I’ve been here, dogs getting obviously a little sick of me, their overstayed housepest, and I’ve been sitting on the couch (their couch) writing, watching TV, and playing just a couple of video games (just a couple? really.), what do I do now? Maybe fix the damn couch. Push out the ass-dents and patch up tears in it too. Heck, do something new.
Well, damn it, I’m going old school. Apple peel spaghetti and the discards for an apple pie. If that fails, another Chianti.It’s a little more messy that online air hockey, but there’s no loser with apples.
The big Kahuna Corona is changing my life, that’s for sure. There are more reruns on TV so I finally can watch old boxing matches like all the ones that led to the Thrilla in Manila, Hearns v. Hagler, and most of the white Tyson ( a real monster of a slugger) and so finally I get what people have been talking about. Also, I’m looking forward to do all work remotely, so the study shall be the office, with every day casual Friday. I can’t wait for Nude November, Juicy July, or ….. dream on, dreaming on.
On good thing, the only Corona that’s gotten through my defenses here is this one:
Lucha libre at Precision Camera – Austin, Texas I’m back again with another Lucha libre Photo Essay like I did last year. For the second year in a row, Precision Camera put on a Mexican wrestling event outside their store. As you can imagine, it was a fantastic photo op. While I probably won’t go […]
I found this post, and had to share. Yes, it’s a repost from somenone else, so no credit taken. I’ve been a big fan since my single digit ages, and still see (saw ) Lucha Vavoom, and Lucha Underground, and all those old Mexican movies with Blue Demon.
I love the mythos and the humor. It takes you back to the old Greek plays where the audience was lifted up beyond their simple earth-bound lives.
Hello all (or whoever, really), Hope you’re all ok. I’m ok, I think. At least I’m not one of those out there happy to drink the Kool-Aid that our latest Jim Jones reincarnation is telling us to. Can you believe it?
We’re killing off the planet and everything on it and our leader is telling us windmills cause cancer and Lysol is a great kind of gargle. Where is the proof of evolution going forward? That, and we’re back in our caves.
I’m charring driftwood and rubbing it on my walls, drawing animals I see walking free out in the streets.
It might be a kind of devolution, or deconstruction, and for me, it’s good. I appreciate what’s out there a bit more and not just the simple diversions but the life that is getting a short reprieve from our mess that we force upon them.
So true
These days of wine and roses(now burning in the California heatwave) I do no miss my job, the grinding wheel I have to drive to and the stress it involves. I Know, pressure makes diamonds, but it also makes you a bit on edge and at times, overly defensive of above mentioned grinding wheel?
A liberty mocha and a .38 Special.
so now at home, I get to see the California aquatic wildlife up close.
Some say that even with the dangers of mental harm during isolation, there is also the chance of finding you true selves, the ones we have buttoned up in society
So, in this gift of time, after you delved deep, who who are you now?
In the meanwhile, I leave you this:
It is my intention to forget. While there’s still time I’ll stand outside of this. While there’s still time I’ll resist your point of view. I’ll dance around the ring while there’s still time.
Nothing happens twice. raise a glass of wine and try to still time.
Gonna build this empty space while there’s still time. Gonna drag my cart piled high while there’s still time. Gonna build another bomb and hope the doctor comes while there’s still time.
Trails across the map, they’ll be dragging something back from the ashes and the stones. Save the bones for Henry Jones while thee’s still time.
To the splendor and the crimes. Nothing happens twice. Raise a glass of wine and try to still time.
Hello people, I’ve been hiding in my bunker and the only thing saving some of the little sanity left is writing. I’ve been working and submitting as I hate most network tv and I seldom manage to gain control of the remote anyway, and the dogs leave the room I walk into as they are pretty sick of us being around all the time. I don’t blame them.
I am thrilled that I’ve checked out some great stuff like the Complete Stories of Roald Dahl from the library before they all closed up but would gladly pay a late fee just to be able to browse again and joke with the librarians.
I don’t know how you al work, but it was great getting away from the home to write or even to type outside my fave cafe (love that java) or Italian deli (love that Chianti) and be free of the reminders of all the things to do at home for a while. Now….. How do you do it?
Mr. Martin Quezada, the typewriter resurrectionist at International Office Machines in San Gabriel, CA finished touching up my oldest machine ( I think, as the exact date is a question) and it is looking fine at the office.
I would use another, like the Rocket, Remington, or the KMM (which is next to be revived) for the heavier work as in the story for COLD HARD TYPE lll, but this is a pleasure to use. It’s in the office now because it is so quiet and elegant here.
Does anyone out there have one of these or at least an idea on its birthdate?
No, I am thankful for what I have and have had, but……. I’ve always had headaches before, during, and after while everyone promises to do this again.
William S. Burroughs had some words on Thanksgiving in the US:
For John Dillinger in hope he is still alive.
Thanks for the wild turkey and the passenger pigeons Destined to be shit out through wholesome American guts Thanks for a continent to despoil and poison Thanks for Indians to provide a modicum of challenge and danger Thanks for vast herds of bison to kill and skin leaving the carcasses to rot Thanks for bounties on wolves and coyotes Thanks for the American dream To vulgarize and to falsify until the bare lies shine through Thanks for the KKK For nigger-killing lawmen feeling their notches For decent church-going women with their mean, pinched, bitter, evil faces Thanks for “Kill a Queer for Christ” stickers Thanks for laboratory AIDS Thanks for Prohibition And the war against drugs Thanks for a country where nobody’s allowed to mind their own business Thanks for a nation of finks Yes, thanks for all the memories, all right let’s see your arms! You always were a headache and you always were a bore Thanks for the last and greatest betrayal Of the last and greatest of human dreams
OK, for all you under the age of 25, if not 35, he wrote Naked Lunch.
Ok, it took some time to get back. Not having a portable typewriter has paralyzed me. I’m a zombie. I can think, but can’t say the words, just moan something like ….. braaaaaaiiins….
I can’t write with my digits in rigor.
Shirley Jackson got me out of my funk. Just read “Let Me Tell You”. Right from the first story, “Paranoid”, my joints unlocked. I could finally smile (ever see a zombie smile?).
I still need my Rocket, or my Remington Noiseless 8 (it’s nearly a portable), by I’m s\thawing enought to use this already nearly obsolete plastic thing I sometimes call thedistractomatic.
Back to poetry. Poetry, the word, is just a word. Like anything, we can change the name if the name doesn’t sound right in your gearbox. Hell, words are turds, Changing the name does nothing to change IT. Even if it is a turd a rose needs it to grow. Not the other way around. If I could change names anywhere I could, I would switch the words poetry and gelatto. Not bad. I would like some more delicious poetry, please. I love it with some cool gelatto.
Onyx typer 