Vista Lleno

I stole the full view, unmentionable, from my science guise ruing Rascal scraps in the front yard birds flying startled.

The full view: oblivion…

The full view skirted to the side like a crotch piece, confidence game connected, pair of panties in the race to procreate, or at least in the quest of leaving tell-tale, interesting Rorschach designs on the waxy hard wood floor.

I saw the mobsters kick the voting machines with polished wing tips and pistol grip chump squad ramblings in forearm musical swing moods all along the wasted water front.

Not feeling magical at all, I walked around the streets wishing the inside of me was on the outside of me, wishing that sweet someone would finally notice me, turn the gold gilded, crystal doorknob and walk through my soul sleeping down into dreams; waking up to the delicate splendor of it all.

The full view: oblivious…

Chopped finely and abused, dead men tell no tales. Wise men ride rails or set sail in the search of time spent full view down weirdly wild trails. Seoul serves some sacred wisdom among the taxi collisions and capitalism schisms. The artful dodging of tax schemes all the while drinking my Eastern dreams makes you have to strain your eyes to view the ultra-bright lights during the total eclipse of the West.

Tricked and treated to a decade and a half tied to ancient tome morality mocking me half-distorted by my contorted man-self, I sat on the shelf looking for a way down, but always afraid to make the necessary faith leaps into living long love life like songs written half-maniacal by modern twirling, touring troubadours.

The full view: obscurity…

High time I left behind high times to let brain whisper beauty into my ears uninhibited, uninhabited by doubt and loathing 'self' for not really trying to love 'not self' with kind words instead of hurtful, heartache, anger, heaviness. Heavens clouded by nasty narcissism and petty profusions of grandeur condensed clumsily into the water droplets like hastily homemade dope bindles.

The bitter taste of defeat lingers, but oh sweet freedom, she left her smell on my fingers, and the scent gives me sustenance on the slow road to personal victory over the slow torture of my time in this unholy (insert swear-word...right about here--->) stasis.

The full view: autonomy…

30 AUG 10

Kill For A Thrill: Tales of the Early Nineties

A normal day on Facebook for the Moodswing Meister 33rd Degree:

You should totally still listen to Lords of Acid. I saw My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult with Traci Lords once. Traci Lords wore a full-body nylon, cowboy boots, a trench coat, and a cowboy hat. At one point she opened her trench coat and greased her gooey gutter shutters with her gorgeous finger.

My 18-year-old boy brain brimmed with joy. I went to the show with a stripper (on her birthday) and her best friend. They were on acid and we danced like whores; us three. We ended up back at the stripper girl's house; where she was staying with a real-estate shyster (I think he went to jail for fraudulent activities) named, Lynn. We called him Lenny and he hated it. He was a throwback to the eighties. As an action-figure he came complete with stacks of porn VHS/BETA, shitty eighties music cassettes (Frankie Goes To Hollywood, anybody), a 9mm pistol, and what I believe to be a gnarly cocaine habit. Stripper girl had him tightly wrapped around her finger.

Anyhow, the girls were surly and riding the night like pirates on the mast rigging. They decided to utilize the musical sex magic we witnessed on stage and invited me into the bedroom with them to explore the Devil's business. I felt like a ghost. I drank more beer and went to get my friend Z-man and his video camera to capture the shenanigans.

When I showed up at his door, he swore I was on hallucinogens because of the wild sparkle in my eye. Vibration and human interaction have magical properties; I am now for sure certain about the veracity of that statement. I assured him that I was not and we ran down the street like anxious thieves ready to steal the dusky jewels, to just near the Willow House (downtown PHX - hoorah!) and crept silently into the house.

My friend Z-man edged his way up the stairs into her room, cracked open the door, and the made his was silently back down the stairs. He said, "let's go to my house, roll another number, and drink." The look on his face was one of incredulity. I asked him what he saw and he wouldn't tell me. Even to this day he has not divulged what those two furious freaks were doing and I am almost afraid to ask.

There's more to the story, but who would believe that when we walked in to the Electric Ballroom's lobby that the ladies I came in with had their arms around me, were kissing my ears, and pawing and nibbling on each other? And what critical creature would even reach further into belief to actually consider that when we were half-way through the lobby the girls detached from my sides, walked over to a group of ladies and 1 man wearing cloaks, pentacles and the like and held hands in a circle for a few moments? They then came back to me and acted as if nothing ever happened as we penetrated the outer membrane of the dance floor and melted all molten into the crowd.

1995 was a gnarly year and My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult is a gnarly band. That experience was Kooler Than Jesus [Joe sits with tongue in cheek]:

Kooler Than Jesus Clip

Dirty Joke

Someone told a dirty joke

It seems like nobody understood

The punch line was a farce

So, I left the neighborhood

I ran off into the distance

Dipped my toe into the lake

I fell in love at first glance

With all the women on the take

Damn! They stole away my innocence

They thieved away my rowdy years

I got all turned around, lost my sense

Slathered by a jury of my peers

Then dining on a winter feast

The last supper of our discontent

Not frightened in the least

Hoping all of my dreams were heaven sent

Then I flipped the sticky switch

Packed all my junk in my creaking car

Threw my wallet in the muddy ditch

Headed off to the nearest star

The star was warm and searing

It burned away all my face

The audience fell down cheering

For the outcast roaming outer space

Food For Thought

She likes humming on my nummies, but she's texture oriented and does not like the shrubbery.

Dog Songs - February 2008

You bequeath litter to the air by leaving your horrible lies rolling, just leaves in the wind.

When I look around your street corners, the thinning air is the only one that’s there.

I wish to storm your murky castles made of bland and rescue the pink prisoners of youth.

I have tried to whittle away at your protected centers with nothing, save my thoughts.

Traded like cold hard currency, sin barter, they’ve all but vanished. It isn’t quite fair.

I’ve been tarred and feathered by your apparitions that skulk in the corner by your beer.

All mottled by your flags, your fear, and the accidental plutocracy that you never cheer.

I’ll give worth it’s what’s for, a fair shake, a second take, to witness your misery. 

‘Til I’ve swallowed your Moloko breath mints, my breath wasted on its lower learning.

Me, just waiting to inhale the mysteries and mania scattered down your bitter trail of fear.

Resistant strains of fools lying through their teeth shining ‘neath neon cafeteria lights.

Suggested minimal use in daylight only, you prod me into being your unhappy whore.

Moans outside in a still, what was that in my ear’s multi-memory glistening fun tunnel?

Wot’s uh…the deal with wondering how it all moves into living and dieing for the emperors of China?

It wears me Down's. I wear its t-shirts to hide the fun of mostly moist, classic middles.

Shining oriental heaven lights into burns rugged red with the worst embarrassment.

I try hiding my freedom under my heart, solemnly, pried free only by my own dead hands.

But you filthy Ape-things…kidnap me into the broken scenarios of your beastly misery.

Scheister Cogburn

I saw the purple sky crumble into little chickens. They pecked my dead eyes open, looking for true grit. The sun blared non-stop rhythmic living energy into my ears. A symphony of love ensued. The rain puddles shed tears of joy into the air for my bright future.

Parking Shenanigans @ Korean Malls

The other day Sativa Mariposa and I stopped for lunch at the IPark mall here in Seoul. Now, the malls here are not configured like the malls in the US with their acreage of parking lots surrounding suburban accoutrements. The malls in Korea tend to be buildings of the verticle variety with attached parking garages; so on, and so forth.

Anyhoo, Ms. Boozer and I, in our last minute effort to get tasty delicious grub, as opposed the Booger King/Taco Hell style food on the Army base, went through the ordeal of actually finding the parking garage and eventually made our way to the 5th story of the parking garage at the very last section. Slightly irritated, and severely hungry, we made our way into the mall and dined on delicious Thai food and then went into Emart; the entrance to which is located on the 1st floor with groceries in the basement floors.

Emart is like Walmart, but it doesn't hurt my soul and my ears (easy listening, anybody) so much and the samples/store made food are freakin' awesome. The throngs of people in the store made navigating the store feel like I was in a version of human Frogger.

Well, after burning an hour or so getting grindage and groceries, we made our way back up to the 5th floor garage and were quite dismayed to see the a string of cars had parked perpendicular to to our row of course; thus blocking us and a few other vehicles in. I exclaimed neatly heated words in disbelief and began cooking up a good Soviet threat story to justify me completely kicking the shit out of a compact car and giving a careless Korean car operator whatfor in the form of vulgar verbal jihad. Rarrarrrarrrrrrrrrrr!!! Who would seriously do such a thing in cIear conscience?

I scanned the parking lot hopelessly looking for aid, comfort, or a helping hand just like a dingo ate my baby. Frantically, I checked the doors to see if they were unlocked; no dice. Wondering what we were going to do, and the threat of children waking up and haranguing Forrest in the air, I noticed that the gear shifter was not in park. Hmm... I then saw the gleaming glimmer of hope arc acrossed my frontal lobe like electricity. I got behind the car in front of the one behind my car and pushed it forward. Then I pushed the car sitting behind my car into the spot I had just cleared. Bingo! Jackpot! We then drove to our next checkpoint and I successfully avoided having a massive coronary.

Once again, my perceptions have been altered for the better by living abroad (that is, in a foreign country,  and not wearing a dress and make-up, you perv). A pragmatic approach was taken and a highly successful meme spread in reaction to a dense population and space being at a premium in Seoul.

On the way to the Army base I wondered if I could do the same thing in 'Merica? My first reaction was to rant and rave at being severely inconvenienced before I solved the riddle.

Would most 'Mericans! do the same?

Would my car be in the same shape as when I left it?

Would violence be visited upon my head?

Would the law be called?

Discuss.