Daily Archives: January 17, 2011

This Is Common Sense

I have forgotten one person besides Gibson Haynes, wherever the hell he is, to mention who has made me loony with joy over the years.

I have not told you that Steve Albini, instead of ripping your ears off with a chainsaw, has gone into the business of ensuring that other people cannot hear. I admire this. You had better too. Like I said, do not make me come here and explain to you that you are an idiot. By now, you should know if you are one. If not…

You will. Steve is like me, he is an Italian asshole with patience. He held a guitar and really wanted to hit you with it sometimes.

Art You Do Not Deserve

Since I am not an artist but a music fan, it would be wrong of me to not mention that David Yow is doing something else besides writing music for assholes who don’t appreciate him. He retouches photos now.

Yes. The guy that invented the “Tight and Shiny”, he likes to fix photos.

You are lucky that he does this for a living. Because if he did not, his music would probably make your asshole hurt. Which is what Dave’s idea of fun is. I should know. I went to every show they played in the New York area, and I was at a show with nothing but my friends that NO ONE came to. Instead, dumb Jersey hicks were waiting to see Monster Magnet, because they are on drugs.

I have been kicked by David Yow several times. I have sung in his microphone while he crowd surfed, and I use that term loosely because basically, he fell on the crowd, which was his intent. It was up to the crowd to deal with him after that.

He even lent me a cigarette after a show, which is an interesting gesture, because usually the crowd is NOT Dave’s friend. Oh, they paid their ticket, they enjoyed the ride, but they forgot the circus act.

If you think I’m crazy…you ain’t left your house in 20 years.

Goodbye, Blue Monday!

If you remember your Vonnegut, that is one of his drawings for his final work of utter hatred for mankind. After that, he just made fun of you and me.

I am used to being picked on, this is why I love to read Kurt Vonnegut. He reminds me that I suck. I don’t argue with a great writer’s pronunciamento. He died, and now his work gets to kick our ass. In case you don’t know, there is a new anthology of unpublished work of his in the bookstores.

I know my friends like to read. I am currently unpublished, save for this shitty blog. So, I thought I would just remind them of the new book. Don’t bother reading what I have to say. You have better things to do than to read what I just said.

As he would have said, “Listen:”, instead. He put a colon there because the thing he was going to say advanced the plot development so you could hang on his words. Literally. I honestly think Kurt Vonnegut, rather than hanging himself, would much rather have hanged you. But he wouldn’t. He had already seen Dresden on fire. That’s about enough for a day. I watched Iraq fall apart for a year, how do think I feel?

Pretty bad. I can’t believe I went there for nothing. That is not entirely true. I will tell you a story.

Before I left, I stayed with an Iraqi family that was close to the wire I had to guard every other week. God, guard duty sucks. No one wants to be on it, because usually nothing happens. Fortunately, I had the day shift most of the time.  It was there that I met Iraqi children. They were between the ages of ten and thirteen, always pushing each other around and yelling for the smaller kids to be quiet. That is how the Arab way of life is. Patronage. Seniority. Not many institutions in America have seniority. Only the Senate seems to get it.

Anyway, they demand candy from me. I think you all know how this works; all kids want candy.

In a meal pouch, you always get candy at the end. It is even part of the nutritional facts on the bottom of the bag; the bag says that a soldier needs about 2200 to 2600 calories. That sounds right; lazy people like us should only eat about 1600. Only if you are desperately in need of a weight adjustment do you go under that.

The funny thing in this tale is that soldiers perceive “Charms” candy to be bad luck. Can you believe what I just said? It’s like Halloween in a pit helmet. I’m almost so confused by the memory that I have nearly forgotten it. Soldiers put all kinds of stupid shit on their helmets. You already know this, Oliver Stone and Stanley Kubrick have already told you.

The kids wanted the candy, though. Why not? Their street had become a garbage pile. I would want a stick of gum if I saw that every day. So I gave them candy. The boys do not know what “strangers with candy” means. They were hitting me up every day and I was a foreign irritant in their daily lives. So, I did what any decent person would do. I would open the wire and give them candy and let them play with my Humvee and even goof of with my rifle, which of course was unloaded and the ammunition was in a pouch that not even I could get into at a moment’s notice. So, I figured I was safe, because if there is one more things that kids like other than candy, it is toys.

I had such a good time on the wire with them. One of their names was Ahmed, one named Hussein. No need to be afraid because he was not Saddam. He would even tell me, since he was Shi’a, that Saddam “no good!”. I had no choice at the time to disbelieve this. Normally when an Arab says something, guess what? You had better hear them correctly, or else things like 9/11 happen.

One thing I loved was when the girl kids would come to the wire. All the girls would shout at the boys for being idiots, which all men are. Women stay in Arab houses for a good reason: their dumbass men couldn’t run a household even if there were a baton attached to it. One thing I noticed was that the girls would not speak to me. All they did was give me disapproving looks. When I offered candy to them, they yelled at me to go away. I would shut the hell up at this time.

When women speak, you should listen carefully. That is my only lesson. It is a privilege of the male to be the head of the household in a sexist society. Little do men notice that their woman is the only thing keeping them from losing their hat, heads, and starvation.

Listen. I put a period there because this story has ended.

There Is Every Possibility That This Might Be A Good Day

It looks like a bit of snow is nearing. According to the weather, it will rain soon. I can tell you this; that even if there is only rain…it will be very cold here. So cold you will beg for a blanket.

Jim Morrison once said that there is danger on the edge of town. He did this very early in his career, and Elektra tried to give his work the high hard one just as they would do with the MC5 a little later on. Don’t get me wrong, for a big-ass production like Elektra, they have been good more than they have been bad. But Morrison said there is not danger in the town; when the blue bus arrived in town, he proclaimed that there were some weird scenes inside the gold mine.

Well, today, the country is supposed to be celebrating the death of one of its bona fide arbiters of peace, a man who said not to ride the god-damned bus.  I very much doubt that anyone will remember this; even though you will not be at work…or even if you are…you will not say a prayer for peace. I am an atheist: I do not pray, I wish. I pray with the religious, but that is because I know it is the right thing to do.

My hope for you is that your day is filled with calamity. This is not an unreasonable request. Most people I love really dig calamity. I wish for your calamity because you have killed your peace leaders, and pretend to mourn when the anniversary of your murder comes by. If you accede to the calamity of this “holiday”(and if I am not mistaken, normally holidays are reserved for people who are happy), then I am happy that you are sad. I am. I am sad that I belong to this generation, this post-boomer fuckup of volcanic proportions  called “Generation X” which I am only partially affiliated with.  I wish you all could be struck blind momentarily, or at least understand what it means to have ears by having your ears pop as you go to a high altitude. After that, I wish for you to regain your senses. Yup. Pain is simply temporary, and who am I to tell pain where to go? No one at all. I am not worthy to understand what pain means. I have never given birth, that is how I know this.

But one thing I do understand is a pain in the ass. I have children. I have two pains in the ass. My wife has three. I am a God-Damned Idiot who adds one more to her list of pains in her ass. Therefore, by the simple rules of logic, I am a pain in the ass.

I hope I have been a fucking pain in your ass today, and if you haven’t dealt with me yet, I hate to say this, but you will before the night ends. I will fuck your shit up beyond belief if you fucking DARE to come here like a moron and enter a “not-guilty” plea for killing a doctor of divinity, a man who had some complaints about the system much like the man he was named for when he had the balls to fuck up a church door with 95 of them. I am only talking about a man who died when he said no more to injustice. I don’t even have to name him; he is on your calendar today. So kids, don’t twitter irresponsibly, because I might use Facebook so they can hear you twitter. I know some of your names.

It is NOT my job for you to notice. It is my job to remind you to take notice. NOW. As my children know, if there are too many “ands, ifs or buts” I am going to plead with them not to say them, and maybe raise my voice so they know I am serious and that Dad is talking.

I ain’t your dad. I am your conscience. When you forget that you have one, it produces tears.

Goodnight, Dr. King. I am sorry I didn’t do enough.

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