on the busride home all i ever think about is coming home and writing.

something good. something for you.

then i get home and every night its like this, its like the apartment takes over and all of my plans get sucked away.

even on the happiest of evenings where i think about coming home and blasting the good tunes and dancing around i always end up doing something completely else.

today they had a surprise for us at work.

59. blackmask

they blindfolded us and put us in limos.

everyone thought they were going to kill us. we were esping like crazy.

finally i just told them all to relax, that if they wanted to kill us they would just poison the coffee.

everyone began to relax.

we ended up in this place that was really beautiful, i imagined. there were pillows on the lush carpet. the sofas were all pillows, the room smelled of incense, spanish guitar was playing in the distance.

when they unblindfolded us we saw that there were flowers all over and fruit in large bowls and fountains of apple juice.

we were told to sit down.

they washed our feet.

who did? they did.


none of us believed it.

it was weird at first, and a little, hmmm intense? but it was nice.

then they dried our feet and then wrapped them in towels

and then put flowers on the towels and then they brought out chairs

beautiful women emerged and sat on the chairs.

they held out the bowls of fruit for the women and we were told to remain silent while the guitar played and simply receive.

and the women fed us.

they dabbed our chins with napkins and held the goblets while we drank, and then the women fed us some more.

a voice said

you are the undercover superheroes of the city of angels

if people knew what you were doing, they would thank you

but even they couldnt thank you enough

then they read off our names one by one.

then they played david bowies heroes as the women gave us shoulder rubs.

then the lights went down

then most of us fell asleep.

when we awoke they drove us to a local theatre and gave us a special preview screening of swat.

which might have made sense in the meeting, but in reality it just brought us back to thinking about work, and wishing it was as easy as samuel jackson made it look.

sk smith + coyote + c monks

the voice said that you know youre in trouble when it feels like

everything is keeping you away from blogging. work, subway rides, super heroics, eating, pissing, yelling, laughing, getting nominated

doing laundry.

if i was any sort of man i would have photographed the block before the rainstorm when the armenians were at their card tables outside in their fenced in front yard driveways where the little puppies lay at the feet of the dark haired men with frowns on strong faces and relatives all around.

proud people. proud of something. proud not to be dragging a granny cart of the most miserable clothes down the street.

the skies were midnight blue and it was almost eight pm, last wash at 8 pm. 8pm at the coin laundry means that both of the tvs are going to be on spanish stations.

a woman with four children. the two oldest are reading two books. the two minute detective and harry potter.

theyre teasing each other about the endings. dont tell me dont tell me. was it ….? dont tell me.

chinese man flips the sign at eight and half the place is still full.

mexican woman wipes down each one of the washers one by one. getting every crevice. she eventually will start sweeping as people slowly finish washing their terrible clothes.

the thunder began and then the lightening. one of them was first.

a woman talked to her old woman momma.

a young mexican woman smiled at me. i wondered if she smiled at everyone. i wondered whos kids those were. the one who dopped the fruit rollup on the floor that had gone through a lot that day.

i was wearing shorts. didnt happen to be washing any raincoats. no car. about four five blocks back home. for some reason i wasnt worried and i ate my pork skins and drank my water.

this was one of those super grab bags of pork skins. about the size of a sixty nine cent bag of fritos.

it said 85 calories a serving.

some how they get 5 servings out of that bag of pork rinds.

extra spicy.

and i was thinking if i was married to that woman and her three kids, could i really bring home a buck bag of pork skins and say, here you are family.

a serving for each of us.

and when i was done there wasnt any more raining. just good smelling nothingness.

and the dogs still barked at me from behind their chains.

and the little kids blew bubbles from their bubble thing thing and said hi.

and the church members talked about official business.

and my gwar shirt was finally clean again.