Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Day Drinkers and Hot Rods

Maybe it's the randomness that gets me. All I've got for you is some truth. In this day and age that's rare. I'm not sure that the throngs are screaming for it.

Heaven? Reincarnation? I wish I believed.

Evil? I wish I didn't.

When I was twelve I loved professional wrestling. Oh, I knew it wasn't real but I loved the melodrama and the spectacle. I was aware that there were folks who did believe it.

Now the network news is crazier than anything I ever saw on television wrestling. Ever. 

No wonder rock'n'roll is on the ropes. Why would anybody turn on wrestling when Sean Spicer comes out from under a rock for the TV cameras mid-day every day. American culture is all one big reality show. 

It must be hard to sell LSD now, too.

Monday, March 27, 2017

Right Makes Tight

When Mike and Frank drive off from a pick, I tear up as they hang out the windows of the van waving goodbye while the folks left behind call out, "Come back any time. Be safe."

I really can't watch TV ads at all around the holidays.

Of course I want to adopt every shelter animal while being well aware that they're the relatively lucky ones and I never see the gigantic tree service trucks in the neighborhood without worrying about squirrel families being displaced.

As fashion and I move in opposite directions, as usual, this one is okay with me. I won't ever be hip. I hope I'll usually be kind. World economies are only important up to the point that hungry folks are fed and everyone has shelter.

If you justify a "defense" budget based on your religion, you might want to consider your faith and check on a new one.

Sunday, March 26, 2017

The Captain's Table

All this gold and me without a thing to wear. I've just brushed my teeth and I can't do a thing with them.

Pass the kimchi, please.

Oh, by the way- I thought I saw Yuang Yang Kim throwing something off the Hwang Mangeyong bridge.

Papa San caught the bird flu last September and died. Mama spent the insurance settlement on super teeth whitening and tends to date younger men. Mostly men.

I'll have another helping of dog.

These days I spend most of my time in tight skirts thinking about nuclear annihilation up on the Hwang Mangeyong bridge.

Once you've seen the Kim Sister's Topless Review on the strip in Vegas it's hard to get that darned thing out of your head. Yeah, Kim Rich Un, Kim Kung Fu and Kimmie Rhodes tantalize and delight with their rich, exotic harmonies. I think I'll have some more tofu.

Saturday, March 25, 2017

Too Tight

Poor old Gandhi. If the Hindu assassin's bullets hadn't gotten him first, TIME's young girl scandal was waiting. I suppose lust would have surely done me in, too, if I weren't so awkward socially. Oh, I have no regrets.

Of course I would like to think that I would be better at it all given another chance. Of course. I wouldn't.

I wouldn't.

Friday, March 24, 2017

Hillbillies, Barflies and Jutterbigs

You never forget the shock of foil on a filling. The thrill of gazing into the lights, knowing that thousands are looking back, never dims. The helpless elation that buckles your knees as you fall in love, in my experience, trumps all other memories.

Is there anyone out there who doesn't crumble when that song plays in the background in the grocery store? 

Oh, I know perfectly well that it's just biology. It was a central part of the design so that life would perpetuate. Something that would make sex more desirable than goofy golf. Napping. Television.

If falling in love is the pinnacle of life then I suppose that the end of love must be the nadir.

Those memories? More precious than rare jewels or more useless than tits on a bull?

Who knows? Who cares?

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Safe At Home

When I was a kid I was afraid of the dark. Sometimes. Now darkness is comforting. I'm still afraid, though. Sometimes. My mind keeps me on short leash. I suppose that if you don't quite know what scares you, then you're anxious, not afraid. 

Weapons of war are mean. That's the point of war, right? We spend too much on war, not enough on love. We salute the generals, we overlook the saints.

Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.

Wednesday, March 22, 2017

Get A Hat, Drop Dead

Any lawyer will tell you, "You can't represent yourself." Explains a lot or, in my case, provides excuse and rationalization. 

Oh, I've had producers, managers, publicists, booking agents and record promo men. Lawyers, too. Never at the same time, of course. Never at the right time.

It's been a decade or more since anyone put forth effort to "manage" me. As much as I have appreciated every attempt to help me out, I've known for a long time that it's a futile, if not thankless, task. I can't be managed.

The world has never wanted what I have to sell. At least not much of the world. This "business" that I'm in kindly refers to me as a cult artist. Of course I'm just proud to be called artist, cult or otherwise. Nobody wants LOSER chiseled in his headstone.

Folks with good intentions have suggested hats, attitudes, songs and death as career moves. That last one always intrigued me but I may not be serious enough about success. Besides, I think I waited for too long.