a
massive undertaking people
did things they only thought about there
were orgies instead of conference meetings i
remember standing there, closing my eyes, inhaling the deep smells of
yesteryear's plastic cup beer, meat sizzling. the din of voices bounced
off the concrete patio, laughs, and patent pending hand-in-pocket-hand-with-beer
stance. don't
feel bad tho the
other day i was riding across the snow on my mountain bike, when i got
kept
sliding, too, bike on top of me. since i was on a lonely, 20 degree
gramps
looks down some
folks see whaaaaado
loddy stay
on your post "we
spent the night debating nothing
like a cold V8 all
i do every night is dream my
nights are long single
shoe under new tire big
tan panel truck |
| (older stuff)
i
haven't made my feature film yet what
better way to laugh "it's
all relative" otherwise
you're lonely marketing
yourself they
never do one
creates foggy
north street light reality we
walk down the modern street 60
grams of schrooms daaaaooooooooooo
it's
the boss' way anybody
over 30
i
mean, just you and me. no emails. no distractions. just pure story, "each
year is the best yet" coupla
old women glanced at amy and me we
too shall sit awake --------- i'll
make it the
24G stops good morning lover! dark
fall morning i
had lion hair once LSD
evenings sumatran
steamy cafe trees
give life earth
firster dies
he's the type that would order the allesandro "c-mon,
man. we gotta gut sixty of these bastards before 5. the game now
where's that pnuematic bolt gun?" and
shadowed handshakes you
can be my "bro" "tatskie"
a
check each week check w/da ol' lady, wontcha? Miwok??? isn't that an illegal trail? the one we got a tix on? i remember the area fondly. blowing
a fuckn gasket daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaao i
was there with you, eating bar-b-que, drinking a pilsner, scanning the today's
a little busier than yesterday, but i promise to send you more especially
attempting to draw you into my imagination. gun
racked listening right now to the CD of jim morrison's poetry. daou. give us silky pillowed heads you
can say so much "i'm
sick of dour faces boxcars
of voters the
machine grinds on
down
the hall little
pencils dashing Chris
C's beard "Waiting on you," I said.
It's
warm again in Chico, perfect for a night ride through Lower Park, demons
cloud your vision "it's
my juice, baby "for you, i make an exception."
it's
not too late "there"
is on the front porch with you, shoes up on the veranda rail, tilted whilst the wives flit about, inside the house, talking about who knows what. it's
about sunset, rose, so we hop up on my horses and ride down under the FATTY. daaaooooo
i remember our wrestling matches, where we'd slam each other on the
floor so fuckin' rug burns, and sore muscles, we were so much younger then. now we'd be out for a week, ice packs, and hot cups of tea. "buddha
usually comes hardest to those in the city lovers
i didn't get home 'til 1:00 am last night 3
hour delay @airport in Orange County. the wife's friends got married
in saw
Martin Sheen there. it was sooo LA. reception on a tennis court @ stupid
best man speech smooth
hands (lack of calluouses) part
time actresses bolstered
by the metal
Wake of Now We are dreaming as the planet dies We cannot wake up Quick! Count to 10 and then you die. I heard "7"when I was born. Late last night in the backyard the bushes whispered"8".
Somewhere Here I see Indian ghosts sitting in my backyard smiling, welcoming me to their reality. A hand extends, yellow feeling of summer warmth and memory.
Change your heart, not your face Change your direction, not your pace Think for self and not for ego Think for others when you feel to If you look beneath the issue awareness comes with "Peace be with you."
Los Angexaos During the riots two white men were pulled off a motorcycle in Long Beach beaten and prone gun shoved inside the helmet of one splattered tissue against the ANZI approval sticker. DOA, all day the edge of hell had arrived Demons wore baseball caps and Nikes, flashing symbols and exchanging words of hate and ignorance.
the aliens watched and laughed another hash mark on the wall.
We are the prime time of the universe -pay per view, maybe. Better than fiction it's human friction.
Lucidity A bolt of white hot energy shoots from my navel and envelops all around me. Clinging to the fibrous, unconscious connection
I pull myself through sanity's connection and end up in a void where every sound plays second fiddle to the silence in the middle.
improv jazz is like poetry the notes just fall out of the air.
"share share and share alike" said the goat herder to the fairy "we all have different dimensions but we can eat the same grass."
the crickets and frogs welcomed the arriving summer that slid over the mountains like creeping night. shadows cast long, dark spears of anarchy across the golden haired fields of Steinbeck's muses. Oak trees bent in the soft twilight breeze as bats flitted about scooping up to 500 insects each by bedtime. In the canyon below my bedroom, horses neighed.
Studio 2, NBC Burbank memories of old television shows haunt the shadows behind the curtains over by Tom's prop room I felt Elvis walk by and shook Jimmy Stewart's hand.
Opening a door rushing musty odor whoosed past my sandaled feet and circled my legs like ivy. A quiet voice deep inside spoke clear present intuitive knowledge regarding the future of all life as we know it.
Mac the old characters were in from all points Switzerland, Chicago, the Big Apple. It was like the old days before the new youngness. I watched the pros circle around their marks like robots suppressing loss and memorizing dialogue.
After a light lunch we taped the scene where Alice circles around Tom's chair and puts her hand on his empty jacket. Camera Five was up arcing over the downstage coffee table when, as it landed, a magnificent white light emanated from the jacket diffusing around Alice.
My heart thumped when I realized it didn't happen during rehearsal.
My dear friend came back for his last scene.
College Senior Blues--1987 I close the door and envelope the void hovering near floor
The stairs lead skyward holding the answers to all my questions.
"It seems cyclical that never ending act of growing, meeting, going."
Just when you think it's safe it comes, and taps you on the shoulder.
Warming Welcome Globally electric clouds pound the cement with voltage and water things run in shadow from inevitable slaughter.
Atherton Memories chocolate ice cream melting smooth and shiny
in the incandescent kitchen, drew the attention of the young boy who with his brother helped him up to grab the dish.
They steadied, looking 'round for Grandma and scooted under the grand living room table where they ate the dish right up.
At poolside bearclaws and powdered donuts large glasses of milk and globs of sunscreen, where ants where king and the trees held many mysterious paths that I was never really able to remember.
Big, old oaks would drop their limbs from time to time and shade us when we'd smell the flowers which were, indeed, at tricycle level.
Raybee, Floating Traveller he reinvents himself every hour with every shift in the trade winds. And as the velvet curtain of stars stretches its arms across the sky he reaches down into the sand and rocks his hammock gently in the night.
Welcome to LA I was on Sunset Boulevard the other day passed a lady pissing afternoon concrete draining to the gutter filling empty jar of cobweb peanut butter.
Prop Man Elephant Doors aren't for the equipment they're for the actor and his head.
Imagination Station Determine $5,000 worth of an idea when you pitch a show and only give up that amount. How to get anywhere with a double-edged sword like that?
They'll steal it before they give you a break so look at it like "Hey, I'm going in the right direction" and keep up the good work.
A ticket on this train costs different for every rider.
TV GLANDS running through our collective unconscious reflect strings of electrons formed by suits looking for profit maximization --nothing else.
My Mentor walking down the hallway after a lunch at the commissary i spied Mac at the door of his room looking worried "Scott, can you help me?" i nodded, chewing "I need something to stop my diahrrea" damn radiation stay there, i said and ran to the prop room. i knew he was up soon his scenes were coming with or without his medical state. as always, my prop master bud was there feet on the desk, listing groceries for Alice's Restaurant set hey, man, i said. Mac needs our help. "Got it right here," he said. i ran back to Mac's room and gave him the potion. he got through his scenes that day and died soon after.
Ahhh, A Grateful Dead Show sitting in the dark colored lights streaming tripping to Jerry's licks Bobby's strum Phil's bobbing head Bill's concentrated look Brent, Vince, Bruce, et al on the keyboard soundWall --and Mickey's devilish eyes smiling. the air smelled of body odor incense and pot, fine pot always.
then there was that guy in the brown, hairy cloth dancing bears blinking all over he'd carry that orb of spinning lights up for close inspection and a mile-wide smile. i always thought that orb spun on forces this planet didn't know.
(turns out by what i read in the paper last month the bear fellow is a savvy real estate investor from Palo Alto --named his homes after Dead songs.)
there were the regulars the tour the sprout filled bagels prepped in stickered Volkswagen buses, Coleman stove incense burning this world of ours sure has stopped turning, a new direction, surely our friend was taken much too early.
a lost dog looked forlorn in the early Vegas morn' by concert it had a home.
a million thoughts come to mind my favorite one's on love the love flowing through the crowd during the show everything gelled perfect undulations.
Hollywood Hills Galore security signs and underbrush designs television prime time curtains draped over every street facing living room window beaming news that life was now imitating life and art was down another path.
rounded mountain viewpoints looked agedly down upon out of state plates hopeful hands and nervous glances doing what it takes to make it balancing the need to be straight or fake it.
metal heads on sunset slam gears in an old car belching smoke setting sun mercedes rearview college co-eds in a curbside hedge sandbar surfers sinking a dredge
chaos reigns in soft faced heads
i used to work at bar in college smelled just like a Red Tail Ale when you pop one open under your nose --that first olfactorial impact mmmm, so smooth musty earthy smothered here by jet fuel, car exhaust and movie spotlights ----->about LA one can say whatever they’d like but i’ve been there to see the urban delight the low flying planes high wires and stars and endless metal seas of streetlights and cars
the urban canyons of malibu dawn fill with surfers, actors and suited valley bankers.
dumbass undergrad wednesday"Tear it up, guy!" Kyle shouted from his little bedroom off the miniscule foyer. He sat on his little chair and drummed his hands to the beat of "Digital Display" by some funk group that sounded like Prince on amphetamines. His cardboard windows kept precious heat in. The small lamp on his high-backed student desk illuminated Forensics of Death, an anthropology book designed for the future coroner. Other books included in the pool of yellow light were: MicroEconomics - A Close Look Ishi - Last of His Tribe Dawn of Man Cultural Anthropology From Stone Tools to Cellular Phones - The Awakening of Mind and Pocketbook Famous Milk Recipes Are You Type A? Kyle spun on his stool to face the corner of his room where a Van Gogh hung proudly on pins. Spiders spun webs along the ceiling trim. And a small closet housed his plaid shirts and grey Levis and white tennis shoes (Nike). His trundle bed was slid away to allow the pre-bar dance of hopeful meet-a-girl-and-bring-her-back-here-and-suck-her-tits-and-feel-her-snatch -and-stick-it-in-and-work-it-till-you-pass out. "Who wants a glass of milk?" Shouted Kyle as he scampered across the living room. "I'm gonnnaaa have one. Whew!!!" He slid across the kitchen floor in his white socks and came to a halt before the fridge. A Miller beer poster with a girl in a blue, lycra half-shirt posed half clocked to the camera. She promised love in exchange for alcohol consumption. Kyle bought the trip. We all did. The door swung open and Kyle grabbed the carton. "Good. Lowfat. Better for coating." Kyle spun away from the fridge. "Hey Sean, mind if I drink some of your milk you fucking prick?" Sean answered from the faraway lands of his high ceiling bedroom, "Go for it." Kyle took the lid off and poured a nice, tall glass of frosty milk. Hmmmm. Milk. Good for the stomach. Kyle's eyes tracked upward to his cabinet and he had an afterthought. "Toast," he said aloud as his hand grabbed the loaf of Roman Meal wheat. "Rob, want some toast?" Rob answered from the faraway land of finance and calculators, "Yeah." No please. No thank you. Just 'yeah.' "And don't fucking burn it!" Rob added. He spit into an I Tappa Coors beer cup one quarter full of black, gritty, liquid phlegm. He sloshed it around and watched the concoction reflect his face in the 60 watt light of student reality. Back in the kitchen, Kyle waited patiently for his first round of heavenly brown toast to appear. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink. Night had fallen early in the December air of Chico. It was the end of the semester. For Sean, at least. "Man, I'm so fucking stoned." Sean walked into the kitchen looking pretty normal. "I've never been higher." He focused his red devil slants on Kyle. "You wanna smoke a bowl?" "Yeah." The toast popped up. "Let me butter my toast." "Let me butter your mind." And Sean loped off towards Rob's room. "Knock, knock." Sean said outside the closed door. "What the fuck do YOU want?" "I want your soul, fucker." Silence. Rob clicked a few calculations, took a spit, and responded. "Come on in." Sean opened the door a crack. One red eye peered through at Rob. "Get your fucking ass in here right now," said Rob, putting his cup down. He swung his legs of the three hundred pound military, industrial, longshoreman's desk. Sean crossed over to the unmade bed that smelled of dirty socks and stale, beer farts. "Wanna smoke a bowl?" Rob was tired of concentrating. The focus drove his vision to double. And his fingers, his fingers tired of methodical calculations that added up to A Future of Expected Success. "Sure. I'd LOVE to." Rob jumped up and ran into the kitchen to grab Kyle and wrestle. Kyle juggled the uneaten portion of his toast to the counter before Rob got in a good body check. Kyle slammed against the counter and the glass of milk shuddered. "You fucker," said Kyle, spinning to balance. Without another word, he grabbed Rob and manhandled him out into the living room. Dan Rather talked about Madonna as Rob slammed his head into the thinly carpeted floor. Kyle let him go as Sean ran out of his room to join in the rumpus. Rob got up and charged Sean. Sean grabbed Rob and spun him, with the momentum of the charge, into the couch, where Rob tumbled onto his side. Sean landed on top of him and Rob grabbed Sean's neck and pushed back, hard. Sean's back arched, and then gave, as he tumbled back onto the floor. Rob stood up on the arm of the couch and leaped, like a W.W.F. wrestler, onto Sean who was still lying on the floor, wheezing and rubbing his neck. But Sean caught sight of Rob, and in mid air was able to slide a foot to the right. Rob's body hit hard floor as Sean leaped to his feet and waited. Rob lay there, still. "Rob. Rob?" Sean leaned over to inspect for damage when- GRAB! Rob now had control of Sean by his collar bone. His skeletal frame allowed the grip of any attacked who knew where to grab in the folds of loose clothing. "AAAAHHHH!" Yelled Sean as he tried blindly to fall away from the attack. He used his body weight to carry him from danger, much like a person who is being electrocuted does. Rob's bloody knees distracted him long enough for Sean to get on his feet and pick Rob up in a wrestling move. Rob tried to straighten his legs to break the hold, but Sean was too strong. Rob was cradled, lifted off the ground, and spun around. "Alright! Alright!" Rob shouted. "Enough already!" Sean threw him down on the floor. Rob hit like a sack of potatoes, and slid under the card table, pulling the red checkered table cloth and a dirty plate with him. "Let's smoke a bowl." Sean disappeared to his room. Kyle downed the rest of his milk and toast. "Rob, your toast is ready." Kyle said through a mouthful of food. Rob dragged himself out from underneath the table and straightened his clothes. "Bastard," he said under his breath, grabbing his toast, rubbing a bruise. "Let's go smoke some of his pot." Kyle smiled and they exited off, stage left. Sean sat in his room, behind his desk. It was dark. The streetlight cast patterns through the leaves outside the window. Shadows danced on the furniture and skin. Sean swiveled in his chair and faced Rob and Kyle in the doorway. "Come in." They closed the door behind them and sat down on the bed. The stereo began on cue. Simon and Garfunkel sung "Boxer" to the dancing candles on the desktop. A shampoo bottle with a bowl on the side of it sat smoking, backlit by the blue, evening light. Wiffs of smoke drifted over the candles as Rob reached for the instrument. "You must pay your thanks to don Juan for allowing you to be here now. The powers of the night are stalking. The powers of the night are out in force. The powers of the night might come for you." Rob's hair bristled on the back of his neck. He flicked the lighter. Kyle, meanwhile, sat unaffected. "Quit this shit and give me a hit." He drummed his hands to "Digital Display", a song long over. Sean
stood up and spread his arms wide. "We are going out tonight
to a place that has a big room where there is little light and a lot
of cheap booze and people to drink it in order to let down their psychological
walls and try and find another soul with which to copulate."
Rob coughed. "Please take my offerings to insure a rousing
time is had by all." coming
up through the froth I
heard some people there
was no traffic today
the
torment of muscles i've
got a damn big coffee mug 9-25-94
Sunday. Gonna read tonight. Gotta write some poems for Gonna get him excited. every
day is a miracle the
gurgling creek we're
so caught up etchings
on your psyche smoke
drifts through Jim's beard
The
house is empty now on
the beach I sit but
I digress I
made it shore some time later, flowing
is important for balance.
|