Sunday, August 30, 2009

calling all directors

I would like to take part in a documentary. it is simple. I want to take the iphone out of existence because it is my belief that it (and hannah montana) are destroying the habitat of the arctic wolf. this seems too obvious to need explanation. So I will be going to newfoundland either in my 1969 van or on a motorcycle or by take pictures of the wolf. and thereby show what we are destroying with electronic nonsense. now, I can't really get the word out with my blog because only 4 people read it and they all hate me and my beliefs. in fact, they probably all have iphones and read my blog on the iphone and laugh when I suggest they give it up for the wolf. Well, it's time to get the word out in another way. I want an independent film maker to follow me on my journey to the opposite corner of the continent. from los angeles to Newfoundland. and hopefully in the next few months the iphone will be systematically decomissioned and abandoned and boycotted, heralding in a new age of wolf friendly living. that's my plan. but I want it all filmed. I can pay you nothing except some food if you ask nice. but if this sounds like a good idea for a film then get on board because I leave for newfoundland on friday. This is the beginning of the end for the iphone (and hannah montana) and you should get in on it now. this will only take three months before the iphone is gone. no, I am not a Borat impersonator. I actually believe this and I will walk the walk. this country does not need someone to go out of their way to make a satire of it. christ. look around. it's a disaster. but the wolf is innocent. completely innocent and must be saved. help me help the wolf. email this was inspired by another email I sent to a friend...
, you need to settle down.
just relax and breath.
I just went through several days of manic behavior with Crazy D. VERY MANIC.
saying things like, "I want to die, Oggy. I really want to die...wait, I've got
a text message...I don't want to die...what should I say? Tell me tell me tell
me. No that's no good. I'm going to tell him I want to have all his
babies...there...omg. what have I done? I want to die I want to die. why did you
make me send that text message? You are the worst. I'm sorry. I  just want to
die. Derek! Get OUT OF THE STREET! HELP ME!"

it was difficult to be around. if I could have a slow motion video of the three
of us walking down the street it would make everyone laugh. I was wearing an
extremely loud Indian silk shirt...necklaces...a pork pie flying
around, waving my arms and sayin, "The media controls everyone!". Green cargo
pants and Mexican slippers. Diana was shuffling along in a too tight green
embroidered t shirt and black skirt whilst texting and intermittently crying.
Derek was spazing out and lurching along with a He Man lunchbox and USC baseball
hat. The most normal one of us was the chubby chihuahua dog, Wally, who was
trying to escape. It was quite a sight. everyone cleared the way. Long BEach has
a lot of freaks but we took first prize that day. FIRST PRIZE.

I drove back here because I was spinning my wheels in Mexico. It's nice there. I
might go back. But I really want to see Fall in Newfoundland, Canada. I feel it
calling to me. I Got to see my mom in los angeles before she went to australia.
Now I'm surrounded by fires burning los angeles. And this house has one dog with
a gigantic tumor on his leg. and many ants and rotting food in the refrigerator.
George is alive. he happily showed me his new false teeth.

I think the lesson in life is attitude. THere were smart and quick people in
mexico reduced to pedaling a bicycle taxi around cabo san lucas so they could
make money to send to another part of mexico to support the children they don't
see. But they were happy. They seemed happy and content. maybe they had friends
nearby. or they were philosophic about their situation.

Moving is hard no matter what. if you know of a boys club or shelter you could
go drop those bikes off there. Maybe they will be used by crank dealers or maybe
some kid will get a bike. But $30 to $50 is about right.

I'm looking for ride share people to go to canada, through Dallas or denver or
St. Louis or NEw York. It is slightly insane but I can't sell my van because it
is 40 years old and it seems no one wants a 40 year old car. I wonder why. But I
have all these tools and a vintage moped in it that I want to take and two
guitars. It is worth driving or at least attempting to drive across the country.
I'm not sure this plan looks good on paper or in reality. But the other option
would be to accept a job counting car parts...and that isn't going to happen.
people asked me if I wanted to get married. I would laugh and put the bong down
on a ledge inside my van and say, "Let's have a reality check. I LIVE IN A VAN.

It's funny because I actually met the kind of woman who would marry me in my
present situation. She was an ex stripper...a junkie...two kids (both
junkies)...who were all living in her broken down van in Mexico...and she loved
me. So, that was kind of a knife in the belly. I don't want to live in a van
forever. I want a piano.

Ah, I'm watching a thing about electronic waste in china. illegally exported
from the U.S. 7 out of 10 children have lead poisoning in parts of china. it's
unsettling but it is all connected. I don't want to contribute to children dying
in china or polar bears dying in the north pole. But i'm a minority. I posted
something about this and it didn't get much action.

so, , here is my advice, some advice someone gave me in Mexico. "Just take
care of step A. Don't worry about Step B until Step A is complete." You sort of
have to know what direction you are going in, but I think your values are
already set...and so are your skills. So that's it. You know what you want to do
so you can take some steps to get there. There is a safari park in Mexico that I
heard about. no cages. maybe there is one you can apply to. You are a wildlife
biologist, right? With an advanced degree? That's gotta open some doors. just
pull yourself together and don't get dragged down by the petty details of life
like broken bicycles. Look what a mess I am. it is all because I got dragged
down by the petty details. I just can't believe how ignorant and selfish people
are. So few people actually care about anything except the next ten years. I
mean, the arctic wolf is completely fucked and no one cares. What can I do to
save the arctic wolf. I'm serious. I think they live in newfoundland. do they? I
want to go there and take pictures of one so I can show people what the iphone
is destroying. The arctic wolf is such a noble animal and it is being killed off
because people want to forward dirty jokes with their iphone. it's gross. so i'm
going to go take pictures of the arctic wolf. even if it makes no difference it
will make me feel better.

So that's my new Step A. Save the wolf. ok, maybe that's not step A. Step A is
actually making sure the spark plugs in my van still work. maybe getting new
tires so I don't die. But saving the arctic wolf is part of the big picture.
unfortunately I think the Iphone and the arctic wolf are mutually exclusive. and
no one is going to throw their iphone away. but I'm going to do it anyway. do
you have any advice?

6 0f 9

That was my name today. "6 of 9"
nine temp workers were hired. I was the 6th to show my face at the ford dealership.
In the future these tasks will be done by robots. and the robots will not take over the world, as my dystopian predictions insist. No. THe robots will do their job and the humans will clean up the small things like paper clips that fall where the robot arm can't reach.

one of the theories of reality has it that we are actually super micro computers processing information for our creator, another slightly larger computer, who has outsourced his job to us. And he was supposed to be processing information for another larger computer, who got lazy and outsourced it to our creator...and so forth. IF that is the truth then what exactly is the nature of Ken H's beloved chickens and goats? What are they? Do they serve some larger purpose to our directive?
I can't answer that. Maybe a smarter man can...

"Time and space and gravitation have no separate existence from matter. ...
Physical objects are not in space, but these objects are spatially extended. In this way the concept 'empty space' loses its meaning. ... " (Albert Einstein, 1950)

THis will lead one to some bleak existential outlook...if one is not careful.
It is better to think of these matters while eating ice cream...or after sex...or under water. In fact, I resolve to only dwell on these metaphysical/gravitation/theological matters when I am under water. Only during the time that I am holding my breath and fighting the loss of gravity and threat of death should I allow myself to think of the nature of existence. Are we microcomputers processing information for a larger entity that has merely found the cheapest labor pool? Are we all 6 out of 9?
See, I am not under water right now so this is very very dangerous. I run the risk of messing up the unseen client's profitability margin. What an asshole I am. I should be fired...or furloughed...or exterminated. Maybe I will be.

I was running the moped around Santa Monica today. the 1974 vespa ciao. only one of its kind. Racing it in circles around PAris Hilton and her puppies. THe police eyed me as an obvious dissident. I stared straight ahead. Keep calm, I told myself. Don't look them in the eye. Don't let them smell fear. The light turned and off I went. no helmet. that will get me in trouble. But I was not thinking of existential root natures and such, I was thinking of a slice of pizza at Joe's pizza. I knew it was waiting for me and that's where I was going after counting car parts for Ford. I was 6 of 9. That is me. Number 6. Of 9. You are also a deriviative of a larger number. Welcome. Take you badge and grab a clipboard. No need to clock in. It is all done by computers. You simply count. Process the information and then we set you free. They did not appreciate my american flag bell bottom pants. Why should they? They threaten everyone. They are not part of my directive. I am malfunctioning. My morning went like this...

"EcZc - 45tp88-AA"
EcZc- 45tp88-AB"

Please post your theory of existence below. I sort of believe we are random particles in a petri dish. Any greater meaning has been manufactured to prevent insanity from setting in. We are actually just supposed to breed more information processors. Number 7 of 9. 8 of 9. 6 million of 45 billion. 200 billion of a trillion. There is no telling how many employees there are. The media describes fires and assassinations. Then we get back to work or drinking or swimming. You see? Swimming. That is the only place I should be allowed to ponder the meaning of life. It is just scary to do it while breathing. It makes people nervous. But if you are swimming or under water or taking a bath and you think of a good theory of existence then please post it here. That will still count. You ponder it under water and then write it down. Then I ponder it under water and respond. That will work. Anyone?

los angeles countdown

Got the van reinsured...on the payment plan so when it explodes I don't lose all my money. Maybe the state will lift the suspension on the thing next week. I'm not sure it will be a bad thing if it vanishes one night. As long as I can have my guitars.
But it turns out the east coast has some nice CB 750s too. Has anyone looked at the road to Newfoundland? It's more remote than the road to Cabo San Lucas. I mean, it is a long way from a spring break destination. No joke. That's a road made for a cb750. no trucks. no towns. no people. But the winter starts in about three weeks so there is no time to sign autographs for my admiring fans.

I'm off to sleep now so I can get up and do some work in the morning. trying to round up two people to go east is harder than just doing the work myself and paying all the gas. There are people going east but they all want to "be safe" and "get there on time" and "Not be killed." insane things like that. I say, my friend, Los Angeles is an unsafe place. America is falling apart. If you want to be safe then hide in your room. I have about a 50/50 chance of making it to Indiana. The van absolutely screams Hippie. And texans don't dig on that at all. Sasha Baron Cohen thinks he has the market cornered on spoofs but I am the real deal. A true dissident in his own country...and the only people who don't care are either tweaked on crystal meth or stoned and living on the beach. Even homeless vets hate me. No one likes a free individual...especially on the street sleeping next to their house.
I'm an American and a survivor and I'm not going nowhere.

Thursday, August 27, 2009


who can give me some advice?
the van's registration has been suspended because I didn't pay my insurance. So it can get booted or towed at any moment. I'm trying to sell it for $2500. And since that is unlikely and I probably will have to give it away maybe I can just drive it to Newfoundland, Canada. But I have to leave in like one week for that to happen. So...what the fuck should I do? I want to drive a motorcycle across the country...not this huge van. But nothing is free and I am out of options. Just renewing my registration and insurance doesn't mean I can't sell it but it means that I have paid for insurance on a car I don't want. See? OF course these are problems most people don't encounter or else leave to their personal assistants but I actually have to deal with the problem myself. Since I probably won't find a buyer for it I think I should renew the insurance and register it again. Then take it from there.
does anyone care?

los angeles

some pics of recent days. a piece of pizza. my mother in the van. me with an accordion.






Wednesday, August 26, 2009

a perfect day for bananafish

So it turned out the stray dog didn't have to stay or return to the desert or get hit by the truck. He could jump on the truck as it passed by and let it take him somewhere else. He almost didn't make it after spending two days sick and too weak to drive. But he won't die in the desert either.

He didn't see any bananafish in the water but he knows what Seymore Glass is talking about. The Salinger story is actually kind of's a comparison of the well-adjusted emotionally distant upper-class snobs and phonies talking about sunburned skin and painting their nails while the army vet talks with the girl, Sybil. No, he isn't a pedophile...he is just looking for someone who can communicate with him in the language he now uses after returning from world war two.

"With her hand, when the float was level again, she wiped away a flat, wet band of hair from her eyes, and reported, "I just saw one."

"Saw what, my love?"

"A bananafish."

"My God, no!" said the young man. "Did he have any bananas in his mouth?"

See, he knows she is pretending to have seen a bananafish. And that is the equivalent of love to him. because his wife doesn't have time for games. look at this conversation she has with her mother...

"Well. How's your blue coat?"

"All right. I had some of the padding taken out."

"How are the clothes this year?"

"Terrible. But out of this world. You see sequins--everything," said the girl.

"How's your room?"

"All right. Just all right, though. We couldn't get the room we had before the war," said the girl. "The people are awful this year. You should see what sits next to us in the dining room. At the next table. They look as if they drove down in a truck."

Seymore had to listen to this kind of conversation all the time he was driving and it makes him sad and lonely that he can't communicate with his wife. I think he identifies with the girl sybil more and also he knows that is inappropriate and he knows he can't live with his wife and he figures he can't even adjust to normal living like in the elevator...

--On the sub-main floor of the hotel, which the management directed bathers to use, a woman with zinc salve on her nose got into the elevator with the young man.

"I see you're looking at my feet," he said to her when the car was in motion.

"I beg your pardon?" said the woman.

"I said I see you're looking at my feet."

"I beg your pardon. I happened to be looking at the floor," said the woman, and faced the doors of the car.

"If you want to look at my feet, say so," said the young man. "But don't be a God-damned sneak about it."---

He's fucked. He doesn't see a solution. He'll either chase his youth again with girls or he will hide in his room. So he kills himself rather than feel sorry for himself or constantly clash with people. The only important metaphor here is between Seymore and the bananafish. Seymore went to war and basically saw more than he can forget so he is trapped in the hole, like the fish who ate bananas until it couldn't get out of the hole. He's crying out for help but Sybil is too young to understand. She thinks it is a game. He has some kind of an obsession with feet, not a fetish, but something about feet have become the object of purity. His feet are forever corrupt and guilty while Sybil's are perfect and innocent. His wife covers her toe nails with paint and to him that is phony and intolerably offensive.

So that's my analysis. It's a dated story because it was written in the '50s. It's also specific to the east coast of the united states. That kind of snobbery and repression is a New York thing. Lots of Americans wouldn't identify with this at all. But that is how Salinger saw the world for some reason...a battle between the superficial snobs and the wounded and hypersensitive young man who believed there is more to the world than padded shoulder jackets and gossip. With Salinger the story always takes place between the lines...sort of like this little exchange.

To Boldly Go...

A friend of mine just asked me
"Did you see Star Trek yet?"
I rolled my eyes.
"No. I didn't see Star Trek. It was in La Paz...but..."
"It was so good."
"Really? It was good?"
"You'd love it."
I stared at the wall. A dog came over and rubbed my hand. I scratched it behind the ears.
"Nice. Yeah, I meant to see it. I really wanted to see it with someone...but..."
"Fantastic movie. The effects...everything."
"That's great. That's just fucking great."
"What's the problem? You too good for Star Trek?"
"Yes! Yes I am too good for Star Trek. If you say another thing about Star Trek I'll PUNCH YOU IN THE FUCKING FACE!"
"Whatever, asshole."
"It's just...I was supposed to see that movie. I wanted to see that movie. And I missed it. I fucked it up."
"So what? You can rent it."
"No, dude. I can't rent it." I punched the chair arm. "I CAN NEVER RENT STAR TREK!"
The dog got startled and ran away. My friend looked at me.
"How about Tropic Thunder?"
"Ben Stiller should be shot for his involvement in Tropic Thunder. What a complete piece of shit."
My friend passed me a bong. I shook my head.
"Were you stoned when you watched it?"
I shook my head and looked at the ceiling.
My friend lit up the bong and said, "Well that explains it."
"Yes. That explains everything."
I called for the dog to come over but it lay in the corner looking at me. Then it fell asleep.

Who can give an analysis of this?

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Los Angeles

No, my new attitude has not made much difference in my day or two in Los Angeles. I know my way around but that is about all I can say for it. I look around at the landscape of strip bars and pawn shops with a level of disgust that I know will soon turn into hate. George tells me I should sign up for central casting, something I never knew about in 5 years but is the obvious way to whore myself out to low budget non union flicks. THe first one said, "Laid back musician type. DO NOT SHAVE FOR AUDITION!" It was for a Sprint commercial. They wanted someone who would wear "flannel shirts and that kind of thing." Like a stereotype. Am I above that kind of trash? Maybe. I belong to clan Tmobile. Would it be a betrayal?

No big deal.

So I now begin a hunt for a buyer of the van or else riders to the east coast or else a way to trade my van for a motorcycle or even another motorcycle for my vespa ciao. So many things happening and not much time before the fall hits New England.

Still no enforcement of the car camping law so I can sleep all I want in my van until someone calls the police.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Crossing the line

The border guard said, "How long have you been in Mexico?"
I said, "What month is it?"
"Since January. Or so."
"Seven months?"
"I guess."
"What were you doing down there?"
I thought for a long time and said, "Baby, I was all over the map down there. Partying, crying , laughing, playing guitar, losing my mind and finding it again."
She thought and said, "Go on through. Welcome to America."

Death's Hand Has A Cold Touch

But at the same time it is welcoming and soothing. You will not be judged. The reason one eye is closed is that a strand of hair, not just an eyelash, had wrapped itself around my eye. Not like, a little bit around, but all the way around my eyeball to where it vanished into the recesses of my skull on both the top and the bottom of the eye. removing that while vomiting and shitting into a togo container and spitting into a cup and sweating in the 110 degree heat was my final passage out of the womb. What happens after this is all my fault. No one else is to blame.

En Memorium

Not quite, but there were several days when Marco man in the van thought he was done for. If he had any possessions worth giving up then he would have bequeathed them all to Nick's mom. It was hit or miss, puking and shitting on a dirt road in rural mexico, trying to get to the border. There are dozens of crosses along the way where people didn't make it. Would he be one of them?

Friday, August 14, 2009

Hannah Montana The Blowup fuck doll

It wasn`t my fault that H.M. decided to use a stripper pole and short shorts in her dance routine at the teen choice awards. (I guess the dildo skit was edited out) Some people objected and H.M. said that everyone has assholes and opinions. Good one Hannah. But do they all have a filthy cunt hole like Hannah? Some of them do. Haha. Some of them are filthy Hannah. Haha. It`s just my opinion that Hannah Montana is a disgusting disney whore. I`m entitled to my opinion that she is a perverted slut. What proof do I have? Well, let`s see. Her pole dance routine, which I will masterbate while watching as soon as I have a spare moment, is exhibit A.

this bag I found in a mexican supermarket is exhibit B



I don`t know...maybe the similarity is only my imagination. Maybe Hannah Montana doesn`t look like a blow up fuck doll.
But then we all know I have too much time on my hands.
It must also be a coincidence that the word "Pop" is also related to the male ejaculation. She really is a pop star. haha. she`s a disney whore who takes pop shots in her disney fuck hole. haha. how funny is it that I can call her a filthy whore who has a cunt like a blow up fuck doll? I think that is hilarious. I live in a beautiful world where teen whores can be sponsored by Disney, whose mascot is a innocent mouse who lives in a castle with a cricket, to perform a sexy strip dance with a stripper pole and take pictures posing as a blow up fuck doll ready to be fucked in the mouth...AND I CAN MOCK AND EXPOSE IT OPENLY: In fact, I could actually video tape myself smoking meth and fucking a fuck doll while watching H.M strip on a pole and when I ejaculate into the blow up doll I could yell "Take that, Hannah Montana, you pop star whore!" and THEN I COULD POST IT ON THE INTERNET AND EVERYONE COULD WATCH IT. It`s like a cultural nightmare but I think I should embrace it if only because it could not be more perverse and devoid of anything redeeming. IT IS PURE cultural CORRUPTION.
I think it is fantastic. Please comment on how badly you want to see that video of me beating off on this bag and then fucking a blow up fuck doll while Hannah Montana strips in the background. I think that`s really funny. But if you think it is offensive then MAYBE YOU SHOULD DROP A BOMB ON DISNEYLAND!




Catching up

some random photos of my pastimes.



This is McElroy. Otherwise known as Mack. He shapes surfboards.


Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Time flies

Returned to Todos Santos to see if it was any cooler here. But it isn`t. Hot and buggy and humid. Anywhere would be better than this desert. I can`t believe it is mid august. The grey hair on my beard tells me that I`m not getting any younger. Why is that? But I`m also getting wiser. So that is the evil exchange we all make. ALright, hold your wisecracks about me not getting wiser. I figured out the problem, as though any one cares. See, the environmental crimes committed by humanity have to be punished. It`s like Dostoyevski. Crime and Punishment. Every crime must be punished. I`m not so existential and nihilistic that nothing matters. So if a sea turtle chokes and dies on a hannah montana doll head or some fucking plastic backpack that goes on a shitty bike...then that has to be punished. IF you don`t agree then we are talking about two different philosophies and YOU DON`T UNDERSTAND ME. So, who do you punish if thousands of turtles are dying because we all use plastic bags and horrible shit that ends up in the ocean? How do you punish humanity when all the governments of the world just want their countries to progress into some kind of Blade Runner future where plastic is outlawed and there are no sea turtles? Sorry, that was a loaded question. My point is that when there is no one to punish, when punishment must be so huge that it is inconceivable, then those with my obsessive nature will do the drastic thing and PUNISH THEMSELVES. See, someone has to be punished and if no one can be punished then I will punish myself. I think that sort of gets to what Chris McCandless was doing for two years on the road. He felt his family had committed a crime of fidelity and honesty and that humanity was also destructive but no one could be punished so he punished himself. Some people have the luxury of being so unsophisticated that THEY ACTUALLY DON^T CARE ABOUT CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY. Well, that must be nice.
So, having internalized the geniocide and cultural massacre that is being perpetrated in Iraq (Dominos Pizza in Baghdad) I have suffered and all the joy has left my life. IT is voluntary and perhaps indescribably arrogant to just about every person I have talked to, but that is my explanation. Like it or not. I operate under the moral philosophy that all crimes must be punished. But that philosophy creates pure havoc when the crime is so monumental that it can never be punished except by God, who WOULD NEVER ALLOW IT TO HAPPEN IN THE FIRST PLACE IF HE EXISTED. WHY PUNISH SOMETHING AFTER THE FACT? THAT`S COMPLETELY IDIOTIC.
Now, my current task is to accept that I have been punished for something that I was a part of (The wholesale destruction of cultures and enviroments via hannah montana products) but that I may as well be dead if my life is only going to be a vessel of sacrifice and penitence. Can I ignore the steady decline of civilizations? Can I overlook the plight of the sea turtle? I don`t know. Drugs do not help...they just make me lonely and does not help. Nothing helps because the facts still remain that mankind has run amok and is being so careless with resources and life that only an idiot can watch Tropic Thunder and laugh at Ben Stiller`s monkey like behavior. What kind of a culture allows Hannah Montana and Tropic Thunder films? It is repulsive. But to introduce those monstrosities to other cultures like Iraq and Mexico is proof that America is a cancerous, parasitic, pseudo culture that lives only to devour other authentic cultures and replace them with some kind of surrogate, phony piece of plastic shit that was INVENTED IN A BOARD ROOM with "Culture Reinvention" stenciled on the door.

So fuck all of you. I am going to write like a demon unleashed on the world and every word I write will be a satire or attack on that which I believe is vomitous and repulsive. It will make no difference and sea turtles will continue to die and I will be a hypocrite in the fact that I will take part in a culture and mode of communication with animals that ignore the plight of sea turtles and seals and eagles and small monkeys who live simply in trees and are hunted by monsters in trucks. Fuck all of you who devour the earth. I will undercut your endeavors will all my heart. You will be ashamed to eat your daily bread. I curse you and your blighted families. May your coffee be bitter. May your sperm whither and die in the shaft of your cock. IT is high time for a dystopian novel. Don`t you agree? Who better to write it?
I have suffered long enough and now you will suffer. it is your turn on the Hannah Montana cross.
Yes, I have walked an unusual and unpleasant and unenviable path. But it has introduced me to unusual people and I have come to some unusual conclusions. These conclusions are original and they are shocking and they, admittedly, have no place on this planet. But that is why they must be shared with the world, even if the world is hardly worth communicating with.
You think, "All three people who will read this post?" Yes, them. BEcause you see that it does not matter if a million or ten million read this post. So to my mind this is a philosophical battle and it makes no difference, in effect, how widely dispersed my philosophy is. Why should it? The sea turtles themselves don`t really care if I am their patron. They don`t care but still I act on their behalf by sticking my finger in a dike with a million rotting holes that spew filth on their home. IF they could speak they would say "Dude, it`s too little too late." And I would say, that philosophically I still must act. Philosophically, a culture that manufactures Hannah Montana to sell fake plastic cell phones with Hannah Montana stickers on them must be called out and mocked openly. This is a mountain of shit that has no purpose. At least the Egyptians created the pyramids! What the fuck is a two dollar plastic belt with "I like boys." spelled in rhinestones going to do? End up in the ocean where an animal will swallow it and die. IF you are not repulsed by this then the chances are you are not the animal who is going to choke on a hannah montana backpack.
I am repulsed by it...and more things than I can list. But hopefully I will list them all in my dystopian novel. I`ll call it "HANNAH MONTANA ATE MY CULTURE WITH HER CUNT AND SHIT OUT A PILE OF AMERICA"
ha ha.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

X stripper blues

The chorus goes,

She´s got the ex stripper, the x stripper blues

She´s got the ex stripper, the x stripper blues

She´ll dance your troubles away with those x stripper moves

the verses are

She´s a gypsy now got two kids on the run

she´s a gypsy now got two kids on the run

they´re three pretty gypsies gonna have some fun

Silver bells on her ankles and a steel plate in her neck

silver bells on her ankles and a steel plate in her neck

gold rings on her fingers and white wings on her back

She drink mezcal from the bottle, eat life a la carte

she drink mezcal from the bottle, eat life a la carte

she´s a gypsy woman gonna steal your heart

on another subject,

The Honeymoon is over. completely over.

There were three days of semi=insanity and then the reality set in and the true craziness took hold. On the outside I am sure the girls look like your everyday college graduates. You know, the starbucks coffee and afternoon workout crowd. But actually they are TOTALLY INSANE!

Just a sample of the conversation

"When was the last time you had mind blowing sex?"

"I asked him if he called us coke snorting whores and when he said yes I broke his nose."

"His cock was like a baby´s arm"

"I don´t have time for your bullshit."

"Good thing we´re in the hooker capital of Baja."

M. "We´re not whores,.." All the girls together..."we´re too stupid to ask for money."

The final straw came when M. was banging on the window of her apartment because she was locked out because V. had passed out and I had said I wanted to sleep alone. (Really, I was keeping boundries up between them for obvious reasons) Genesis comes up and says, as I´m trying to put some clothes on.

"I have an idea."

Finally, I thought. A calm headed girl. The voice of reason. M. was slamming her palm on the door. She turned to me and shouted venemously, "You self absorbed son of a bitch! You fucking asshole." Genesis continued casually, "Can you get a tent sack¨."

"A tent sack? I have a van."


I had no idea what this was.

"Of what?"

"Cocaine. It´ll calm her down¨."

I bowed my head. Even my penis and balls hanging in the wind were of no concern to me. This was the end of any illusion that the gypsy life was a life of happy times and drum circles. A screwdriver hitting the side of my van brought this reality home.

"You self loathing motherfucker!" yelled M.

Genesis looked at me for an answer, oblivious to everything.

"That´s your solution? Cocaine?"

"Yes. It´ll calm her down. Can you?"

"No. I can`t. Furthermore..."

I was about to launch into a lecture but Genesis was turning away even as the word "no" left my lips. These girls don`t hear "no" a lot and don´t say "no" a lot but when they do they understand completely what it means and they hate it. Whatever favor I had earned with the family now evaporated like a line of meth at an all night rave. Genesis, gorgeous, silver ankle bells jingling, bounced toward the barred windows, nimbly scaled the steel grating and began to squirm her way into an opening in the bars until she could throw another broken screwdriver at her passed out sister. All the time M. is staring daggers at me and my fraudulent life. This is a woman who brought a house of pain on a man who grabbed her daughter´s ass inappropriately. This is a woman with a steel plate in her neck. I knew our relationship had reached an ugly turning point. AFTER A MERE THREE DAYS.

The moral of the story is a little murky at this point. We attract the situations we most need to learn something, but once the battle begins we want to turn around and go back to the beginning. But we can´t. The police will always be there to help out, except when you are in Mexico, in which case the police will not intervene at all. They will pick up the bodies but they won´t get involved with gringos fighting in the street. Why should they? So my self preservation instinct kicked in and I locked the doors and moved on into the night. This isn´t the first time I´ve had screwdrivers thrown at me. The van is high profile but the gypsies have no vehicle so they´ll never find it.

My neighbor´s text message came back to me, "Isn´t it funny how sirens come in threes?¨

For a while I thought I was the siren leading them to the rocks, but our roles are now perfectly clear and there is no telling if I am safe at sea or just about to crash.

here´s a candid shot of the family. M. is smoking a cigarette while balancing a hammer DIRECTLY ABOVE GENESIS´s head. Vita is in her comfort zone, passed out. Ah, that´s one for the christmas album. The artwork is Genesis´s pieces. She´s got talent even if after taking this pic she blurted out "Dancing on banana peels!"

The whole scene really can´t be captured without the non stop talk and the dancing and the jokes and lines from movies and anecdotes and Sublime song sing alongs. It was a visual drug even if I was otherwise sober. Intoxicating. Better than David Lynch.


Monday, August 3, 2009

Just when you thought it couldn´t get weirder...





The notes for this past week are unintelligible, written on the floor of my van, covered in sweat. All I have are these photos taken by the girl with the peace sign mardi gras beads, Genesis, who harmonized along with me singing Bobby McGee and Never Been to Spain. The rest is history. She knows Jimmy Page´s middle name. Her mom "partied with Blondie" Blondie, if you will remember is on display on the top of my van´s ceiling. It is all connecting, my unified theory of the universe, but it concerns gypsies and hunter thompson and a beach called Balandra in La Paz. we hunted clams in the sand and ate them alive. Pelicans crashed into the water. They drank Mezcal from the bottle and I wrote a song called "Ex Stripper Blues"
This is not what I expected when I came to Mexico but now I see that after 7 months of getting exactly this, it is what I can expect from now on. I believe that I need to cry before I can laugh. But that doesn´t mean I can´t laugh a little along the way.
Creative Commons License
Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.