Thursday, February 28, 2002

red light assface

it seems like i got EVERY fucking don't walk sign this morning. and now that i have a long-ass walk from the montgomery bart stop (at market and mont.) all the way up monty to north beach near coit tower. fuckin shit, man. doesn't help i have a still-broken toe that needs mending.
yo yo yo.
but i did it, i did it, i rise , i RISE, like maya angelou and shit.
lessee, last night was adult, i am spoonbender, and the faint at bimbo's. it was a fine fine show of electro mania. adult was adult. flat, not much of a stage presence, but damn, those oh-so-ironic art school songs. lovely lovely. we all decided however, they are probably a better band to listen to at home.
spoonbender, conversely, has been practicing for like three months straight and pumped out a hell of a performance. it was obvious they've been practicing based on how fluid it was. awesome trippy visuals from the early 80s seamlessly aligned with the music. amazing. they're this weird mix of electro, hard rock, indie pop and i don't know what else. they're good though.
the lead vocalists, cup and dustin (who is from kalamazoo, mich. and used to be the drummer for Thought Industry back in the day) sing into telephones, though i got the scoop and found out they added nicer microphones to the phones.
and then i talked to herbie hancock yesterday, who was the coolest cat ever. so nice, so genuine and honest. i have absolutely no complaints about the gentleman.
well, i must return to my studies. i'm hoping to figure out the racist tendencies of the south american jungle rat. it's a very good topic.
love me don't love others.
be aloof,

your partner of mammalian sights,

Elmer Puto

Tuesday, February 26, 2002

live mix extravaganza plus booty action for children under 1

before we begin, i just want to say that i can't believe i didn't talk about such things as watching a man being held by his leg on a moving bus after he allegedly (i'm such a journalist - allegedly) stole a girl's wallet from her backpack. the bus was very crowded that evening, nearly two weeks ago now -- the same night we went to go see "straight outta hunter's point" at the red vic on haight street. it was fucking pouring rain that night. but yeah, this little fucker was being held by people on the bus, it was awesome. he pushed me aside, this little bastard. i should have dropped a boulder on his head. but unfortunately, i wasn't in colorado.

i also can't believe i didn't talk about breaking my toe...was that the same night or a week later? i think a week later, making the bus incident three weeks ago. what the hell. i am brainalive instead of braindead. still i proffer.
yeah, broke my goddamn toe at home. the tale about seeing the doctor is even better, actually.
looks like i got me an assignment for wednesday, my anniversary of death destruction and puffery.

ok, on to my mixes. i played a big gig at kelly's mission rock in SF on Saturday, Feb. 16. it was good clean fun had by all.
good clean fun.
yep, so screw you.
i think bart comes at 11:06, so i must work fast to beat the assclockassclockass.
which is common these days except when you wear dungarees (what the fuck ARE dungarees anyway? are they like dingos?).
my mix was quite good, yes yes. oh yeah, i broke my toe on the 14th, tina's birthday. how could i forget? call me a foool.

anyway, i was at seanO's over the weekend and moved all those minidiscs to CD-R. and now we got ourselves some live mixes on CD-R for the masses. may the gods and asschains be praised.

so below, is a detailed description of my other mixes.
Infuse mix went amazingly well, a good mixture of broken beat, nu-jazz, ambient and minimal techno.
see, good clean fun had by your dad.
if you want one of these, holler so i can hear you. remember, i'm deaf in my right bone. thanks for your death and supportive garments.

so besides the live Infuse mix, which people seem to be turned on by, we also have the following, all recorded live at Bruce Davis' house Super Bowl weekend. all these mixes are a bit rougher than Infuse and has some volume issues (like CDs being WAY louder than some of the vinyl). also note --- these are all still just one continuous track. it'll take some more work to split these up into tracks, so it's up to you if you want to wait or get 'em now, while they're hot and horny:

Minimal Cocoa Puffs mix - a little more raw than Infuse mix, this was probably the most influential of the many mixes i did in preparation for Infuse, containing at least five of the same tracks as Infuse. midtempo minimal techno and abstract IDM. For people who like some people, but not all people. Also, for people who wear glasses, have friends that wear glasses or wish they wore glasses to look smarter and/or cooler than non-glasses wearing hobbits.

Free As The Morning Sun - a very stoned out and a bit disjointed mix (warning: The Cure makes an appearance. as SeanO said, some of Bruce's 80s vinyl can cause real trouble. it's a good song but doesn't fit with much of the rest of the mix). However, this is where a lot of the broken beat side of the first half of the Infuse mix originated from. Recommended for people with noses, armhair, nosehair, and a chewing gum fetish.

i feel like i'm doing descriptions for the "lost tapes" or something that have just been unearthed.

Clockwork Frank - Electro synth pop extravaganza. a bit heavy on the Adult. tracks (three), but still, good quality stuff. a few surprises (including an off-track from the "American Gigolo" soundtrack by Giorgio Moroder, not "call me").

Super Bowl Shuffle - another one that's a bit disjointed due to mr. davis' insane collection of 80s vinyl (yes, i gave in to the tom tom club...sorry....and the beastie boys...). that said, after relistening to this one while we were transferring it over the weekend at seano's, i found it to be incredibly relaxing...despite its title (it was finished with 29 seconds to go in the game, when it was tied 17-17 - hence the title). nice one, this.

enjoy your day here at cedar point.

your partner in mayhem,

Louis Freeh
elemental disturbance from on low
that boy needs therapy

the weirdest thing - i was walking home from work our new location in North Beach in SF.... and was in a particularly surly mood.
why the surly mood? oh, let's friend was being kind of a demanding dick via email (which, as most people know, is hard to figure out when people are kidding or are serious); dealing with the whole moving situation, fucked up phones and people talking my ear off when i have things that need to be finished; dealing with my living situation at home, as well as the unfortunate byproduct of a bad living situation with the relatively low-key tone my relationship has taken with my partner; and just my overall frustration with always being behind, always trying to get ahead, and the difficulty of focusing on shit, anything, yo.

yeah, so i was walking home from work today :)......
and amidst all this surly bullshit and heartache and me being pissed off at the world, i was given a little reality check.
i come upon this dude sitting on the corner, his head bowed down as if he's embarassed of being forced to beg for money on the streets. his sign said "until i find a job, i'm relying on your kindess" or something similar.
and on impulse, i threw a quarter into his used Starbucks cup (i could have had a long conversation about the dangers of supporting Starbucks but then again, that'd be fucking shallow and trite of me...sorry).
it was a reality check for me. for a couple seconds, i felt that guys pain. man, here i am worried about all this shit and this guy has nothing.
especially odd was the fact that i NEVER give these people any money. i never even look their way when they're asking me for money and usually ignore them...sometimes raising the ire of these people even more.
just fucked up. i think i see so much homelessness that i've become desensitized to it. plus so many of them go about it all fucked up, forcing their guilt and misery upon you in an instant in the hopes you'll be like "oh, damn, sorry for your situation. let me help you out."

yet, this guy, fuck, i didn't even stop to talk to him. i just kept on walking.
sounds so trivial but it's not. it affected me, obviously.
anyone that knows me understands that, try to follow here, i often feel like i'm just along for the ride and that my present consciousness is divided into parts...part of me is following along, part of me is doing what i want to do on impulse...conducting day to day activities because i have to. in other words, i don't know why i do the things i do. i'm aware of my faults and understand what needs to happen for me to be successful yet i can't seem to make things work all the time. i can't seem to get my shit together.
but then some people have told me i'm too hard on myself and that can't be healthy.
which, is totally true.
i am really really hard on myself. i wish i wasn't. yet, the further behind i get, the worse it gets.
and i understand that it's difficult to force myself day in and day out to go out and do shit, work all day, AND attempt to move forward in my writing career.
something's got to give and it feels like the writing of late.
plus i want to do my dj career even more.
so what the fuck do i want???? what the fuck do i want????
i don't know
yet somehow i know what i'm capable of...and i can't seem to do it.
i wish i was in some sort of situation where i had somebody to answer to, somebody who said "hey, we need this by such-and-such a date or you're going to die."
~~ chuckle ~~
ok, maybe not "die" per se, but you get what i'm thinking.
i have editors that hover dates over me and i cannot make the fucking deadlines. i cannot.
i don't know why. i ALWAYS push things to the limit. why why why? why can't i work ahead? why why why?
i need to make a tax appointment to do my taxes, i need to cancel my health club thing, i need to contact people and yet i don't do these things.
maybe part of it is understanding somewhere deep down that i cannot do everything and that taking too much on is only going to fuck me even more.
yet, i want to do these things. i want to do everything.
the problem is i'm inherently a social being in need of interaction with others, not to mention a constant curiousity that forces me to find out what the hell is going on all the time.
so much shit, damn.
how am i going to accomplish anything if i can't get anything finished.
"i just want to be who i am" - an appropriate line from this James Hardway album...speaking of, i'm yet again procrastinating by doing this now instead of writing my fucking story.
yet, my blog, of late, seems to bring me more joy than some of my writing does, even though i know i'm a music freak and know i'm good at what i do.

i'm talking in circles, therefore putting my mind in a fucking circle.
fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

did i mention that i'm attempting to wean myself off the smoke slowly?
i've only gone two whole days and i'm kind of wiry, wandering, and a bit anxious.
yeah, that's it...anxious.
i can't stop thinking about the possibility of taking that pipe in my bag, walking down to yerba buena park next the metreon and taking a couple puffs.
part of me says "you'll be mad at yourself if you do it" and part of me is saying "if you don't do it, you're going to go a bit crazy tonight."
and both of me are right.

on that note, i need to take a step back for a second and stop looking at the goddamn computer screen for a couple minutes.
i just need to breathe.
i just need to focus.
how do i do it?
how? how?
stop smoking pot asshole. sure, easier said than done.
two voices beating with one heart.
gotta love that.

love and hate,

Sunday, February 24, 2002

don't let your lactose intolerance stop you.
let your milk of magnesia flag fly!
rock out with your brand muffin.

picture the scene:

it's 11 a.m. on a Sunday morning
i'm listening to the minimal techno sounds of the new swayzak at a nice volume
it's sunny and kinda chilly yet good morning type warmth
a plane is just now flying thousands of miles over my head.
i'm on my second cup of delicious free trade peets coffee.
my kitties are asleep next to me on my futon.
i'm going to the ocean in three hours to transfer my MD recording of my set from last weekend to CD-R to use as a demo.
i'm about to write a couple stories for xlr8r.

this is me, today, right now.
life is cool sometimes.
have an excellent day.

your usurper of destruction,
bobby digital

Wednesday, February 20, 2002


- fuck a horse?

do you know,
where you're going to..

do you like the things that i liked before you did yesterday.

for those of you still waiting for the apocalypse, remember this.
it's already happened.
after all, we have a faux president named Bush.
and i have a skeleton.
that should be enough to warrant full-scale warfare.

also, whiny vocals by men kind of suck too. you know who you are.

new Boards of Canada released today.
it's amazing. leave me alone, now, whilst i kill all people who use the word "whilst" in serious conversation to show off their supposed intelligence.

i still mourn the loss of phil hartman.
i weep for you.
and you and you and you and you.
my hearts stink.
give me your heartlight, like don johnson did.

is don johnson still alive?
i hope not.
at least, not in this dimension.

i'm now listening to the latest "another late night" series...this one by zero 7. it's quite good. i like it. yes.
my mix rules the world.
everyone should bow down before the one they serve, for they're going to get what they deserve.
i must go,
leave all gewgaws on my doorstep.

fudge you.
poundcake is so not good.
benny dee

Oh no, I think I just pappered me trollies

also, i just figured out my problem with delis.
see, i associate them with cold cuts, which are fucking annoying by themselves, but i think you NEED to have toasted bun, not bread (though toasted bread sometimes passes the timpratt test) to offset the meat and related stuff they slop on there.
it's waaaaay to easy to just slap together some cold-ass meat straight outta the fridge and a couple pieces of cheese and lettuce and mayo and call it a sandwich. see, that's bullshit. fuck that.
toast the damn bun. do something. why should i got to your lame deli? because it has "better meats?" yeah, more like better meats as long as they're not infested by workers' germs and fecal matter, which..btw, is on pretty much everybody's hands, unless you wash them superhardcore like every time you even come within range of a public restroom.
and if you're working anywhere, you're using a public restroom.
so stop with the deli shit.
fuck you delis.
you're not welcome.
get yourself a toaster. warm up the damn meat a little.
do something.
like i need another fucking roast beef sandwich with,ooooh, pepper jack, what a difference.
cold cuts suck ass

Tuesday, February 19, 2002

is there something wrong with gelatin?
must i be such a fine man as to prepare for war in such a dark and disturbing time? do you shave your back?

i once knew a man who had shingles on his roof.
and shingles on the roof of his mouth.
and shingles on his legs.
and other places we don't talk about with others.
this man, he was a kind man.
a gentle man, who never wanted to hurt anybody unless provoked.
yet, this lovely and relaxed man, was forced to deal with unspeakable terror and heartache.
and when you have your heart ripped out and stomped on and spat upon, there's just no getting around the pain and agony one is forced to endure.
these things take time and the only real healer is father time.
mother time is kind of a bitch and doesn't like to be bothered as she's up to her neck in activity. so father time is the man.
father time, a kindly soul, didn't take too kindly to our shingles man. and unfortunately, shingles man died soon after being confronted by father time.
see, father time reminded shingles man that he owed a lot of money to mother time and she was not down with him sucking off the teat without some kind of reward.
so father time merely presented him with the information and shingles man did what he thought was best in the face of certain desctruction.
he fell down a flight of stairs sort of on purpose, broke his right second toe, and died from eating a grape he found on the corner. the grape had been laced with ibonic desiree.
lethal when taken with broken toe medicine.
and so, shingles man no longer lives.
his shingles in ruin.
except for the ones on his leg, which are likely already rotted away and gobbled up by pesky nightcrawlers and raccoons with bowel problems.
and to think it all happened just because of magic and a stupid piece of gum.
how the devil works in mysterious ways.

Monday, February 18, 2002

bo diddley was shot and forced to perform a conundrum on related employees at that swiss family robinson memorial.
he is listed in sensitive condition and is expected to discover.
please send all thank you cards to his non-forwarding distress.

changes in income are usually a result of poor hygeine.
good hygiene is the product of a safe society that embraces the love of a stranger.
even when that stranger asks you if you want a ride because they've got some candy.
candy doesn't work anymore. unless you're mr. willy wonka or a relative to santa bacon and even then you need skills to pay the bills.

armhair enthusiasts often choose buttery popcorn over unbuttery popcorn primarily because of grease envy and sheen obsession.
stop what you're doing and look at yourself behind the window.
you will not like what others don't see but can hear and mouth.

my gaping wound is apparently significant.
otherwise, people would stop staring at my hole.
on thursday, i pounded on a minivan window as it nearly ran me over.
last night, when i got home at like 3 a.m (previous night was like 5 or 6 am. due to shit on the bay bridge, like death destruction police rain and accidents), i found that all the beer cans from when i saw those idiots sitting in front of our house saturday night, tossing the beers on the sidewalk right in front of me.
well, i found the van just down the street.
so i took the empty beer box, several cans, one with beer still in, and set them all on top of those fuckers' van hood. i laughed. nobody saw me, at least, not as far as i can tell. maybe some invisible people did. but they can't touch this.
like U.
beer beer beer right back at you fuckers. especially shitty bear like busch light. or was it bud light? or hamms. i can't recall, much like oliver north couldn't recall.or ronald "shitbag" reagan.
when is he going to die?
ah well, at least i have my 401K through dykehaus incorporated.
it's trustworthy, because it's incorporated.
i love corporate things. they are so much better than other things that aren't corporate.
like trees, saddleshoes, and bloodstained street sheets.
my belly itches today. could be ear mites.
painful as it is, i prefer to kneel when standing.
it helps me swivel while breathing and or choking young vitamin players looking for love in all the wrong places.
go out the back jack, don't need to be coy roy, just hop on the bee lee and set yourself free.
get on the gus, bus.
don't need a new stan, plan.
gamecocks never looked so handsome in the moonlight after christmas, hanukkeh, kwanzaa, and santa bacon day.
peel away my skin. i'm about to burst with substance.
get yourself some tea, lee.
and learn how to pee.

soundrels will pay.
act preefully; tanned, ready and regarded
Date:�� Mon, 4 Feb 2002 17:36:39 -0800

I wanted to spit on a dude's SUV yesterday just because it was close to my person.
Nobody needs a fucking expedition. great disdain, i have.

I woke up feeling good today but that quickly soured. It's amazing how quickly your attitude can be readjusted by being around people throwing out nastiness.

Etiquette of being on bart, is that it almost seems inappropriate to talk. i look toward others who speak with scorn hatred and all around meanieness.

it's increasingly hard when you are too nice to people. I need to learn how to say no. dammit.

last weekend, Saturday was good fun in berkeley and lois the pie queen.
Wasting a lot of time too.

I've been on a truth-telling spree of late. I still have a LONG way to go, partly because I internalize so much of what I think now. But I've gotten to a point where I'd rather say what I think and, to use a horrible clich�, let the chips fall where they may. Seriously though, I think part of� me is a bit of a compulsive liar and I can't believe I'm finally figuring this out. Often, I lie for no real benefit and end up getting myself into deeper shit.
Ok, maybe I don't lie all that often, but sometimes I just won't tell the whole truth.

then again, i could be lying about all this.
Fuck I dunno.

Faster pussycat was a fine band

Smokey and the bandit rules

John brown had a little indian, one little indian boy.
Super bowl shuffle
The anti-drug stance was bullshit.
Bad ads all around
Four mixes yo yeah!
Bruce's friend chris is annoying. Stop being a fool!
I stink...too much bad food
Super bowl rebels we were that or called that at minnie's memphis bbq shitstain sheet rock center.
call tomorrow for benefits, access and accumulation records.

my papers say i'm going to inherent a shoe factory.
the ones that say that are also usually right about some things in some people's lives some of the time.
just remember this: the terrorists could be anywhere in the world right now.
plotting their revenge on you specifically.
they can read your mind.
i know this, because they are evil and therefore, have stronger powers than us non-evil people.
so leave this world, either by death, mutiliation, backscratching, cat scratch fever, bouncing on a trampoline until you can't see the bottom of the whale skin, or taking off your coonskin cap in public at the racing committee's ballroom function to raise money to help support green siberian mascots named Ruth.

as far as i can recall, this is all true.
some facts have been changed to protect charitable fiends in the field of science and industry.
and lastly, ham sandwiches are usually used in weapons of mass destruction.
eve maguire will be here to answer all your questions.
now excuse me while i go get a bite to eat at burger king.
i need a whopper, not a hammer.

bland television workshop lollipop,
Peter Pumpkintaster
courtesy Mr. Rolls and Mr. Pratt, who have some modesty, no shame and elegant moustaches

uberhip-adult contemporary-windham hill-electronic-house-daterape fest = 111 Minna
egocentric-self-backslapping-we're-so-ironic-supermusic-tigerbeat show = tigerbeat show
faux-intellectual-honkey-backpacker-no-soul hip-hop = indie hip-hop
ethel - dead
basket case - important.

lavender and milk jugs,
craftmatic adjustable bed

--to alalowishusd--
bring me the head of bog sajav
Date:�� Wed, 6 Feb 2002 07:35:15 (PST)

i never realized how anti-american you are.
my god man, don't you have any patriotism?
don't you have any love for this country?
you better not sleep too heavily at night. uncle sam may be coming to get YOU.

my prisoner number - 666-666-6669
social security number - 444-55-1212
badge number - 3321277777777777777777777777790
shirt size - M for puppets
pants - waist 59, length 4
jacket - 99 meaty

good thing you have post-it notes. the better to eat you with my dear.

your enemy,
baxter t. neville
world champion orange juice filler
If it weren't for Sunday, Monday would be a different day of the week
Mon, 11 Feb 2002 17:48:09

Let's see, it's a lovely morning...
The leaves are growing on the trees.
It's not as cold as it has been.
It's not raining for a change.

Saturday - I attended the Alternative Press expo at Fort Mason, with dillard. we were there till like 4 p.m. on a gorgeous saturday, unbelievable really, considering how cold it's been.

Friday night� - dealt with Mr. Rolls, eating at the Mediterranean place ate in tent city, going home to tina's after kind of going off on her via email...

Yeah anyway, I'm feeling a bit grouchy this morning, dammit. What can I say? Ugh. Hanging with mosi yesterday for a good portion of the day was good but I got absolutely nothing done yet again.

Of course, I stop at montgomery to head off the pass and pick up some REAL peets coffee when, BAM, I'm screwed. I get inside and in line behind yuppie fucks (die yuppie scum) when I realize that I have no fucking money!!

I'm mad at Night Tim. Morning Tim is pissed off at Night Tim. But there's little Morning Tim can do to Night Tim since, unfortunately, we live and breathe in the same dimension. Which sucks.

Picture pages on Captain Kangaroo ruled.
Mr. Green Jeans was a cool cat too.
And then there all these little kids being loud and shit. And then you got starfucks and all that. Dammit all to hell.
Funny how things seem so important at the time are not so important like an hour later.

from the mouths of children:
Say stinky feet "I don't want to." Her favorite color is blue.� She doesn't like to say cheesy pizza either. Mandy...the valentine hearts are being used to bribe kids. They like kitties - minnie and daisy. I did smile...I diiiid.

I want 200 ping-pong balls dropped on my head soon.

I hate slow fucks that plod along like lumbering hippos, taking up my sidewalk space. Fuckers. I will kill them slowly.

Tue, 12 Feb 2002 17:19:57

Chinese new year - it's a big deal here in sf, with such a huge chinese population. of course, i am chinese. so that makes a big difference when i'm talking about pants and footwear.

Things go better with Coke, everything goes better with coke. if you wanna get down, get down to the ground, cocaine. see, i ain't talking about that shite. man. fuck cocaine. hey man, you got a rock? sister christian oh the time has come.

That homeless man with the beard and the same man who peed by the bart station that one night. he is always reading books and comic books. one day last week he was laying directly in the sunlight on market. it was a cold winter morning.
for you.
that man always uses a tin can, i think it was formerly that pseudo cheese they use to plop on top of nachos and cheese. then again, i could be wrong. but then, you'd be alive.

More terrorist attacks today - that's what they say. of course, fuck they. i prefer them. they is dumb.

Oscar nominations - thank god oscar isn't fickle. otherwise i'd have to erase oscar's face and turn his body into gold and sink his ass between the hasty teeth and luxorious pudding that pop used to make and enjoy.
those days are gone forever, but oscar always knows what kind of joy to bring on that special morning.
for oscar, oh oscar, is gentle, kind, considerate, blind, deaf, dumb and mute.
not necessarily in that order of spring cheese servings.

You're the man now dog
Riding around a razor scooter at the office is like riding the wind to be free again, even though i despise christopher cross and wish nothing but the worst for him and his minions.
Rightly, I got hired for me job, or at least, that's what i maintain to the proper authorities.

Do me a favor, use your etiquette and jump the railway station guard.
He will be happy you helped him avoid his phone calls and special duties to the mayor.
i said "special" duties that few men can accomplish.
the question is, is he a top or a bottom?
i say, they knew what they were getting into when they got on the plane. i say, let 'em crash.

borderline psychotic behavior is for the greater good
ella fitzgerald had my love child before i was dead.
elephants are important parts of your daily diet.
emo philips has no connection whatsoever to the advent of plasma screens in america.
i wish he did.

my one bottom part of my nose hurts.
could be the gout.
or whispery horses like robert redford sans wrinkles.
we go, NOW!~

avenue A is closed for business.
stop my nosebottom from moving and i'll pay you handsomely with this magical pen, impervious to everything in the world but water, unfortunately.

once again, i've been thwarted by a cyclops. damn the luck.

i love tap water.
drink it before it dissolves in your eyelid.

rapid fire testing is in order. take home some vitamin Z today.
let my people go.

brick bouncing stairmaster,
john john davis
basic assbushel

i am the god of hellfire and i bring you.
duhda duuuh, duh!
satan will surely cast you into the lake of fire. or maybe god will cast you in there. along with satan.
your twitching ankles rubbing together like the small, fiery stick that you are.

my plane of existence is better than your plane, because mine is fake and yours is real.
doesn't that suck for you?
doesn't that make you blind with anger?
doesn't that make you sorry?
didn't i see it coming?
that's a strange way to show me
how you feel

if we all sing together, we can sing a song of sixpence.
charlie had a charlie horse before a horse like mr. ed could sing, regardless of whether or not the man who sang for mr. ed is now deceased.
it all comes together with your laundry cakewalk.

st. germain speaks to my existence before you colored your face with chocolate cake and donuts, without the "gh" to be extra safe.
and isn't that what charmin is all about?

going to the races, being racist and racing to win the race before losing the web of destructive force.
all the young kids say that today.
except the ones who are blind.
ethically, spiritually and ethnically.

hard right.
on your noggin.
don't be hoggin.
the spotlight.
stage fright.
stage right.
not left.
alternating rhythms
cake on my skywalk
save me.
savor peace.
peace out.
live life.

stuck ovens.
don't be loggin.
at harbin.
grin n bear it.

Friday, February 15, 2002

green acres is the place to be.
hard living is the life for me.
sensual sucking saves so sweetly somebody soon supposedly will not live

my foot is black and purple and blue and something of unknown origin.
i'm not working today.
i'm taking occasional bong hits.
my lame duck foot is on top of the table as i type, making for a weird situation
see i got me some fucked up shit.
so much so much .
you can't believe the injuries i have incurred.
photos to come soon.
keep on doing it right. man
sand hand. land.
dobe fiends are better than dope fiends.
sucka mcs are better than sucka macs
and shit is not as good as shite
so frick you fucker.
i aim to leave my shit at your doorstep.
before i leave for christmas.
istanbul used to be my homeland
before the war of 1812.
die and live
that is my motto.
so sayeth the king.

Wednesday, February 13, 2002

i just saw that homeless guy that likes to read all the time. i'm very interested in this fellow. he's always reading comic books and other things.
yet, he's decidedly, um, strange.
he always sleeps in the same area. he's not very volatile. he does like to urinate by the bart steps, however, right in front of tina b.'s work. that's not so good.
but then again, much of downtown smells like urine anyway.
i apologize once again for getting so far behind on this.
so much is happening in my life right's really fucking crazy.
i have a new job and have just been offered full time employment, which is nuts.
tina and i looked at an apartment in san francisco last night and it looks like a good thing for's a friend of a friend so the likelihood of us taking it is fairly good.
sunday was spent mostly hanging out at home with mr. reeves, then a quick jaunt into the city to pick up new cd rack and stuff.
saturday was super late trouble as i went to alt. pres expo sat. afternoon, then hung out on haight street with several friends before heading over to the east bay for a cool art opening with pals from work, then back on over to SF once again to check out felix da housecat with mr. dillard once again. unfortunately, things did not go as planned. more on that later.

all in all, another crazy ass time we got going on here.
so this is a work in progress.
for those of you i left hanging on the personal tip last time around..just know that i will be adding to that as well.
i've got some woik to do for next few hours but last few nights have been spent sleeping and/or going tobed early, early early. i dunno what is up with that, weired.

today is ash wednesday give me your smudges.
best quote thus far this week; "somebody could be standing right here with us that wants to slit my throat" overheard at Peet's coffee this morning
pot raids - yeah they suck but they're not changing anybody's habit and certainly not going to slow down usage. let's just make the shit legal. i seriously doubt i'm going to be pulled over by a federal agent so i'm not that concerned.
yeah, the medical aspect is important but not all that important. come on now.
gotta jet.
like paul mccartney

Friday, February 08, 2002

triple double trouble
the bus ride harried and crazed
standing in the rain for half an hour
straight outta hunter's point
the long ride home - forward trajectory
the burning man film
talk of burning man
the daily updatees here at the job
saying messner, et all.
riding around on my razor scooter
staring at the same 7-minute loop all day
the quest to move to north beach
the idea i might be at an ad agency
basket ball
fennis dembo is alive and kicking
gavin newsome must die...let's bomb the marina
boards of canada
fatback breast beeter
free as the morning sun into a vince guarldi tune

Thursday, February 07, 2002

it's fog, it's fog, it's better than bad, it's good.
actually, not as much fog today in the ol' naked city, but enough to shake a couple of sticks at.
the last few days, especially yesterday, the fog has been nice and thick for the people, which is how most like it. some might not, but those people need to look at the big picture.

thievery corporation
previous night - rocking the go to bed early scene by accident
monday, night before, stayed up extra late writing...but most of the night was spent working on stuff at tina's work.
sunday...super bowl all damn day for your love and hold you tight.
hotline hotline

Tuesday, February 05, 2002

Sex Farm Woman

dang, somehow i forgot to like add stuff to this here thingamajob.
i'm-a so sorry suh.
let's get right to work:

who was the chick in the Scream movies, who was also in Party Of Five?
i was just thinking: what the hell happened to her?

lately i've been having trouble remembering the names of some actors. recently i saw ben affleck on something and for the life of me, i couldn't remember his damn name.
either i'm getting old and losing my memory; smoking too much pot and losing my memory; not reading my entertainment weekly thoroughly enough; or i'm no longer giving a flying fuck who and what these people are.
i'm also realizing that movies and pop culture is so transitory, so fickle, and so in the now, that often, even six months from now, people quickly forget who you are, what you did, and what the hell all the fuss was about.
sure, many artistic endeavors such as this buck the trend. but the vast majority do not.
and that's the way of the world.

ah yes, it was Neve Campbell who we're talking about.
yet, the thing i remember the most about those films, especially scream 2 and shit, did i even see the 3rd one? maybe on hbo or something.
didn't the third one star that fuck liev schreiber (see, now how to i remember those unknown fools?) as the killer in like a high school stage?
anyway, the thing i recall is that courteney cocks' chest was so, um, ribby, it was gross.
note to women: getting so skinny that your ribs show above your breasts is not sexy, it's disgusting. i know you have bones underneath all that fat (and by that, i mean all that lovely fatty tissue collected in two large lumps on your chest, not those chubby fat rolls on your belly) but i don't actually want to see it.
kind of reminds me when i "ran" into that gentleman on bart a few weeks back and five minutes later, he gets upset with me for not saying sorry for running into his rib.
:"I'm not an invisible person here," he said to me. "i'm a real person."
really, i thought you actually were fake and invisible, like kevin bacon in that other film about invisibility that i can't recall.
"hollow man" - ah yes, how could have i forgotten such a classic?

women really do get the shaft when it comes to age discrimination in films.
men's careers tend to last longer.
if you look at popular actors throughout the last few decades, a certain pattern develops. the man is more likely to keep on acting into old ass age.
women...some of them, but not nearly the amount of men.
not even close.

meg ryan is still around because she plays the same character in every film.
michelle pfeiffer is still around but nobody's calling her a sex symbol anymore.
or a sexpot.
of course, when you have bimbos like halle berry who go on and on and onnnnnnn touting the fact that she shows off her breasts in drek like "swordfish" (she was paid a couple extra hundred thou for showing 'em off, for a whole measly 2-3 seconds, while lying on her back sunbathing...everybody knows breasts don't look quite as good when a woman lies down....not to say they were bad, but come standing up like katie holmes did in "the gift." now there was a naked breast scene that had, um, staying power).
so yeah, halle berry, dammit.
on the other hand, if i could get paid a couple extra hundred thousand dollars for showing off a part of my body that more than half the population has and the other half is constantly dying to see...well, shit, maybe there's some brains behind those lovely voluptuous breasts. and that's the fact, jack.

summer breeze makes me feel fine.
something something jasmine in my miiiiiiiiind
(guitar solo now)

what's even funnier is that after attending burning man for three years and seeing thousands of naked breasts of all shapes and sizes, you sort of get jaded about seeing breasts. i mean, sure, there still awesome and i can't help but look at them when presented to me in a variety of ways, but when you're around hundreds upon hundreds of women who willingly show off their breasts (and many of them aren't ones you necessarily WANT to see), they kind of get old.
let's see, a pair of round lumps with varying sized areola (what a great word, one of the best sexually-related words there is...a hell of a lot better than vagina or penis) and nipple. sometimes they jut, sometimes they sag, sometimes they're perky, sometimes they're flat, some are gigantor, some are miniscule.
yet, at the end of the day, breasts are simply mother nature's dairy delights.
just a human udder

we men are obsessed with udders.
and a tiny little place we were all in once...and once we're out, we spend the rest of our lives attempting to get back in there...with some friction of course.
unless you're more turned on by someone of your own sex. and then maybe we're talking about some self-obsessive behavior thrown in.

god, the whole concept of sexuality is very strange.
why do we attempt to hide and mask so much of our sexuality, yet every person living on this planet originates from a sex act. i've talked about this before but i still think about the idea that every single person you ever encounter was "made" by two other people fucking.
answering nature's call, the other REAL nature's call.

some people might say "well everybody shits too and i don't want to see or know about that." (well, at least MOST people don't want to know about that...unless there's some shit fetish that i missed).

god, for some reason the memory of me in fifth grade at stoney creek elementary school in comstock park sitting with my parents in the school gym while my principal, mr. zoodsma, talked about sex just bounced into my head. i'll never forget something he said: "just because i'm tall doesn't mean i have large penis. penis size has nothing to do with that."
i don't know if that's the exact phrasing but you get the idea: mr. zoodsma, richard.....had a small penis. or so we and the oh-so-wise fifth grade boys thought so, as we snickered all through class and recess for the next week, talking about mr. zoodsma's ha, ha, "small penis."

just like we all wanted to read judy blume's "forever" and "wifey" around that same time period. i remember my friend matt dionese brought his mom's copy of "wifey" with him to school and all the boys would gather around him during recess in the concrete playground playthings and listen to the sundry, sensual tales of an adulteress idea that was so foreign to me, it was the kind of thing that only happened in movies, tv or books. not in real life. we couldn't believe the words ol' judy used...see, judy blume was already a hero to me by that age. i had already read a bunch of judy's books: "tales of a fourth grade nothing," "superfudge," "Blubber," "then again maybe i won't" (my first encounter with the idea of masturbation, though at the time i couldn't figure out how my penis could tell the difference between pee and cum), "sheila's house" (which confronted racism, a controversial topic back in the late 70s and early 80s, when this was), and of course, "are you there god, it's me margaret." not till years later did i realize this book was aimed at young pre-teen girls.
i mean, i was also busy reading cool supernatural-related books about kids meeting kind witches and dead people and, um, witches written by Ruth Chew (whatever happened to Ruth Chew?). some of her books include "the would-be witch" from 1977, "witch's broom" from 78, "the witch's buttons" from 74, "the witch's garden" from 79, "wednesday witch" from 1969 and so on. she also has other books with none-witch names like "summer magic" but who gives a hit about that? i just remember one story was about this girl who went into central park in NYC and into a cave, where she could travel to another faraway land. i loved that shit.

but back to "are you there god?" i think part of it was i wanted to learn about the whole girls and periods thing. i did not understand that shit at all back then. and frankly, i still really don't understand it today.
but that's a whole other ballgame.
plus i felt i could relate with a lot of margaret's problems. jesus, even at age 9 or 10, i was more interested in what women cared about than what boys cared about.
of course, i was one of those boys that always liked girls. i never thought they had cooties and i wanted a girlfriend since kindergarten. hell, my best friend in kindergarten was a girl named colleen. she lived down the street. i wonder whatever happened to colleen? she was always kind of dirty. she was more of a boy than i was. i hated to get dirty. i'll never forget the time when i was about 12 or so and i was attending "teepee village" camp (oooh, yet another appropriation of native american culture by the very people that kicked them off their land in the firstplace...but i digress...) and part of the deal with the camp was that we were all supposed to get way more outdoorsy compared with normal camp (which was Lake Ann, another jesus-centric camp in just down the street about a mile or two...they were connected, see).

so my smart counselor whose name escapes my pitiful gray matter at the moment, decided it was a good time to jump in this big mudpit.
never mind that it was kind of cold and drizzly that day (this was northern michigan in july).
one by one, every campmate of mine at teepee village took off extra clothing and jumped on in to the warm and murky mudhole.
every single person, except tim pratt.
i refused to get dirty and there was no way in hell you were going to get me to jump in the damn mudpit.
not a chance.
everybody was attempting to pressure me into jumping in but i wasn't having any of it.
if i would have been saying "fuck you" then like i do now, i would have definitely said it.
to be honest, i don't even recall what my excuse was.
but i did not jump in.

and as it turned out, i was the only smart one out of the entire camp, including all the dumb-ass counselors who were trained to deal with this sort of thing.
problem was the mudpit had a shitload of lovely leeches in there. so when people started getting up out of the mud, a couple kids were like "what are those slimy things on your legs and arms and chest? and ...oh god, they're moving!!!"
by the time it was determined they were in fact leeches sucking on the blood of several dozen good little christian boys and girls, many of the girls were freaking out and screaming and the like.
it was great. here i was, the stubborn short little boy who HATED to get dirty and i ended up being the smartest one of the entire bunch.
that day, i ruled.

eventually all the kids scampered out of the mudhole. most of them had at least one leech on them somewhere that somebody else had to yank off them. ouch.
needless to say, i helped no one. fuck that shit.
they dug their own hole.
or for that matter, they jumped into it.

goddamn, talking about this reminds me of the time at lincoln lake when i had a girlfriend for a week. i would sneak out of my cabin every night (yes, i was older by 6th or 7th grade i think) to go make out with my camp girlfriend...and fuck i can't remember her name right now. i want to say jamie but that doesn't seem right.
whatever, i have a great photo of us and i'm standing up next to her. problem is that my girl had already started puberty and her breasts were beginning to sprout. she was also quite tall.
see, i was quite short for my age, and people often thought i was younger than i actually was (still do, though then it sucked. now, i'm happy. karma rules sometimes).
anyway, this photo rocks. my head barely touches the top of her breasts. seriously.
yeah, it's funny.

yet, somehow, i was able to hang onto her for the entire week. true i don't think we made it past first base (i don't even remember feeling up her tits though i might have just from outside her way did i get bare skin at that age. i had to wait a few more years for that).

ok, one more fucked up memory having to do with sex, sort of.
that little story reminded me of this girl LaNeal i went out with when i was, ohhh, i think 15. yeah, 15, cause she was 14 and lived in Sparta, which was much more rural than where i lived, which was suburbia.
i don't remember exactly how i met this girl, but she was the first girl i really and truly thought i was going to have sex with, even though it never did work out (that's 18 or 19, LaNeal -- like a majority of Sparta girls -- had a kid. Sparta girls were known for being, um, easy.

which, played a large role in my decision making at the time. i mean, LaNeal Smart -- what the hell kind of name is that? come to think of it, i've gone out with some girls with real gems for names -- Cammie Pohl, Jenny Justice...the time i was going out with a Chris, a Kristi and a Kris....a girl named Jenica...---- so many dumb names. then again, it's not the girl's fault. blame her parents..

..sidenote: i complimented a girl on her name the other day (and no, i don't remember it...but i will later) and she thanked me. i realize that's an automatic reflex, saying thank you, but still. not you. you shouldn't ake credit

back to laneal: so yeah, she was the first girl to let me, uhhhhhh, fuck it, who cares...finger her. before that, there was a lot of mystery involved with that whole scene. and i didn't know what the hell to do or how to go about it. i was just naturally curious...i just remember being surprised at how warm and moist it was....and this took place behind a Kmart and Showbiz (later to be called Chuck E. Cheese) Pizza building at night in the middle of winter, while it was snowing.
and for some reason, we got a ride from an older adult couple that wasn't her parents...ahhhh, i know...


i met LaNeal via a church-related outing...i'm pretty sure. i think she was friends with one of my guy friends' girlfriend...that's how that shit always least for me that's how it always worked. at that time, i was not so experienced in the wonders of the woman's body other than a few failed attempts at feeling this girl's crotch through her jeans at a high school dance...and crotch girl never spoke to me again. bitch.

yeah, LaNeal thing. funny cause she nor her family attended church. i think i didn't know the couple that we rode with...i think i got dropped off too..because i don't remember riding there with them. yet, fuck, i could be wrong about that one...hard to remember.

I never had sex with LaNeal, though i really thought i was going to. i probably would have if it wouldn't have been for that fact i was too young to drive and, though i had a nifty red scooter i paid $450 cash for with all the money i made as a paperboy, it wasn't very good for long distances. the one time i did go to visit her on my moped, traveling out to her trailer about 8-10 miles from my home, i took her for a ride and got busted by a Kent County Sheriff for riding double, both of us without helmets, and i supposedly "ran" a stop sign (which was bullshit because i did stop...cop said i didn't come to a COMPLETE stop. fuckass).

i had a five points on my license at age 15 and i hadn't even gotten my driver's license. that was my moped license. all because of LaNeal. because i HAD to see her because i thought FOR SURE I was going to have sex with her. and finally graduate from the lowly virgin club. not to be.

however, i was a bit daring. this was an age where guys (and i'm potentially giving away a boy secret here...sorry fellas) would routinely stick their fingers in their friends faces after having some "finger action" with said girlfriend and judge its scent...and the strength of the smell.

yes, it's true. men do this. ah...i should say, teenage boys do this. i did this. i know many many friends that did this. if a sizable portion of men ever read this...ha, they will know it is true. so yes, i did this. the night after behind Kmart/Showbiz...first thing myself and my friend Tim Danowski (very experienced with the ladies by 15) would compare the about it for awhile...discuss areas of the body what point did she say "no" or "stop." usual shit.

so yeah, i did that. boys do that. point is...myself and laNeal we did this a few times...i should say "i" did this TO her. not a ton of reciprocation going on at this point in the game other than the usual curious touchy feely outside the jean-y kinda thing with the occasional tug on the zipper and/or button on pants...too scary ....ooooooooohhh nelly.
one time i was particularly daring though. actually twice that day, after getting busted on my moped, i went back over to her house and we hung out in her room. her mom was there but not around...maybe sleeping, who knows. she wasn't around. dad at work or something. so we messed around in her room. classic shit too with the variable curious knock and/or barge-in from little brothers and sisters.
"what are you guys doing?" her 8-year-old brother asks as my arm and hand are stuck up her shirt.

yeah, smart move...later, her dad comes home and he's going to take the whole family out for pizza, plus he wants to size up the boy that's messing round with his damn daughter.
it turned out to be ok..nothing special...the food i mean...her dad wasn't all that inquisitive, as i recall.
yet,...funny...on both the way to the pizza joint and on the way home, i was um, doing the finger thing with her the car..while everybody else was in the car was cold...we were all crammed together in the back of this car....father and mother were talking, we were scrunched way in the looked like we were holding hands (to divert attention, i held her hand with my other hand).

the relationship didn't last. as i said. distance. the sparta thing. the getting busted by the cops thing. other girls.....never happened with LaNeal. she was kind of um, odd, anyway. of course, she was 14 or 15, so it isn't like anybody's normal at that age. we all have our gawky moments.

funny...all those memories spawned by the party of five girl, neve campbell....who i never thought was cute or particularly hot. not really.

ok, i MUST go to sleep. i can't believe i just did this. one of those weird, things. ::::::

but you'll have to wonder what these notes below mean. topics to be discussed in my next session.
i promise.

mrs. mckenna would walk to her mailbox naked.
i really want that video "our mr. sun" from 1955. it's on video. i must have it.
the cheri z. story dad slapping her while i was talking on the phone to my mom, on the only phone there was in the whole house and located on the living room wall.

memories, like the powder of my mind.

eat and drink pastry buttons

arrogance, flammery and perversely yours,

Ron Rancor Remming, Esq.