To paraphrase what Fred the Jerry once said, without music life would be a mistake... i completely and wholeheartedly agree with this statement, i know that music is such and important and meaningful part of my life that i really don't know what i would do without it... and as i've grown older my musical tastes have broadened, i no longer am squarely ensconced in that indie rock bubble that i once lived in, no i haven't given it up, not by a long shot it's just these days there are a lot more genres tossed in there which gives me a greater appreciation for all of them...
There are certain songs that will stop me in my tracks, that will get me to stop what i'm doing, to sit down and just listen... how often these days in the world of non-stop news feeds and electronic bombardment do we actually just stop, close our eyes or stare off into space, and just listen, let the mind take it all in, let it wander where it wants, the daydreams and memories that a particular song will invoke, it's one of the most beautiful things a human can experience... (hell i know even animals sometimes latch on to a piece of music, my old cat Pablo (1994-2007) was extremely fond of the Grandaddy song So You'll Aim Toward the Sky... and for the record i am too...)
Which of course brings me back to a certain song from the show, Screamland, the highlight, one may have wondered (though probably not) why i didn't post it with the last bits of the Mushroom Diaries? well that would be because it was deserving enough of it's own post... if there is one thing i love about music it's the way each song can be intensely personal and yet universal... each and every one of us will get something different out of it while still being able to share that song and enjoy it with whoever... call it the Wedding Song Theory, or why people pick a particular song, of course some pick the same fucking Eric Clapton song which can only be attributed to a lack of creativity or thought (granted one could really love that song but it's a bit of a cliche at this point), oddly enough the one played on that day many years ago at my little ceremony was called Hope by the Dirty Three... Everything's Fucked by said band would have been a better choice (and also one of the songs that will stop me cold)...
Certain questions will tell me a lot about a musician and one of those questions is when they are asked about the lyrics... i can tell right off how invested and seriously they take it by the response... when i hear said musician explain ad nauseum what the lyrics mean and how they came about i know right off they are missing the point, maybe they're young and don't understand the question but it often points to not understanding art... most of the artists i love and admire the most, from writers to painters to musicians, won't answer the question, they'll explain they know what it means to them, without ever really saying what it does, and then proceed to talk about how they'd rather have the listener, reader, viewer interpret it themselves, to apply their own meaning for their own lives... and maybe that's just a school of thought but i happen to believe it's the correct one because regardless of what the creator might say the meaning will always lie within our own individual interpretation of those works...
Which brings me to Screamland... there is not a line in the song, from the verses to the chorus that does not resonate with me in some way, that does not invoke a memory or feeling that relates to my existence, and yes that's the beauty of music, how it relates to us personally (and as stated universally)... for those of us who haven't become completely numbed to ourselves by this modern living, who haven't become completely anesthetized to the world around us, who can look up from our phones and technological gadgets and appreciate what we have, what we seem to be trying to throw away, for those of us who still exist with empathy and compassion, who believe strength is in kindness and not hatred and bigotry, who can still appreciate the beauty of art, who move through the world daydreaming and believe the simplest acts of kindness and decency can help create a better world, who are soundtracking that movie in their head so they can feel, dream, cope with a species seemingly hellbent on it's own decline and demise, these bits of art and music that we can relate to are the sustenance and nourishment for our soul, it's what reminds us what matters and what we stand to lose if we don't pay attention, if we forget to cultivate and care for our humanity... and to me, this song, conjures all those things...
And while i could sit here and elucidate on the meaning of this song that would quite obviously contradict everything i have just written... so i won't... i will say that hearing this song live in a heightened state of awareness and empathy (mushrooms have been proven to elicit and improve feelings of empathy and kindness to the world around us, to connect us more to the natural world and dare i say awaken us to what we are part of and will someday return to egoless and formless), in a room full of other humans, many of whom, like myself, were transfixed by what was happening, it was what one might call a transcendental moment, those brief glimpses of existence where the facade falls away and one understands and physically feels the beauty of it all...
Love must find a way/ love must find a way/ after every desperate measure/ just a miracle will take...
And now we come to the finish... February 13, 2018... The Longest Day... the seventh Tuesday in the seventh week of that year... Mardi Gras, National Pancake Day... the day i knew, though i had always known, that my time with my father was running out... there's not much left to write about that day though there will always be something to write about it... one of those days that gets run through the mind at various times and one of those days that somehow remain more vivid in my mind, like the birth of the boyos, the old yin-yang of life and death, samsara or whatever one might choose to call it... six times i've written about it, probably not as well or as clear as i'd like... but that's life now innit? i could go back and rework or rehash but sometimes it''s best to let things lie, let the imperfections of the words or memories be perfect because we all know that living is not perfect but the imperfections of living are what make it perfect... at least perfect to those who care and attempt to understand even if we never fully grasp it due to it's imperfections... and so this year, the seventh year after the seventh Tuesday in the seventh week in a year marked as 2018, the day came and went... and then it occurred to me how strange and funny the universe can be...
I have a younger brother... granted we are not related by blood, more kindred spirits but dare i say it goes deeper than that... there is an origin story to how i came upon this younger brother but that is a tale unto itself which someday will be properly put down here at the lounge, a story i've told many times to various strangers when i attempt to explain how i met the younger brother i never knew i had... oddly enough i dubbed him The Kid (he's 13 years and 8 days younger than i) and even more odd i nicknamed him that long before we both fell down the rabbit hole of a certain book called Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy... fucking hell i could probably do a dissertation on the relevance and significance of this name as it relates to both my younger brother and the novel but as mentioned that could turn into some sort of Vivian Girls-esque fable that would baffle the most logical of minds... so i'll stay on track... (as well as another one of those coincidences that Robert Anton Wilson loved so much...)
It was sometime after the second year, when i had written about The Longest Day again, that The Kid mentioned how it was an interesting concept to write about the same day year after year, the different things that would come from it, the different memories and meanings to said day and how they would morph and change over time... The Kid is one of the most intelligent humans i know and in certain respects reminds me of my father in both thought and demeanor, and it was this idea that led me to scribbling away, for better or worse, about this day for the last six, now seven, years...
Fast forward seven years to February 13, 2025... it was the first time since that day seven years ago that i didn't really think much about it... i knew it was coming and i knew it would pass but in the days and years since that day i often think about my father, pretty much every day, i do laps for him when i swim, some just cuz i love the guy and some in the block of Fuck Cancer laps where i go through the names of those i've known and loved and lost and those who have managed to beat that fucking disease and sadly there is more of the former than the latter... i understand that the act is symbolic mainly to me but somehow it makes me feel as if i'm fighting against it and by going through the names of the people i've known for that brief moment they aren't really gone...
But what was it about this February 13th that struck me, after the fact of course, and brought about and "i'll be damned" from the mouth of our jaded author? I'll explain... The Kid and his lovely wife now live down south, i don't get to see them often but it's always one of my favorite days when i do, sadly The Kid was coming back to our Rust Belt city to attend a ceremony for a friend of his, gone far too soon and far too young, and i know if there's one thing the universe has taught me it's there is no justice or sense to it, it takes who it wants when it wants which is why every day when i roll off my makeshift bed and stretch, pet Paco between the ears, watch Archie rub against my legs, i take a deep breath, i smile and remind myself to enjoy this shit cuz it's more fleeting than any of us like to admit and at any given time one's ticket could be punched... so since The Kid and the lovely Miss E were coming back to town and though he had a lot of things to do we put our heads together to figure out a time and a place to hang for a bit... and after bouncing around some ideas and such we thought the sooner the better as it would be a hectic few days for my brother and so we settled on a Thursday night at my favorite dive bar, the date? February 13th...
And so it was that night that i drove to my favorite boozer to see my brother (and the lovely Miss E.)... the universe is funny like that, these random happenings, the coincidences, the shit that Bob Wilson makes one ponder in the wee hours of the morning... i didn't think about the exact date until a few days later when it sorta popped into my head as the smile spread across my face, at the time i was more happy to see The Kid, to see how he was doing after the loss of his friend, to have one of our usual conversations filled with intellect and humor, to discuss the state of the world and our lives, and to basically just be in the company of a good friend (friends as i'd be remiss not to include Miss E) because as i go skipping towards the void i understand more now, much more than i did when i was younger, how rare and precious they are, how they don't come along that often and when they do we would do well to recognize them... (side note: they met me at my favorite boozer even though neither of them drink anymore which i thought was pretty fucking swell of them, granted The Kid and i have put in many hours between us in years past polishing the mahogany at this place and honestly one could go to this joint for the jukebox and the food alone but i still found it brilliant that they chose this spot... my brother knows me well...)
It was an interesting juxtaposition thinking about the two days, seven years apart, how time had somewhat softened the blow of that day seven years ago and how much i understood that day now... yes there are things that still sting, will always sting, the fact i couldn't stay at my dad's apartment that night due to my illness, an illness brought on by a selfish act of the BW and even now i don't think she fully grasps what she took, not only from me but from my father, facing down his mortality i knew he wanted me there that night, his only son, to sit and talk like we had so many times before, to not be alone, there is no amount of sorry that will give back what can't be given and it's a hard thing to forgive, i know full well that if i had pulled some such shit when her mother was sick i'd have never heard the end of it, i've never mentioned it to her, not once, mainly because it's just another reminder of where i stand in her eyes, it's a strange thing to watch someone display an enormous amount of caring and empathy to everyone around her but very little to yours truly... but the day has come and gone... seven times to be exact... and maybe that uncaring, unfeeling universe i speak of was trying to give me a little bit back, by putting me in a booth, in my favorite boozer, to talk to my brother and Miss E on the same day, at the same time i would have been sitting in my father's apartment some seven years back, to have one of those conversations i love so much and though it wasn't with my dad it was with one of the few people on this planet who qualifies in my favorite conversations department..
Hang onto your friends... especially the good ones... (this pic is titled Old Geezer in Reading Glasses at the Jukebox)
The band ambled up on stage, the only backdrop a large velvet red curtain, it was a six piece with two guitars, bass, keyboards, drums and a multi-instrumentalist who played sax, flute, clarinet and a few other things... then after the band had picked up their instruments and taken their positions the man came strolling out, Josh Tillman aka Father John Misty, cool as fuck as usual in a dark suit, button down white shirt open at the neck and no tie... he gave a wave, said hello and the band immediately started into the first single from the latest album, an album that they would play in full (8 songs), i always think it takes balls to lead with the newest single and some shows he has not but if one is a FJM fan one knows his back catalog is stocked with great fucking tunes so it would be damn near difficult to play a crap setlist, yes one may not hear their favorites but the fact is it's going to be a good fucking show... and of course it was...
It was at this point that Meg had stated she hated this song, to which i responded really? she then began debating on whether she should run to get another beer but once again was worried about her kid, i once again said she'd be fine and Meg ran off, her daughter turned and smiled and said she worries too much to which i replied i can't believe she doesn't dig this song, i fucking love it! her daughter replied i know! so do i and we both went back to listening, i'm not one to talk much once the music starts, i find it horribly annoying when people do... i didn't come to this show to listen to you talk about your fucking job i came to the show to listen to great live music and fucking groove maaaan... and yes the mushrooms now in full flight i was fucking loving it...
Meg returned and it didn't take long to realize i may have made a mistake... i'm all for one enjoying the show, in fact i enjoy seeing people lose their shit, i've been known to do it, but sometimes people tend to think they are the show and Meg was beginning to strike me as one of those people... she began shouting for songs, singing way too loudly and off-key, doing some sort of interpretative dance... i had the feeling Meg may have been getting a little too drunk and i noticed, though i was pretty much just honing in on the music and stage, that her daughter was getting annoyed and embarrassed as well with at one point a small tiff breaking out where her daughter told her, in so many words, to tone it down as she was making a bit of an ass of herself... of course i think back to the summer and a certain old man almost passing out from getting so high but i believe the main difference was i was just hanging and enjoying the show when the geezer bit off a bit more than he could chew... i wasn't screaming lyrics while doing interpretative dance while disrupting everyone around me... at this point i had slid over a few more feet so i could be further away and enjoy myself...
And enjoy myself i did... drinking my water and hitting my pen and watching what i call a proper fucking rock star... for those not familiar Father John Misty is the stage persona of Josh Tillman, much like Ziggy or the Thin White Duke, it's an act and Josh understands that perfectly, in fact he was the drummer in Fleet Foxes as they began to hit it big and left because he didn't want to be a drummer in some band he wanted to make his own music, i dig that sorta self belief because it would have been a steady and decent paycheck playing drums in a band viewed as indie darlings... in fact i'd say at this point he's surpassed his old band...
But what is a proper fucking rock star? well that's someone who can flat out command the stage, captivate one's attention, old Josh here has stage presence and charisma to spare and he understands how to use it and when to step back and let the band shine, it's a wonder to behold, i'd put him up there with Bowie and Morrissey and Nick Cave when it comes to that and while i know that's a bold statement i stand by it... and how good was it? well interestingly enough he did (from what i can tell) a tour high four songs from my least favorite album of his and they were all fucking brilliant... two of which here right up at the top of my list as highlights of the show and it was on the train ride home as the boomers were working their way out of my system that i sat pondering that while the city went by... i caught my reflection in the glass with a slight grin cuz i knew i had just seen a great performance and damn if i wasn't fucking happy to be alive, to appreciate days like this, the cold walk, the drugs, the music, the people... fucking life's a trip now innit?
I will say that FJM does draw a large female crowd, let's face it the guy's good looking and charismatic and the last show in 2018 i had a good laugh watching the young men who had basically cultivated the FJM look much like the high school girls of my youth did with Pat Benetar... now i'll refer everyone here to the Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings video which features Aubrey Plaza, a woman who i find particularly fucking gorgeous... as i was watching the show i caught a young woman, i'm guessing mid 20s, who was my second favorite part of the show... unlike Meg she was dancing and singing her favorites with the sorta reckless abandonment that has always caught my eye, i chuckled to myself as i watched her boyfriend standing behind her a bit lost and i wanted to tap him on the solder and explain to him that i had the feeling he didn't know what he had and that he was one lucky motherfucker, granted like Aubrey she was an attractive brunette which has always been a bit of a weakness with the author.. but i go back to what i said earlier when i mentioned i enjoyed watching someone lose their fucking mind to music they love and this girl embodied all of that...
But that absolute highlight? well that was easy... Screamland... a song off the new record and one of the best he's ever done... it ebbs it flows it blows the fucking doors off, it loud it's quiet it's brilliant... in my humble opinion of course, standing there and listening to it, the mushrooms kicking, the music kicking, it's one of those experiences where every fucking nerve end in my body was vibrating, about the closest thing to an orgasm one can get without actually having one, it's one of those fleeting bits of that arbitrary thing called time where life and death and the rest doesn't matter, i am here in the place and it feels like the universe is flowing through me while these beautiful sounds fill my ears and mind, while these words trigger images and memories and feelings and i know that nothing really matters and it's all going to be alright...whatever the fuck that means... words will never really communicate the feeling because the feeling is so fucking gorgeous that there are no words for it... and it's here and then it's gone... and there is no use trying to catch it only to enjoy it, to be present, to understand and let it wash over you like an exquisite wave and when it passes you break the surface of the water and take a deep breath and know and the air never tasted so good...
Screamland ended and i took a deep breath and as he broke into another song of the new record, in fact the last five before the encore were all off the new record, i wandered out towards the smoking section.... i wanted a cigarette... i haven't had a smoke in a long time but every now and then... into the cold air and there was the young guy from the pisser i joked with earlier, i walked up and asked to buy a smoke off him cuz i admitted i might only take a few drags and toss it and i didn't want him to think i was wasting it, he told me to keep my money and give it to the homeless guy out front, i smiled and said will do and as fate would have it he pulled a pack of Parliaments out of his jacket, what the hipster kids smoke, what this hipster kid used to smoke back in the day... i grinned, lit my smoke and began to chat...
Taking a hit i exhaled and laughed, that tastes fucking good, glad i gave them up... my new friend, Matt then introduced me to his friends, a couple more guys and tiny girl, they joked about how they were discussing what the demographic for a FJM show would be and i said did you have 50 something psychedelic loving stoners on the list? they laughed and said of course, the girl then looked up at me and said, you have weed? i smiled back and said of course and handed her my pen and told her to smoke away, we discussed mushrooms and bars and of course my favorite dive in the world came up, a guy in a Carhart that was exactly like my first one (a coat which got it's own post years ago and i must mention i've only purchased two of these work coats in 30 plus years, quality goods) said that he loved the place as well and i started laughing, i said i'm not saying this to be ageist or some such shit but i had feeling i started frequenting the joint around the time he was born, he asked when and i said 1996, he laughed and stated that was in fact the year he was born, we talked more and i finished my smoke and wandered back in, i could hear my two least favorite songs from the new record (still good) as i talked outside but as the band broke into the title track i bolted back in and found a fine place at the back a bit more removed from Meg and her daughter..
The tiny girl, meaning roughly five feet tall, came up smiling and asked how i was doing, it took me a second to realize who she was and i laughed and said good, she asked how the mushrooms were and where i was at and i said the downside and that i'd be relatively cool by the time i got home, she introduced me to another hipster kid with funky mustache and we talked a bit about our favorite FJM records and then they came back out for the encore, four songs, and as the band finished i made my way into the cold night but not before stopping outside to hand the guy and his dog the money i said i'd give for my smoke... when the voice said thank you sir i realized this was basically just a kid, two of them to be exact, and handed them a couple more dollars while making sure i still had enough to get home just in case the trains shit the bed again...
I'd be remiss if i didn't mention that during the encore as i stood in back i felt a tap on my shoulder, i turned and there was Meg, she had her hair down and i got the impression she had made herself look nice as she smiled and told me that it was really great talking to me, i said likewise and smiling i mentioned that i got a bit lost on my way back and felt bad stepping in front of people to get back to my spot, she smiled and said no problem, hung there for a few seconds and then said, well have a good night, i said you too! tell your daughter it was nice to meet her as well, you two be safe... i could sense a bit of disappointment and i had the feeling Meg was hoping to exchange numbers but sadly that was not in the cards...
I traversed the parking lot and wandered into the train station, a below ground station and i was the only one there, laughing i thought to myself this is definitely a place to get mugged and somehow knew that would not happen, after five minutes or so a few more people arrived, all coming from the show and we talked and laughed about the mess the T was tonight, it was the same deal on the way back, on one train then off and on a bus and then onto another train... riding back through the city i was quite at ease with the world... i watched the lights and thought about how lovely the night had been and how good my makeshift bed would feel as my boy Paco would wander up and plop down as he purred away and gave me some headbutts... i know i'm not as young as i used to be and twenty years ago i'd have headed to the bar or found some such shit to get into... these days i'm wise enough to understand i need to get my ass home, of course maybe had it been warmer out i'd have thought differently but as i walked up the steps somewhere north of midnight i was glad to quietly open the door to be greeted by Paco and Archie... home...
For as much as i enjoy my forays with psychedelics while lounging on my couch there are times when one must get out and see the world and yes as stated i'm not as young as i used to be and yes there was a moment when i thought am i too old to be doing this shit? and then that grin creeps across my face and i laugh out loud and think fucking hell no... like Hunter Thompson once mentioned, i don't plan on entering the void well preserved so to speak, i'm gonna have my fun and live fucking hard, yeah i swim my laps and drink my smoothies and other times i take psychedelics and wander the streets... or as i thought sitting on that train and noticing my reflection in the glass... i've come a long way and gone nowhere at all...
This post could also be titled Adventures in Public Transportation... or how i was late to the show... so allow me to start from the beginning... when i saw that two of my favorite artists were coming on one tour i was more than a little stoked, Father John Misty with Destroyer opening... git ta fuck outta here!! Tillman and Bejar on the same night n the same place, i'll take it, had no problem shelling out the requisite cash for this one and since it was at Stage AE i could take the T aka light rail down to the North Side and walk over, meaning i could indulge in my favorite pastime, taking mushrooms and seeing live music (this is the venue of the two Flaming Lips show and a previous FJM show as well, great place to see bands, and i've seen many here, with both an inside and outside venue... (funny that those crazy Germans Kraftwerk are playing outside in early March, the crowd could be standing in a snowstorm possibly depending on the Rust Belt weather)... the beauty of taking the T means i can take my medicine as well as not having to pay $20 or more to park my fucking car, essentially a win win... unless of course..
For anyone who ever takes public transport we all know at any given time shit can go south real quick... even though i'm not a hipster kid anymore i was well up for this show and so i got shit in order straight away, there was a lot going on around the old homestead but i managed to get things sorted, made Disaster his dinner and then headed out towards the T station... originally i planned to get the 6:55pm train which would get me to my stop by roughly 7:30 and then a short ten minute walk to the gig... of course the weather would have to be shit to say the least, no rain or snow but temps in the teens with a brisk little breeze to boot... i got to the parking lot, being a professional i knew that if i took my boomers when i got on the train i'd be in fine form by showtime and also knew that by the time i returned to my hood i'd be quite on the downside of the psychedelics, basically on the micro part of the macro with just a short jaunt home... i parked and headed up to the platform...
The anticipation was building for both boomers and show and i stood watching the clock on the platform and the track, waiting for the headlights of the train to come around the bend... i was listening to an announcement that didn't quite add up, that trains could be running up to 15 minutes late plus there were repairs going on somewhere and it was at this point i got a bit nervous, i listened to it a few times and watched the time tick away, i knew i could head over to another station and catch the Blue Line instead of the Red which would get me to same spot on the North Side, i was also debating driving down but that would of course considerably alter my plans... after another minute or two i ran off the platform hopped in the car and drove to the other station, got there with a few minutes to spare and hopped on the train, the fucking Red Line which would actually take me right past where i had just left, i was a bit pissed at the shit show but figured i'd still be down there in time to catch Destroyer, maybe i'd miss the first song but at least my plan and the savings on parking would still be intact... i hopped on and grabbed a seat, pulled out my capsules filled with the vaunted Penis Envy strain and downed a half a dozen or roughly two grams and change, nothing off the charts but enough for a fine evening especially combined with my pen full of the original blueberry strain of cannabis... i figured it would arrive at the North Side station at 7:55, ten or so minutes to walk and get in the door, golden...
Alas the PRT, the regional transit had other ideas... seems they were working on the track downtown which meant i'd have to get off at a stop near the Greyhound Station (a short walk from my old gig at the Big World Bank Machine), catch a shuttle bus from there which would take me to another T station where i would hop another train that would get me to the show... alright maybe i'd miss the first two possibly three songs but since the setlist i'd seen was roughly 9-10 songs a night i'd still see the bulk of the show... that is until the bus got to the next train which then proceeded to sit on the tracks for a good ten minutes while i watched the clock tick knowing that now i might not see any of the Destroyer set... i would have been more angry but at this point the boomers were beginning to do their thing and i was having a fun time watching the train wiggle though it wasn't moving at all... if finally began moving and i got to my stop at roughly 8:25, jumped off and bounded up the steps and speed walked to the venue, the mushrooms now fully kicking...
At the doors i went through the metal detector and of course set it off which meant i had to get wanded down, being a bit on the rise with the fungus this turned into a comedy of errors, i was actually looking towards the stage and watching Destroyer while simultaneously trying to empty my pockets, of course i forgot that i had glasses in one pocket, my wallet, my dad's old belt i took when he passed (a Dickie's belt, metal buckle, the old man had taste in work clothes), my fucking keys for fuck sake, luckily the security guard was laughing at what a trainwreck i was and i apologized and blamed the trains, she laughed and said no problem probably sensing that i was a "on something" as they say, finally inside i beelined for the pissers where i was muttering and laughing, the young guy a few urinals down looked over and i laughed and said the T was a fucking mess and i'm too fucked up on drugs to deal with that shit... i made my way out and found a spot by the sound board in the back as usual, being 6'4 i do realize i block anyone behind me from seeing while i can see over most people so i try to be courteous one might say, at one point i did turn around and grin because there was a noticeable spot behind me cuz no one could see over me...
The shrooms now fully kicking i took in the last three songs of Destroyer's set, Bejar being the lovable disheveled curmudgeon, drinking from his red Solo cup, a three piece band that surprisingly made more music than one would expect... and what can i say? it was excellent... yes there was that tinge of bummed that i didn't catch it all but hey there is no reason to worry, fucking life is grand when listening to music and tripping... i wandered outside to hit the pen, the venue is expertly set up and the outside area is right off the bathrooms and even had a bar open, i asked the two people working it if they had drawn the short straw to get stuck out in the cold and they laughed and said, our boss is a dick, i smiled, handed over my $7 for a large bottle of water and went back in to wait for the show...
One may be shocked to discover this but i tend to meet people pretty easily... having bounced around the world enough on my own i have no problem talking to anyone really (sans anyone wearing a certain red fucking hat mind you) and so while i stood near the soundboard i struck up a conversation with a couple of women, which turned out to be a mother and her daughter, i smiled and mentioned how i had brought the I-mac to see the Flaming Lips and how the old man got so fucking high he nearly passed out, we talked kids and cats which is how i found out the girl was her daughter, 15 just like Disaster and the woman, Meg, mentioned something about our kids being the same age... the topic turned to weed and Meg mentioned that until a few years ago she had her own grow room at their house and how she used to grow some really good shit, i of course responded that that was most fucking excellent and told a few stories about this guy named Kono, some of the capers he had pulled, mentioned my wasted youth as a dreadlocked white boy running the streets, to which Meg said she would have loved to see that and to which i showed her an old photo on the phone... Meg's reaction was funny as she looked at the photo and said, jesus i'd have chased you around... i smiled... she then casually slipped in a comment about being divorced...
We stood talking as Meg downed beers and i drank water, it turned out her daughter's favorite band was The Smiths to which i stopped and said, good kid! that they were my all-time favorite band as well and told the story about being off my head on booze and blow at a Mozza show in Cleveland and how i was hanging out with a couple of old queens in the lobby and to their amazement could sing every song they called out... it was a pleasant conversation though Meg was a little over the top when it came time to get a beer or use the restroom, she worried someone would steal her daughter to which i laughed and said don't worry i'll keep an eye on her, somehow this made her feel better and she went off to grab her beer and the daughter and i talked about music and weed as she pulled out her own pen and took a hit, i laughed and told her she needs to cover the light on her pen as "technically" you couldn't hit a pen in the venue, she giggled and said "oh shit" and thanked me for the heads up... Meg came back with her beer and went on again about how she was afraid to leave her daughter and i then laughed and stated you just left her with a tripping muppet! she then stated that i exuded kind and gentle vibes to which i said she would be correct... we chatted a bit more and then the lights dimmed and the band began walking onstage... to be cont...
Seems i've become adept at lifting titles theses days, (see the last post and now this one) and any Bowie aficionados out there will recognize where the genesis of this one came from... and once again i turn my attention to the what i call the bastion of whiteness known as Middle America aka the suburbs and in particular my little enclave to the south of Steel Town... granted i'm one of those blue enclaves that seems to be a bit of a rarity these days but as the days roll by (and i have once again began venturing into the city and my old hoods and haunts) i can't say i particularly enjoy living in the burbs... granted the Dudiest in me realizes i can only be where i'm at and to accept and make the best of it and i'll admit there are certain things i truly do enjoy, namely the number of animals i get to see and talk with, nothing amuses me more than standing out back and conversing with the deer or the groundhogs or the local cats who frequent the hill behind my house, there is also the added bonus of living in an area with no streetlights which greatly enhances my stargazing... during the winter months especially i get to see all kinds of things while i stand outside in the cold staring up at the sky and trying to locate certain stars or planets (this past few weeks being a boon for the nerds like me as Mars, Venus, Jupiter and Saturn were all visible to the naked eye)... i also understand there are many things i could do without...
It is not lost on me that i am and always have been a bit of an outsider, a borderline loner or as i put it a social misanthrope, i don't really conform to my society's norms in the conventional ways, no i don't have any tattoos on my face or dress in some outlandish way, in fact on a surface level my fellow suburbanites would believe i am much like them... i don't say this as if i'm special or "cooler" than any of my neighbors and i understand we all have to play the game to survive living here in the post-capitalist consumer culture that has been propagated on us, i'd say most of what i'm talking about is, for lack of a better explanation, my views on the world around me, my ethics, my way of thinking... not that i'm going to stand here and say that my way is better or worse but more to the point it's just different... and where is all this going? i'll explain...
The last year of high school for the I-mac was challenging to say the least... the boyo and i butted heads on a regular basis and his academic performance could be kindly termed a disaster, the kid is wicked smart and incredibly stupid at the same time and yes i'm keeping my fingers crossed that it has more to do with age than anything else but there are some precedents from the BW's side of the family that are worrisome, mainly the similarities to her older brother, also incredibly intelligent but impulsive and stupid at the same time (both have ADHD)... of course he's my kid and i love the boy even when i want to throttle him but there was a moment last year that came up that got me to thinking about things, not between the boyo and i but something that happened at school... it was the BW who told me about it and while i didn't discuss it much with her (for the simple fact we usually end up disagreeing on damn near fucking everything) it got me to thinking... it had come up when the I-mac was talking to his mother about stuff and at the time he and his father had what one might term a strained relationship, shit happens, fathers and sons sometimes butt heads the real test is how we come out of it and i can say that while the boyo is still incredibly frustrating at times (as is his younger brother just not nearly as much) we're working on it and things have improved...
What transpired was apparently a conversation that took place at the lunch table where high school boys tend to like to bust each other's balls over shit... of course these days i find it even more comical cuz these fucking kids devolve into what amounts to a bunch of Yelpers critiquing anything and everything but on this occasion it got a little more personal... out here in the lily white there is much emphasis placed on status and economic affluence while pretending to not place much emphasis on status and economic affluence... in short, bullshit... so while the I-mac's mother is part owner of a couple of wildly popular breakfast joints and makes quite a comfortable living his father is a gig economy serf... i was first pushed? prodded? into this gig by the BW during the pandemic when her businesses were closed and then half opened but not allowed full capacity, things the BW had no problem with as she was more concerned with the safety of her employees than profit (her partners in turn care fuck all about employees and worship profit), so in order to bring in extra cash she felt it a good idea to send me out to work for one of those delivery services that shop for people, it'll remain nameless and at one point i worked for two of them depending on which one was busier...
It seems the I-mac had mentioned this previously and one day at the lunch table in an argument over something one of his "friends" brought it up... he began busting the I-mac's balls over the fact his dad worked as a shopper and delivery driver, one has to admire the children of privilege and their tunnel vision, granted life has not kicked them in the nuts yet and they don't realize that outside of this affluent suburban bubble the world is a much different place.... the I-mac was telling his mother how he was defending me, in part due to an argument i believe the I-mac and i had recently had, and his mother's reply was that the last person he needed to defend was his old man, that he didn't give a shit what this kid thought but she understood why he did and that i would as well, the I-mac in turn asked her not to tell me about what happened and it was one of those times where you hurt for your kid... i felt bad cuz he was taking shit cuz some entitled little asshole looked down upon what i did, that though he didn't want to be the I-mac was probably a little embarrassed that his old man did this gig and now some rich kid was slagging him off about it...
First off let me say that i've come to enjoy my little gig and don't mind doing it at all, i've gotten adept at picking the batches that provide the most money for the least amount of work (for the most part that is sometimes i'm forced to work a little harder) and there are times when dare i say it's borderline gratifying, usually when i realize i'm helping out someone who would have trouble doing this on their own, sometimes they have special needs or immune issues or they're elderly, i particularly like when it's an elderly person who i can tell may be a bit lonely, i'll haul all their stuff into the apartment or house, offer to lift anything heavy, and then i'll talk to them for five or ten minutes, something i often can tell they enjoy, it's always something innocuous like cats or kids or (their) grandkids but i can tell it makes them happy to have some human interaction and it probably surprised them that a tall and usually unshaven lug takes the time to converse, it's good to see them smile and i always get a kick out of it when they tell me i'm a nice young man even though i'm probably closer to their age then they realize...
And so this child of privilege gave the I-mac some shit and one day a few weeks after the fact when the I-mac and i were in a smooth patch and conversing i told him his mom did mention to me what happened, i also told him not to be upset with her and that i actually did feel a bit bad he had to take shit cuz i know how high school can be but that i also understood perfectly where we were living and what this community full of unicorns was like... i grew up in a much more working class area on the West Side of Cleveland, yes suburban but one wouldn't know it as it butted up against the southwest border of the city, the dividing line being a main thoroughfare near the airport which served as a de facto red light district.... sex shops, multiple strip clubs, cheap motels, massage parlors and working girls who one could find without much trouble at all...
Talking with the I-mac i explained to him how he's growing up in a place of affluence, there were a lot of places with even more money but there was a reason his school district was always one of the top two or three in the state and why people moved here, don't get me wrong i didn't grow up in the ghetto just a place a bit more grizzled where the hope was scoring a job in the auto plant more than attending an Ivy League college... this bubble is filled with what i consider the worst of suburban culture, yes it preaches diversity but is overwhelmingly white, like mid 90s percent, granted it's a bit better than some of the other burbs out here but still, for fuck's sake, the only place these kids see diversity is on fucking television or more correctly insert social media app here... these are children raised on western religion, some form of Christianity, raised to believe they are "special", that the world is their fucking oyster, they expect to make six figures or more, they drive to school in BMWs and Volvos and Range Rovers, a hardship to these fucking kids is not getting all the outfits from Lululemon they asked for or finding out they only got a Bronco for their 16th birthday instead of the Audi they wanted, yes it's a bit disgusting to my lumpen prole ethos when i watch these kids mosey into school with not a fucking worry in the world...
Worse still is they know and act like they are children of privilege, observing some of these kids i can only wonder what it's like at home, i think back to the whiteness of John Hughes films and laugh at how the Breakfast Club or Sixteen Candles could easily be cast from the crew i see entering the high school every day... granted this is a generalization but for the most part i'd say a good 75-80% fall into this category... this is a community filled with VPs of HR, lawyers, doctors, bankers, financial analysts and stockbrokers, the less affluent middle management of the world, some business owners, and yes it's interesting to see what happens when the hardships arise, when a layoff or divorce occurs because out here it is a lot of smoke and mirrors, the image of perfection is to be projected and maintained at all times and at whatever costs...
There are a few enclaves in my little burb that are less affluent, apartments and small houses mainly occupied by the elderly or young couples, single people living who want to live in a nice neighborhood and to be honest it's more affordable than those old city haunts i once lived in (now being gentrified), Disaster has a friend who was thrilled that they were moving to a house they bought instead of renting and getting a car, the light rail runs right through the middle of my suburb to get you to the city (see a certain degenerate and his mushroom taking trips to see bands) and the main drag has a hip (but overpriced) record store as well as a number of ethnic restaurants so while i can say it's not exactly my bag it does have some selling points but the fact is the place is pretty much dominated by squares... when it comes to the kids like the one busting the I-macs balls i'd probably explain to them that life in the bubble is much more cushy and comfortable than what they'll get when/if they ever leave... many will trot off to college, maybe work in a different city but as i've discovered a lot of them will end up back here to continue the tradition so to speak... what i'd really say though is that life is not as neat and clean as these kids think it is and that sooner or later they'll get kicked in the nuts, metaphorically speaking, and the true test will be to see how they handle that... what happens if you don't make six figures or attain the status they think they deserve, that's the real test, are they prepared for when things fall apart? what if they had to, gasp, work a second job like gig economy serf to pay the rent or buy their groceries? granted some will never have to worry about it as the trust fund or inheritance will be sizable...
Sometimes i wonder if moving out here was the right choice... had we stayed in the city proper the boyos would have most likely gone to a city charter school with a student body far more diverse racially, in fact depending on the school they would have been in the minority race wise... they would have been exposed to a lot more economic diversity when it came to the kids they dealt with and called friends, they've always been well schooled in the fact that everyone is coming at things from different perspectives and it's important to understand and appreciate those perspectives even if it's nothing like theirs, they've been taught it's much tougher to be a black kid, especially male, in this country than it is to be a white one, the system has and is rigged to the white kids advantage and they should be cognizant of that and understand why their friends and people of color have issues with it and sometimes them even though they are their ally... instead they went to school in Wonder Bread land out in the privileged burbs...
The I-mac was doing court ordered community service for one of his fuck-ups and was volunteering at the food bank and while he had been taught about inequality and injustice, the white privilege, nothing teaches better than real life experience... his job was to help people shop and understand what they could get and what amount... he encountered an overweight white guy spewing racist bullshit, a guy who used a racial slur when he heard people speaking Spanish and bitching about them using up his benefits... most certainly a Shitgibbon fan (though when his SNAP gets cut i'm sure he won't blame his Fuhrer but those non-white people)... he also helped and elderly black man, who when they were about done shopping told him that he didn't much like young white guys or white people in general but that he really liked the I-mac... the I-mac smiled and told him he understood, the elderly man gave him a surprised look and said someone must have taught him right... the boyos have always been taught not to judge someone on the color of their skin but on the content of their character (to quote Dr. King) and like mentioned above to recognize their experience is going to be vastly different than theirs...
--- side note--- for all the warm and fuzzy feelings we like to pat ourselves on the back for here in my burb there's also a nasty little secret, in fact the BW was hipped to it one day and then her best friend, who is Ethiopian, got an up close and personal view... seems her employees basically stated that as a black male they wouldn't drive through our suburb unless they absolutely had to because there was a good chance they'd get stopped for some bullshit (see no) reason... i'd seen it a couple times before i had that info but i had my suspicions and believe me next time i see i'll stop and ask why? her friend was somehow pulled over by a cop who claimed her tag was expired except there was no way for him to see her tag, when questioned about it he then said he ran her plates... why? his excuse was they do that every so often, which of course is bullshit, they do it when they see a person of color seeing at there aren't that many in my burb and i half suspect they have a sheet of who they are and where they live and what they look like so they don't "mistakenly" stop them, would look bad if they stopped a tax paying citizen of suburbia now wouldn't it?
So yes these days i'm not so enamored of my surroundings, from the privileged teens and their privileged parents, i am was and always will be that lumpen prole warehouse grunt, fry cook, weed slinger who never really bought into this "American Dream" bullshit that we've be hearing since we entered kindergarten, i understand who had the opportunity and who doesn't, i understand why the boyo wanted to defend me cuz though he may get pissed and angry with me i'm still his dad... i've explained that sometimes i wish we would have stayed in the city and both the boyos understand where i'm coming from, i lay out the pros and cons of each place but ultimately it's up to me to make sure they don't turn out to be fucking arrogant, entitled assholes like that kid at the lunch table... and there's part of me that's proud to say that the BW and i haven't done too badly in that department... those boyos may be a pain in my ass (yes i'm laughing) but so far they're turning out to be decent human beings... and really that's the most i could ask for...
The title of this post (part of it anyway) is lifted from an excellent book written by Timothy Snyder (The Road to Unfreedom) and one i'd advise everyone to read, particularly in today's political climate where the shit show has morphed into something more akin to gigantic bags of shit, lit on fire and tossed at any shred of decency that might exist... in fact i worry about Mr. Snyder as he may soon find himself being rounded up for "ideas that are Unamerican"... cuz that shit is coming kids, in fact this little post here could easily land me in an El Salvador prison once Elonia and his army of minions start scouring the web looking for "dissenters" to the Orange Shitgibbon's and Elonia's ideas of America and free speech... or as Chuck D once so poetically said, freedom of speech... just watch what you say... especially now that our own Bubble Boy Marco has cut a deal with El Salvador to house American citizens in their prisons... (for those who don't know young Marco earned the name Bubble Boy from his current boss, funny huh? seeing as young Marco was photographed and was outed as apparently working, remember in Elonia and Zuck da Cuck's world there is no fact checking but feel free to dig in on this one, as a Bubble Boy... what is a bubble boy? well those were young men who would be "available" at these bubble parties held by gay men back in the day, granted i got no problem with any of it seeing as the gay men i've known were always ridiculously fun to party with but when one is a bastion of conservative values it's a bit odd that one would earn extra money by being a rent boy.... something Bubble Boy Marco categorically denies, his explanation of those photos is oh so believable but i'm sure by now they've been scrubbed from the web...) but back to the whole "free speech" thing, in the new America aka Dumbfuckistan the clamps are coming down, we are veritably sprinting towards dictatorship while many intelligent people are pointing out we are in the midst of a coup... hence why Speaker Mikey is sitting on his hands and vacationing, the shithead is in on it as well...
In fact i would not be surprised if for some strange reason Congress took a recess right before Feb. 27... look up that date in history and one will find that a certain building in Berlin mysteriously burnt to the ground that day never to be replaced... overreaction? one could argue that i am,,, and do i expect them to burn down a certain building? well to be honest i'd say it's a fucking coin flip, a whole lot of knuckledraggers had no problem trashing it and shitting all over it's floor so hey why not bring some gasoline the next time? who needs a legislature when you have a king? kings, as we know, have divine rights and are the fucking mouthpiece of a chosen deity so fuck all that balance of power shit, that's for beta cuck soy boys is it not?
But back in the Kakistocracy we are full speed ahead with jamming the biggest array of fucking idiots one could convene to run the most important departments we have... a list of the "best people" reveals and guy who is a sexual predator and raging alcoholic and who was in the National Guard to run the military... a woman best know for a fake soap opera involving mostly scantily clad, oiled and hairless men in tights rolling around together to run the education department... a known Russian asset who flipped parties when it became expedient to her career and who refuses to call a man convicted of spying a traitor (he now lives in Mother Russia) to run the intelligence community, a fucking absolutely batshit conspiracy theorist who has a dead animal fetish, a predilection for smack, loves raw milk (Neil deGrasse Tyson has stated if you think drinking raw milk is okay to look at under a microscope, he bets you wouldn't drink it after that, there's a reason it's pasteurized) and thinks that proven vaccines are harmful and ineffective, believes research on infectious diseases is useless and who is basically ignoring a bird flu epidemic, is fit to run the health department and that doesn't eve scratch the tip of it... add in the Jewish Nazi lil Stevie Miller (his own family's words not mine) and a certain South African with a sketchy visa who thinks he's, i don't know? a fascist Tony Stark? the flaming bags of shit are flying everywhere...
Let us not forget that in the current climate, with bird flu running rampant, that the powers that be have shut down all info to not only the general public but to doctors as well, also freezing all aid and research... an interesting sidelight to this was a doctor i was listening to talk about the reason we don't have things like Ebola and other horrible diseases ravaging the US is because we help the world and look after our own self interest by stopping the spread or eradicating the outbreak where it's at... not anymore kids, the fuckwit Shitgibbon, who exhibits more signs of dementia than old Joe ever did and let's be honest, is being handled by a few evil and conniving motherfuckers behind the scenes, is once again of the mindset that if he pretends it doesn't exist it doesn't... fucking hell... we're fucked.... oddly this whole bird flu thing is not going to bring down the price of eggs anytime soon and correct me if i'm wrong but wasn't that a huge selling point for this moron? not to mention those same birds that lay eggs are also put on a whole lot of tables at dinner, that price is going up too as chickens are being massively culled due to the disease... and don't forget the cows, they get it too and while not as deadly it's going to fuck up that industry as well... but at least gas will be cheap... uh... well.. not exactly...
What we have going on here is plain and simply a coup... it's a word being thrown around a lot and what worries me about that is the fact when the word is tossed around it begins to lose it's meaning... as writers like Orwell, Huxley, Fromm have pointed out previously, they who control the language control the power... add in now they who control the information, the data, the algorithm, control the power... when Elonia and his merry band of teens and twentysomethings are accessing private information anyone not sporting a red hat should be wary, while the current iteration of the American Gestapo are wearing ICE uniforms it won't be long until the new branch with stylish new uniforms is announced devoting it's time and energy to round and "re-educate" the "radical left"... who is the radical left? anyone who disagrees with the authoritarian in charge.. or his cabal of ministers or his unelected best bro rich guy oligarch who believes that it is actually he who has been given this divine right... but it's probably much more simple than that... Elonia is a bigger narcissist than the Orange Shitgibbon, something hard to fathom but true, Elonia believes the world should be reshaped to his liking so he can stockpile money in his quest for everlasting life... it won't work out that way but what's the difference, he'll destroy everything in his path while convincing his fellow oligarchs and plutocrats that it is within their rights to lay waste to the lumpen prole as since they are the wealthy they are obviously more valuable to the universe than the masses, some will add in that this is what "god" wants as well... let us not forget the need to wave the "good book" in order to pacify a certain segment of the population... keep the filthy masses well doped up on the religion and the sheeple will follow damn near blindly...
(Speaking of that "good book", one might want to remember the name Russell Vought... old Russ here is the architect and author of a certain Project 2025, the Godfather so to speak, Russ is balding and bespectacled and should scare the shit out of any free thinking human, Rusty here wants Dumbfuckistan to adhere to a Christian Nationalist sharia law, knows how to play the game like his buddy Stevie Miller and has some frightening ideas for the future... women should be ready to give back their rights and any non-white male (or female for that matter) should be ready to be escorted to the border and tossed over... Rusty is slick and is now in charge of the OMB, the department that controls the purse strings which is exactly where he wants to be, he's smart enough to lay low and pull strings and most of the Orange Shitgibbon's "ideas" and plans come straight from Rusty and his shitbag think tank... )
Granted with the new surveillance state taking shape some of us might not have to worry about that... the fact is we all may soon be writing in code to get ideas or information across, much like the Soviet writers did back in the 1960s and 70s, we'll be speaking a language veiled in secrecy as to avoid an all expense paid trip to Guantanamo or a sunny El Salvadoran prison... and yet a vast majority will think this is hyperbole... every time i see some cracker crying on social media about how they lost their benefits and can't believe it happened to them, followed of course by their previous posts trumpeting their love of the Shitgibbon and the first bro, i want to tell them that they're next, it would be easy though unproductive to bask in the glow of their stupidity and comeuppance but these posts are nothing more than political revenge porn, someone should be telling these people posting their misfortune that they were warned, told straight up that this was coming and somehow they still voted for the Shitgibbon and his minions so they could control it all... the really frightening part is the fact the Fascist propaganda machine of the White Grievance Party and it's media outlets are on full blast about the overwhelming mandate given to the Orange Shitgibbon by the denizens of Dumbfuckistan... the facts of course prove this otherwise, of the last 20 presidential elections he ranked 18th in margin of victory, meaning the other two below the last one were the electoral college nonsense of Dubya and the Shitgibbon's first term losing the popular vote but winning the electoral college thus the office... but if one pounds home the point of this fictious mandate the drooling knuckledraggers will believe it, mainly because they want to... facts, the truth, they no longer matter in the alternative fact and post-truth era...
So what do we do will become the next big question... sadly of the 90 odd million eligible to vote who didn't the answer is simple, most likely nothing... for those that support the Shitgibbon and the Project 2025 shit show the answer is the same... some will start to realize how fucked they are when they begin to suffer the consequences but even then some will still believe in the divine right of the Orange Shitgibbon and his bro Elonia while Rusty pulls the strings... for the rest of us the words civil disobedience will become paramount... it will also involve great risks to our personal freedoms... to start the general strikes now being called for should be brought to bear with full force, nothing gains the attention of the uber-rich like fucking with their money, when the proletariat stop the producing and consuming then the cash spigot gets cut off or slows down... which should also, to use a favorite term of the WGP, trickle down to how we spend our money, companies that donate or back the current regime should be boycotted at all costs, those that cut programs like DEI due to fear of repercussions the same, any funds available should be donated to places like the ACLU, to organizations like Planned Parenthood who face extinction under the merry band of Christian Nationalists who love the fetus but hate the children, to Democracy Docket run by the brilliant Marc Elias, but remember, with Big Brother Shitgibbon, First Bro Elonia, Shitbag Vought, fascist Lil Stevie Miller, all of these actions, even something as innocuous as donating money could find you rounded up... and the more power and control they grab the less chance any of us will have to escape it's reach, there will be no recourse, no justice, just submission or punishment.. (one of my theories and fears is that these protests and strikes might be exactly what the Project 2025 cabal want so that the Shitgibbon can declare martial law...)
So here we are... sadly most of my fellow Dumbfucks won't even recognize or pay attention to what's going on until it walks up and bites them on the ass, see again 90 million non-voters... others will give up or give in, some will start looking to move to a place more sane and not inhabited by racist assholes (see the sudden uptick in white power marches nationally) or Christian Nationalist maniacs... maybe the only bright spot, other than the will of a certain segment of society, is that Anonymous was come back to help, they've already pointed out the voting anomalies that took place (funny how there was no question about the voting machines this time even thought First Bro Elonia bragged how anything could be hacked and the Orange Shitgibbon stated after this election we'd never have to vote again...) and have stated they will go on the offensive as the Plutocrats and Oligarchs try to run amok... here's hoping it works...
---
(I stumbled upon an interesting talk given by a billionaire, one who recognized the need for "his" class to start understanding the need to share the wealth, treat and pay workers fairly, which he stated means much more than they are getting now, facilitate a move to universal healthcare, he stated that he had been lucky, had been born white and male and affluent and took advantage of those facts to go from millionaire to billionaire... he then stated that he talked to his fellow billionaires about doing these things because if they didn't, if they continued to hoard wealth, at some point the pitchforks come, meaning things take a violent turn and they end up on the guillotine, he stated that this has happened repeatedly throughout history and advised his "class" to avoid such an outcome... yes he said it seems hard to believe but it's coming... and this was before Luigi... and speaking of Luigi, it's a strange development that one barely hears his name mentioned anymore... seems the mainstream media conglomerates, even the left and left leaning ones, who of course are still controlled by the uber-wealthy noticed that the majority of public sentiment was with Luigi, that he had become something of a folk hero, hence stop covering the incident and the man, yes there is a lot to cover these days with those flaming bags of turds flying everywhere but not a whisper or mention of a certain young man who did what the billionaire above said would happen, though he meant more on a macro scale the fact is Luigi planted the first seed and the hegemony knows they need to kill that seed before it grows... )
And so began the halcyon days (a term tossed about a lot here at the lounge) of the King of North Oakland... i mean what was there not to love about waking up every morning with nothing to do except waiting to go to the bar to make money, interspersed with the occasional member of the weight crew stopping by which meant i'd be clearing a cool $1000 at bare minimum... unless of course said member of the weight crew happened to be the fucking Billy Goat... because the universe can't make things that easy now can it? there always has to be some sort of barb jabbing one in the ass to remind us that we are not invincible and that the world, particularly the world of contraband dealers, is populated by spectacular fuck-ups... granted he was a royal pain in the ass but at the same time i had cash pouring in, women who wanted to sleep with me, an array of other drugs being offered me, i could drink myself silly and not have to worry about getting up to go to work hungover, the bills were paid, the student loans could be nixed with the writing of check, two small lockboxes stuffed with cash... in short i had become what my father and uncle had once dubbed me... the perfect barbarian...
Of course i was always one to have what might be termed an "addictive personality" and these days my newfound addiction was in the form of a stripper built like the proverbial brick shithouse... and being the good addict i am i took every opportunity to get my end in, as Henry Miller would say...
Some days, when not sneaking over to the West End i'd walk up to the swanky street that was the hub of my little neighborhood, by this time i was living in the swanky hood and the Waitress worked on said street so i'd wander up to get myself breakfast and then i'd play a game called Race the Devil on the walk home... for any, what might be called, heavy drinker this is a game that is played on a somewhat regular basis particularly after gobbling down a greasy breakfast of hash browns, bacon, sometimes chorizo, eggs, toast and coffee and to win the game one must get home without shitting their pants, problem is one does not know when the game will start but when it does it's a delicate balance of gritting the teeth and attempting to keep the sphincter clamped shut before the glorious beer shit comes Old Faithful style... i lived roughly four blocks or so from the restaurant and it usually never failed to happen about halfway home... the familiar and foreboding pains and gurgles before the bowels sorta gave the warning that shitting myself was imminent... i can only surmise my fellow boozers driving past would look at this tall man gingerly yet swiftly walking as if trying to hold something in his ass, they'd laugh and think, "that dudes about to shit himself" and continue driving to work... and they would be right, the problem is if i ran i would definitely shit myself and if i walked? well i may or may not get home... and then it was the dash up the steps fumbling with keys, talking to myself the whole time that "you can do it", meaning get home before shit Pompeii erupted and then finally opening the door and racing to the toilet, sweat pouring off the brow, panting and then the relief of making it to the shitter while the body explained in no uncertain terms that the lifestyle i was leading was not the most healthy...
I settled in to my new routine quickly... really who wouldn't settle into a routine like this... i remember telling the Waitress that one of the benefits of not having a job would be now i would have time to write in the mornings before things got busy... bullshit of course as i didn't write a thing, how could i? i was in the middle of it and didn't know how the story ended but it sounded good... i'd spend the morning fucking about online trying to find books or records before finding a decent porn site to rub one out to before watching some telly and going back to bed for an hour or two... i'd clean up around the place, lounge with the cats, do the books and maybe make some calls, check the inventory, sometimes i'd recount the money i had stashed because it's fun to count bundles of $1000 and see how many were there, then i'd walk to the bank and deposit a bit, never too much usually $80-200 a few times a week, i sold to a lesbian who worked at a bank who tipped me off to what they looked for, by keeping it down to small amounts it looked as if i was nothing more than a waiter or bartender, schemes schemes schemes...
And then there would be that barb in the ass... Billy Goat would call and come running over, he'd come in and make nice and all the while i knew what was coming, just waiting for it, sometimes i'd sit there staring at him wondering what the fucking lame ass excuse would be this time, i had mental notes of all the previous excuses and i was always keen to hear who he absolutely had to help out this time... see we've had to bail a friend out of the can, pay his girlfriend's and her roommates rent, save the whales and the trees and the puppies and the kittens, free Leonard Peltier, pay some fuckwits electric bill though he's never spoken of the fuckwit before, there was not a cause or bill or wayward stranger that the Billy Goat didn't absolutely have to help out or (insert impending disaster here) would put them in dire straits... it was always at this point that i reminded Billy that it would behoove him to take care of the person who provided the ways and means for him to be such a fucking hero... aka me and the fucking money he owed...
I began telling him once again that i was getting more than a bit tired of covering his ass when it came time re-up, that in fact it was not really in my job description to cover him but it was in his to get me my fucking money... i dropped in his ear one day about how i had told my partner Stiv about the issues i was dealing with when it came to Billy and that Stiv's response was to cut him off and fucking kneecap him, Billy grinned a bit until i followed that it had actually begun crossing my mind that it might not be a bad idea... Billy Goat didn't understand i had him sorted, that i had eyes and ears all over and that people who knew him and hung out with him actually reported back to me about his activities, about how Billy loved picking up huge tabs at dinner or the bar, bought tickets to go see his favorite jam bands or sporting events, how Billy tossed around money... all very valuable intel, i had aces in my hand, Billy was holding deuces... Billy was in love with the lifestyle and i understood that he never had it so good as he did with the connection i provided... key point, i provided, without access to it he was fucked, nickel diming wasn't gonna pick up the check at some swanky restaurant and he knew as well as i that his buxom little hippie girl would be out the door as soon as he wasn't rolling in it...
The lounge being the labyrinthine mess it is i may have told this before but here it is again (possibly), it was during one of these meetings when i was lecturing the Billy Goat on prompt payment that he stated that if need be he would give me his car... he had stated i could get like $8-10 thousand for it, an older model Mercedes in relatively good condition, not some classic but a mid 80s style, nice car if one is into that sort of thing but unfortunately for the Billy Goat i was not, though he was a bit taken aback when i told him he could give me the car but i'd only knock $4000 off his tab to which he replied but it's worth eight to ten, to which i replied not to me... i then explained to him that he could sell his fucking car and give me the proceeds, i told Billy that if he "gave" me the car there is still a transfer of title, taxes, it had to look like i bought it and hence would involve much more legal paper trail then i really wanted to be involved in, unemployed ex warehouse worker buys a Mercedes on unemployment bennies? nah man, that shit ain't gonna work, needless to say my rebuttal to his brilliant idea resulted in the Billy Goat sitting there as if i had just taken a giant shit in his mouth... which i somewhat did... all in a days work for the weed kingpin, it was always a delicate line i had to walk but in the end i knew they needed me just as much as i needed them, besides i had the best connection one ask for and if the Billy Goat was booted off the payroll i'm sure another enterprising young derelict would gladly fill the void...
