while i was on vacation a lot of crazy ass shit went down

that the xbi may or may not have been involved in.

there was a train wreck of a train coming out of palm springs to la.

i discovered that my rental car cd player played mp3s.

and i read this caption underneath the picture to the left, “Indian tribal girl Karnamoni Handsa, 9, looks at her husband, a two-year old dog named Bachchan, in Khanyan, 60 km (37 miles) northwest from Calcutta, state capital of the eastern Indian state of West Bengal June 19, 2003. “

the good people of Khanyan wed the nine year old to the dog to ward off evil spirits, the caption told me.

now, if you were an evil spirit, dont you think you’d feel at home in a town where two-year old dogs were getting married off

to underaged girls?

theyre both kids for god sake.

i dont date married chicks, but could i say no to someone who had been hitched to a dog since she was nine?

if i pet him would that mean i was gay?

what if i took him for a walk?

thats gay.

its gotta be.

i havent had a dog since i was a little kid, and back then we didnt have to pick up the dog doo, but i guess people have to nowadays – at least here in hollywood.

so if i met some girl, and she was married to a dog, and me and him took a little walk, and i watched him poopie, and then i picked it up

im home now.

crazy ass shit really did go down here.

best of all was the new blogger pro got implemented in my sector of the rockosphere.

this is the first post ive made on it.

i think it looks hot.

on first post i see that the edit link is a the top, which is much more convenient. you dont have to scroll down all the way to the bottom of the post.

old posts are accessible with drop-down menus now instead of the tedious back arrow: perfect when youre going back in your archives for old posts to republish when you go on vacation!

it also just feels so much more sturdy.

for example, and ive never even uttered this complaint to a soul. not even outloud, but when i wanted to highlight a word to link to a different site highlighting the word took equal parts luck and skill to get the whole word with no spaces in front or behind.

now you can even highlight a single letter, or two letters in a word. not that i would be doing that very often. but maybe a hidden link or two in a long phrase might be fun sometimes.

i also like that the “view blog” doesnt jump to a different window, you view it within the bottom half of the blogger window.

is it really 1:24am?

a sorority girl experiences snoop dogg live + gorilla mask + bettie girl

Tuesday, November 12, 2002

ten fourty pee em backpack stuffed with bread, brie, two bottles of champagne, one brut one extra dry, he could never remember which one was better. he rides his bike to the subway. no one rides the subway at ten fourty pee em.

the elevator smells like industrial orange cleanser. suddenly orange is the scent of freshness. some one has urinated against the glass wall. someone has scratched the name jed below the button that says mezzanine. some one is watching him.

three people wait for the northbound train. one old man who looks at the tunnel hole willing it. not knowing that there is a wind that comes minutes before the subway, then a sound, then a light. theres nothing to look at. has the boy brought a condom? no. they’re just friends.


the thought sat like a lump in his breast. only good that word ever did him was in a heated scrabble game. seven letter triple score bitch. plus it would take about four bottles to blur the line of friendship. friends. the old man looked down in the tunnel and he’s old enough to remember la when this wasn’t the only rail in town what’s he looking for, salvation?

a mexican made it four waiting for the train and he knew about the wind and sat down. its all about astrology he thought. gemini and aquarius. just like clue. parker brothers had taught him everything. if he knew it wasn’t in the library why did he keep going there.

the train arrived he rode to her house. it was a tough ride since she lives on the top of a very high hill. it smelled like isla vista up there. eucalyptus and dynamite. gasoline and burned leaves. he put it in first gear. this was great exercise he thought and it would be fun to speed down late that night. which he did. two twenty a-em. drunk buzzed really santa anas warm, warmest night of the fall for sure. must be seventy. must be going fifty. no need to worry about rabbits darting in the road or acorns or potholes he was being guided by voices.

her hair was soft and her lips were familiar. moreso than he remembered. every night felt like a dream so he traced her outline as she laid on him pressed down on her skin until he felt bone. eighth of an inch here. sixteenth there. he wasn’t much of a romantic. he said if we had to eat you after a plane crash we wouldn’t get much meat. she said the meat is the muscle and put his hand on, muscle.

must have been going sixty near the bottom of the mountain. hollywood hills meets hollywood blvd. night crew mopping the popeyes. people buying magazines. people leaving bars. people dressed real nice. he had his gangsta flannel flapping behind him no lights no brakes, a game he played since a little kid called lets see how far we can coast. the lazy mans game of human curling.

pink floyd plays in his ninety nine cents store fm radio. no dial just two buttons. one scanned in the stations, one you push for the next station. is anyone out there. the wall. when he was an ice cream man he would play dark side and animals to drown out the ice cream truck tings and tangs but it bled through mixing like strawberry twirl and carmel. she had silky hair that smelled of a fresh shower. velvet pajama pants and pale skin. he wanted to touch everything like in an x dream and she didn’t care. only he was scared. she felt so comfortable with him she said often and is that failure asked his head.

thirty five whispered the wind as he turned left on sunset. go east old man. ameoba records says hi. archlight movies says hi. give us your money says the dennys the dirtiest dennys of all. now the game is called count the hookers. okay one two. three. no shes not one. oops, yes he is. four five. two people are fighting on a fire escape while one watches. not fight fighting fist fighting is one a girl don’t look keep going. hi ninety nine cents store hi tulips strip joint. i wonder if its open i wonder what the cop car is doing empty not too close to the door but not tooooo far away. i wonder what it looks like in there in seedy hollywood on a monday night at two something a-em.

donuts. okay we’ll stop here. don’t get off the bike. three russians parked sitting on their hoods talking russian. laughing. plotting. planning. hating. hi russians with your blue eyes and short hair. everyone is welcome here. donut man asks if i want coffee. do you have eclairs with creme? of course. sixty five cents. thanks keep the change. tip everyone the brain says. over tip those you should tip and tip the ones you shouldn’t. later he’d be robbed.


nine, ten, eleven. that one has a shelf butt. how does she do that? that shelf is out so far its about to fall out.

two bums playing throw the screwdriver at the palm tree. hi.

hi trash making its way home. hi fallen leaves. hi everything. hi

tony making his way home down the hill next to the church coasting feeling like a kid again as he normally does with his very good friend who asked him to call her when he made it through the jungle back home 2.6 miles all downhill all one big thrill and when he does his phone rings and its another friend who had a date and wanted to let him know how it went.

hi three am. and he wonders who had a better night than he

Friday, February 15, 2002

hot black chick walked down the stairs at the wilshire/vermont station past the cops who smiled a hello and she smiled one back.

when she reached the bottom of the stairs the train arrived and she got on the car next to the driver, like i did.

we left the station and approached the next stop and before we did the driver announced on the PA, “Next stop, Wilshire and Normandie.”

hot black chick yelled, “nobody asked you.”

driver replied on the PA, “i know.”

we stopped, at the station for a few seconds, there was a series of beeps, the doors shut, the train pulled away, gained momentum and we were on to our last stop.

the driver announced, “next stop, Wilshire and Western.”

hot black chick yelled, “hurry up, then.”

the train conductors always ease into the Wilshire/Western station because there are many intersecting tracks there since it is the end of the line.

driver announced as we slowed up, “this is the final destination, please make sure you have gathered all of your personal belongings.”

then there was a pause.

then he said, “and please, have a good day.”

then he added, “except for certain people.”

we stopped, she got off the train, strutted past the driver’s car, realised she was going to have to walk up stairs if she continued down that direction, turned around, right past me and headed towards the elevator.

i noticed that her super tight black tshirt said, “Cute.” but it was written in a type of cursive that wasn’t easy to read, so you were forced to decide whether you were going to read her shirt or check out her d-cups.

it was quite a decision.

i walked up the stairs and considered it my morning workout.

made it to the 720 bus, there were three of them waiting for us. i got on the first one that was half-full. the other two were mostly empty but Lord only knows when they would leave that stop. i sat in the back with a talkative older black gentleman and two mexicans who were speaking spanish to each other.

to my surprise, hot black chick got on my bus. she dug through her little purse for change and as she did the big fat black lady busdriver said, “good morning everyone. happy day after valentine’s day.” and waved at us behind her moving only her fingers. i cant explain it.

hot black chick made her way all the way to the back. the mexicans locked on to her immediately as did the black guy. when she eyed an empty seat near him, he couldnt hold it in any more.

“Got Damn, girl!”

she had tight red pants on, heels, hair done right, ruby red lipstick, very dark black skin, enough attitude for several busses of commuters.

the mexicans spoke spanish and the black guy kept talking to no one in particular. i pretended to be engrossed with my Bukowski poems.

“You know something, fellas,” the black guy said, “that is a booty right there. that is a beautiful black booty. mercy. people say black ass like that is an acquired tastes, and i agree.”

my stop was coming up.

“once you acquire that shit, you never lose your taste for it.”

then he laughed through his smile and it sounded like a hiss, but everyone smiled.

the mexicans did their mexican handshake ending with the knuckle punch and one of them dug into his backpack and retrived a tupperware cube containing his buddy’s lunch. and he and i exited through the back door and began our days.