The Wilderness Years - The Perfect Barbarian

 It's been awhile since we last saw our hero so to refresh the memory... when last seen our boy was driving home and singing at that top of his lungs after having orchestrated his release from the warehouse and in doing so obtaining unemployment bennies for the next six months, he then proceeded to head down to his little corner bar for a night of business and celebration... a six month paid vacation courtesy of a dipshit square, a general manager who would never understand or approve of the lifestyle of his former minion though he may have been a bit intrigued by his business acumen... it was a wonderful life... all our hero had to do was keep his shit wired tight, keep his ass out of jail, juggle various women and keep the wheels greased and running smooth... sounds simple enough... of course he would have to do this while partying like a fucking rock star but the truth was he had both practice and experience in this area... 

It was around this time in the history of the King of North Oakland that one could say he had began reach the top of Maslow's pyramid... the old hierarchy of needs... who knew that those old college communication courses would come in handy... having spent countless hours staring at that old colored pyramid and not really giving a shit about it other than to pass an exam or two... i had been well ensconced in the self-esteem phase by this point... i was well respected ranking hood, i was confident in my ability to handle my business, both professional and personal and one could argue that i had become a unique individual according the good Mssr. Maslow... the fact was i was generating enough income to live outside of the system and what i found is that if one had the money a lot of questions seemed to go by the wayside, like renting apartments or dining at swanky restaurants, plunk down some cash and one is greeted with a smile and a nod... but at this point i can say that i was now skipping my way towards the top of that old pyramid and becoming the self-actualized individual old Abe thought we all aspired to be... 

The plan when i had dropped out of grad school was to move back to the Burgh and pick up where i had left off, in the only business i had every truly aspired to be good at, slinging weed... a quick recap in the evolution and education of a weed dealer.... first study the guys doing it, watch what they did right and what they did wrong... Cowboy Dan and Hippie Jack were the two main case studies with Cocaine Mike basically being a study in what not to do... these were my teachers... and so as has been previously documented when Cowboy Dan lost the plot myself and a friend and i discovered a connection and took up the mantle of Podunk U.'s weed suppliers, basically the only game in town, i financed my end by cash advancing a credit card knowing i had to succeed or i'd be even more broke and with no help available as the parents were in the midst of a divorce battle... i quickly managed to pay the card off so that the seed money was now mine and now the profit went straight into my pocket... and being the only game in Podunk profits were good... 

Fast forward... after a summer working at the beach, a month of homelessness and couch surfing, the good Doctor and i scored a place in North Oakland and began working a series of shit jobs... first night stock at the local supermarket chain and then me moving onto the bagel store gig where i could heist food and dollars from the dollar deal special they ran and being between connections that $10-15 extra a day was like fucking gold nuggets... then luck shined again and i lucked into a connection that would front me two pounds at a time and once again the money began to roll right in... i gave some of the proceeds to the good Doctor who stated he didn't want to be involved but had no problem hanging and answering the door and since he was my best friend back then i thought it only fair to give him a cut... the only worry was supply which could be a bit spotty due to the connection having to drive roughly 90 minutes to re-up and the organization that involved... the connection, an old college friend, had lucked into a source provided by his old high school friend whose father had set him up in the business from the state pen... the old man was a coke kingpin back in the day supplying all the rock stars in late 70s and 80s California... there's an old story on the lounge about my friend and i driving that 90 minutes in the Doctor's car through treacherous conditions (basically a snowstorm) with five pounds of weed in the back seat, this being dawn of the Clinton Era where more people went to the can for weed than ever before wiping out with five pounds of gear was not an option, my friend and i didn't want to be cellmates and when we finally were safely back in our hood we both let out a sigh and my friend asked if i was just ignoring all the cars that had spun out and wrecked to which i laughed and replied, "yes!"... 

Things rolled right along until late May when the Source was visited by some nice men with fancy badges who stated they knew what he was up to and should stop or that soon they would have all the proof they needed but decided to give him some friendly advice... needless to say the source closed up shop and kept the money he had made, a wise decision no doubt but one that left me hanging and so with grad school looming i followed a girl back to the beach and worked the rest of the summer there at the Fry Hut making money... then came grad school... 

The ill-fated time in grad school has been well-documented in Raskolnikov's Blues, a year spent even deeper in the "wilderness" where our hero was forced to use all his wit and guile to stay afloat... dropping out second semester after making sure the loans came through so that there would be some cash to live off of... washing dishes off the books at the local coffeehouse... relying on the kindness of various women, namely his girlfriend and the kind cashier at the university dining hall who would let him in for free so he could eat... and of course the old fallback, slinging weed... hindsight being what it is i can now say, unequivocally, that the weed i was selling at this point was the worst i'd ever sell, bought from up an uptight and high strung douche who's prices were basically exorbitant to say the least, had there not been a serious weed drought in Podunk at the time i'd have been fucked, this shit was brown and dry and absolute shit, one knows how shit it is when one is apologizing for it as you take the money which is exactly what i was doing... 

After another (and final) summer at the beach working two jobs and endless hours just to dig myself out of a hole and make sure i had some money for rent i moved back to the Burgh with the sole purpose of selling weed... once again i was forced to go through the uptight dipshit but luck always seemed to find me... sitting in one of my favorite (now gone) boozers i bumped into an old co-worker and her old ex boyfriend who just happened to be an old hippie... yes it was Hippie Jack and after our initial conversation i met him the next day to get a sample of his wares... yes it was much better than what i was getting not to mention a slightly better price, the reality of it was i could confidently sell this for what i was asking without any hassle and so a deal was struck and i began getting half pounds off Hippie Jack... soon it would be a pound and then after a couple months two at a time, usually cash in hand though after he got to know me Jack realized i was good for it and would front me a half or whole pound if i needed it... it was the first X-mas i knew him, a scant three months after meeting, when he stated i was the best thing to happen to him and that i was an ace at moving shit, that he had even gone so far as to tell Mr. Big about me and told me he was going to introduce me... 

Then Hippie Jack discovered rock (introduced me to it as well which was luckily a short lived romance i am thankful to have survived frankly) and shit went south real quick... he was robbed (most likely by Cocaine Mike) and out of the business per Mr. Big... he tried to keep me in the stable but after a shit deal with a couple of junkies, Franny and Ollie, i was in the market for a supplier again... just so happened that Cocaine Mike had replaced Hippie Jack as Mr. Big's new distributor and so i got on board with him for an ill-fated stint which ended up with Cocaine Mike fucking up the money much like Hippie Jack and being out of the game as well... which i can say was honestly a relief, in a business full of fuck-ups and psychos this guy was both... 

These were worrying days for our hero here as he knew he couldn't survive off the slightly more than minimum wage he was making at the party store warehouse and was without a steady supplier... it was at this point that i got connected to Max and Ruby... Max was a rich kid from near Philly who was playing house with Ruby, it was a great connection while it lasted, Max was getting some pretty high end weed along with some middle of the road stuff so i actually had variety for a brief period, throw in the fact that he was also getting mushrooms and i was practically a full service psychedelics outlet... once again the only problem was supply, i was moving shit at a pretty good clip and Max had to rely on his boy driving him the gear every couple of weeks... i did a good job of stretching it when supply ran low, sometimes explaining to people that i had to spread it around so that everyone was happy, luckily stoners are not cokeheads so people were cool about it... and things were running smoothly though i could see the trouble brewing, one on the domestic front with Max and Ruby and two, and more importantly, with the fact Max's boy was a bit of an overly paranoid asshat with apparent anger issues...

One fine evening as i was going to re-up on weed and shrooms, between the time i got off the phone and the ride over Max's boy had called and Max had mistakenly stated that he had eight pounds and not ten, he quickly corrected himself but it was too late as Anger Issues had started screaming and told him he was turning around and coming back cuz Max was trying to fuck him over and blah blah fucking blah... another shining example of motherfuckers lucking into something they can't fucking handle... and so i got there and was told to go back home cuz Anger Issues needed to come back and ream out Max... i left and came back a few hours later but i knew how this story would end, granted it lasted a few more months, Max had went from getting five pounds to getting 10 or 12 cuz as he told his boy he had one guy who moved roughly 85-90% of the weed and about half the mushrooms... in the end it wasn't Anger Issues who nixed the deal but a breakup between Max and Ruby... I paid one last visit to their place, Ruby was already gone, Max was leaving at the end of the month to move back east and wouldn't be getting anymore gear, he did offer me the option of driving and meeting halfway but that was more risk than it was worth... i grabbed close to three pounds to get me through a couple weeks as i looked for an new supplier... 

Interspersed between suppliers there was always Pizza Joe and his cadre of hoodlums who hung out around his bar and pizza shop, when things got desperate and a steady supply chain was shaky at best i'd hit up Pizza Joe who would call his boy and sell me a pound or two of Mexican brick weed... of course it was always "fire" as the kids liked to say but it was always anything but... it was fucking brick weed, granted it was greener than the shit i was peddling in grad school and better quality but compared to what i had usually managed to procure it was most definitely a step down... but it's always better to have gear than be dry and one of my claims to fame was the fact that i was very rarely out of weed and if i was it was only for a day or two until things got worked out... i had a rare talent for finding something and being rather dedicated to my craft people were always telling me about a guy who knows a guy who can get the best shit... 98% of the time it was bullshit but those other 2% were golden... throw in my brief forays of selling the locally grown kind bud with the seeds clandestinely smuggled back from Amsterdam (this is long before the US became the weed capital of the world) and i had always managed to piece things together so that the money would sometimes trickle and sometimes roll right in... 

Which of course brings us to the current day, working with and scheming against Stiv, yes it was nothing more than dumb luck and being good at what i did that led him to my door... if one recalls Stiv was a friend of Gulfboot's girlfriend way back when, he clocked my business when someone said thank you rolling out the door of my apartment and was soon showing up and buying two ounces which he in turn sold to an engineer at exorbitant prices, a customer who would subsequently be turned over to me when Stiv left for his ill-fated trip to the Pac-North... Stiv's old punk rock buddy was hooked into the pipeline and since Stiv was in tough straits after his debacle on the Puget Sound his friend decided to help him out mainly cuz Stiv told him he had a guy in the Burgh who could move shit... and what started as me taking five pounds at a time on the front would soon grow into the one man juggernaut flipping forty pounds every three or four days... or as the saying goes, the rest is history... 

And so there i was.... freshly laid off and on the dole, flipping forty pounds a week minimum with a net of roughly 6-8 grand a week... honestly? what the fuck? working was for suckers and squares... i had set out to pay off my student loans and bank a little money and now i had done a lot more than that... i could have walked into the bank and paid off my loans in cash and still had a safe full of $1000 bundles... i had reached that top of Abe's old pyramid... the old self actualization... having set out to sell weed i was not only selling weed i was living the life... i wasn't selling anything that would kill someone (morality), i had managed to piece things together in any number of ways to keep the money coming in (creativity), i could live and do what i wanted when i wanted (spontaneity), and i was fully accepting and embracing who i was and what i did (acceptance)... i may have been living outside the bounds of society's "norms" but i was living in a fully actualized state of being...  in short i had become what my father and uncle had theorized... i was now the Perfect Barbarian. 

Fathers and Sons vol. 2

 ---- in attempting to start this post, Paco aka Phat Paco aka Pacito, decided it would be a swell time to jump up onto my lap and take a nap... now if one has ever lived with a 20lb cat one would understand the difficulty in typing while said kitty decided to take a nap in one's lap... and as it's been well documented that i am a complete sucker for my cats i had to let him chill for a bit, he curled up into a ball and slept and purred and then his brother Archie came down to see what was up... Archie then walked into another room and since it was obvious to all involved there must be something awesome in that other room Paco immediately jumped down to follow his brother... these two in particular crack me up on a daily basis and it's interesting to see how Archie has brought Paco out of his shell a bit... they're buddies... having stumbled upon a great observation, about how our pets are part of our lives but we are their whole life and that we should not take for granted the time we have with them so i sometimes put off what i was going to do in order to spend more time with them, let them lounge on me, toss the jingle ball or string for them to chase, (Paco is a fetcher and will bring the toy back to have me toss it again) but it's something that i keep in mind when it comes to my cats... and probably something i should keep in mind when it comes to humans it's just that i tend to like cats more than i like most people... ----

We move through days... much of the time caught up in the trivial bullshit that encompasses modern living in a a culture based on consumption... and of course these days there is the ever present shit show known as Dumbfuckistan which could easily eat up most of the waking hours if one let it but there are other posts for that... from the Longest Day (Feb. 13) to the Last Day (May 16) i tend to think a lot about that time seven years ago, going back and forth to Cleveland, cleaning out my dad's apartment, hanging out with him in his assisted living home, i think a lot about the relationship i had with my father, sometimes things dawn on me and it reminds me how much i loved that guy, how much i still miss him and how there are many times when i still talk to the air as if i'm talking to him, maybe it's those little things that in my own mind keep him alive because i thought the world of him, yes i know he was human and yes i know he had his flaws (and he would be the first to tell you that) but dammit if he wasn't one of the most decent and honorable human beings i've ever met, much more so than his wayward son... though i do know Pops was endlessly amused by the shenanigans of his only boy... 

Thinking of Pops inevitably bring me around to my own sons, his grandsons, the boyos, and my ever evolving relationship with the two of them... i understand now (that i'm older) that when you're young your dad (sadly i must add, if he's around and/or involved) is this mountain, this rock, this pillar of stability that offers safety and knowledge and wisdom... not that this necessarily is true in all cases and in fact most times it is not... on one hand this, call it myth for lack of a better word, is perpetrated on men through an outdated and crumbling mindset, most likely rooted in that consumer culture which attempts to make men feel inadequate if they don't have a garage full of tools and landscaping equipment and golf clubs... (for the record i have none of those, yes i have things to take care of the "yard" and this also presupposes that we're all affluent white people living in the tree-lined suburbs, a close study of advertisements of all sorts and one can easily see the narrative being pushed/sold to both men and women), i'd say that a decent number of men would like to lounge around watching the telly or spend time down at the old pub debating any number of things or better yet getting laid (though ads do tend to insinuate that if you have the aforementioned things you'll get laid)... a far cry from the image that's being sold and much closer to what i'd call the truth... (Honest Abe somewhat said the same thing...)

Looking back at my own life i understand why and how i ended up being what the suburban sect would call "weird"... i watched my father do what he thought he was supposed to do only to have it all yanked out from under him... his job downsized out of existence (only after he redesigned the company's whole accounting system), his wife bolting mainly due to that fact... i was 21 when it happened, barely a man, but i saw the crippling effect it had, that pillar was suddenly crumbling and when he looked around what was there? who and what did he have? it was in the great middle management purge in the early to mid 90s, done in order to increase shareholder value, that the suicide rate of men in their 40s and 50s began to skyrocket, why? that was easy... because everything they'd ever known, everything they'd been told they should do, turned out to be a lie... a handshake and a severance check and good luck out there... i worried about my own father and he was the most even keeled guy one could imagine... luckily he had his family,, not his soon to be ex-wife or his daughter who was wrapped up in her own world but his brothers and sister, his mom, and his son... 

One of the things i miss most are the long conversations i had with my father and now, as that strange and wonderful thing called existence is apt to do, it's come around to conversations i have as a father with my sons... the Imac is now starting to take those baby steps into adulthood, going off to university and learning what it's like to live on his own while understanding he still has a safety net... Disaster is still winding his way through high school and it's interesting to watch them both as they are most definitely different in their approaches to things... if i can say i've done anything right in this parenting game it's that i've cultivated a love of knowledge along with a healthy dose of skepticism, instilling that they need to think for themselves and questions things and not blindly accept what  they've been told by would be "authorities", before the Imac went off to college i schooled him in his civil rights as small town cops are one of the worst types of the species especially when it comes to college students... and while the Imac has always been eyeing my bookshelf i've noticed that Disaster is suddenly beginning to eye it up as well, even commenting on the book i was reading the other day (by Noam Chomsky) and stating it looks interesting and asking if he could read it, i told him of course he could and that he could read any book on those shelves... after he walked away i doubt you could have punched the smile off my face... 

But back to that circle of fathers and sons... with the Imac up at school i often laugh when my phone rings and it's the boy on some excited diatribe on the state of things... there are strains of his old man running through his excited rambling and i'll be damned if i don't hear the calm and calculated tones of my father when conversing with him... these days most of our conversations are about politics, the hegemony of white butthurt, the world of futbol or his interest in a certain plant... yes the boy likes his cannabis and while it started when he was in high school (and seriously who doesn't start smoking weed in high school? if one is partial to that sort of thing) he has a genuine interest in the science behind it while still maintaining his status as partying college student... Disaster, on the other hand, is just now coming into his own and talking about all kinds of things with me but his two favorite seem to be space and the universe at large (he just wrote a paper on the Big Bang Theory, the event not the tv show) and posing me philosophical questions, sometimes pulled from social media, to which i often am stumped and tell him i need to think about it which then leads to us talking about it for a bit... to say their weird old father loves this stuff would be and understatement as it's one of my favorite parts of this mortal coil i'm wandering through... 

Which of course brings me round to this mortal coil... if there's one thing i've tried to drive home to the boyos is that someday they will have only each other and they need to look after and out for one another... the BW has a close relationship with her siblings, one in particular she's really close with unlike myself who is pretty much estranged from both my mother and sister, things previously well documented her at the lounge... and it warms their old man's heart when i watch how they make time to hangout with each other when the Imac comes home from school... yes they still have their brotherly battles, that's part of the game growing up but i also see how close they are and it brings me a sense of comfort... there is an interesting dichotomy between the way they process and handle things... the Imac being far more emotional and reactive, he wears his emotions on his sleeve yet still seems to get over or move by things quickly, he has an understanding and self awareness of things even when he's being a right shit and will freely admit, after the fact, that he was a right shit... 

Disaster, is a much more reserved when it comes to things, he does not wear his emotions on his sleeve like his big brother but feels just as deeply if not more so... this trait also reminds him of his old man as his father has often been told, by numerous people including the BW, that i keep things in and yes i worry about my boy being like his old man cuz i do understand the need to let things out... my baby boy is a lot more sensitive than he let's on and there are times when he hangs onto those feelings unlike his big brother who can be screaming at you one minute and pleasant and smiling the next, (often the Imac doesn't understand why the party being berated hasn't moved on in an instant but his mama often tells him, particularly when it's her in the crosshairs, that the other party is allowed to have feelings as well and might not get over it as fast)... these days i have a pretty good read on when Disaster is pissed or upset and also unlike his brother who tends to talk his way through it Disaster is more like his old man, he processes and eventually moves on but doesn't say much... they are each their own person and damn if their old man doesn't love them both even when he's frustrated with them though i laugh thinking about what Pops must have thought dealing with his kid... 

Which brings me to the words... when i talk about someday they'll have to look out for each other it's interesting to see how they handle it, meaning their father will be gone... i remember how they both talked to their mom about the day my father passed and the Imac stating he was surprised by how well i handled it... granted i had time to prepare, i knew it was coming and i knew it would be sooner than later... when i speak to the boyos about my impending exit there's a marked difference to how they respond... the Imac is very pragmatic, he understands when i discuss how that's the natural order of things and that's how it hopefully shakes out... when i speak of death being a part of life and that there's nothing to fear about the former he takes it all in and understands what i'm getting at... 

Disaster, on the other hand, handles it a bit differently, granted i know he's young, at 15 you don't want to think about that sorta shit and it's a bit frightening when you do... recently i was talking about things as his other grandfather probably doesn't have much time left, the man is scared shitless of his demise and one of the main reasons is he wasted most of his life being a horrible shitbag... i was talking about if you live a decent life, love the people you care about unconditionally, find things that interest you to study and learn, use the mind and body to the fullest and enjoy the ride you won't have that fear... i explained i didn't fear it and wasn't all that worried about it when it happens and it was at that point that Disaster turned and looked at me and said, i don't like when you talk like that... and it was one of those moments... sometimes people don't realize how much someone loves them until it hits them square in the face... i could see the look on my son's face, he's always been his father's son, i raised him when he was a little dude, his brother at school and his mom at work it was me and him, in that moment i realized how much the kid loved his old man and the thought of him not being around was horrible to him (and something i could fully relate to)... it also struck me that though one never knows when the number is up that i needed to watch how and when i talked about it to him, how hopefully i'll have the time to talk about it later on down the line but even then i know he'll be uncomfortable with the conversation... but it'll be okay... i also understand just how much the kid loves his dad... and he understands how much his dad loves him... both the boyos do... 

And so i move through these days doing the best i can to help develop and raise decent human beings... ultimately i know it's up to them and they can be whoever and whatever they want to be but i also realize that they've grown up around people who are empathetic, compassionate, kind, interested in the world around them, thoughtful, skeptical, critical thinkers, who enjoy a good laugh (and a good time) and i know that they've developed these traits on their own as well, yeah one could argue the nurture vs. nature thing and how they've been raised but i tend to believe that we all have to make our own way and our own decisions and take responsibility for that... looking at the boyos i know they are on their way to being decent human beings... yes they have their flaws, like both their father and grandfather, but i'd tell them Pops would like who they've become and to keep up the good work... their weird and once wild man father would tell them the same thing... 

Lumpen Prole of Suburbia - vol. 2

 There is that famous quote, attributed to Sinclair Lewis though it's never been proven that he said the exact words, that when fascism comes to America it would be wrapped in a flag and carrying a bible... and while when looking at the current state of things and what's happened over the last few decades one could easily agree with that statement i might add that when fascism comes to America most of the population will be asleep or distracted by their phones... one might also add they may not be able to read above a 6th grade level or think critically and will believe a media that has now been gobbled up by conglomerates that will use those entities to advance their own agenda under the guise of reporting the "news"... and i'm not just talking about the propaganda channel known as Faux or it's fledgling competitors with catchy names like America Rules Yeah! (though i do find it interesting in the age of apps how there are now some independent tools being developed to help people cut through the bullshit, informing the reader of who owns the news source, what bias they show, things of that ilk... of course one would have to be civically engaged to use such a thing and when the biggest portion of the voting block are the apathetic non-voters one could question how valuable a tool like this would be, mainly because you need people to pay attention and as we know if it's not broken down into easily digestible one or two minute blocks that's a stretch...) 

Over half the adult population in Dumbfuckistan reads at or below a 6th grade level, the average level for the entire country is 7-8th grade level... easily the biggest myth in America today is that of American Exceptionalism though if one went to the gym where i swim one would find many of the red hat set bleating on and on about how fucking awesome we are, of course ask them why and one will likely be met with a blank stare, then be called a "communist or a faggot" while never actually receiving an answer to the question... basically what the red hat is inferring is if one doesn't know why "we're great" said individual falls into one or both of those groups cuz like uh because... currently one of the biggest threats we face as a nation is that of the Dunning Kruger, the level and lack of self-awareness, critical thinking skills, civil discourse, is at an all-time low, precipitated by the largest and loudest of the DK crowd, the man who knows everything until a shit show (see scandal) starts then apparently knows nothing, the Orange Shitgibbon... when one thinks about a guy standing at a podium and exclaiming, i love stupid people, while the crowd cheers that statement it's not a big stretch to think that one is an extra in the movie Idiocracy... 

In Erich Fromm's book Escape from Freedom he talks about the fact that freedom is hard, it requires a level of intellectual and civic engagement, he then states the reason so many will give it up knowingly while pretending to still have it is for that very reason, the reason they'll submit to an authoritarian is because deep down they need a daddy to tell them what to do, who to hate, how to think and to reinforce their worst forms of racism, sexism, bigotry et al... the red hats have fallen hook, line and sinker for this shit and it poses a very real quandary to those of us sitting in the middle and living in it... toss in the fact that those corporate masters, the oligarchs and plutocrats who donated millions upon millions to buy the legislative branch and certain segments of the judiciary are only concerned with maximizing profit at the expense of the lumpen proles and the environment... more aptly put they can't see the forest through the trees... but what they really want and have successfully done is to create a society where the vast majority, the super-majority, are nothing more than indentured servants, strung out on the guise of capitalism that is telling them how they need to "grind" to get ahead while the masters know full well the minions will never get ahead, they use the tactics of distract and divide to keep the proles fighting with each other instead of clamoring at the gates of the castle... this vision the masters broadcast to the minions is called the American Dream and it's a ruse, a mirage, sold to the suckers who believe a large flat screen television and the newest smartphone are the signs of success...

Of course now we have a small cabal of oligarchs, most of whom inherited their wealth, working behind the scenes in hopes of envisioning their dreams of the techno-state... dividing up the country and world into kingdoms where the population would be beholden to the masters, much like the company towns of yesteryear these "visionaries" want to literally take us back to the bad old days where one worked for the company, lived in the company house, shopped at the company stores and basically was forced to accept what the company gave them in working conditions and compensation... the choice was to fall in line or see one's family and themselves ostracized and starving in the hinterlands, the game also involved inflated prices of goods and living quarters in order to keep the lumpen proles indebted to their masters... call it slavery and with today's technology once booted from one techno-state one would be proper fucked if they revolted as the name and ID number would be disseminated to all the other techo-masters to make sure the other slaves didn't get any funny ideas about doing the same thing... any organized uprising would be of course violently put down by the private security forces of the ruler... something that is not unheard of in the history of this country... (i can easily drive to the site of the Homestead Strike, one of many examples of violence in this country perpetrated upon workers when demanding better wages and working conditions...) 

The fact is we are currently living through a coup, where a would be king and his cabal of white nationalists issues edicts without worrying about that pesky legislative branch and if those edicts are challenged, the king and his minions begin issuing calls to, more or less, eliminate the judiciary... remember why the Shitgibbon loves the stupid? they clap and cheer and buy more shit merchandise as their country slides into a dictatorship... having no understanding of history, having no ability to critically think about the situation and what they are willingly giving up they fail to understand that they too at some point will be told to take a knee to the ruler and the ruling class, some who thought this would be a great thing have found out rather swiftly that losing their job, their health care, the programs for their kids isn't all it was built up to be while simultaneously whining that they didn't think it would happen to "them", it was supposed to be for those "others", you know the  ones who don't look like "them" and don't speak the language, who might not tote around a crucifix and what not... they clutch their faux Wal-mart pearls and cry into their social media posts... there is no use being in the "i told you so crowd", what needs to happen now is to get those people to understand what they need to do... if that's even possible... as Carl Sagan so aptly pointed out, those who have been bamboozled do not like to admit they've been so, they'd rather go along with the lie then admit they were suckers... 

Which then brings us to the other interesting bit about the new #1 shithole country... there is no opposition party to the current regime... at least not one with any sort of backbone or as the football coaches say, intestinal fortitude, why? as always follow the money... it wasn't that long ago that the White Grievance Party (gop) looked to be on it's way to the morgue but these days that would be the blue boys who seem to have gotten kicked so hard in their blue balls that they've decided the best course of action is to do nothing... or damn near next to nothing, they'll pretend they have a plan but except for a handful of actual voices calling out the bullshit they may as well be called the Wet Noodle Party aka limp dicks... they've basically been bullied to the side because they don't want to admit the other side doesn't give a flying fuck about the rules only ruling which renders their methods impotent... 

It has been a contention of mine, since the time i discovered the book, Lies My Teacher Told Me (way back in the early 90s), that the education system may not be as altruistic as it was once made out to be... this is not a knock on the teachers, not at all, the fact is there are a lot of great educators out there trying to teach things like critical thinking, reading, writing, to use the mind... granted they are often hamstrung by rules and regulations and a reliance on test scores and i understand that and yes it was much better than what we are facing now which is a total dismantling of public education which does nothing more than create a bigger wealth gap in our society, i was also lucky enough to be raised by a father who taught me to be a skeptic, to question the hegemony because believe it or not sometimes they lie to you... which led me to sit in the library and read books, books outside of my course work, to continue reading books even after my formal schooling was done because number one, the mind is a muscle and needs to be used and two for all those reasons mentioned above... i wanted to know what's going on and how bad i'm being fucked over... George Carlin does a great bit on that and mainly, as i've told the boyos and others in my years on the planet, all one needs for an education is a library card, i've learned far more in my own "studies" than i ever did in formal schooling but the system is set up so one has to play the game, there is great stock put in those little pieces of paper (not to mention great expense which creates debt which of course the bankers love)... 

Currently there is an all out assault on critical thinking, on learning, because it apparently makes one "woke", whatever the fuck that is... or to once again cite Orwell and Huxley, they who control the language controls the game, hence why the current regime is banning books and words and doing it's best to disseminate disinformation, a lesson learned from their Russian daddy, controlling the flow of information helps consolidate and solidify power... hence the frustration with the Blue Donkey party who don't seem to be able to message a fucking birthday party without shitting the bed... 

Which brings me to another point about this two party system we live under, yes there are some smaller, what i'd call fringe parties, but the fact is there are two parties which are beholden to the same masters, one just feels the need to completely satisfy those masters (of whom they are usually one of... masters=donors) while the other tries to throw some scraps to the citizenry while keeping the masters somewhat happy... problem is these days the masters seem to want it all, though it does seem there may be a bit of a divide on that issue... but the fact is, as pointed out by Prof. Chomsky, the new #1 shithole country is the only modern western democracy that doesn't have a labor party... and no the Blue Donkey doesn't quality, they are far more friendly to labor than the White Grievance Party but what the professor was speaking of was one by and for the workers, yes the red hats would read something like that and start screaming socialist! communist! while not grasping the concept at all... the concept being that a political party rooted in labor would look out and legislate for the working class, of whom many of us belong to and has nothing to do with the color of the collar (see white and blue), it would not work for those controlling the means of production and their trickle down theory whose main goal is to increase profits at any cost and therefore increase shareholder value and funnel the money upwards (funny how the terms funnel upwards and trickle down are complete opposites yet interchangeable in pol-speak) ... and of course the main shareholders just happen to be those sitting on the top of this pyramid scheme doing the least amount of labor while reaping the maximum benefit... 

So what's needed? well the easy answer is more choices in political parties which would mean the children (hopefully an offshoot of this would be electing adults but that's still be a big if) would have to work together to get things done, this forgotten word called compromise which was demonized by an earlier iteration of the White Grievance Party... the best way would be to have a viable and potent third party, a party rooted in labor, that would gum up the works of our current sorta two party system... of course if one wanted to see those two parties work together it would be on this issue right here, they would frame it differently, the Blue Donkey's current leadership would speak of unity, sticking together, all while sitting on their hands and doing their big donors bidding, while the WGP would scream socialists, which happens to be one of their favorite words... granted it will take the gutting of a certain Citizens United ruling which is where the decline of any semblance of democracy started in this country, when the robed ones declared corporations as people and opened the spigots of cash meaning the 1% had finally bought themselves a country... 

And so to quote David Bowie... where are we know? well we've come to the point where we must heed the words of the late John Lewis and be "good trouble", it means using words as protest, it means actually get out of the house and protesting, it means brushing up on the laws (though soon it may not matter as the WGP decides who those actually apply to which would come at their discretion- see storm guvment building, shit on floor, deface property, wave confederate flag- perfectly fine... peacefully protest under the 1st Amendment not so much)  so one knows what the authorities can and cannot get away with... it means civil disobedience... it means if this site suddenly goes dark, my dear handful of readers, that the author might be sitting in a cell... the academics who study this have stated it takes roughly 3.5% of the population to peacefully protest, the key word being peacefully, to swing the tide and topple authoritarian regimes, not that it's any comfort that people like Timothy Snyder and Jason Stanley have taken positions in Toronto because they know what's happening and yet while some of us will sound the alarms there is still a good portion of those who will sleep right through it... we need some of them to wake up, sadly many won't until the shit show shows up at their front door... by then it might be too late... but sitting on one's hand is not an option anymore... 

The Mushroom Diaries - vol. 30 pt. 3

To paraphrase what Fred the Jerry once said, without music life would be a mistake... i completely and wholeheartedly agree with this statement, i know that music is such and important and meaningful part of my life that i really don't know what i would do without it... and as i've grown older my musical tastes have broadened, i no longer am squarely ensconced in that indie rock bubble that i once lived in, no i haven't given it up, not by a long shot it's just these days there are a lot more genres tossed in there which gives me a greater appreciation for all of them... 

There are certain songs that will stop me in my tracks, that will get me to stop what i'm doing, to sit down and just listen... how often these days in the world of non-stop news feeds and electronic bombardment do we actually just stop, close our eyes or stare off into space, and just listen, let the mind take it all in, let it wander where it wants, the daydreams and memories that a particular song will invoke, it's one of the most beautiful things a human can experience... (hell i know even animals sometimes latch on to a piece of music, my old cat Pablo (1994-2007) was extremely fond of the Grandaddy song So You'll Aim Toward the Sky... and for the record i am too...) 

Which of course brings me back to a certain song from the show, Screamland, the highlight, one may have wondered (though probably not) why i didn't post it with the last bits of the Mushroom Diaries? well that would be because it was deserving enough of it's own post... if there is one thing i love about music it's the way each song can be intensely personal and yet universal... each and every one of us will get something different out of it while still being able to share that song and enjoy it with whoever... call it the Wedding Song Theory, or why people pick a particular song, of course some pick the same fucking Eric Clapton song which can only be attributed to a lack of creativity or thought (granted one could really love that song but it's a bit of a cliche at this point), oddly enough the one played on that day many years ago at my little ceremony was called Hope by the Dirty Three... Everything's Fucked by said band would have been a better choice (and also one of the songs that will stop me cold)...

Certain questions will tell me a lot about a musician and one of those questions is when they are asked about the lyrics... i can tell right off how invested and seriously they take it by the response... when i hear said musician explain ad nauseum what the lyrics mean and how they came about i know right off they are missing the point, maybe they're young and don't understand the question but it often points to not understanding art... most of the artists i love and admire the most, from writers to painters to musicians, won't answer the question, they'll explain they know what it means to them, without ever really saying what it does, and then proceed to talk about how they'd rather have the listener, reader, viewer interpret it themselves, to apply their own meaning for their own lives... and maybe that's just a school of thought but i happen to believe it's the correct one because regardless of what the creator might say the meaning will always lie within our own individual interpretation of those works... 

Which brings me to Screamland... there is not a line in the song, from the verses to the chorus that does not resonate with me in some way, that does not invoke a memory or feeling that relates to my existence, and yes that's the beauty of music, how it relates to us personally (and as stated universally)... for those of us who haven't become completely numbed to ourselves by this modern living, who haven't become completely anesthetized to the world around us, who can look up from our phones and technological gadgets and appreciate what we have, what we seem to be trying to throw away, for those of us who still exist with empathy and compassion, who believe strength is in kindness and not hatred and bigotry, who can still appreciate the beauty of art, who move through the world daydreaming and believe the simplest acts of kindness and decency can help create a better world, who are soundtracking that movie in their head so they can feel, dream, cope with a species seemingly hellbent on it's own decline and demise, these bits of art and music that we can relate to are the sustenance and nourishment for our soul, it's what reminds us what matters and what we stand to lose if we don't pay attention, if we forget to cultivate and care for our humanity... and to me, this song, conjures all those things... 

And while i could sit here and elucidate on the meaning of this song that would quite obviously contradict everything i have just written... so i won't... i will say that hearing this song live in a heightened state of awareness and empathy (mushrooms have been proven to elicit and improve feelings of empathy and kindness to the world around us, to connect us more to the natural world and dare i say awaken us to what we are part of and will someday return to egoless and formless), in a room full of other humans, many of whom, like myself, were transfixed by what was happening, it was what one might call a transcendental moment, those brief glimpses of existence where the facade falls away and one understands and physically feels the beauty of it all... 

Love must find a way/ love must find a way/ after every desperate measure/ just a miracle will take... 

The Longest Day- An Epilogue

 And now we come to the finish... February 13, 2018... The Longest Day... the seventh Tuesday in the seventh week of that year... Mardi Gras, National Pancake Day... the day i knew, though i had always known, that my time with my father was running out... there's not much left to write about that day though there will always be something to write about it... one of those days that gets run through the mind at various times and one of those days that somehow remain more vivid in my mind, like the birth of the boyos, the old yin-yang of life and death, samsara or whatever one might choose to call it... six times i've written about it, probably not as well or as clear as i'd like... but that's life now innit? i could go back and rework or rehash but sometimes it''s best to let things lie, let the imperfections of the words or memories be perfect because we all know that living is not perfect but the imperfections of living are what make it perfect... at least perfect to those who care and attempt to understand even if we never fully grasp it due to it's imperfections... and so this year, the seventh year after the seventh Tuesday in the seventh week in a year marked as 2018, the day came and went... and then it occurred to me how strange and funny the universe can be... 

I have a younger brother... granted we are not related by blood, more kindred spirits but dare i say it goes deeper than that... there is an origin story to how i came upon this younger brother but that is a tale unto itself which someday will be properly put down here at the lounge, a story i've told many times to various strangers when i attempt to explain how i met the younger brother i never knew i had... oddly enough i dubbed him The Kid (he's 13 years and 8 days younger than i) and even more odd i nicknamed him that long before we both fell down the rabbit hole of a certain book called Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy... fucking hell i could probably do a dissertation on the relevance and significance of this name as it relates to both my younger brother and the novel but as mentioned that could turn into some sort of Vivian Girls-esque fable that would baffle the most logical of minds... so i'll stay on track... (as well as another one of those coincidences that Robert Anton Wilson loved so much...)

It was sometime after the second year, when i had written about The Longest Day again, that The Kid mentioned how it was an interesting concept to write about the same day year after year, the different things that would come from it, the different memories and meanings to said day and how they would morph and change over time... The Kid is one of the most intelligent humans i know and in certain respects reminds me of my father in both thought and demeanor, and it was this idea that led me to scribbling away, for better or worse, about this day for the last six, now seven, years... 

Fast forward seven years to February 13, 2025... it was the first time since that day seven years ago that i didn't really think much about it... i knew it was coming and i knew it would pass but in the days and years since that day i often think about my father, pretty much every day, i do laps for him when i swim, some just cuz i love the guy and some in the block of Fuck Cancer laps where i go through the names of those i've known and loved and lost and those who have managed to beat that fucking disease and sadly there is more of the former than the latter... i understand that the act is symbolic mainly to me but somehow it makes me feel as if i'm fighting against it and by going through the names of the people i've known for that brief moment they aren't really gone... 

But what was it about this February 13th that struck me, after the fact of course, and brought about and "i'll be damned" from the mouth of our jaded author? I'll explain... The Kid and his lovely wife now live down south, i don't get to see them often but it's always one of my favorite days when i do, sadly The Kid was coming back to our Rust Belt city to attend a ceremony for a friend of his, gone far too soon and far too young, and i know if there's one thing the universe has taught me it's there is no justice or sense to it, it takes who it wants when it wants which is why every day when i roll off my makeshift bed and stretch, pet Paco between the ears, watch Archie rub against my legs, i take a deep breath, i smile and remind myself to enjoy this shit cuz it's more fleeting than any of us like to admit and at any given time one's ticket could be punched... so since The Kid and the lovely Miss E were coming back to town and though he had a lot of things to do we put our heads together to figure out a time and a place to hang for a bit... and after bouncing around some ideas and such we thought the sooner the better as it would be a hectic few days for my brother and so we settled on a Thursday night at my favorite dive bar, the date? February 13th... 

And so it was that night that i drove to my favorite boozer to see my brother (and the lovely Miss E.)... the universe is funny like that, these random happenings, the coincidences, the shit that Bob Wilson makes one ponder in the wee hours of the morning... i didn't think about the exact date until a few days later when it sorta popped into my head as the smile spread across my face, at the time i was more happy to see The Kid, to see how he was doing after the loss of his friend, to have one of our usual conversations filled with intellect and humor, to discuss the state of the world and our lives, and to basically just be in the company of a good friend (friends as i'd be remiss not to include Miss E) because as i go skipping towards the void i understand more now, much more than i did when i was younger, how rare and precious they are, how they don't come along that often and when they do we would do well to recognize them... (side note: they met me at my favorite boozer even though neither of them drink anymore which i thought was pretty fucking swell of them, granted The Kid and i have put in many hours between us in years past polishing the mahogany at this place and honestly one could go to this joint for the jukebox and the food alone but i still found it brilliant that they chose this spot... my brother knows me well...) 

It was an interesting juxtaposition thinking about the two days, seven years apart, how time had somewhat softened the blow of that day seven years ago and how much i understood that day now... yes there are things that still sting, will always sting, the fact i couldn't stay at my dad's apartment that night due to my illness, an illness brought on by a selfish act of the BW and even now i don't think she fully grasps what she took, not only from me but from my father, facing down his mortality i knew he wanted me there that night, his only son, to sit and talk like we had so many times before, to not be alone, there is no amount of sorry that will give back what can't be given and it's a hard thing to forgive, i know full well that if i had pulled some such shit when her mother was sick i'd have never heard the end of it, i've never mentioned it to her, not once, mainly because it's just another reminder of where i stand in her eyes, it's a strange thing to watch someone display an enormous amount of caring and empathy to everyone around her but very little to yours truly... but the day has come and gone... seven times to be exact... and maybe that uncaring, unfeeling universe i speak of was trying to give me a little bit back, by putting me in a booth, in my favorite boozer, to talk to my brother and Miss E on the same day, at the same time i would have been sitting in my father's apartment some seven years back, to have one of those conversations i love so much and though it wasn't with my dad it was with one of the few people on this planet who qualifies in my favorite conversations department.. 

Hang onto your friends... especially the good ones... (this pic is titled Old Geezer in Reading Glasses at the Jukebox)

The Mushroom Diaries - Vol. 30 pt. 2

 The band ambled up on stage, the only backdrop a large velvet red curtain, it was a six piece with two guitars, bass, keyboards, drums and a multi-instrumentalist who played sax, flute, clarinet and a few other things... then after the band had picked up their instruments and taken their positions the man came strolling out, Josh Tillman aka Father John Misty, cool as fuck as usual in a dark suit, button down white shirt open at the neck and no tie... he gave a wave, said hello and the band immediately started into the first single from the latest album, an album that they would play in full (8 songs), i always think it takes balls to lead with the newest single and some shows he has not but if one is a FJM fan one knows his back catalog is stocked with great fucking tunes so it would be damn near difficult to play a crap setlist, yes one may not hear their favorites but the fact is it's going to be a good fucking show... and of course it was... 

It was at this point that Meg had stated she hated this song, to which i responded really? she then began debating on whether she should run to get another beer but once again was worried about her kid, i once again said she'd be fine and Meg ran off, her daughter turned and smiled and said she worries too much to which i replied i can't believe she doesn't dig this song, i fucking love it! her daughter replied i know! so do i and we both went back to listening, i'm not one to talk much once the music starts, i find it horribly annoying when people do... i didn't come to this show to listen to you talk about your fucking job i came to the show to listen to great live music and fucking groove maaaan... and yes the mushrooms now in full flight i was fucking loving it... 

Meg returned and it didn't take long to realize i may have made a mistake... i'm all for one enjoying the show, in fact i enjoy seeing people lose their shit, i've been known to do it, but sometimes people tend to think they are the show and Meg was beginning to strike me as one of those people... she began shouting for songs, singing way too loudly and off-key, doing some sort of interpretative dance... i had the feeling Meg may have been getting a little too drunk and i noticed, though i was pretty much just honing in on the music and stage, that her daughter was getting annoyed and embarrassed as well with at one point a small tiff breaking out where her daughter told her, in so many words, to tone it down as she was making a bit of an ass of herself... of course i think back to the summer and a certain old man almost passing out from getting so high but i believe the main difference was i was just hanging and enjoying the show when the geezer bit off a bit more than he could chew... i wasn't screaming lyrics while doing interpretative dance while disrupting everyone around me... at this point i had slid over a few more feet so i could be further away and enjoy myself... 

And enjoy myself i did... drinking my water and hitting my pen and watching what i call a proper fucking rock star... for those not familiar Father John Misty is the stage persona of Josh Tillman, much like Ziggy or the Thin White Duke, it's an act and Josh understands that perfectly, in fact he was the drummer in Fleet Foxes as they began to hit it big and left because he didn't want to be a drummer in some band he wanted to make his own music, i dig that sorta self belief because it would have been a steady and decent paycheck playing drums in a band viewed as indie darlings... in fact i'd say at this point he's surpassed his old band... 

But what is a proper fucking rock star? well that's someone who can flat out command the stage, captivate one's attention, old Josh here has stage presence and charisma to spare and he understands how to use it and when to step back and let the band shine, it's a wonder to behold, i'd put him up there with Bowie and Morrissey and Nick Cave when it comes to that and while i know that's a bold statement i stand by it... and how good was it? well interestingly enough he did (from what i can tell) a tour high four songs from my least favorite album of his and they were all fucking brilliant... two of which here right up at the top of my list as highlights of the show and it was on the train ride home as the boomers were working their way out of my system that i sat pondering that while the city went by... i caught my reflection in the glass with a slight grin cuz i knew i had just seen a great performance and damn if i wasn't fucking happy to be alive, to appreciate days like this, the cold walk, the drugs, the music, the people... fucking life's a trip now innit? 

I will say that FJM does draw a large female crowd, let's face it the guy's good looking and charismatic and the last show in 2018 i had a good laugh watching the young men who had basically cultivated the FJM look much like the high school girls of my youth did with Pat Benetar... now i'll refer everyone here to the Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings video which features Aubrey Plaza, a woman who i find particularly fucking gorgeous... as i was watching the show i caught a young woman, i'm guessing mid 20s, who was my second favorite part of the show... unlike Meg she was dancing and singing her favorites with the sorta reckless abandonment that has always caught my eye, i chuckled to myself as i watched her boyfriend standing behind her a bit lost and i wanted to tap him on the solder and explain to him that i had the feeling he didn't know what he had and that he was one lucky motherfucker, granted like Aubrey she was an attractive brunette which has always been a bit of a weakness with the author.. but i go back to what i said earlier when i mentioned i enjoyed watching someone lose their fucking mind to music they love and this girl embodied all of that... 

But that absolute highlight? well that was easy... Screamland... a song off the new record and one of the best he's ever done... it ebbs it flows it blows the fucking doors off, it loud it's quiet it's brilliant... in my humble opinion of course, standing there and listening to it, the mushrooms kicking, the music kicking, it's one of those experiences where every fucking nerve end in my body was vibrating, about the closest thing to an orgasm one can get without actually having one, it's one of those fleeting bits of that arbitrary thing called time where life and death and the rest doesn't matter, i am here in the place and it feels like the universe is flowing through me while these beautiful sounds fill my ears and mind, while these words trigger images and memories and feelings and i know that nothing really matters and it's all going to be alright...whatever the fuck that means... words will never really communicate the feeling because the feeling is so fucking gorgeous that there are no words for it... and it's here and then it's gone... and there is no use trying to catch it only to enjoy it, to be present, to understand and let it wash over you like an exquisite wave and when it passes you break the surface of the water and take a deep breath and know and the air never tasted so good...  

Screamland ended and i took a deep breath and as he broke into another song of the new record, in fact the last five before the encore were all off the new record, i wandered out towards the smoking section.... i wanted a cigarette... i haven't had a smoke in a long time but every now and then... into the cold air and there was the young guy from the pisser i joked with earlier, i walked up and asked to buy a smoke off him cuz i admitted i might only take a few drags and toss it and i didn't want him to think i was wasting it, he told me to keep my money and give it to the homeless guy out front, i smiled and said will do and as fate would have it he pulled a pack of Parliaments out of his jacket, what the hipster kids smoke, what this hipster kid used to smoke back in the day... i grinned, lit my smoke and began to chat... 

Taking a hit i exhaled and laughed, that tastes fucking good, glad i gave them up... my new friend, Matt then introduced me to his friends, a couple more guys and tiny girl, they joked about how they were discussing what the demographic for a FJM show would be and i said did you have 50 something psychedelic loving stoners on the list? they laughed and said of course, the girl then looked up at me and said, you have weed? i smiled back and said of course and handed her my pen and told her to smoke away, we discussed mushrooms and bars and of course my favorite dive in the world came up, a guy in a Carhart that was exactly like my first one (a coat which got it's own post years ago and i must mention i've only purchased two of these work coats in 30 plus years, quality goods) said that he loved the place as well and i started laughing, i said i'm not saying this to be ageist or some such shit but i had feeling i started frequenting the joint around the time he was born, he asked when and i said 1996, he laughed and stated that was in fact the year he was born, we talked more and i finished my smoke and wandered back in, i could hear my two least favorite songs from the new record (still good) as i talked  outside but as the band broke into the title track i bolted back in and found a fine place at the back a bit more removed from Meg and her daughter.. 

The tiny girl, meaning roughly five feet tall, came up smiling and asked how i was doing, it took me a second to realize who she was and i laughed and said good, she asked how the mushrooms were and where i was at and i said the downside and that i'd be relatively cool by the time i got home, she introduced me to another hipster kid with funky mustache and we talked a bit about our favorite FJM records and then they came back out for the encore, four songs, and as the band finished i made my way into the cold night but not before stopping outside to hand the guy and his dog the money i said i'd give for my smoke... when the voice said thank you sir i realized this was basically just a kid, two of them to be exact, and handed them a couple more dollars while making sure i still had enough to get home just in case the trains shit the bed again... 

I'd be remiss if i didn't mention that during the encore as i stood in back i felt a tap on my shoulder, i turned and there was Meg, she had her hair down and i got the impression she had made herself look nice as she smiled and told me that it was really great talking to me, i said likewise and smiling i mentioned that i got a bit lost on my way back and felt bad stepping in front of people to get back to my spot, she smiled and said no problem, hung there for a few seconds and then said, well have a good night, i said you too! tell your daughter it was nice to meet her as well, you two be safe... i could sense a bit of disappointment and i had the feeling Meg was hoping to exchange numbers but sadly that was not in the cards... 

I traversed the parking lot and wandered into the train station, a below ground station and i was the only one there, laughing i thought to myself this is definitely a place to get mugged and somehow knew that would not happen, after five minutes or so a few more people arrived, all coming from the show and we talked and laughed about the mess the T was tonight, it was the same deal on the way back, on one train then off and on a bus and then onto another train... riding back through the city i was quite at ease with the world... i watched the lights and thought about how lovely the night had been and how good my makeshift bed would feel as my boy Paco would wander up and plop down as he purred away and gave me some headbutts... i know i'm not as young as i used to be and twenty years ago i'd have headed to the bar or found some such shit to get into... these days i'm wise enough to understand i need to get my ass home, of course maybe had it been warmer out i'd have thought differently but as i walked up the steps somewhere north of midnight i was glad to quietly open the door to be greeted by Paco and Archie... home... 

For as much as i enjoy my forays with psychedelics while lounging on my couch there are times when one must get out and see the world and yes as stated i'm not as young as i used to be and yes there was a moment when i thought am i too old to be doing this shit? and then that grin creeps across my face and i laugh out loud and think fucking hell no... like Hunter Thompson once mentioned, i don't plan on entering the void well preserved so to speak, i'm gonna have my fun and live fucking hard, yeah i swim my laps and drink my smoothies and other times i take psychedelics and wander the streets... or as i thought sitting on that train and noticing my reflection in the glass... i've come a long way and gone nowhere at all... 

The Mushroom Diaries - Vol. 30 pt. 1

 This post could also be titled Adventures in Public Transportation... or how i was late to the show... so allow me to start from the beginning... when i saw that two of my favorite artists were coming on one tour i was more than a little stoked, Father John Misty with Destroyer opening... git ta fuck outta here!! Tillman and Bejar on the same night n the same place, i'll take it, had no problem shelling out the requisite cash for this one and since it was at Stage AE i could take the T aka light rail down to the North Side and walk over, meaning i could indulge in my favorite pastime, taking mushrooms and seeing live music (this is the venue of the two Flaming Lips show and a previous FJM show as well, great place to see bands, and i've seen many here, with both an inside and outside venue... (funny that those crazy Germans Kraftwerk are playing outside in early March, the crowd could be standing in a snowstorm possibly depending on the Rust Belt weather)... the beauty of taking the T means i can take my medicine as well as not having to pay $20 or more to park my fucking car, essentially a win win... unless of course.. 

For anyone who ever takes public transport we all know at any given time shit can go south real quick... even though i'm not a hipster kid anymore i was well up for this show and so i got shit in order straight away, there was a lot going on around the old homestead but i managed to get things sorted, made Disaster his dinner and then headed out towards the T station... originally i planned to get the 6:55pm train which would get me to my stop by roughly 7:30 and then a short ten minute walk to the gig... of course the weather would have to be shit to say the least, no rain or snow but temps in the teens with a brisk little breeze to boot... i got to the parking lot, being a professional i knew that if i took my boomers when i got on the train i'd be in fine form by showtime and also knew that by the time i returned to my hood i'd be quite on the downside of the psychedelics, basically on the micro part of the macro with just a short jaunt home... i parked and headed up to the platform... 

The anticipation was building for both boomers and show and i stood watching the clock on the platform and the track, waiting for the headlights of the train to come around the bend... i was listening to an announcement that didn't quite add up, that trains could be running up to 15 minutes late plus there were repairs going on somewhere and it was at this point i got a bit nervous, i listened to it a few times and watched the time tick away, i knew i could head over to another station and catch the Blue Line instead of the Red which would get me to same spot on the North Side, i was also debating driving down but that would of course considerably alter my plans... after another minute or two i ran off the platform hopped in the car and drove to the other station, got there with a few minutes to spare and hopped on the train, the fucking Red Line which would actually take me right past where i had just left, i was a bit pissed at the shit show but figured i'd still be down there in time to catch Destroyer, maybe i'd miss the first song but at least my plan and the savings on parking would still be intact... i hopped on and grabbed a seat, pulled out my capsules filled with the vaunted Penis Envy strain and downed a half a dozen or roughly two grams and change, nothing off the charts but enough for a fine evening especially combined with my pen full of the original blueberry strain of cannabis... i figured it would arrive at the North Side station at 7:55, ten or so minutes to walk and get in the door, golden... 

Alas the PRT, the regional transit had other ideas... seems they were working on the track downtown which meant i'd have to get off at a stop near the Greyhound Station (a short walk from my old gig at the Big World Bank Machine), catch a shuttle bus from there which would take me to another T station where i would hop another train that would get me to the show... alright maybe i'd miss the first two possibly three songs but since the setlist i'd seen was roughly 9-10 songs a night i'd still see the bulk of the show... that is until the bus got to the next train which then proceeded to sit on the tracks for a good ten minutes while i watched the clock tick knowing that now i might not see any of the Destroyer set... i would have been more angry but at this point the boomers were beginning to do their thing and i was having a fun time watching the train wiggle though it wasn't moving at all... if finally began moving and i got to my stop at roughly 8:25, jumped off and bounded up the steps and speed walked to  the venue, the mushrooms now fully kicking... 

At the doors i went through the metal detector and of course set it off which meant i had to get wanded down, being a bit on the rise with the fungus this turned into a comedy of errors, i was actually looking towards the stage and watching Destroyer while simultaneously trying to empty my pockets, of course i forgot that i had glasses in one pocket, my wallet, my dad's old belt i took when he passed (a Dickie's belt, metal buckle, the old man had taste in work clothes), my fucking keys for fuck sake, luckily the security guard was laughing at what a trainwreck i was and i apologized and blamed the trains, she laughed and said no problem probably sensing that i was a "on something" as they say, finally inside i beelined for the pissers where i was muttering and laughing, the young guy a few urinals down looked over and i laughed and said the T was a fucking mess and i'm too fucked up on drugs to deal with that shit... i made my way out and found a spot by the sound board in the back as usual, being 6'4 i do realize i block anyone behind me from seeing while i can see over most people so i try to be courteous one might say, at one point i did turn around and grin because there was a noticeable spot behind me cuz no one could see over me... 

The shrooms now fully kicking i took in the last three songs of Destroyer's set, Bejar being the lovable  disheveled curmudgeon, drinking from his red Solo cup, a three piece band that surprisingly made more music than one would expect... and what can i say? it was excellent... yes there was that tinge of bummed that i didn't catch it all but hey there is no reason to worry, fucking life is grand when listening to music and tripping... i wandered outside to hit the pen, the venue is expertly set up and the outside area is right off the bathrooms and even had a bar open, i asked the two people working it if they had drawn the short straw to get stuck out in the cold and they laughed and said, our boss is a dick, i smiled, handed over my $7 for a large bottle of water and went back in to wait for the show... 

One may be shocked to discover this but i tend to meet people pretty easily... having bounced around the world enough on my own i have no problem talking to anyone really (sans anyone wearing a certain red fucking hat mind you) and so while i stood near the soundboard i struck up a conversation with a couple of women, which turned out to be a mother and her daughter, i smiled and mentioned how i had brought the I-mac to see the Flaming Lips and how the old man got so fucking high he nearly passed out, we talked kids and cats which is how i found out the girl was her daughter, 15 just like Disaster and the woman, Meg, mentioned something about our kids being the same age... the topic turned to weed and Meg mentioned that until a few years ago she had her own grow room at their house and how she used to grow some really good shit, i of course responded that that was most fucking excellent and told a few stories about this guy named Kono, some of the capers he had pulled, mentioned my wasted youth as a dreadlocked white boy running the streets, to which Meg said she would have loved to see that and to which i showed her an old photo on the phone... Meg's reaction was funny as she looked at the photo and said, jesus i'd have chased you around... i smiled... she then casually slipped in a comment about being divorced... 

We stood talking as Meg downed beers and i drank water, it turned out her daughter's favorite band was The Smiths to which i stopped and said, good kid! that they were my all-time favorite band as well and told the story about being off my head on booze and blow at a Mozza show in Cleveland and how i was hanging out with a couple of old queens in the lobby and to their amazement could sing every song they called out... it was a pleasant conversation though Meg was a little over the top when it came time to get a beer or use the restroom, she worried someone would steal her daughter to which i laughed and said don't worry i'll keep an eye on her, somehow this made her feel better and she went off to grab her beer and the daughter and i talked about music and weed as she pulled out her own pen and took a hit, i laughed and told her she needs to cover the light on her pen as "technically" you couldn't hit a pen in the venue, she giggled and said "oh shit" and thanked me for the heads up... Meg came back with her beer and went on again about how she was afraid to leave her daughter and i then laughed and stated you just left her with a tripping muppet! she then stated that i exuded kind and gentle vibes to which i said she would be correct... we chatted a bit more and then the lights dimmed and the band began walking onstage... to be cont...