pulled some rosemary, minced some garlic chives and sauteed this in olive oil with pepper and basalmic. Crystal sauce and ketchup. Yummy. It would be nice to appreciate flavors again. I'll have to buy more expensive whisky though. Jim Beam is fine if you smoke.
I've heard it said that when a person drops an addiction, there is usually another to replace it within 30 days. So, I should start shopping now...
Food is fine, I can start with that. I have papayas, bananas, lilikoi, avacado's in stock in the trees, herb garden can handle some grazing. But I need something else. Some kind of hand to mouth pocket food. that is fattening. My pants keep falling down.
Maybe I could come up with a usefull addiction. I do have a pakalolo credit that I will need to cash in soon. Maby I could write habitually, again. Amuse myself.
I have been satiating my little desires at the expense of the big dreams. whatever that means.
Monday, September 06, 2004
Labor day, 2004...
I'm taking the holiday. It's quiet on the farm. I'm out of cash. I bought some food on the company credit card yesterday so that I can hang here today. The phone has been quiet. I slept in 'til 10:00am. Steve woke me. Downstairs I see that he has food, but the ants have attacked it. I give more food. I feed Kolohe. He never leaves food for the ants. Sometimes he leaves some for the pigeons so that he can eat them...
I've decided to make a list today. Lists. A list of work priorities, a list for house maintenance, a list for selections of my writing to record with Adam tomorrow night.
I was reading from The Secret Life of Plants last night. Apparently I need to drink water and eat more live foods to function better. Ran out of water yesterday. A short climb up to Ritchies house (he has city water) would have cured that situation, but instead I smoked another rollie and worked in the garden; potting up plants, pulling weeds, moving taro. I wore a half shirt yesterday, so my lower back is covered with mosquito bites.
Raining now. Starting some rice. Mix it with the eggs for breakfast, the beans for lunch.
Been using an old pack of matches to light the rollies this morning. I have two small burns on my neck where the sulfur flew like flaming shraptnel. I'm going to go fill the Zippo I found while cleaning the truck.
The sound, the smell, and the feel of the Zippo flash me back to Los Angeles. Warm brass in cold hands lighting a cigarette in the pre-dawn Sothern California desert, waiting for the Sun in Joshua Tree, waiting for the LSD to fuck with me. Moon shadow strong and definite.
Now I'm back. Yelling at the cat for climbing on the screen.
I'm one of the most interesting people I know. We should all be able to say such a thing. If you don't think you are interesting, then what kind of life are you living? When I say interesting, I mean interested. We don't have to be a beaming pop star or cheating politico or a narcissistic artist to be worthy of interest. We can be interesting/interested at any moment without moving a muscle or having a witness.
I think I was in a time warp of some sort recently. The clock in my truck and the clock on my phone are both eight minutes slow (my truck clock is actually three hours and eight minutes slow, but I know where those three hours went).
I flip the Zip to relight my rollie and now I'm paranoid in Hollywood, convinced that the Moon is not the Moon, but the Mother Ship hovering over LA. Angelinos rarely look up with so much to amuse them on the ground. I call Jim Trip to meet me at IHOP on Santa Monica to discuss this revelation, and though it is 04:00am he obliges. I do my best to convince him of my conjecture. Our waiters name is Jesus, and the bill comes to $6.66.
Alan just pulled in. "What? no respect for the labor movement?" We sit and talk of dreams.
Carson calls from Cali. Going to a barbi. Danny calls. says he's having drinks with Intrepid @ around 9:30pm. I have a bong hit, a cup of coffee, and play the bass a bit. Then I nap on the couch and sweat. Slap occasional mosquito's. I decide to strip and crawl under the net. Wake up at sunset. Beans and rice for dinner.
Turn KCRW on online. Peruse my files to find something I want to work on with Adam tomorrow night. Where to start? only ten years of words to choose from...
I'm taking the holiday. It's quiet on the farm. I'm out of cash. I bought some food on the company credit card yesterday so that I can hang here today. The phone has been quiet. I slept in 'til 10:00am. Steve woke me. Downstairs I see that he has food, but the ants have attacked it. I give more food. I feed Kolohe. He never leaves food for the ants. Sometimes he leaves some for the pigeons so that he can eat them...
I've decided to make a list today. Lists. A list of work priorities, a list for house maintenance, a list for selections of my writing to record with Adam tomorrow night.
I was reading from The Secret Life of Plants last night. Apparently I need to drink water and eat more live foods to function better. Ran out of water yesterday. A short climb up to Ritchies house (he has city water) would have cured that situation, but instead I smoked another rollie and worked in the garden; potting up plants, pulling weeds, moving taro. I wore a half shirt yesterday, so my lower back is covered with mosquito bites.
Raining now. Starting some rice. Mix it with the eggs for breakfast, the beans for lunch.
Been using an old pack of matches to light the rollies this morning. I have two small burns on my neck where the sulfur flew like flaming shraptnel. I'm going to go fill the Zippo I found while cleaning the truck.
The sound, the smell, and the feel of the Zippo flash me back to Los Angeles. Warm brass in cold hands lighting a cigarette in the pre-dawn Sothern California desert, waiting for the Sun in Joshua Tree, waiting for the LSD to fuck with me. Moon shadow strong and definite.
Now I'm back. Yelling at the cat for climbing on the screen.
I'm one of the most interesting people I know. We should all be able to say such a thing. If you don't think you are interesting, then what kind of life are you living? When I say interesting, I mean interested. We don't have to be a beaming pop star or cheating politico or a narcissistic artist to be worthy of interest. We can be interesting/interested at any moment without moving a muscle or having a witness.
I think I was in a time warp of some sort recently. The clock in my truck and the clock on my phone are both eight minutes slow (my truck clock is actually three hours and eight minutes slow, but I know where those three hours went).
I flip the Zip to relight my rollie and now I'm paranoid in Hollywood, convinced that the Moon is not the Moon, but the Mother Ship hovering over LA. Angelinos rarely look up with so much to amuse them on the ground. I call Jim Trip to meet me at IHOP on Santa Monica to discuss this revelation, and though it is 04:00am he obliges. I do my best to convince him of my conjecture. Our waiters name is Jesus, and the bill comes to $6.66.
Alan just pulled in. "What? no respect for the labor movement?" We sit and talk of dreams.
Carson calls from Cali. Going to a barbi. Danny calls. says he's having drinks with Intrepid @ around 9:30pm. I have a bong hit, a cup of coffee, and play the bass a bit. Then I nap on the couch and sweat. Slap occasional mosquito's. I decide to strip and crawl under the net. Wake up at sunset. Beans and rice for dinner.
Turn KCRW on online. Peruse my files to find something I want to work on with Adam tomorrow night. Where to start? only ten years of words to choose from...
Thursday, September 02, 2004
Hot day in September...
Wind not moving the air much. Out of cigarettes. Tired of telling people that I'm gonna quit, or telling people that I have quit only to start again.
I like to smoke cigarettes. I do not like the way that I smoke them: fiendishly and repeatedly. My respiratory system is not happy with my habit. I'm not anal retentive about the house keeping, so there are butts everywhere; on the window seals, overloaded ashtrays, the porch, the office, the living room, the cluttered dining room table. The only real pleasure that I get from them is the sating of the addiction to nicotine.
It doesn't make good sense to smoke like I do. The addiction hurts more than my lungs. My will withers in the presence of the nicotine fit. Rationale becomes the most creative of all my faculties, at the expense of my vital energy and peace of mind. Smoking, the urge to light another one, and the idea of quitting, dominate my head space. All day. Starting with the opening of my eyes.
I'll light up to postpone, or forget about, making breakfast . I'll smoke instead of drink water when I'm thirsty. I allow the urge to jerk me around on a leash like a dog, out of a shared moment into a solo puff and blow.
It's hot and I'm sweating. The tin roof radiates heat to the top of my head. Dog is panting on the porch. Air is so still that I notice the banana leaves when they occasion to move.
The suckers do little to curb the oral fixation.
I have to go mail a letter for Carson and cash a $13 check from AFTRA. There are cigarettes down there. I am thinking about them.
If I buy a pack of 20 filters now, they'll be done before the day is. American Spirit rollies cost about the same, but I'll have enough tobacco to keep me puffing strong for a week.
I hate bumming. The idea is: If I don't buy, I'll smoke less. The reality is: My whole day will be arranged to put me in contact with smokers. I spend more time in bars in coffee shops, stoking the addiction to alcohol and caffeine.
The funny thing is: I don't have to do anything to kill the habit and bolster my life condition. I just have to stop doing something.
Wind not moving the air much. Out of cigarettes. Tired of telling people that I'm gonna quit, or telling people that I have quit only to start again.
I like to smoke cigarettes. I do not like the way that I smoke them: fiendishly and repeatedly. My respiratory system is not happy with my habit. I'm not anal retentive about the house keeping, so there are butts everywhere; on the window seals, overloaded ashtrays, the porch, the office, the living room, the cluttered dining room table. The only real pleasure that I get from them is the sating of the addiction to nicotine.
It doesn't make good sense to smoke like I do. The addiction hurts more than my lungs. My will withers in the presence of the nicotine fit. Rationale becomes the most creative of all my faculties, at the expense of my vital energy and peace of mind. Smoking, the urge to light another one, and the idea of quitting, dominate my head space. All day. Starting with the opening of my eyes.
I'll light up to postpone, or forget about, making breakfast . I'll smoke instead of drink water when I'm thirsty. I allow the urge to jerk me around on a leash like a dog, out of a shared moment into a solo puff and blow.
It's hot and I'm sweating. The tin roof radiates heat to the top of my head. Dog is panting on the porch. Air is so still that I notice the banana leaves when they occasion to move.
The suckers do little to curb the oral fixation.
I have to go mail a letter for Carson and cash a $13 check from AFTRA. There are cigarettes down there. I am thinking about them.
If I buy a pack of 20 filters now, they'll be done before the day is. American Spirit rollies cost about the same, but I'll have enough tobacco to keep me puffing strong for a week.
I hate bumming. The idea is: If I don't buy, I'll smoke less. The reality is: My whole day will be arranged to put me in contact with smokers. I spend more time in bars in coffee shops, stoking the addiction to alcohol and caffeine.
The funny thing is: I don't have to do anything to kill the habit and bolster my life condition. I just have to stop doing something.
Sunday, August 15, 2004
Monday, August 02, 2004
Hello peoples...
Need a jumpstart. Where to start...
Raining in the jungle. Plants are happy. Cigarettes won't stay lit. Bong is clean. Nothing to put in it.
Except Salvia. I haven't done much documentation on the salvia divinorum trips. Might start. No time like the present...
...or later.
About five hours have passed between those dot dot dots. I saved this post as a draft, checked my e-mail, then succumbed to the habit of chat. Cyber crack. I'm an addict. I have an addictive personality. Obsessive compulsive too I suppose, but hey, I'm no doctor.
I'm fortunate enough to have never picked up a real crack habit, or heroin, or alcohol, or something expensive like that. I've done methamphetimines and saw a gaping hole into that addiction. Didn't fall in though. Not enough accessibility to the substance.
Been addicted to television in a heavy way. Same pattern with TV as with cigarettes, sex, and my other compulsions. If I have regular access I will do it at the expense of sleep, food, solitude, and my art. My health will easily take back seat to the quick and easy fix.
So anyways, after the dot dot dot I cruised the chat rooms looking for web cams to peek in on. Not the pay cams, or "free"sites, but those grainy staccato images of people with the screen glow on their faces and the cluttered abodes that frame them. I live in Hawai'i, one of the most culturally diverse places on the planet, where I can have a nice conversation with the Korean bartender at the Italian restaurant down the street, then walk to the park and watch Chinese practice the Brazilian martial art of capoera, then go to the kava bar and drink with the Polynesians. And I find myself searching the web for interesting people. The technology of the internet, like the TV, fascinates me. The potential inspires me. But the use of the stuff leaves me flat, with bloodshot eyes, feeling like I lost something. Time. Time well spent.
On a tangent: When I grew my first marijuana plants, I would sit with them for hours at a time, preening them, literally watching them grow. Some assert that by spending the time and energy on them that I did, I was helping them grow, influencing the quality and potency of their development. I want to draw a parallel between this and the net: is the same true? on a larger scale? A drop in the ocean does add to the body, but the gratification that comes from contributing gets lost in the vastness of the thing.
So, now, it's cigarettes at the fore, going hand in hand with the chat rooms. I've been doing this chat thing for two weeks or so. Debating mindnumbed Christians, avoiding marriage proposals from Philipinas, giving my agesexlocation to horny Pakistani boys who don't know that the title King is a male title. I'm developing anti-rhetoric rhetoric. The communication is little and far between a lot of words.
Need a jumpstart. Where to start...
Raining in the jungle. Plants are happy. Cigarettes won't stay lit. Bong is clean. Nothing to put in it.
Except Salvia. I haven't done much documentation on the salvia divinorum trips. Might start. No time like the present...
...or later.
About five hours have passed between those dot dot dots. I saved this post as a draft, checked my e-mail, then succumbed to the habit of chat. Cyber crack. I'm an addict. I have an addictive personality. Obsessive compulsive too I suppose, but hey, I'm no doctor.
I'm fortunate enough to have never picked up a real crack habit, or heroin, or alcohol, or something expensive like that. I've done methamphetimines and saw a gaping hole into that addiction. Didn't fall in though. Not enough accessibility to the substance.
Been addicted to television in a heavy way. Same pattern with TV as with cigarettes, sex, and my other compulsions. If I have regular access I will do it at the expense of sleep, food, solitude, and my art. My health will easily take back seat to the quick and easy fix.
So anyways, after the dot dot dot I cruised the chat rooms looking for web cams to peek in on. Not the pay cams, or "free"sites, but those grainy staccato images of people with the screen glow on their faces and the cluttered abodes that frame them. I live in Hawai'i, one of the most culturally diverse places on the planet, where I can have a nice conversation with the Korean bartender at the Italian restaurant down the street, then walk to the park and watch Chinese practice the Brazilian martial art of capoera, then go to the kava bar and drink with the Polynesians. And I find myself searching the web for interesting people. The technology of the internet, like the TV, fascinates me. The potential inspires me. But the use of the stuff leaves me flat, with bloodshot eyes, feeling like I lost something. Time. Time well spent.
On a tangent: When I grew my first marijuana plants, I would sit with them for hours at a time, preening them, literally watching them grow. Some assert that by spending the time and energy on them that I did, I was helping them grow, influencing the quality and potency of their development. I want to draw a parallel between this and the net: is the same true? on a larger scale? A drop in the ocean does add to the body, but the gratification that comes from contributing gets lost in the vastness of the thing.
So, now, it's cigarettes at the fore, going hand in hand with the chat rooms. I've been doing this chat thing for two weeks or so. Debating mindnumbed Christians, avoiding marriage proposals from Philipinas, giving my agesexlocation to horny Pakistani boys who don't know that the title King is a male title. I'm developing anti-rhetoric rhetoric. The communication is little and far between a lot of words.
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
Weed Pulling Meditation Manual:
LESSON #1 -
LESSON #1 -
When pulling the weeds it is suggested that it be a conscious action with each weed. It is advised to introduce your self to the weeds as their Reaper. Then indicate that there is nothing to fear, that it's nothing personal, that you are transforming them into compost, an exalted state where form becomes formless. Inform the plants that nothing is lost in compost, but that the few chosen for the heap will become one unit of great growth potential, that by joining together as one, through their Reaper and Redeemer(you), they will then leap to a new level of life, as a tree, or an arica palm, or one of the other fine plants or trees we grow here at Monkey Works. You don't have to believe it, but the weeds eat it up; It has been noticed that they release their roots with much less resistance.
Oh yeah. A reality show where the contestants compete for largest gross weight in weeds pulled for the week to return for another week to defend their title. The Laotians would reign. Maybe we could get the Laotian government to sponsor the show as an awareness vehicle to promote Laotian tourism. Ooo...
King of the World Endorsed.
Compiling a manual for the coming Weed Pulling Meditation Center. If I can translate the name into Japanese, I'm sure it would sound a little more poetic. Ooo, or Hawai'ian, even better. Yes.
For a modest suggested donation*, you can come stay in the beautiful exotic land of Hawai'i as more than just a tourist. Spend a week in deep immersion in the local culture. Experience Hawai'i out side the airconditioned tour busses. We provide the opportunity to put your feet in the dirt, reconnect with the earth, and see real, live, Hawai'ians**.
As a guest, and donor*, you will be provided with nature friendly*** accommodations on our Big Island Meditation Center campus.
An add in the back of Sunset magazine. Yes, with the troubled teen angle: Send your angry youth to our exclusive confidence building ashram.
After two weeks of sleeping in our nature friendly accommodations**** , experiencing a life without TV or pop culture, and rigorous weed pulling meditations in the tropical heat, they are likely to be far more appreciative of the life of convenience you work so hard to provide for them.
King of the World Endorsed.
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
a memo from The King...
Hey there folks. The King here. Some of you have commented that We haven't made any official speeches or proclamations since We've been King. We're here to clarify this misconception, and update you on Official Projects of the Office of the King.
A few months ago We did dole out the Meaning of Life in a public space (Studio 1, China Town, Honolulu). There We told the few people gathered that I was the King of the World (It was short notice and had only word of mouth publicity). We've been pretty quiet in my Office since, though We have been working on stuff .
We've been looking at the state of the world. A lot of things going on. Some of you might be surprised to hear that there is other stuff going on besides the American Political Circus. Well there is. Lot of grass roots stuff going on under the jaded eyes of the Media Houses. If you turn off the TV's and radios you can hear the buzz of hisses and whispers that are speaking volumes more than the chatter boxes.
Since I became King We've noticed a measurable leap in the pitch of the posers of this planet. They, like most people, don't know who the King is yet, but they sense something is up. On some level the Leader posers know their relevance is waning. Poor bastards. It's going to be tough for them, these next few years. Please remember them in your prayers and medications.
This is not going to be a State of the World address however. We are putting that off until We have spent a little more time chatting with the peoples. We come here today to talk about the first World Holiday We wish to declare (to be announced at un undetermined time in the near future).
We don't have a name for it yet. The idea is that we have a World Block Party. One day a year where all the non crucial worker types take time off work to let loose in solidarity with everyone else. Big Bash. Everyone is invited. The complete concept for this event will surely be controversial. We're proposing a free for all. No laws, no curfews, no work, no buying anything, no guilt for doing whatever we want as individuals. Of course, We know this will be a little messy at first. That's why the day after will be set aside for cleanup rites for the fist several years until this thing finds its groove. There is a lot of room here to have fun mixed with a healthy dose of spontaneous terror and danger to keep it interesting.
We're forming a committee to draft the blueprint and contingency plans for this most necessary decompression ritual. There will be updates on this exciting project forthcoming.
Thanks.
Office of The King
Hey there folks. The King here. Some of you have commented that We haven't made any official speeches or proclamations since We've been King. We're here to clarify this misconception, and update you on Official Projects of the Office of the King.
A few months ago We did dole out the Meaning of Life in a public space (Studio 1, China Town, Honolulu). There We told the few people gathered that I was the King of the World (It was short notice and had only word of mouth publicity). We've been pretty quiet in my Office since, though We have been working on stuff .
We've been looking at the state of the world. A lot of things going on. Some of you might be surprised to hear that there is other stuff going on besides the American Political Circus. Well there is. Lot of grass roots stuff going on under the jaded eyes of the Media Houses. If you turn off the TV's and radios you can hear the buzz of hisses and whispers that are speaking volumes more than the chatter boxes.
Since I became King We've noticed a measurable leap in the pitch of the posers of this planet. They, like most people, don't know who the King is yet, but they sense something is up. On some level the Leader posers know their relevance is waning. Poor bastards. It's going to be tough for them, these next few years. Please remember them in your prayers and medications.
This is not going to be a State of the World address however. We are putting that off until We have spent a little more time chatting with the peoples. We come here today to talk about the first World Holiday We wish to declare (to be announced at un undetermined time in the near future).
We don't have a name for it yet. The idea is that we have a World Block Party. One day a year where all the non crucial worker types take time off work to let loose in solidarity with everyone else. Big Bash. Everyone is invited. The complete concept for this event will surely be controversial. We're proposing a free for all. No laws, no curfews, no work, no buying anything, no guilt for doing whatever we want as individuals. Of course, We know this will be a little messy at first. That's why the day after will be set aside for cleanup rites for the fist several years until this thing finds its groove. There is a lot of room here to have fun mixed with a healthy dose of spontaneous terror and danger to keep it interesting.
We're forming a committee to draft the blueprint and contingency plans for this most necessary decompression ritual. There will be updates on this exciting project forthcoming.
Thanks.
Office of The King
Friday, July 23, 2004
Freak of Nature: Part 2...
Pulled some TV money out of the ATM and cruised the lanai at Coffee Talk. Looking for smokers to bum a smoke from. One smoker, on his cell phone. Turn. Moke on the corner, furrowed brow, holding a Marlboro gangster style. I offer a couple of pieces of White Rabbit candy for a cigarette. Brow unfurrows and face brightens and he offers two cigarettes and declines the candy. It's mango flavored, I said. He smiled and declined again.
Went to sisters. Lights on, computer glow through window, Jeep in the drive. Knock Knock. Tap Tap. Knock Knock. Went to get gas. Returned. Knock Knock. Tap Tap Tap Tap. N/A. Need food. Drive down Keeaumoku. Like Like Drive in. Plug cell phone into jack in the planter outside. Try sis again. She's with a Texan she met on the internet. They were having beers and playing adult games. They were at a place called B&D's or something. No...D&B's. Yes. They join me at the Like Like. Now I'm meeting people through the internet and I'm not even looking.
Then something happens. Woah. Crazy time thing. I go into dream land.
I decide to stop at Anna Bannannas for a smoke under the auspice of going in for a drink. I don't know anyone in the bar. Before I can order, I am approached by what appears to be a large white male and he asks me if I smoke. Before I can hesitate he asks me if I'm a cop. I laughed and said no. I asked if he was a cop. He hesitated, then said "I asked you." Oh yeah, thats right, cops can't solicit. Do you smoke he asks. I smoke I says. Do you have a lighter? Yeah. let's go smoke, but first, can you get that flashlight for me? points behind thebar. His friends are franticly looking under the bar and under everybodies chair for something. I ask the bartender for a double shot of Jack, a pack of cigarettes, and the flashlight. I check my pockets. No lighter. In my pants in the truck. Mr. X is mediating with the searchers and exhorting me to go smoke. I'm waiting for my change. Napkin on drink, cigarettes in pocket, we go. He had the personality of someone on meth. Amped. I told him lighter was in truck. He took it as a major setback. I told him I'd be back in a minuite. I walked. As he was taking a volumnous piss beside a truck he yelled out behind me "One minuite! Run!" I waved at him. unwraped pack, grabbed the BTU's from my BDU's, and sparked up for the thirty yard walk back. two drags. Passing the ride he was leaking by, the lights flashed and I saw a large silouhete behind dark tint. put the cigarette down, a distance away, and climbed in the big white truck. He asked me where I was from. Palolo I said. How long? Five years. I've been there twenty five. Moved here when he was eleven. started talking about how much water he drinks. two gallons a day. something to do with drug testing. smokes herb once every eleven days. mentioned something indecypherable about his cop buddies, or cops that he works with. What do you do I asked. You want to know what I do for a living? The question resounded with the sound of the creaky hinges of Pandoras Box. Coke style talk followed. I was his priest. I was his bartender. I was his therapist. He spoke fast. a Detroit rap with the consonants shrivelled by the Hawai'ian Sun. I cought what I could. Some things he was very clear on. His day job I never learned. The occupation he seemed to be most proud of was one he termed: Problem Solver. I knew what he meant by the way that he said it. The way we were parked, the light was in my eyes when I faced him, and he was a silouhette. He told me to lock the door. I did and noticed that the lock was a headless design that went flush with the pannel. As he passed the burning roach, he reiterated; I take care of peoples problems. in case I didn't get the subtlty of his terms the first time. first thought was; have I been a problem to someone? then; will this door open if I need it to? He shuts off the ignition. tells me how he's been a scrapper. a few quick tales of reductions he'd performed. I uncross my arms. He catches himself being revealing. I'm like sodium pentathal to some people. they just gush. the less I ask, the more they reveal. The cigarette burned down to the butt. We re-enter the bar. the ice cubes in my back were far melting, whisky still there. He rejoined his friends. I thought about the whole truck scene then pushed it aside do draw out a formula.
Pulled some TV money out of the ATM and cruised the lanai at Coffee Talk. Looking for smokers to bum a smoke from. One smoker, on his cell phone. Turn. Moke on the corner, furrowed brow, holding a Marlboro gangster style. I offer a couple of pieces of White Rabbit candy for a cigarette. Brow unfurrows and face brightens and he offers two cigarettes and declines the candy. It's mango flavored, I said. He smiled and declined again.
Went to sisters. Lights on, computer glow through window, Jeep in the drive. Knock Knock. Tap Tap. Knock Knock. Went to get gas. Returned. Knock Knock. Tap Tap Tap Tap. N/A. Need food. Drive down Keeaumoku. Like Like Drive in. Plug cell phone into jack in the planter outside. Try sis again. She's with a Texan she met on the internet. They were having beers and playing adult games. They were at a place called B&D's or something. No...D&B's. Yes. They join me at the Like Like. Now I'm meeting people through the internet and I'm not even looking.
Then something happens. Woah. Crazy time thing. I go into dream land.
I decide to stop at Anna Bannannas for a smoke under the auspice of going in for a drink. I don't know anyone in the bar. Before I can order, I am approached by what appears to be a large white male and he asks me if I smoke. Before I can hesitate he asks me if I'm a cop. I laughed and said no. I asked if he was a cop. He hesitated, then said "I asked you." Oh yeah, thats right, cops can't solicit. Do you smoke he asks. I smoke I says. Do you have a lighter? Yeah. let's go smoke, but first, can you get that flashlight for me? points behind thebar. His friends are franticly looking under the bar and under everybodies chair for something. I ask the bartender for a double shot of Jack, a pack of cigarettes, and the flashlight. I check my pockets. No lighter. In my pants in the truck. Mr. X is mediating with the searchers and exhorting me to go smoke. I'm waiting for my change. Napkin on drink, cigarettes in pocket, we go. He had the personality of someone on meth. Amped. I told him lighter was in truck. He took it as a major setback. I told him I'd be back in a minuite. I walked. As he was taking a volumnous piss beside a truck he yelled out behind me "One minuite! Run!" I waved at him. unwraped pack, grabbed the BTU's from my BDU's, and sparked up for the thirty yard walk back. two drags. Passing the ride he was leaking by, the lights flashed and I saw a large silouhete behind dark tint. put the cigarette down, a distance away, and climbed in the big white truck. He asked me where I was from. Palolo I said. How long? Five years. I've been there twenty five. Moved here when he was eleven. started talking about how much water he drinks. two gallons a day. something to do with drug testing. smokes herb once every eleven days. mentioned something indecypherable about his cop buddies, or cops that he works with. What do you do I asked. You want to know what I do for a living? The question resounded with the sound of the creaky hinges of Pandoras Box. Coke style talk followed. I was his priest. I was his bartender. I was his therapist. He spoke fast. a Detroit rap with the consonants shrivelled by the Hawai'ian Sun. I cought what I could. Some things he was very clear on. His day job I never learned. The occupation he seemed to be most proud of was one he termed: Problem Solver. I knew what he meant by the way that he said it. The way we were parked, the light was in my eyes when I faced him, and he was a silouhette. He told me to lock the door. I did and noticed that the lock was a headless design that went flush with the pannel. As he passed the burning roach, he reiterated; I take care of peoples problems. in case I didn't get the subtlty of his terms the first time. first thought was; have I been a problem to someone? then; will this door open if I need it to? He shuts off the ignition. tells me how he's been a scrapper. a few quick tales of reductions he'd performed. I uncross my arms. He catches himself being revealing. I'm like sodium pentathal to some people. they just gush. the less I ask, the more they reveal. The cigarette burned down to the butt. We re-enter the bar. the ice cubes in my back were far melting, whisky still there. He rejoined his friends. I thought about the whole truck scene then pushed it aside do draw out a formula.
Write the Thing
Name the Names
Connect the Reference
Manufactured 44444Controversy 44444Web of
As a Statement
There was a nice diagram explaining everything as a basic concept. So Mr.X comes over and glances at the writing. He wants to make sure that what is between us is between us. I don't know nothing. He keeps eyeing the napkin suspiciously. I assure him that its an internet concept piece. He flips the napkin over and tells me to draw another one, then says he's going to draw one, then calls his friend over and tells him to tell me the story. His friend had lost a wallet, the thing they were looking for. They retraced their steps back to Magoo's and spyed it in the middle of the road. A car hit it. Then another one and the wallet flew open and his money went blowing. But he grabbed it all. We all bumped fists.
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