
my homeboy’s catalina,
sitting sideways in front of
faded cinderblock backdrop

 With Halloween being this Sunday, it has been physically impossible for me to not constantly walk around and go in my brain, “This year, Halloween fell on a weekend… me and my daughters was trick or treating… filling up our plastic bags… till corn syrup got inside our ass… this corn syrup be give us diabete (you have to drop the “s” for it to rhyme right)… now that’s the type of shit I be seeing in my sleep…” and so on and so forth, turning the Geto Boys scary ass song into a bullshit freestyle about how we are all killing ourselves slowly with poor nutrition. And then usually I think how gay it is to do that so I freestyle about killing everybody on earth for about ten minutes, until I get worried that my dad and uncle who are both dead in tragically southern ways are actually looking down from heaven or hell or whatever and see me doing all this, and that makes me feel embarrassed, so I stop. At that point, I hit skip on the gaypod until a David Allan Coe song comes on and I sing it really loud, figuring that’ll calm them down if they are watching, and by the end they’ll probably be gone, so at that point, I can listen to whatever.
With Halloween being this Sunday, it has been physically impossible for me to not constantly walk around and go in my brain, “This year, Halloween fell on a weekend… me and my daughters was trick or treating… filling up our plastic bags… till corn syrup got inside our ass… this corn syrup be give us diabete (you have to drop the “s” for it to rhyme right)… now that’s the type of shit I be seeing in my sleep…” and so on and so forth, turning the Geto Boys scary ass song into a bullshit freestyle about how we are all killing ourselves slowly with poor nutrition. And then usually I think how gay it is to do that so I freestyle about killing everybody on earth for about ten minutes, until I get worried that my dad and uncle who are both dead in tragically southern ways are actually looking down from heaven or hell or whatever and see me doing all this, and that makes me feel embarrassed, so I stop. At that point, I hit skip on the gaypod until a David Allan Coe song comes on and I sing it really loud, figuring that’ll calm them down if they are watching, and by the end they’ll probably be gone, so at that point, I can listen to whatever. The beginning of the September countdown of the J.J. Krupert gaypod listings is a watermark event in the life of my gaypod adventures, as through the trickle-down technocomics of my family, we inherited a new family computer to replace the one with a fan constantly leaning against the back half of it to keep it cooled it down and not crashing from heat stress. Plus I got a laptop related to my top secret real life work, thus the old gaytunes libraries were straight dumped, I dug out the milk crate full of CDs, moved over what I could, and stoled anything else deemed important from inside the interwebs again. But this October list is the last one done from the old gaytunes library, meaning some great songs that had been plugging along and almost getting onto the J.J. Krupert list lost out when everything was reset back to 0. People like Roach Gigz, and plus I can’t find the collection of Casual youtube freestyles that I used to rock all the time again inside the interwebz. The fucking internet… this thing is really one of the most overrated devices around. It pretends to have everything and know everything but really it’s just a bunch of dumb shit to help you waste your life.
The beginning of the September countdown of the J.J. Krupert gaypod listings is a watermark event in the life of my gaypod adventures, as through the trickle-down technocomics of my family, we inherited a new family computer to replace the one with a fan constantly leaning against the back half of it to keep it cooled it down and not crashing from heat stress. Plus I got a laptop related to my top secret real life work, thus the old gaytunes libraries were straight dumped, I dug out the milk crate full of CDs, moved over what I could, and stoled anything else deemed important from inside the interwebs again. But this October list is the last one done from the old gaytunes library, meaning some great songs that had been plugging along and almost getting onto the J.J. Krupert list lost out when everything was reset back to 0. People like Roach Gigz, and plus I can’t find the collection of Casual youtube freestyles that I used to rock all the time again inside the interwebz. The fucking internet… this thing is really one of the most overrated devices around. It pretends to have everything and know everything but really it’s just a bunch of dumb shit to help you waste your life.

 I love the free form bullshit of my blog, because I can just up and decide, “Hey, I’ll do a Friday Love/Hate,” and even though I haven’t done one here for a long ass minute, there’s a history, and the cloud of tags becomes an even more clusterfucked labyrinth to get lost in. At one point, I was like everybody else who was like, “Hey, I can only use this blog for this one idea I have because that’s a great idea for a blog,” and you do it, and then you don’t do it, and then you get a different idea and have to start a different blog because it’s not the same parameters. Little by little, Rojonekku has become me cybertronically, with running themes and annoying habits and sometimes I say the same shit I done already said but other times I say something really great by complete accident because I am not a man but a mouthpiece for something from somewhere else. When I was four, I used to scribble words on the record sleeves laying around by the stereo, and I have some of those LPs now, and it looks like alien hieroglyphics making sense somewhere to someone and there was obvious purpose but I don’t know what it was and still don’t. Sometimes I feel like that’s how I still write. It is far better when I get in a zone of deliriums, aided sometimes by alcohol of pills or tinctures or baked pork chops, and the next day I realize there’s 10,000 words somewhere that I wrote and I don’t remember half of it. Responsible life has infringed upon me being able to do that as much as I’d like (all day every day), but I still remain a quality fuck-up while maintaining employment and keeping the lights on.
I love the free form bullshit of my blog, because I can just up and decide, “Hey, I’ll do a Friday Love/Hate,” and even though I haven’t done one here for a long ass minute, there’s a history, and the cloud of tags becomes an even more clusterfucked labyrinth to get lost in. At one point, I was like everybody else who was like, “Hey, I can only use this blog for this one idea I have because that’s a great idea for a blog,” and you do it, and then you don’t do it, and then you get a different idea and have to start a different blog because it’s not the same parameters. Little by little, Rojonekku has become me cybertronically, with running themes and annoying habits and sometimes I say the same shit I done already said but other times I say something really great by complete accident because I am not a man but a mouthpiece for something from somewhere else. When I was four, I used to scribble words on the record sleeves laying around by the stereo, and I have some of those LPs now, and it looks like alien hieroglyphics making sense somewhere to someone and there was obvious purpose but I don’t know what it was and still don’t. Sometimes I feel like that’s how I still write. It is far better when I get in a zone of deliriums, aided sometimes by alcohol of pills or tinctures or baked pork chops, and the next day I realize there’s 10,000 words somewhere that I wrote and I don’t remember half of it. Responsible life has infringed upon me being able to do that as much as I’d like (all day every day), but I still remain a quality fuck-up while maintaining employment and keeping the lights on. I hate smart phones. Goddamn electronic eartags for the cell phone towers of babel everywhere, that’s what they are. Let’s see how smart your smart phone is when we go walk these railroad tracks to where this underground tunnel through the mountain is, now abandoned and covered with hillbilly graffiti. Your phones won’t work down there, bro, and we’re gonna smoke dirtweed and get all purranoid as fuck and then I’m gonna take the flashlight and run into the dark and hide and you’re gonna have to find me. Hope that smart phone battery got power left bitch.
I hate smart phones. Goddamn electronic eartags for the cell phone towers of babel everywhere, that’s what they are. Let’s see how smart your smart phone is when we go walk these railroad tracks to where this underground tunnel through the mountain is, now abandoned and covered with hillbilly graffiti. Your phones won’t work down there, bro, and we’re gonna smoke dirtweed and get all purranoid as fuck and then I’m gonna take the flashlight and run into the dark and hide and you’re gonna have to find me. Hope that smart phone battery got power left bitch.

