Thursday, August 14, 2003



Who's That Trip-Trappin' Across My Bridge?...

I want those back East to know that I'm down for the cause, so I'm typing in the dark right now. I know that I'm using electricity, but it beats writing this, bathed in the soft, illuminating glow of a pig fat candle and sending this to Blogger by carrier pigeon. After I'm done typing this, I'm going to cook up some food on the barbecue while humming Led Zeppelin. Why Led Zeppelin? Don't know, Bugsy. See? Yeah, see? You're not gettin' me alive you lousy coppers! Here, have a lead sandwich! Bratta tatta bratta tat tat tat! Ugh. You dead.

Friends are coming over and I'm gonna tell some ghost stories, Frank's bringing over some Night Train and his new girlfriend who can spit fire and eat glass. She's very cool, I guess her parents were part of a commune, freak show thing back in the day, and taught her some tricks - but only after she was sixteen, Babies eatin' glass ain't too kosher. It would've been for me, if I was one of the parents. Less trash to take out. Hee. From what Frank's told me, she does more than eat glass and spit fire, IfyouknowwhatImean. Hee again.

What this world needs, in these dark times, is an army of as million Atticus Finchs. Fighting for justice. Bein' bad arse. Everybody's all...Boo Radley-ish. Go outside. Let's go surfing now, everybody's learning how. Your parents suck, flip em' the bird, and get the hell out of there as fast as you can. Just make sure to swipe as much money as you can before you go, otherwise, get used to wrapping your backpack straps around your arm so that the homeless guy next to you doesn't swipe your half bag of Cheetos and Mead notebooks full of late night rat scratchings. I remember being stranded in a bus stop out in Montclair, California and meeting a girl with the blondest hair and reddest lips in the world. I think that she invited me in the bathroom with her, but I was so young that I couldn't spot a sexual invitation from a road-travelling prostitute if it hit me in the crotch. She eventually stole my Soda, cigarettes, and lighter shaped like a girls breasts. The flame would come out of the left boob. I miss those boobies.

Frank just called. He said that he's running behind because his gal has to pick up her friend. I don't know her friend. Maybe she's a lion tamer. Then what? I should, maybe turn on the front porch light so that they don't think that I went somewhere. But they all know that we're gonna get drunk by the light of the moon and the glow of whatever the hell Frank's gal uses when she breathes her dragon stuff. Shit, when that Night Train comes, I'll be breathing fire too. I haven't had that stuff since I was in high school. Last time, I tried to rip a tree out of the ground. I failed. Me and my back. Hee once again.

I want those back East to know that I'm down with them in spirit. Don't hurt anybody, be nice, make babies. You have nothing else to do. Your TV's busted. You have to do something, right. Plug the significant other because the tube's unplugged. It's our own damn fault, lightning or not. We take things for granted, and are way too dependant on modern magics. Lets get back down to the stone age, baby. I wanna carve my initials with a spear tip on the hide of a Bison. I don't know. I want everything back to basics, but want beer involved. That's all. That's all I'll take with me. Bison and Bud Light. Yup.

Oh, and Night Train.

Protect your trees tonight, people...

Goodnight, static.

Hello, moon.




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