I've been tempted to write something that is bad today.

Once again I'm headed for the cities by the bay.

If you have nothing important that you'd like to say.

Metered verse and rhyme will make it seem a bit okay.

Happy Birthday

You really are as old as you feel, but age still kills you.

what did you do this weekend?

I drove to Berkeley. Mostly because the oldies station was pumping out the motherfucking jams. In my Jeep I only have a radio, no tapes and no cd's. Well, there is one tape. It is Sublime's self titled album. It is stuck in my tape deck and only plays at double-speed. Extemely rarely does this make for enjoyable listening. As a result of this, I am often at the mercy of los angeles radio programmers. Not an enviable position, you can be sure. I mostly listen to the classical stations, or kcrw if I am in range. Sometimes I listen to kpfk because they have a good signal, but I can't usually take it for too long. Leftist propoganda is only slightly more bearable to me than right-wing propoganda. They do play some good music when they aren't waxing political, but for the most part they are on a mission to save the world and they've got some things to say in that regard.

Last friday night. El Monte, Ca. I get in my car after rehearsing with Komputadora All The Way Live. (KATWL) It's a little past midnight. Feeling pretty good with the mild cocktail of drugs still pushing steam in my system. I tune into K-Earth. The big oldies station coming to you live from "The Entertainment Capital of the World".

At that moment began ONE PHAT SET of old school rock, rhythm, and blues.

I am on top of the world.

As I approach my exit on the 210 freeway I have a thought. If I just keep going I can be in Berkeley by 6 or 7 am. I have friends there.

No hesitation.

Off I go.

Haven't had a shower today and I've only got the clothes on my back. As if the lack of a tape deck or cd player in my car wasn't enough, the reciever is a piece of shit, too. As soon as I get out of LA I get no stations whatsover. Happened to have a laptop and some headphones. I only have my own crappy music to listen to and one 30 minute track of Henry Rollins talking about some homeless guy he used to hang out with as a kid. Crazy Paul, the stylish drunk. Worked well enough. I filled up outside Bakersfield. I ate five pieces of chicken from Carl's Junior at around 2:30 in the morning. I started to fall asleep once I hit Oakland, but yelled and screamed my way to people's park and fell asleep in the back of the Jeep just as the sky began to lighten. It had been raining in LA. Clear skies in no-cal.

some notes on becoming your disease

Sit and watch.
Stand and watch.
Create change.
Be creative.
Reach out and take control of what you watch.

It's a new show.
Sit and watch.
Seems familiar.
Have we seen this already?
Has this been watched?

I'm HUNGRY.

Turn away.
What is this?
Bloody hands. Aching back. Sneezing dripping face.
Back to the grind.
Back to work.
Breathe.
Sit.
Watch.
Until now it seemed unreal.
Until now it seemed like that hyperactive little box was the enemy.
That warm familiar glow.
Too much like life.
The question becomes moot.
The end result is the same.
Stop the parade with...
An episode of sleep.
Sleep is the same.
Awake is the same.

It's time to EAT now.

Tiles in the kitchen counter are hazy.
Standing in front of the refridgerator.
Hypnotized momentarily by the rectangular glow.
What have we here?
Is it tasty?
Is it healthy?
Is it hot?
Better cold?

What was that?
There are more on the wall.
Mini blinds VS. sunlight.
It's a draw.

Back to the grind.
Back to life.
Time to wake up.
Sit back.
Reach out.
Make a change.

-off-

Poison Oak

The Author has poison oak. The author is stupid. The author has been very sensitive to the oils of this evil, evil plant since he was a very little boy. The author tried to look up the scientific name for poison oak on google, but got bored with that persuit very quickly. From here on out I will call it Hitler, because poison oak is evil, and according to my history classes in school, so was Hitler. Maybe I will call it Hitler Bush, or Nazi Bush. I like those names. Wonder why.

I've spent the past three days watching tv and sitting in one place for long periods of time. This is not like me. I am the type of person that likes to at least believe that he is accomplishing something at any given moment, even if he is simply driving around stoned trying to think of something to accomplish.

My goal this past week was very simple: Sit in one place and while away the day watching tv. Give in to the slack. Do not leave the house. Do not record or write anything. Do not go to work. Do not go to band practice. Do not pick up the phone.

My mother brought over some DVD's for me to watch on my dad's 13 inch dvd/tv combo thingie that he uses when he goes to trade shows. I have watched the entire first three seasons of Seinfeld almost without break. I could get into the psychological ramifications of such a feat, but I'm not sure that I have the requisite distance from the event.

Back to the Hitler Bush.

When I was an 8 or 9 year old kid, I went out with some friends to PLAY. There was this place in the neighborhood that we discovered behind some strangers house one day. It was the forest. It was kind of like what is behind Calvin's house in Calvin and Hobbes. This was a pretty important discovery. We spent the day running around and doing whatever it is kids do for hours and hours on end. Hiding, Seeking, Climbing, Jumping, Building, Destroying, Etc. I still have some images of left in my memory from that wonderful day of play.

I didn't have to go to school all the next week, but it wasn't worth it. My mom tells me that people were giving her dirty looks in the emergency room. I had this Hitler rash all over my body, and it looked like someone had beat the shit out of me. My face was puffed up like a pink chipmonk. I won't go into detail about what bathing was like but I will tell you that Hitler was an evil motherfucker.

Now I am in the recovery stage. I am back at work. (How else would I be writing this?) I said that I will be at band practice, but I'm not sure that I really want to go. Work involves sitting around and shuffling papers. Band practice would involve movement and stuff. I still have a pretty healthy Hitler-spot on my ankle. Fuck you Hitler. Fuck you.

This post probably could have been way longer but I haven't been at work all week and shit is piling up.