Clods and Tods

I am a lazy motherfucker... i say this unequivocally and without malice, there is no hope that someday i will not be a lazy motherfucker for a lazy motherfucker is what i am and i much prefer it that way.  I haven't looked at the typer for weeks, maybe it's some sort of melancholy resignation that loons have taken over the asylum and maybe it started around the 20th of January though i'm sure it started before that... Kurt was right you know, humanity is an utter fucking disaster and a detriment to everything else on this lovely blue orb but so it goes and just when i think there is no possible way that my opinion of humanity can get any lower a special group of homo sapiens will go out of their way to prove Darwin quite wrong by being so ass-fucking-backwards that it damn near makes me believe in some higher power because Mother Nature would have eliminated a species this stupid long ago if it was up to her, i vacillate between caring very deeply about the issues of the day and not giving a rat's fucking left hind teat about them because we'll just fuck it up anyhow, the apathy and nihilism usually increasing or decreasing by the amount of gear i'm toking at any given moment but away we spin as some F-list boob (Tila Tequila) tells us she has verifiable proof that the Earth is flat... i shit you not...

And so that cocksucker Zuckerberg is now demanding ID in order for me to berate people online, a hobby that was quickly becoming boring and passe, akin to pissing into the wind without the satisfaction of pissing on oneself, if there is any satisfaction in that, and so fuck it, they can delete my invaluable data from their data base, i'm sure my 38 friends will be crushed, if i can't use my nom de plume i can't be arsed, the last thing i need is fucking family members or in-laws or long lost acquaintances tracking me down and pretending like we actually give a shit about each other, we don't or at least i don't... and all the time i used to waste scrolling through alt/fake/real/news can be put to better use... doubleplusgood!! i say, things like getting really high and blabbering away in my own little corner of Cyberia, and i'm getting back to the stories, the world needs stories as they say or at least i do when i'm listening to me records and daydreaming away the afternoon with cuppa tea and cat purring next to me...

You see while i was having my 723 existential crisis of this current physical incarnation and trying to drudge up any old reason why i should be arsed to type out anything, i began dwelling on the rich people who seem to inhabit all these news programs that they show on the telly and that someone around here is always watching (not me mind you), and with all that money and power and what not they all looked fucking miserable as fuck, oh sure they smiled for the cameras the same way a spoiled and pampered child does and it was in that moment that i began laughing and patting my belly like the Buddha, these sad and pathetic people had never enjoyed a thing in their fucking lives, oh they'd claim they did and prattle they enjoy all kinds of things but it doesn't take an expert bullshit detector to know they're full of shit, you see in order to enjoy something you have to appreciate it, what it took to attain it or make it or cook it or steal it, when the world is handed to you on a shiny platter you can't truly grasp the fact though you've got a Michelin starred private chef you've never tasted anything as delicious as the spaghetti i used to eat every Thursday night down at the mission, and you either understand why or you don't... how those cut rate noodles and sauce tasted more delectable than any goat's milk and whole grain raised Foie Gras that Ms. Betsy ever tasted...

But this post cant' just toddle around in it's own pish and moan i mean what's fucking good these days maaaan? and what's fucking good are the soothing sounds of rock and roll and the happy accidents the universe will play on you,  to wink and nudge and say don't let the assholes get you down man... and so it was with wicked head cold and all i ventured out into the February night to see my man Hamilton Leithauser, former lead singer of the Walkmen and writer of the brilliant song the Rat which came out a year or so after i said goodbye to the game, a song which struck those lovely chords and uttered the words about "going out and knowing everyone you saw" but "now going out alone if i go out at all..." Ham with a voice that runs from suave crooner to a cigged-out, whiskey soaked, rock and roll howl, in short a beautiful fucking voice in the most non-beautiful sense...

And with each passing year the legend of Kono fades more and more into the smoke of a North Oakland bar, a lot of those people are ghosts, some figuratively and some literally, but there was a day when i was as fucking hood famous as you can get and so when i walked into the show and saw my old friends lovely wife i smiled, accepted my hug and asked where he was and he wasn't far away and so i accepted another hug and though i didn't plan to drink my old mate (who's about 7-8 years younger than me) stood me a couple of Guinness and we watched the gig and talked the old days and the new days, he's making a pretty good name for himself in the brewing business and i laughed as we swapped stories and talked shit, he once told me that i was the Sensei, that a lot of what he knew about the game he learned from watching me operate out of the bar he worked in, it's one of the best compliments i've ever gotten, we came out the other side, some didn't... the geezer with the head cold even got to flirt a bit with a woman who plowed into him, sharp leather jacket and gorgeous lips, some wit and flash... sometimes that's enough, particularly when you've got a wicked head cold... now on with the show...