r r s a e

cold spring rains bring pain through my
brain - memories of before
she left me alone with thoughts

b r s h a

seventies sportscaster hair
because I never could learn
to pay money for haircuts

s k u l y

farm animal skull suture
patterns - psychic hieroglyphs;
I stare, searching for meaning

t r k a n

dark soul of manufactured
day-to-day ride, scarred and scuffed
from sliding behind my hands

c o o p d

my soul like plywood - rain-warped
and chopped to shit, laying round
rotting, waiting to be used

c a r z t

the southern red clay soaks up
oil stains, rust flakes - making a
perfect earthly patina

b a r b a

best pair of blue jeans torn at
the left thigh in a straight line -
add to pile to patch later

u s a z w

colonial quotations
is all we got left of life
and liberty illusions

b a r b b

barbed wire barriers made of
twisted steel wire for livestock
and magnetic beams for folks

The Doogie Howser - 04/14/11

(daily intentions or explanations or penthouse variations, no one truly knows, 'specially not me)
#1: Yes I am toning back the output of this here cyberspot because I feel that ultimately this is a futile endeavor. Not that I don't enjoy the fact there's a hundred people that solidly enjoy what it is I do, but I feel like this is such a cluttered and hazy forum (meaning this here interwebs) that I have to pull myself back. Still working though, Southern By Birth - Raven By The Grace Of God number one will be ready either next Friday or in May or this summer or at 3:30 this afternoon. Some things have been going through my head as I diddle with this new fiddle. #2: My dumpster game is weak. I don't even have the right cycles for good days anymore. And on top of that, one of my hottest spots has mad homeless living down by the river by it so you can't get a lot of the good shit I used to out of there. But today it had plenty bok choys and loads of grapes (which are usually not bagged tightly, thus not too great for human eating straight out the bottom of the dumpster, unless you hongry), and then found the secret dumpster full of potato chips and ice cream. I left the ice cream because I wasn't trying to dump 40 pounds of ice cream into the dirt for my pigs. #3: I do these things as breezy easy nonsense gibberishes that I put at Amphetazine.com as well, as the dude that does that has conjured up big plans with me, but shit man, nobody has ever once commented on a single thing I ever put up there. And I can't see the traffic. And who cares about web traffic? Motherfuckers take one idea and turn it into 40 pages to bump up their web hits and completely fucking fakedify actual internet content into pictures of celebrity side boob. Fuck the internet. #4: Been listening to a lot of boom bap lately, actual Nas and BDP and shit and plenty of Ghostface instrumentals, that good old 4th Disciple/Bronze Nazareth offshoot of the RZA's bullshit second-level Wu nastiness. Also found a whole slew of old Boogie Brown beats with that same flavor that I've been writing paranoid ass Alex Jones irradiated seawater end times wars in North Africa rhymes to. #5: "When we start the Revolution, all they'll probably do is squeal," just said Nas in my house speakers stuffed into my tiny camper, blaring myself into deafness, furthering the damage shooting pistols with my dad all the time when I was 16 done did. My bro-in-law was using his smart phone to play those high-pitched sounds to see what everyone could hear and I was out of the game like halfway before everybody else. Fuck hearing things. I heard enough already. #6: Rojonekku Lesson One is The Revolution Will Not Be Digitized. #7: That's the next t-shirt if you ain't know. Buy one of the chicken fighter word fighting arts to the right in the sidebar if you fucking want to. If you don't, fuck it. I'll wear it to the dollar store to buy more notecards. #8: Been five months since I quit drinking, and have been drinking spring waters with a fat sip taken off the top and then filling back up with 100% non-sugared up (or corn syruped) juice. That's my shit now. I can drank like 10 a night, getting up to piss every two hours in my sleep. #9: Struggled with some heavy depression recently after getting out the bed from injury, but started back on my Soul Shine Tonic my plant voodoo wife conjured up for me, plus been eating sardines for the omega juices. Cheap ass fish in a tin keeps me in touch with my SS Va. reckless roughshod doomed from womb to tomb DNA, but also shines the soul. I have been tripping on the radiation seawater though. No, fuck you shima. #10: That's all bros and broschettas. Southern By Birth - Raven By The Grace Is God is gonna be one of those ebook/kindle/cyberbot things which will also be available via pdf through your robot mails. Also gonna be extremely limited edition hand-numbered joints available somehow, I ain't even sure yet. World might end tomorrow, ya dig?

t r k a t

building fences and burning
bridges; breaking patterns, just
because, while world keeps spinning

f e n c c

chawing at confining grids,
hoping to break free - don't know
the "out" side is still inside

The Doogie Howser - 04/12/11

(daily intention kinda thing but who really knows ultimately?)
#1: I'm cooking a new style, exposing a new alias of the thousand feathers to flutter at the world, and I've been concerned about what I am (...is what I am" sang Edie Brickell before Paul Simon's little ass locked her down) so I sat amidst the new growing chickweed next to my pig pen and took a handful of psychotropical matters, and tried to figure out (or in) exactly where this new alias was coming from. First thing that came to mind was I was full of shit, and too old to be tripping out next to pigs; plus, what if they ate me? #2: Initially, I was thinking on Joe Bageant dying a copule hours away in Winchester, and thinking how we are from similar cultural cloths - same state, same "what the fuck"s at the people around us who are our lifelong friends, but I would not tarnish that dude's legacy by associating myself with him. #3: Kinda feel sometimes like Oscar Zeta Acosta and Ronnie Van Zant had a threesome affair one weekend in outlaw heaven's nicest motel with Stacia the dancing chick from Hawkwind (google image search is your friend on that one), and I was their bastard soul child, condemned to life on earth, which is a struggle for me, highly depressing at times where I am overwhelmed by terrible depressions that surround me, but hey, this is my destiny to be here and do what I do, so I wake up and look at the sky and try to let the shine sink into my soul. #4: Then I was smelling the purple dead nettles on my hand that I'd thrown into the pig and thought about how associating one of my nonsense gibberish voices from beyond with anything else was itself nonsense gibberish because there is nobody who is me anywhere in the world. Who else amongst you gives rats clinical brain injuries by day and then steals produce out of dumpsters for pigs by night? Who else amongst you is southern by birth but Raven by the grace of God? #5: I don't believe in an actual "god" but I believe in actual unexplainable things which actually can be explained pretty easily, just you can't prove them using science. But what the fuck man, science and god are enemies, and I'm not gonna get involved in their Drama Triangle. It's better to just remove yourself from their conflict, let them both know you are there if they want to talk to you, and keep yourself from getting caught up in all of it too heavily. #6: I have felt my Scandinavian blood bubbling up the past year or two for some reason, and that seems to be part of this new style, as I have a strong urge to ferment herring. Seriously. We eat a lot of fermented foods in this house, and I just made like a four-gallon batch of kimchi last weekend that will be ready in about three weeks. It is sitting on the kitchen table right now, about 25 pounds of sliced and diced and shredded and crushed and mixed vegetables, sitting in brine, bubbling away. But kimchi is not in my genetics. Shit man, they've committed cultural eugenics so heavily I'm surprised my DNA has anything left in it outside of a predisposition for getting drunk and fist fighting my neighbors over trivial disagreements. But I can feel the Scandinavian blood in me. This of course could be weird Scando-voodoo as my grandmother who is the daughter of immigrants is currently old and in a home and going through another of her crazy stages, back into literal psychosis, and has been writing children's stories about turkey vultures. I told her I wanted to see her stories and have copies of all of them and I think maybe she's shooting things into my brain now, either to check me out, or point me in a new direction. Which is fine. Not nearly enough has been written about how awesome turkey vultures are. #7: There's a lot of distractions in this world, and I have been thinking about a line from an old Solaris Earth Pipeline song about people studying the fingertip pointing at a beacon light shining through the misleading night. Actually a lot of the shit I wrote back then was so fast and without thought that I became a channel for other things, and I'm only now realizing what some of it means. Unlocking those voices is important because they are inside us all, and we cloud and crowd them up with the hummmm and buzzzzzzzz. And unfortunately this leaves the important messages left to be told by people who were not born to tell those stories. That's why most writers fucking suck, because they don't write from pain and misery and tortured voices in their head, or even from the happy bliss that comes from hearing those voices clear enough for it to make sense. They just write because that's what they've trained themselves to do, and it's more like making trinkets for tourists of intelligence to buy and look at. #8: Almost as if on cue, the J.J. Krupert machine shuffled out "Heart of Soul" which was the first song Solaris Earth Pipeline ever did. Thank you robot machines, for being the chorus behind my mind there, perhaps by chance, perhaps by purpose. Good looking out. #9: So while I was sitting back there last weekend at night with my pigs, I kinda zoned out on them instead. Pigs are pretty smart creatures, and there's this whole pig holocaust going on worldwide. Except not only are they being killed, they are being genetically bred to be the exact same size so that robots can do the killing and slicing and segmentation of them. As much as civilization likes to flaunt and tout its high points, that's kinda weird that we do that, not in a simple "you shouldn't eat meat" sense, but in the strangely complicated way humans now raise and slaughter them in completely efficient ways that have no concern for certain interactions, nor do they really want humans involved more than to oversee things because the less people you have to give a paycheck to, the larger the profit, so long as you can keep selling the chops and sausage sluice to people. I am very thankful that last year when I took our two pigs to slaughter, I had to have the neighbor back his horse trailer up to the fence, and we tricked the pigs into it after like an hour, and then drove them to an old school butcher in Buckingham County, Virginia, America, Earth, who did business the old-fashioned way - we stood around talking about what we were gonna do for twenty minutes, bullshitted for about an hour, he wrote down things on a pad of paper, and did it himself. For all the pluses modern civilization has, we forgot how the fuck to do things for ourselves. Little things, like turn left two blocks ahead or don't put poison in your mouth. #10: I have rambled a lot and not really said anything, yet also said a whole lot. That is Southside Virginia pick-up bed style. In real life, I would say right now I have to go, which would mean I leave in about 40 minutes. But this is the internet...

k n i f c

two-inch scar on my left ribs
where a serrated steak knife
settled a loud argument

s k u l z

the skulls of my enemies
litter the perimeter
of my property's dark side

t a c k a

gradual rambling layers
of an old house covered up
with discount buckets of paint

c a r z v

a blunt paper, three scratch-off
lottery tickets, and twelve
dollars in premium gas

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - March '11 #1: "Lovesong Of The Buzzard" by Iron & Wine

Buzzards are unable to love because they eat too many hearts of other animals, thus know the blackness that inevitably poisons even the most naive of animal kingdom's cupid-pecked fools. Actually, that's bullshit that I wrote because this is the internet and that's the type of place where you write bullshit, and then hopefully a bunch of dumbasses are like, "HA! This guy writes some really great bullshit!" And it all leads to absolutely nothing. I have become far too self-aware in this format, so am pulling back, though it might seem like the same amount as ever, but I'm working on other shit that will show up here as an offer. It is time to rekindle the magic, break the electronic umbilical cords into tiny little shards and make a mosaic of death images to share with my grandchildren, polyurethaned seven times over in the clear hydraulic blood of the machines that oversee my every action. Or something. Mostly I say that to be all cryptic and weird sounding, again for the "HA!" factor, but also because I am the white dork Ghostface Killah of the cybersphere, and am trying to push that into a different level of capitalist hell in the hopes my whore ass can afford some new fake titties.
STEAL "Lovesong Of The Buzzard"
NEXT MONTH: Fool music!

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - March '11 #2: "Butt In The Meantime" by Black Sheep

Back in the days of being in college, I used to buy every fucking tape that came out, and lived with a shitty girlfriend in a shitty apartment with transvestite hookers walking back and forth outside (what up 1100 block of Grace Street, RVA!), and I'd obsessively just make mixtapes - actual 90-minute dual cassette dubbed tapes, like a fool. Bought the Gemini turntables/mixer hook-up out the back of a The Source magazine, but had to cancel the check through the bank to cover my rent before they showed up - always steadily juggling. Still though, making tapes mostly for myself, or for whoever else would take one, finding good mixes and songs that went to the other. I'd buy a tape and bump that shit and be putting a song on mixes that ended up being the next single - true DJ ear developed broke ass style. Anyways, what this all leads up to is me telling you one of my favorite song-to-song transitions then, and to this day really, is "Butt In The Meantime" coming in off the back end of "The Bridge Is Over" by Boogie Down Productions. That broken keyboard sound is in both, meandering nowhere, and shit goes good.
One of Black Sheep I think is still around, and the other one went to jail for genocide in Rwanda. Also Chi Ali the kid rapper who was so cute and kidsy on the Black Sheep tape - like the official young 'un of Native Tongues, he went to jail for killing some dude, or shooting him or something. Briefly, the whole rap dork world was like, "Oh no, it couldn't be," like we all were EPMD on a date with Jane.
STEAL "Butt In The Meantime"
NEXT: The buzzards circle overhead and hide in the ditches waiting for you to wrap yourself around the guard rail at 3 in the morning!

c a m p y

used to rock screwtapes for hours
in the volvo beat box, with
sun roof and cracked leather seats

s n o w b

celebrating nuclear
winter with lights strung, running
off riding mo'r battery

r u s t b

door handles grabbed by hands that's
done gone back to bone; junkyard
markers of man's permanence

n o m e a

magic concrete gnome appeared
on the side porch one sunday -
by friday, I'd made millions

f i r a j

burn the earth, motherfuckers -
accelerating mankind's
demise by goddamned decades

S14: NCAA Tournament Top Returning Scorers - Final Four

Let me do this before I blow it off in adrenaline overdose for the game tonight. I have always been a sports fan, and always enthusiastically attached myself to teams that I have no control over whatsoever, and this is the most geeked up for a sporting contest that I've been in my adult life probably. I don't even want to do anything today, trying not to sidetrack myself. The wife was like, "Hey let's go do this thing this morning," and I was like, "Can't, game tonight." Motherfucking amped.
Anyways, here are the top 14 scorers coming at you live and in living color on the CBS Final Four spectacular out of H-Town tonight. I hope you will be abusing prescription codeine cough syrup in memory of DJ Screw while you watch the second game...
#1: SHELVIN MACK (Butler Junior guard; 195 total tournament points, 86 this year) - Star player for the starless team that had their star from last year in Gordon Heyward go pro early in a rare move for a goofy-looking white kid. I have no idea who even drafted that dude. Probably the Utah Jazz to guess off the top of my head because a lovable and unscary white kid would be huge in Mormonland. That's probably why Deron Williams got run off. Anyways, Butler is the only returning team from last year, and has more Final Four experience than anyone else here, which is odd considering they're from the Horizon League. They have been hyping up the idea that "If VCU is this year's Butler, then Butler is this year's Duke." Whatever. Hoosiers is a great movie to watch with your children, but this ain't 1953 and drunk Dennis Hopper cannot be redeemed by Jesus Basketball in the real world. Fuck you Butler. You are not playing in Indiana this year; it is Houston - the home of space travel and codeine cough syrup abuse, two things much more attuned to the Richmond, Virginia, VCU way of life. (Note, most of this thing today is going to be nonsense babble along these lines.)
#2: KEMBA WALKER (Connecticut Junior guard; 158 total tourney points, 107 this year) - Kemba Walker is the bonafide star of this Final Four, and the one single guy who scares me most as a fan, because he can just take over, which is funny, that was the knock against him before this year, that he didn't do that. UConn won five straight in the Big East tourney to win the automatic qualifier and boost their seeding going into the tourney, but you should remember that before that, they were slotted by pundits and experts to be like a #10 or #11 seed themselves. Three weeks later and they are the top seed left. Look for him to light up tonight, even though it may not be enough if Coach Calipari's Shady All-Stars can focus for a third week in a row.
#3: MATT HOWARD (Butler Senior forward; 148 total tourney points, 65 this year) - Howard is their go-to whiteface this year, and was the dude who made the last second shot to beat Old Dominion in the first round (which is now called the second round), and hit the free throws at the end to beat #1 seed Pitt in the second round (now called the third). He also is a sterile-assed white dude, you can see it in his eyes. Playing Duke was easier for them last year than playing VCU will be tonight. Duke is basically like Whiteboy All-Stars, so it was comfortable ground. VCU will be uncomfortable.
#4: BRADFORD BURGESS (VCU Junior forward/guard; 89 total tourney points, 79 this year) - Mr. Richmond, as he played high school south of Richmond, wasn't recruited anywhere that much, and went to VCU to become a school phenom. Called Big Shot Bradford in some circles (I heard it one time on the radio), and his younger brother, who plays at a Richmond private school with a storied basketball program, is now being recruited hard by VCU. That's the beauty of this shit - public school kid gets a scholarship to go to college, paves the way for balling ass younger brother to get private school hook-up into basketball machinery, and Big Bradford Burgess is enjoying this run this year, and probably has earned himself enough notoriety to go overseas and ball for the next five years as well. We harp on the AAU superstars who are one-and-done in college basketball all the time (and will be perfectly evident on the Kentucky roster tonight), but this shit really does open doors for some people that wouldn't have it opened up otherwise. And you kinda have to take the shitty dudes who ruin it to allow for all the other guys who are given access to a different life. (Now I'm speaking without knowledge on Mr. Burgess's life situation, and am not assuming he's some gully ass inner-city kid, because if memory serves me correctly, he went to Midlothian, which is suburban Richmond, but old suburbs. But the fact of the matter is, basketball opened opportunities to him, and shit I went to VCU, so if he got to go for free, he's starting out three steps ahead of many others. It's all about seizing opportunities in this world, not squandering them, regardless of how they fall your way.)
#5: JAMIE SKEEN (VCU Senior forward; 78 total tourney points, all of them this year) - Against Kansas and their bullying pair of twin towers in Marcus and Markief Morris, Jamie Skeen became one of my favorite college basketball players ever. Seriously. He handled them perfectly, was busting enough 3-pointers as a big man to make them uncomfortable, and those big blue-chip dudes looked rattled. After the game was over, camera close-up of Skeen and he just looks at the camera, then busts a big smile, not crazy not ecstatic, just calm and chill and happy. His demeanor in interviews is the same, and hearing him say he wants to follow Eric Maynor and Larry Sanders into the NBA (both were first round draft picks out of VCU the past two years), it makes me happy for Skeen, because he's got to have more chances to crack an NBA roster now than he did the first week of March.
#6: DARIUS MILLER (Kentucky Junior forward; 74 total tourney points, 38 this year) - A small-time contributor on last year's Kentucky team, and a big-time player this year, sort of by default, because it's about the one-and-doners for the most part. Weird to think about Coach Calipari's three Final Four teams he's had, because with UMass, there was Marcus Camby as the obvious star. And then Memphis had Derrick Rose, who has matured in the NBA into the superstar he didn't get a chance to do so as in college. Who's the guy in Kentucky? I'm not sure, and with Calipari the great recruiter and so-so coach in charge, that's a bad combo against Kemba Walker.
#7: JEREMY LAMB (Connecticut Freshman guard; 73 total tourney points, all of them this year) - Freshman bad ass to complement King Kemba. They will be a tough team to beat this weekend.
#8: BRANDON ROZZELL (VCU Senior guard; 73 total tourney points, 70 this year) - Mr. Chill, with a chill ass beard, and chill ass demeanor, handling point guard duties when Joey Rodriguez inevitably has that part of the game where he gets two fouls real quickly.
#9: BRANDON KNIGHT (Kentucky Freshman guard; 63 total tourney points, all of them this year) - Didn't this guy play for Washington a couple years ago? Another freshman superstar for Coach John Calipari. It's really sad to see Kentucky fans justify Calipari because, as crooked as you had to think Kentucky basketball already was, with Calipari as the figurehead of the program, they're not even pretending anymore. It's like Obama bombing Libya and admitting the CIA is checking out the rebels, who are suspected to have Al Qaeda ties, before they are given weapons to combat Gaddhafi. People don't even front anymore. We are America, we are big, we are fucked and corrupt, deal with it.
#10: JOSH HARRELSON (Kentucky Senior forward; 61 total tourney points, 59 this year) - And then there is Josh Harrelson, the redneck goofball who looks like Solomon Grundy's little sister might've been his mom. Somehow, through early departures of highly-touted, Harrelson is now a key contributor, especially on the boards. Plus, it's always great to see shots of his dad in the crowd, who looks like he's probably a huge Stone Cold Steve Austin fan.
#11: JOEY RODRIGUEZ (VCU Senior guard; 59 total tourney points, 51 this year) - VCU's success will (and has this year) depend entirely on Rodriguez's ability to handle the hype. When he plays well, they do well. When he becomes unraveled, they have to turn to Rozzell, which can work as well, but really they need Rodriguez, because he can hit threes and slash inside and dish the assists. He's a really underrated point guard, and I say this coming from my perspective, because he came after Eric Maynor, who's probably one of the best point guards I ever saw play live. So Rodriguez had a lot to live up to, and I think I held it against him partially he wasn't Maynor (which was proven last weekend against Kansas when J-Rod tried to go all Maynor and launch 25-foot 3-point shots, airballing them in very un-Maynor like fashion). But Rodriguez is fucking great man, fucking great, not only on the court but in how he's handled all the accompanying limelight. He's put it all back on VCU and Richmond, even after the win over Kansas, in the locker room story afterwards, instead of getting caught up in Final Four hysteria, he was showing teammates pictures of people taking to the streets back home in Richmond. And the great thing about VCU is they've been motivated by how people were hating on them from the beginning. My man Jon Bone put it best when he said that's straight up Richmond style right there, being fueled by negativity.
#12: DEANDRE LIGGINS (Kentucky Junior guard; 56 total tourney points, 38 this year) - All the tattoos and swagger of a Division I star, and there were some stupid stories about him on Yahoo yesterday, but I didn't read them because I don't care.
#13: RONALD NORED (Butler Junior guard; 54 total tourney points, 9 this year) - Hasn't really even contributed as much this year as he did last, and has a stupid name. Fuck Indiana. It is the worst state on Earth, and by Earth I mean America, and when I say worst, I am pretending Maryland doesn't exist.
#14: SHAWN VANZANT (Butler Senior guard; 52 total tourney points, 30 this year) - Were I at the game, I would just yell "FREEBIRD!" at this dude the whole game. My boy D-Mo had some tickets fall into his lap for this, so he is going, and said he was gonna dress up like Hunter S. Thompson. He better.

h a t e b

stacking wood up in awkward
piles; hide it from the weather
with crinkly blue tarp blankets

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - March '11 #3: "Living On The Run" by David Allan Coe

Running from my self most of the time, as I am my own worst enemy. Needing to feel the outside, needing to feel the mothball smell of North Carolina flea markets, needing to hear shitty Mexicans talk shitty Spanish in paint-speckled blue jeans. Need to smell the grass cut for the first time, with the violets and wild onions up in the mix. Need to fix the riding mower. Need to fix the truck. Need to drive the truck to Indiana. Need to run, not so much away from anything but just because running causes circulation. There is stagnant energy and when you run, even if all you do is run away for four hours, then run back for five, taking longer on the way back because you are confident enough in the path to stop and get a bite to eat at some fucked up looking restaurant, just to see what it looks like inside, that running causes circulation - of energy of blood of spinal fluid of brain waves of everything. I have not done any running for a couple months, not of the physical variety or real variety or any. As I walked back into work after the meditative health-related break, I realized what a false world it was I was in the middle of. Brick facades and false auras propped up on paper, not backed by physical power nor spiritual energy. Vast swaths or our lives now are frantic strolls through engineered environments, where you never once step on a blade of grass, and many times even if you do it is a pesticided out Aryan lawn, complete with the militaristic crewcut. Sadly, we can run through that world all day every day, and never get anywhere, not in a spiritual sense, financial sense, or even stir up any of the stagnant energy. Sedimentary lifestyle, even at full-speed twelve-hours a day, about to get a ticket to help drum up revenue for local governments.
As soon as I'm better, I'm going to that abandoned roadside pull-off right near Shannon Hill off I-64, where the underground access to the tunnels that stretch underneath the Blue Ridge up into West Virginia and back over to the District of Columbia. I know about it. I heard a trucker tell of entering there, going for five hours, dropping off, and then being escorted back out for another few hours, and coming out somewhere near Staunton. It's under there. Seed banks and subterranean worlds. You think they give a fuck about poisoning the Pacific with radiation or dropping depleted uranium munitions all throughout the Holy Lands of the major good/evil dichotomy three religions of our current days? Hell no. Those who can already have the access birthrighted to them to go underground till it all blows over, grows over, and starts over. Regenesis. Old ass people been talking about Armageddon and Rapture and thinking of flying off into the sky, looking up at the sunshine, and when it really happens, the real rapture is going to be disappearing into the ground while we all standing up here burning to death.
STEAL "Living On The Run"
NEXT: Music that makes me think of having sex, even though I never had sex to it!

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - March '11 #4: "Eye Examination" by Del Tha Funkee Homosapien

When I was in the college, I did a 12-page paper on this very song, for a linguistics class, breaking the shit down to a nerdgasmic compound. At the time that was crazy clever, but what with the internet, that's been lost. I'm not sure how you'd be clever nowadays with everything meta times twelve all over the place. But I've always dug this song immensely - actually have the 12-inch single for I think "Dr. Bombay" but to be honest, I don't even know, because all I ever played off the single was "Eye Examination" proving that B-side not only won again but made A-side obsolete in my brain.
I went to college at VCU, which is in the news for basketball glory. Kids filled the streets at campus when they won their Final Four game last weekend, except a lot of campus is like a couple blocks over from where I remember, because they've expanded like fuck, trying to chase off the negro crimelords of Jackson Ward, and expand the big industry of higher education to revitalize the Broad Street corridor around the campus there. Used to be a place called Ivory's where people got shot every weekend. Like seriously, every weekend. Dude opened up with a machine gun one night, and abandoned his hot pink Beamer right on Broad Street. I always wondered if he just ran off or got in someone else's car or what. Seems a big waste of a pimped out Beamer. Ivory's is gone though, as is the Hardee's and the old strip club that was the most decrepit concrete building ever, that got tore down while I was still in school there. Industry is the key to revitilization.
They showed a park there where the students were encouraged to celebrate, but none of them really filled the park, which was odd to me and my wife because when we went everybody hung out there, including the homeless. But the school took over the park - Monroe Park - and put benches with center armrests to keep people from sittin' sideways on them, and put a campus cop shop in the center gazebo-like building. I guess no one goes there anymore, like it's a red zone of unlounging and the kids preferred to fill the asphalt going around it. That park is where I first met my wife. I was high on acid. That's college.
My linguistics paper on Del's B-side song that won again, I really was proud of it, more so than most things I did in college. I still have the word processor I wrote it on, but the thing is broke, and you can't use those disks from one to the other without them being reformatted, but I still have a box of those disks from that word processor. I have in that box about 80 pages on a novel I wrote about some coked out ambulance EMT guy who was stealing tattooed skins off of dead people, and there was this background uprising going on where naked people with torches - like hundreds of them - would just storm through at times like a tsunami wave of feral humanity. The novel really sucked, and I got sick of the main character, and didn't want to hang out with him anymore. I wish I could see what he's been up to, locked up in those obsolete word processor disks all these years. I wonder if he ever finished making his wall-hanging?
STEAL "Eye Examination"
NEXT: You can run but you can never hide, not even when you are concealed!

Friday Love/Hate

Hate self-defeating habits, potential blindsided by lack of conditioning, lack of mental stamina. All the potential in the world but too many question marks when it comes to character. Am I tough enough for the shit I'm supposed to do, or am I making up my destiny when it has nothing to do with me? Feel like I got my stars crossed sometimes, but can't even compare the map from back then when I felt it to right now because the light pollution got me stuck in the buzz and hum, the buzz and hum, buzzes and humming swerves. Hate the destiny I know should be there, hate the fact I ain't chopped enough of the brush back far enough long on it yet. Wondering what the hell is wrong with me, will I ever wake up, am I made of asleep DNA, or conditioned that way, or what the fuck is going on. Hate it.

Love rebirth. There's always rebirth, regeneration. Wounds become scars and if you put the right amount of energetic pressure against it, even the scars will break up. Needing some rebirth, some refueling. Not feeling much of anything that's swirling around me most of the time, probably because a lot of it is cloaked in that buzz and hum, dulling down the natural aura. Where's Reverse Tesla with a reverse coil to counteract all these inequal but opposite as fuck actions that are unseen but not unfelt?

a c d h a

tear apart the whole wide world
before they pasteurize it
all into a tasteless waste

The Doogie Howser - 04/01/11

(a daily thing of some sort, though not necessarily daily and often times not much of a thing)
#1: I am listening to a lot of DJ Screw mixes lately, because today for example it is spring but cold and rainy. I feel strong but am weak and healing. Screw music fits that because it is gangsta but mellow. Necessary in the now and here because these are very cataclysmic yet seemingly calm times. #2: The world is at all kinds of wars, leaking radioactivity into the Pacific, which will get caught up in the swirl or detritus that has created trash island in the middle somewhere, now irradiated, so the water will glisten not only from decomposed plastic down to microspecks but Cesium and Plutonium as well. #3: There are thousands of letters from children sealed in bottles in the midst of that trash island. I have started a kickstarter project to build a Kon-Tiki style boat and float the fuck out there and gather them from the detritus, collect them, translate to American, and let you read them. Except kickstarter wouldn't accept my bullshit, so you just have to paypal me money. I need $3200 to do it. I figure I'll have to collect like 200 letters to get a good sampling to end up with a nice collection of 50 to 75 translated. So if you give anything, I'll keep you up-to-date with the progress of translation once I get back from trash island, and if you give over $200, I'll give you an original letter from the collection. #4: A dude I used to work for moved to the United Arab Emirates, and he have me an inflatable boat we used to float the river with when we felt like blowing off work. I think at this moment in my mind, nothing makes more sense than floating the damn river as often as possible in 5-hour increments this spring/summer/fall while pumping DJ Screw mixes in some form of Ipod boombox contraption, if such a thing exists. If it does not then I'll just carry a for-real boombox with the bonafide Screw tapes my wife bought me a few years back. I am listening to one right now actually as I plugged in the camper to sit out in the rain and turn on the red light and blast the shit out of my mind. #5: My father Charlie Tuna and my uncle Ricky, we had a tight formative summer for me in a trailer me and my dad lived at. Very formative to what I am as a man, in the ways I think, maybe. I'm not sure really. Both are dead though, and actually on my dad's side, I'm the second oldest dude left in the family at age 38. Uncle Ricky committed suicide behind a pop-up camper. Dad had a massive stroke while smoking a bowl after work at age 46. Or 47. I can never remember. One of those two and my grandfather - his dad - died at the other age. The three of us share the same first name. Hopefully we do not share the same destiny. #6: Both have visited me in dreams. My uncle is stuck in a purgatory where he's frozen with the emotions he had when he did what he did. He's straight with it, because you do things and have to live with the consequences, but he wouldn't have done it that way if he had another shot. At least that's what I got from talking to him. My dad is in hell, but he doesn't know it's hell and it's pretty much what he was doing while alive, so he's cool with it. At least on the surface he seems to be. #7: I have a license plate placard in the camper here that says "American By Birth - Southern By The Grace Of God". I've scribbled graffiti over it that says "Southern By Birth - Raven By The Grace Of God". I don't believe that though... any of it. #8: It feels good out here, separate from the world. No internet or phone reception (thank god) and sometimes I even unplug the laptop from the one power strip everything runs from because I think the electrical cord to the house is an umbilical cord and I don't want where my fingers are poking words to be tapped into right now. #9: The internet and writing stupid shit for stupid people to have stupid good times, it is a thing, but such an ultimate waste of who I am. A parallel would be to be a girl with a pretty smile so I make amateur porn movies. But I guess that's the point of American success stories - to exploit yourself in whatever way you find easiest. Not sure I like this 21st century way of exploiting ourselves for nothing other than brief ego strokes that leave the phone bill unpaid. #10: Oddly enough it's only been in the past year that I've realized that my destiny is not to be paid for anything because anything I could do will never pay well enough to have solid gold rocketships to wreck into the moon for the fuck of it. My destiny is to throw words into the sky. I come from one thing where words are only spoken, never read. When I throw the words at those who actually read words, those are people who basically will do me like they did taking pictures of Indians - stealing souls. So I'm just gonna start (or keep) throwing them up in the air, luchini style, and throw them hard as fuck so that they get cumulonimbus on their edges, and hopefully by the time they come back down, the right folks will be spread out underneath to catch them. Luchini, falling from the sky.