Professional Loitering

Ya know- Loitering, man- it's not at all as easy as it looks, and the trick is to MAKE it look easy- that's how you can spot a big league pro like myself. First of all, there's a mindset: You have to be able to attain a Zenlike mindset, and be in 'The Now' at all times. You have to be able to forsake productivity. The drive to productivity is a hard one to shake. I mean, even for me; the simple act of sitting down and writing this blog is proof of the difficulties in that area- and I'm a professional. Secondly, there cannot be a goal or purpose of any kind, other than to 'hang out'. But here's the rub: it isn't about just standing somewhere- there all all kinds of little skills and tricks to learn. Smoking helps. Learning to properly spit is another. Finding a proper spot. Leaning- is there a good place to lean? Hand placement- do you have pockets? Also- remember: thew line between 'lurking' and proper loitery is a fine one; If- for instance- you think you're loitering, but you're just hanging out in a public parking lot- you're a lurker, and that's called 'being in the Creep-Zone'(not that that doesn't have it's own skillset, but that's not what this is about, and not really where my strengths lay.); What you need to find is a convenient store, or maybe a sidewalk in front of a bar or coffee shop. and of course- PRACTICE. Now, I've been 'hanging out' since approximately second grade. Usually with a good Loitering Team- when you're young, it's important to have a good team- it helps hone your skills. But TOO young, and you're basically into the 'Hijinx' field, or even 'Public Nuisance'... It's not really until you're 12 or 13 that you really reach the proper loitering arena. Now- I was spoiled; being a child of the 70s and 80s, and living in the suburbs of Los Angeles until I was 15 years old, I had a lot of great loitering spots, and very little distraction. No cellphone, no Ipad- you get the idea. Also, there were a plethora of 7-11s, with one arcade style video game in each one, so to be able to hang out by say- a Dragon's Lair game, or a Bowling Alley parking lot next to a pizza joint, or a Pioneer Chicken at a fairly frequented intersection- I mean- it was prime real estate for some top notch loitery. By thirteen, fourteen, we were so good at loitering in San Fernando Valley, we'd take the bus (bus stop is a good spot to hone your skills between those pesky 'points of purpose', by the way!) to Hollywood, and although there were some record buying goals, and some skateboarding, and maybe blowing money on a tshirt at Poseur on Melrose or something, the true endgame, was the chance at loitering with some real pros. Loiterers from all over SoCal would make the trek to Hollywood to hang out penniless in front of record stores, crappy eateries, shows, and stores that represented the vibe ones loitery team wished to project. Making people uncomfortable and nervous on the bus, is another event best practiced with your team when you're young. Other good destinations were Venice, Santa Monica, Hermosa... you get the idea. Places like this honed our skills so well, those lame Mall Loiterers didn't have a chance. We smoked em. At fifteen, my mother and I relocated to San Francisco, and man- between SF and Santa Cruz- you really are talking about the Loitering Capitol of California. But again- and I stress- it takes discipline. You have to be willing to get up at the crack of noon. If you're living at home, and you're young- sitting around watching shitty reruns of Love Boat and My Favorite Martian in your underwear, and eating a serving bowl of Cap'n Crunch can really get you stretched and ready... Things like that are helpful. Now- I don't expect everyone of you kids at home to put 100 percent into it, like I did- I mean, not EVERYONE is bound for pro-glory- I had to sacrifice a lot of school hours in order to loiter, for instance- but I hope these tips offer some insight and inspiration to those aspiring to go pro, or at least help those who just want to be able to hang out better. Loiter on, brothers and sisters- See you in front of the drugstore! - Hangin' Hank the Tank Hanke

1st blog of 2013, because I'm a lazy, unmotivated, procrastinator...

So I have a lot of scars. I have scars all over. I have em on my knuckles, arms, a lot on my head. I love em. Every scar is a story about something else or someone else that couldn't keep me down. I love fighting. I do. I can't just fight for the sake of fighting though... I have to have a reason, and I usually need a real good one. I have a lot of love in my heart, too. My heart is also scarred. I'm the eternal underdog. I choose that. Well, I'm choosing to be happy, in my wiser older ways, but part of that happiness involves putting myself in situations where I'm gonna be forced to fight more. HAHAHAHAHAHA Fight against bullshit. It's a war. Fight against the jive. It's a war. Fight against my own entropy. It's a war. I love the taste of my own blood in my mouth. The numbness. I feel far removed from the zeitgeist of our reality tunnel. My reality tunnel is much older and straight forward than most. More honest. Less connected to the game everyone's in than most. I do my own thing. I'm not bragging, or trying to sound tough, or cool, or whatever. I'm as real as they come. More human than human, as the Tyrell catch-phrase goes... Anyway, keepin this one short and sweet. Gettin' the swing back. Expect more. And expect more irreverant, and smartassy shit than this post. But be lookin for me. And the interwebs radio show is almost ready to be launched, too. Love, peace, and straight stone grease, baby... look out- I'm fuckin' comin.

Gimme back... Gimme back my Bullet.

I lament the loss of my city. The City. You used to have to have balls and be fuckin smart. You used to have to keep yer head on a swivel. SF and NYC were like sister cities in a lot of ways. Packs of angry kids lookin for kicks. Racial tensions. Chicken hawks preyin' on young stuff who in turn preyed back. Robbin' chicken hawk motherfuckers like it was a game. Rippin off the supermarket booze and runnin rampant. We shook the pillars. We rocked. Didn't take shit. Arrogant know it all hip motherfuckers got smacked. No room for pussies. People got wasted. We got shot at by wannabe mobsters on Broadway, and the TL was a fuckin total wasteland jungle. Transvestite hookers from the Philipines carryin' straightrazors and would take us on in a heartbeat. They'd cut ya. You hadda have an agenda, man. A habit. A hustle. We hid weapons in the awnings of hotels and in the bases of downtown tree planters. Every show was a bloodfest. Skateboard trucks cracked across heads bringin red red kroovy. Boot parties, and skinhead 'taxation'. You earned yer place in subculture, and subculture was where you found yourself, not somewhere you visited. Not something you chose. We rode whatever wave came along and rode it til the wheels fell the fuck off and a lot of motherfuckers wiped out. The Lower Haight was still part of The Moe and you hadda be tough if you were white and livin' down there. Gettin' jumped was a regular thing. So was jumpin' folk. Take a flight jacket or boots offa fallen poser. Jumped by sweatsuits and red Levi's passin by the VeeGees on Valencia. Fuck Ups single "White Boy(in the Mission)" meant something and made sense. WPOD kicked major ass in Derby jackets and Ben Davis... working class uniforms on youth attempting to hold on to something left over from the 50's that was slippin away... fast. Defend your neighborhood, friends. Die for your hood and keep the hood in your heart, and stay hood. Stay A Hood. Robin Hood. Robbin' hoods. Hipsters robbin' 'hoods of the flavors and pushin hoods out. Used to be yuppies. They are the yuppies of the 20teens, man. Every beautiful city is losin their neighborhoods. I'ma kick you off yer fixie and shove yer IPhone up yer fuckin' ass. You gotta bleed for this city. City of transplants. City of JohnnyCumQuickly Come Late. Yer late for the feeding. We bled for you. We pioneered. We were used like cannon fodder for your urban takeover. You're skim-milk foam latte to my jungle juice and dust. Hail me like a king and hero of legend. My blood and the blood of many pave the sidewalk in front of the quaint little boutique, fasion theme bar, or cafe you adore since your lilly-white ass moved here from Iowa. Every scaR has a story and every tattoo was on my skin before there were reality shows about homoginized cool turds allowing me to be approached. This was anti-social behaviour and it was learned and earned and needed. Warpaint that in MY case said "This crazy fucker doesn't give a rat's ass! Stay away from him!", and not a single one said "this flower represents my mother because she really loved begonias". BOW TO YOUR SENSAI! Your neighborhood's safe because I fucking survived the horrors you wouldn't have been able to stomach. We'll see how many of you fuckers are left after the next big Quake. I watched you run before, I'll see it again. I demand to be treated with respect. I know you won't- and that's ok. You can't possibly understand. You missed it. We were crucifed long before you padfooted greenhorns mosied in. Just don't be surprised when ya get bitch slapped. Because I'm a real motherfucker, and sometimes a turd needs to get flushed.

I stood by yer mom today... I joked and befriended yer children. We had motherfuckers from the waybax come out for you... I sold shirts with yer knuckles emblazoned upon their breast. Yer daughter- 10 years old- wore both the vest you made for her, and the shirt I made in your honor. If your son doesn't call tomorrow to have Quecke tat him up, I'll be surprisd. Todd drunkenly showed and demanded we speak. We'd already sent your ashes off into the Pacific with roses. Sand still sits in my shoes. I tried to speak but couldn't. The people who showed, out of sheer 'fuck man, really' spoke the volumes that those who flaked didn't. You were my friend. My road dog. My P.I.C. Eric said incredible things. All I can say now is:We shook the pillars, didn't we Wang?

RIP Jeff 'Jef Leppard' Davis, and super love vibe healing posi-thought to Nikki...

OK so here's the deal. It's not like we were close. In fact, it'd been around ten years since I'd seen either Jeff, or Nikki- as I'd been on the East Coast, and had then only been back to San Francisco or Oakland a very few times since my return. But that's just it with those two- they've always been so cool, friendly, and genuinely good people-and maybe that's why this shit is so fucking sad to me, who's generally fairly desensitized, usually- that you didn't have to be 'close' to love em. They seemed to really love eachother, and I can't think of more than one particular time, that I personally saw one without the other. I'd run into em at shows a lot. I'd drink 40s with Jeff back in the day at things like Tony Culbert's Punk Rock in the Parking Lot parties- so on and so forth. I thought STFU was pretty awesome, too. There are just some people, that crappy shit shouldn't happen to; These two are definitely two that shoulda had some sort of forcefield around em to protect em from this kinda shit. I've been away a long time, and feel almost like an intruder at this point in everybody's lives at this point, under the circumstances. I'm an outsider, somewhat, even to the outsider scene that they and so many of my friends are a part of, so I'm stayin out of the way. Just know, that if I ever called you friend, I fucking meant it, and you are a friend. My heart sincerely goes out to Nikki and all of their close friends and family, who are hurting. I hope for Nikki a full recovery, and there ain't shit I wouldn't do for her, should she ask. The loss of Jeff is heartbreaking on so many levels. Very talented guitarist, engineer, and most importantly, one of the nicest, coolest, approachable cats I've ever met. There is genuine love in my heart for BOTH of them and Nikki's brother Tony. With that said, I'm gonna repeat- it's with heavy heart I say "so long Jef Leppard- one of the coolest motherfuckers I've ever shared a 40 of Steel Reserve with." To Nikki and Tony, and everyone in their close circles- I'm truly, deeply, sorry. For what it's worth, this halfcrazed, wandering, freak loves all of you who are reading this. Live well, friends, and as my OTHER recently departed close friend's knuckle tats read: LIVE TRUE. -Josh Hanke

Hey Ho! Let's GO!

Alright alright alright... so a lot's been happening here, with the shirts. My comrade and P.I.C. and brother and road dog, Brattly B. Raddley is gone, and people are wantin' his shirts which is cool, as every B-Rad shirt sold will go towards his kids in one way or another. Restructuring how that happens, as orders for all shirts are happening quicker than I thought they would. So I'm gonna do a tally and kick bread to his mom every 6 months, I figure. We have new prints, and 100 new acetate sheets which means 100 new images to be made available real soon. So here we go with crass commercialism! Once again, hey Lamo! Yeah you! Buy our shirts, they'll make you cool. Hipsters: Buy our shit- tell everyone you knew about our shit before everybody else, and bought our stuff before we sold out! Want us to print on V-Neck skinny shirts that're too small for ya? Fuck it! Why not? It's not US who have to wear the stupid trendy things! Order em lame as you want- we'll custom make em just for yer lame, neo-yuppie (cuz that's whatcha are, hipster: The New Yuppie) asses. Ugly girls: Buy these they'll make ya pretty. Pretty girls: You are always wantin' stuff; "Me me me... I wanta.. I wanta... I wanta..." and every sucker parent, and pussywhipped boyfriend you've ever emasculated are just SO compliant, aren't they? Well NOW you want OUR shit. Ya can't live without a Goodbye Kitty, or a Sugar Skull, or a special order pink Lowlife Highway 'Lowzdale' design shirt, can Ya? NO! Ya can't! So get on it! Cool guys: Tell the world "GFY" in an assortment of designs made especially for you! Feelin' el Tropicale? We got Tikis, shrunken heads, etc... We gotcher Search and Destroys, Iron Crosses done in old school Surfer/Hot Rodder style color palates! Classic B-Movie motifs, Live Nude Ghouls, Finks, Grindhouse/Drive-in styles, horror, 'sploitation, true Rock n Roll Hooligan wear made by true rock n roll hooligans from the streets just tryin' to make a legit buck and make it in your world, man. We got the goodz. Dog shirts, comin' soon, too. Give us a crack- we do commercial work, too. Most designs are printed to order sized sm-5XL, but some we already have in stock. Everything hand done on a six color, 2 station press. 12/8 Studios/Lowlife Highway Screenprinting (707)843-9216 ask for Josh.

Goodnight brother...

"Ok, now that I got my anger part out of the way I want to say Brad, Rest In Peace bro.... I'm glad I met you. In my late teens and early twenties Josh, Cassie, Wendy, Passion, Judy and Eric Pope and even Tony Giuliani were my partners in crime but you were the glue that brought us all together. You were there in the middle of everything, and you never knew what was gonna happen with you in the mix of things..... That was part of the excitement of being around you when you still had your head straight. I wonder if you ever knew how much fucking charisma you had......... It's funny I haven't seen you in years yet I'm more bummed out now than I've been in a long time. You lived hard and you played hard...... I want to say so much more but I'm shocked and angry right now. You leave behind a great group of friends (whom i would have never met without you) and a little girl and son who I hope inherit all of your charm and none of your vices............. BK, Shine On you Crazy Diamond...." -Robert Castaneda 4/24/12

"well said Robert it is crazy! Brad is one friend who touched every part of my life, he hung with me all through Fillmore, Haight Street, Broadway and everywhere since, (maybe cause every girl we made friends with had to sleep with him that was a prerequisite!) so many times he was the only guy with just us girls and it was never weird but always real, it was never strange that everone dated him at one time or another or that he was gone ten months of every year and that we somtimes had to bust him out of Juvie or a group home (thanks Tom) just to get him back with us how the fuckin' Christmas Store brought a whole bunch of life long friends into the circle How everyone knew if me and him went to a party together one of us was going ot get in a fight and the other was going to be fighting along side even when it was the whole damn party against us He was a lil salty cause I wrote a poem about the girls and he wasn't in it so I'm going to be writing him some shit tonight"- Cassandra Dallet 4/24/12

I wish the three of us weren't so far from one another tonight. I'm a fuckin wreck. Flashing between crying and getting so fucking pissed off. This blows. From the first day he came to Alamo to see you girls and I met him we were fuckin inseparable... he was my truest friend at a time that my head was so completely fucked. He new how nuts I was. LOL (maybe I'd a been less fucked in the head if I coulda kept away from the gagger for a minute...) Beatin our way down the I Beam stairway, fuckin up the doorman at Zeitgeist (for the grave offense of kicking me out upon hearing I was 18! LOL), terrorizing a blacked out city after the earthquake... Squatting Cass' apt after her aND deidre moved out! heh heh... Taking over and sharing vocals with Serpent ID when their singer flaked. Travelling to Santa Cruz on our 'Viking Raid'... having to disappear to Petaluma after Redd Kross on his 18th Birthday. We had a lot of good fun times. Homeless Fries! CCM! Even when dope took up most of his preoccupation, he was on the 3rd floor and I was on the 1st of 750 Offarrel. I remember when the dope thing really had me bummed out, I had said seein him was depressing (meaning, he was strung out and always on the nod and it made me sad), and word got back to him what I'd said I felt so shitty about it- even though it was fuckin true... who wants to hang with a junky if yer not one, ya know? But In the long run? None of it mattered. I woulda fought and killed and died for that boy, and he woulda me, too. Right up until today's news. .. n I have the CCM on my left middle finger that to me, says it all- even if I never got the chance to say it in the last few years until recently. Brad was and is my PIC and always will be, even if he was locked up most of the time and I was on the east coast. There's something about the friendships we ALL made back then that stand true now, and I hope yuou all feel the same about me- where it doesnt matter how long it's been you can pick right the fuck up where we were before. Because we're friends... real fucking friends, and very real motherfuckers. Love you. ps- Gotta say, Cass, I was a bit salted myself, not being mentioned. LOL Except for puking in your bathroom and falling down the stairs and you weren't even sure if that had been me! LOL Truth be told, I'm honestly surprised I remember as much as I do. You all, and especially Brad, pulled me out of my own head and allowed me to relax and be comfotable in my skin, which although I hid it well- I think- until you all, I'd always been just a little alienated and weirded out around people. Never fit in. None a yall gave a fuck and none of yasll fit in anywhere totally either, and that friendship felt like home. When i tell stories about runnin with everyone and runnin with Brad, people who weren't there think I'm exaggerating... I'm not. Aliens in a strange land that had passed us up and forgotten us before we ever even had a chance. Souls raging not as a byproduct of conditions so much as simply born to rage. Rage against, rage for, just rage. We blazed and we burned and fried and occasionally snapped. We had our own tribe. All of us more or less pretty much thrown to the wolves to fend for ourselves, be it due to designs of our own making, victims of our own various personality's nuances and quirks, or whatever, but city kids without parental guidlines or boundries; wouldnt have- COULDN'T have- respected them if we'd had em anyway. Each of us different and strange and beautifully crazy in our own ways. I can't even begin to touch on the debauchery, indulgence, violence, and pure fun we participated in together- and I'm only speaking about me and Brad- it would take eons to tell the tales of glory that we ALL have with eachother, and Brad was usually involved with ALL our stories- at least when he wasn't 'away'. Neither can I begin to express the deep, sadness, and sense of loss I am feeling with his death. The impact is profound. Robert is 100% accurate in saying that in many ways, Brad was the glue that somehow connected all of us in those wreckless wonderful daze of misery and madness. Brad had a sort of 'soul pain' he never could really touch, I think. Kind of a restless sort of madness he could never get a grip on. One I know all too well. How we dealt with it manifested itself in very different ways, though. In many ways, I almost think he wasn't an addict in the usual sense, or if he was, it was worse in that he used it to quell that unpinpointable fire that always seemed right there under the surface. But enough with the sad shit; he was a fun, funny motherfucker to be around, man there wasn't a moment we ever shared that didn't include laughter... often at someone else's expense! HAHAHAHA But not always. There is a HUGE fucking gap of emptiness in the world where that relatively small mancub once occupied. To 'Mad' Brattly B-Radly Jay Kosek, my friend, my brother, my homie, my comrade... Cheers brother. I hope your soul finds the peace in death it could not find in life. And if Valhalla's what you wanted when you left this painful, struggle in the Play-Dough meat-puppet plane we're on, than I hope you get it. But if it's as I suspect over there on the other side of this thin veil between us- I'll see you in the stars as we rip like roaring blazing cannonballs ripping through the fabric of time and space itself. I love you, man. - Me 4/25/12 1:10AM PST

The Return of The King (or) The King's only Man disarms the MDR

So I used to work in this tennis supply warehouse packing and picking, shipping and recieving, etc... in the back was a table of retarded folks, one of whom I befriended- Thomas, who wore Elvis shades, sang Hound Dog and did the Elvis swivel n everything, who they called The King, but who introduced himself to me as 'Rambo'. We became good work friends, and always talked when they'd be walking through the aisles on their way to breaks and lunch (which wasn't the same time as ours). Now there was a dude in his department that the guys in my department called WMDR (world's most dangerous retard), or just MDR for short(bus). MDR used to hate me and this kid who I worked with, and used to glower at me all the time when I'd walk by. My boy Kevin said MDR made the whole universal pantomime for 'you're dead'- you know- the whole index finger across one's own throat while leering at the intended intimidatee- when no one else was looking. My boss went to speak to one of their supervisors one day, and picked up one of MDR's wrestling mags and flipped through it while talking to their boss. MDR snatched it in one angry rubber begloved hand (he was also freaked out about germs) yelling "I'm not reading it now thaT YOU'VE touched it!!!" My theory is that someone in MDR's life had made him very angry and bitter about his retardation, and convinced him all 'normal' people were insincere when showing kindness, etc... There was a lockable cage there with shelves of FILA shoes, and Bole sunglasses, etc... this is important later... Now- Thomas/Rambo/The King had been gone awhile after his mom passed, and I always looked up from what I was doing when they'd be coming back from 1st break, in case he came back. One day I looked up from my order, and it was MDR, so I returned to what I was doing and as he passed, he muttered in a low growl "What're YOU lookin at, Tattoo?" to which I just laughed and shook my head and said "OK then, dude..." He actually cracked me up. Kevin was so scared of him, too. One day, Kevin and I were pulling a case of balls off the top shelf, about twenty feet in the air; Kevin on the forklift, operating, me twenty feet in the air, a foot on each fork. I looked down and there was Thomas! I sat down on one fork and called down to him "Hey Alright Rambo's back! How you doin Thomas?!?" He yelled up "My mom died, I was gone awhile. Took it pretty hard, yeah." I said "Fuck I'm sorry to hear that Thomas, but you're a toughie. You'll be alright! Glad you're back though, i missed ya man!" at which he smiled, and sang hound dog while shakin it Kingstyle, and walked back to the packaging table. Right then, MDR came around the corner and yelled "No one likes you Thomas, because you're a fucking RETARD!" I'd had it with him... Standing, one foot on each fork, twenty feet in the air I bellowed "THAT'S FUCKIN IT, WMDR! IT'S YOU AND ME- 4PM- THE FILA CAGE! TWO MEN ENTER, ONE MAN LEAVES! NO ONE FUCKS WITH THE KING! I'LL EAT YOUR GODDAMNED HEART! NO RULES, NO HOLDS BARRED! I FEAR NOT YOUR MONGO SUPER-STRENGTH! YOU'RE A DEAD MAN!!!!" The whole warehouse went nuts laughing, and the string packaging dept jumped up whistling and clapping, as I stood defiantly, fists on each hip staring down MDR. Thomas began shakin it and the most inspired rendering of Hound Dog I ever heard issued forth from the returning King as his peers clapped and egged him on. MDR was LIVID! He was a noshow at 4pm (thank the gods of space and time, because I could never back down after that challenge!), and I was given a strong "what the fuck is wrong with you???" talking to, and a written warning, but it was all very worth it, and MDR never fucked with Thomas or ever even LOOKED at me again.

Bloodbrother

Friday night. Last night's full moon still shoots bounced sunlight into the brains of those who crunch the pine needles and loose asphalt under padded feet and rubber soled tennis shoes, sneaking away after mom's asleep to the redeszvous in the safe dark of the park sitting on a table under the grey shade of the trees away from the view of predatory police cruisers. telling innocent lies and tall tales of glory over the opening of stolen alluminum can of Bud. Red glows and grows to bright orange and ebbs back to red in a coughing, giggling blue cloud containing the dream of amassing the bravery to kiss that girl who's smile, and eyes seem to glow with some sort of magic innocent lust in this place and time. Right now. Somewhere close, racoons emerge from the depths of the gutter drain like navy Seals or brigand bands under the stars in search of a loose trashcan lid. The Trickster in it's coyote suit crawls out of the dry hills lookin' for some lone cat not paying attention, but cats have their own agendas and are only partially in this world to begin with... they remain crafty and Cheshire. Comfortable cigarette dangles loosely under the buzz of the streetlamp swarming with gnats and mosquitos silent sound of Dictators and Stooges and the words of Lester Bangs banging behind my red eyes and between my buzzing ears. If Dick Clark is the world's oldest living teenager, then I'm the world's oldest living juvenile delinquent. I'll bop til I drop, like I just made it to Coney Island from the Bronx, and The Grammercy Riff's KNOW it was the Moonruners, baby! Til there ain't nothin' left. YEPPA!

The Wait

I wait... sittin' in this room. Waitin for payday. waitin for a call. Waitin on you. I wait. At times it's zen, at other times it's jail, still others- sheer fuckall madness... waitin' on my ship to come in... waitin on money... waitin on love... waitin on someone elses prescription to be filled... waitin for you to do what you need, so I can get what I need... sittin in my room listening to Fugazi play "Waiting Room"... I can't get up unless and until you get up. So stand up. Do what you gotta do, so I can do what I have to do, before I do what I gotta do, too... Stand up. Fuck you pay me. Stand up, get here. Stand up, run to me. Stand up, buy my wares. Stand up and be counted. Stand up and fight. be a stand up motherfucker, motherfucker; Take a stand. Stand for something or fall for anything. Run. Run into the unknown. Run towards completion. Run towards absolution. Run towards fate. Run into the future. Future/Now. Make it happen make it so make it right make it real make it count. But fucking DO IT NOW. MOVE. GET UP and fucking MOVE... Life's too short to wait, too long to wait... LET'S GO!

NO HOLDING BACK

Sometimes, you just never know what you've been missing until the universe just goes BAM! and picks you up and puts you on THE PATH. Do you know THE PATH? It's the one you were meant to be on... you may think you're on it, but you never truly know until she puts you on it. BUT: and here's the thing- once you've been put on it, and you'll know- trust me on this- you have to not only ride the wave and forge ahead, but ya gotta give into it and go for it with everything you have, too. Fortune favors the bold, my friends. Grab it and hold fast! Life just gave me a big one. THE big one. The end all be all of all treasures, and you can bet your eyeballs I'm seizing it with gusto and guts and total fearlessness. This one is gonna be big! YES!

To crush the enemy, see them driven before me, and to hear the lamentation of their women.

"Well I take the dirt, and I take the dust, and I barbecue my meals." Damn skippy. What's all this shit with betas tryin to take my mind, energy, body, soul, money, pride, honor, dignity, integrety, etc... Civilization and the industrially insane who run it have manufactured a species of stupid worker brutes (mental betas), and soft bellied law abiders who like to talk about everything, like emotions, better ways to make more laws to protect the weak from the stupid, etc etc etc (physical betas). Just you keep em outta my way. All of em. I'm a heat seeking hammer weilding fire making thunder bringing head kickin' brainiac maniac caveman sumbitch, sumbitch; Don't fucking get in my way. I fuck like a beast, fight like beast, think like Carl Sagan on the verge of madness, and yer fucking floundering in front of me is so fucking irritating it makes my head want to pop. No fuckin' wonder my blood pressures high. I'm surrounded by fucking morons. Thank the universe I know how to spot friends n allies to buffer me from too much dealing with the public at large. Not that I don't possess a certain ammount of gentlemanly grace and an ability to empathize- but the second I sense judgement, fear, insecurity, etc I get a bit 'wolfey'. Don't be a sickly or injured baby elk in front of me... ya just get me sniffin' out lunch. I'm direct, blunt, and my hearts on my sleeve- but that doesn't mean it's an easy target. I smash through life in a straight fuckin' line pulled by a chrome helmeted, bolt tatted wild boar drawn rocket fueled chariot with stone wheels. Fucka Charlie fuckin' Sheen, man. I eat little self entitled bitches like that at 2AM after the bars close. Get the fuck outa my way- I'm comin' through. Nuff sed.

The Watcher on Fuckitall Island

If it weren't for my responsibility to the dog, I'd probably just say fuck it. My life has been filled with high adventure, righteousness, good friends, and fun interesting cameos by odd and entertaining sometimes wise characters. Bad times, and survival through em like a champ... and even more miraculously- survival through the good times! ;-) Never really was meant for this time and space. Out of step and un-synched my whole life. I honestly see no real reason to change anything other than to better execute some vague 'blaze of glory' fantasy I frequently indulge. Better living through chemistry my ass. FUCK THIS MODERN WORLD AND FUCK CIVILIZATION. Let it crumble. Maybe THAT'S why I need to change and take care of myself- other than to take care of The Boy Daigoro Lux- so I can watch it crumble and fall and laugh my ass to death. Sorry- not trying to be heavy, but my commitment to participation in this stupid pointless game has been hanging on one shitty rayon thread as far back as I can remember. Some people think it's a depressing outlook, but I don't at all mean it that way; it's all so funny to me. But I'm very glad I now get to watch it all fall with such badass kindred spirits as I've been so lucky to connect with. Hoot muthafuckin' HOOT! I kinda feel like there's a little more left to the ride, and right when I thought maybe it was time to get off. But I get off on it too much to quit just yet. Sometimes the universe throws a character or two in my path that really make me think "Oh fuck- OKAY then, maybe I'll stay just a little longer and see how THIS plays out... " Because that's what life is all about, right? Connection and friends and 'swimming' in/with the universal tides, and just DIGGING IT, right? Fuck the extraneous horseshit thrown atcha. Thank you friend, you know who you are- you're here, you're gone, and you are right fucking here in my heart. And thank you space time continuum for your waves. Surf's up!

I need a breathalizer installed on my computer...

I've decided I need to install a breathalizer on my computer so that I don't go on drunken internet rampages where I end up 'nuking' my friends' facebook pages with video posts, and go on insane spending binges with ebay and amazon... I mean, I know I NEEEEDed 'real' Jivarro JuJu filled shrunken heads, 2 fiji mermaids, a four foot tall wooden carved tiki bottle opener, a jar containing a two-headed baby, the complete Marvel Savage Sword of Conan, etc... and I know at the time every video I posted had some drunken signifigance where I knew everyone really gave a flying fuck about what I happened to be listening to for 16 hours straight... HAHAHAHA. But in the cold harsh unforgiving light of the hungover morning (2:58pm) my perspective was just a little different. No big deal really, I do want that shit, and now I get to have it, and my friends on FB are friends for a reason, but I'm not in the habit of annoying the livin' fuck outta people I dig. HAHAHAHA...

So here it is- in three months I'll have my license back. Let's see if I can keep from fucking hammering away at the keyboard like a mad drunken Dr. Phibes relentlessly beating on his organ ;)-hahahahaha-, unless it's on here, or while writing 'The Book'... no, not the bible- that silly shit's already been done; MY BOOK. Anyway, as Stan Lee would say: Nuff Said



PS- Tryin' not to only blog 'rants'. Gotta get back the bebop stream of conciousness shit, and more observational journalism. Gotta get back into the right head-space for it. Thanx for bearing with while I get my chops back in order.

Imperial entanglements over drunk driving faux pas.... (or) FUCK IT.

So, I started DUI classes today right? Intake anyway... had to finish this questionaire and speak with a councilor. Questions like "Do you ever drink until you black out?" yes. "have you had unprotected sex while under the influence?" yes. ..."Has drinking caused you to have trouble with the police ever?" No. "out of these 4 choices, what best describes you?" and out of all of them, I chose option "I do not feel I have a drinking problem." SO, she goes we see you've answered a lot of these real honestly, but I'm worried where it says you don't feel you have a problem. I said "my problem isn't drinking, I'm good at that. My problem was getting arrested." She goes " well right here it says you you never had a problem with police". I go "I haven't. I mean I was arrested and everything, but it wasn't really a problem. I got along fine with my arresting officers and everyone in my cell." She goes "Maqybe you should reassess what constitutes a problem to you." LOL... Then she goes "what about here where it says you've had unprotected sex while drunk... you don't think that's a problem?" I go "NO! I've had unprotected sex while sober, and it's not nearly as fun!" HAHAHAHA... She goes "that's not normal, Josh." I go "I'm not normal, mam." lol
So, I'm gonna reassess what exactly my fucking problem is, then....
A) My problem is getting pulled over in Burbank California for having a tattooed arm hanging out of the window while the Dickies "I'm a Cholo" blasted out of a '91 Caddy DeVille with primer spots and Dirty Donny shrunken head stickers in the back and a glow in the dark Buddy Christ on the dash. Didn't swerve or anything, and truth be told, I know when I shouldn't be driving. So it was a pre-emptive and definite profiling sort of situation. Now I'm not saying I think you should drive drunk without consequences- FAR FROM IT! But I'm saying THAT I SHOULD be allowed to drive drunk without them, until I actually fuck up. HAHAHAHAHA No, I'm not really saying that; But I DO feel someone should show visible signs of intoxication in order to be stopped in suspicion of it (my only visible sign was the cop saw me pull out of the parking lot. He was just lurking there, waiting).
B) My problem is that the State of California's biggest source of revenue is DUI's and minor drug arrests. The people are broke. The state's broke. So the state has devised a way to fleece the people it's supposed to represent. It's like Sheriff of Nottingham shit: Tax the people. If the people can't pay, you can jail them and take back the property they've been living on, and maybe MAYBE someone will put something THEY have up as collateral in order to get the jailed person out, and then they have THAT person in pocket and by the balls/ovaries.
C) My problem is, everyone who works in these programs are more than likely in recovery themselves, and have bought the entire BS hook line and sinker. I'm not/haven't. It's only a problem if I want to stop and can't. I don't want or need to. But I enjoy it every coupla weeks. I don't even ever say "Oh I'm gonna have one or two" and then just keep going, because I've never thought 'one or two' to be that appealing. I say "I think I'm gonna get fucked up, tonight", and then I do. NO PROBLEM. Or I think, "Nah- I'm not feelin' it tonight" and don't. NO PROBLEM. Anyway, nuff sed fer now; gotta get back into the blog swing o things again. Thanx fer checkin' it out.

My America... (another rant, and a review of the Blasters @ The Troc)

Along side of this horseshit corporate franchised shopping mall Starbucks shithole, where people read People, and watch crap about the Kardoucheians, and hope for a smokefree America, and a drugfree America, and where every time someone spills coffee on themselves a lawsuit ensues resulting in some chickenshit legislation outlawing paper cups... parallel to a place where the average citizen is being fucked in the pooper lubelessly against their will so regularly that they think if they vote for lube thrown in and they win, then they're doing fine... where naive and ineffectual democrats get slapped around by fat old rich republicans and the ACTUAL CITIZEN is not represented by ANYFUCKING BODY... as our fucking rights and liberties are slowly but surely stripped and pesky things like minimum wage and basic workers rights that generations of men and women fought and died for like the 40 hour workweek, the 2 day weekend, overtime, etc.. just the basics, FORGET about medical benefits or vacation time or sick days or anything so elaborate- are eliminated... where a woman can be tried for murder for aborting a child... where the politicians are nothing but dupes posing as representatives of us who fight and bicker and steal eachothers parking spaces and do everything short of pulling eachothers hair and throwing rocks at eachother like horrible spoiled children who somehow control our future?!?!?

There's another country... a country that used to have an open range and folks who lived with it... one where nothin left to lose was a pretty damn good state to be in... one where blues and jazz and rock n roll and country- and i don't mean anything to do with the 'music industry' either- but where this shit was born and played by PEOPLE... a country where hobos (and I don't mean bums, but actual travelin 'Bos) hop freight... where dudes live in their vans on the coast and surf every morning... where longhair country boys grow fields of smoke and protect them with automatic rifles... the country of outlaws and pirates and highwaymen. The land on which this place stands is all but unrecognizable as these fools believe it's ownable. It's not.

The idea of power is a complete illusion. The only reason the rulers rule is because we let them. So lets stop letting them. Just ignore them and they'll turn into infighting, inbred, ingrate mutants (which they already are anyway) and they'll simply whither and die. We'll just nod and smile when they address us, and go about our business of living. They can manipulate their politician puppets to write more laws all they want, we'll just ignore the ones that are stupid... they can take away our rights if they want- we don't care because it's all so much paper anyway. Like children, they'll scream and bitch that we're not 'playin right' and like other children we'll respond: I'm not playing this game anymore, it's dumb. We'll do our work to keep things flowing, and we'll continue to take WHAT'S FAIR- lets not become what we hate & get greedy- we can live comfortably and modestly... if they want to give less, fuck em... we smile and nod and take what we need anyway. We'll send extreme leftists to picket the compounds of extreme rightwingers and make all zealots confront eachother in that crater they shot The Conqueror in, so that those who survive the meeting will probably die of cancer anyway. We completely remove the government, otherwise and replace it with a council made up of Lemmy, John Trudell, & Lewis Black, and Rowdy Roddy Piper and we congregate once a year to discuss and settle all matters at the THING.
What got me on this kick wasn't just the negative shit goin on lately, but the positive shit too: Good ol American Music band The Blasters played the Trocadero here in Philly tonight and they still got it after over 30 years of beltin out the goodies. Phil's voice and delivery every bit as good as it was on that 1st album.

Welcome to Milktoastlandia on Planet Pussy....

So I know the days of Steve McQueen, Bogey, Lee Marvin, Chuck Bronson etc are over, but puh-lease! The pussification of society has got to stop! 'Alterno'-kids with Beiber doos and their sisters' pants are everywhere playing Warped Tour Pop about girls and emotions and feeling alienated for being a suburban wuss... The world is brainwashed into 1st of all- GIVING A FUCK about Charlie Sheen at ALL, and secondly, buying into all this Dr. Drew-esque propaganda about drugs are always bad, and anyone who does em is 'sick' with a 'disease'. On top of all that, Cap'n Crunch is being phased out.

Look man, people need to start thinking like Vince McMahon! Tiger Woods for example: Instead of making him drop out, apologize, and admit he has a 'problem', they shoulda just started running with it; I can see it now, he enters the green driven on an entirely flat-black golf cart driven by a dude dressed like Rob Halford, with 5 hot blondes draped all around it, Slayer's "Haunting The Chapel" blasting... He gets off the cart as one of the chicks takes his blunt and his forty, and he tosses his cape to the Halford dude. As he walks on, pyrotechnics EXPLODE behind him... He makes his first shot, snaps the club over his knee, pounds a forty and flips off the camera. THAT'S FUCKING SHOWMANSHIP, and he captures the hearts and minds of a whole new fanbase!

Cap'n Crunch, I'm sad to say, will be sorely missed- but why not just change the marketing strategy? Show a dude in his mid 20's to mid 30's on a couch in his boxers watching cartoons at 3pm chowin down on a bowl o' the Cap'n, with a bong sitting next to the box and a semi crushed aluminum beer can with ciggy butts stickin outta the spout.

CBS or whatever should offer Charlie Sheen a new show called 2 Hos and a Tiger Blooded F-18... too long? How about "Winning"? Put it on HBO or Showtime. Not a reality show, but a comedy with reality elements like Curb, or Entourage. I know he's a pompous asshat, but just because he fucks starlets and does blow is no reason to blacklist him... SHIT! There was a time when we EXPECTED that kind of behavior from our celebritards!

Seriously folx, nut up or shut up... REALLY!

P>S>- anyone who can afford a ton of blow and two pornstars and flyin around the world with em, doesn't 'need help'; They need a clone!

Normal Blog- back to the rant...

SO I am working on the books now, which is cool because I'll be open for more hours etc BUT: It's a Citibank check which won't verify with many check cashing institutes. Not a big deal, I have an account with BofA, I just owe them 21.69 in fees and - it being a relatively small check- I thought I'd just pay the 7 bucks or whatever to cash it and utilize the max amount available, right? Wrong- They won't cash it... ok fine BofA it is: the BofA ATM allowed me to deposit a check into an account that apparently had been closed due to inactivity, but my savings (containing 1.00 in it) was still open. I called customer service and they were explaining to me that they were sorry but they'd have to mail the check back to me, because my checking had closed. Why, I asked, can't they simply transfer the funds or check or whatever into my savings then, and take the 21.69 out of it and pay what I owe with it, and I'll open another checking account? Well, she explained, that's fine, but we still need to send the check back to me first because it was sent to the checking account- however if I'd like to pay the 21.69 I owed I could do that. So I said to her, oh I see- you're totally set up to accept my money but not set up to giving me my fucking money when the stupid fucking ATM shouldn't have accepted a fucking check into an account that had been fucking closed for 6 days already in the first fucking place... Yes sir, are you satisfied with how I handled your call? Yeah you were great! Was it as good for you as it was for me? I'm fucking spent! I need a cigarette now... and a sandwich.

This said, I hate banks... I hate banks, utility companies, paperwork, rent, taxes, no skateboarding laws, insurance coverage, helmet laws, drug laws, pharmaceutical companies, lobbyists, rich ruling class elitists & their worthless spoiled offspring, bureaucratic governments, organized religious dogma, Clearchannel, the so called Bohemian Club, Skull and Bones, and their ilk...

I hate the Pharoahs, and the Romans, and the Catholic Church, and the Frankish Empire under Charlemagne, Germany under Hitler, all kings and queens of any area and time, and the psychotic zealots who overthrow them and start slaughtering people just as shitty as the kings and queens they just overthrew. I hate "the new boss- same as the old boss", I hate fast food and convenience store managers and assistant managers with a world so small that they actually take their jobs seriously... I hate white collar call center 'key people' and 'supervisors' who give a fuck about the system they work for. I hate anyone and everyone whose only value is being a working cog in a obliviously pointless running machine. I hate rules arbitrarily placed for people to avoid confrontation or resposability or accountability. I hate physically weaker and intellectually duller people in positions of 'power' that believe a title or money is actual power.

I am not meant for this time- or at least not in a way that I've found... I should be hunting Mammoth right now... Not kidding.

Or charting the paths of the night sky and documenting it in my mind and designing massive stone calenders.

Assholes everywhere...

So, I responded to an ad on craigslist about a job interview, and spoke with a dude about the deregulation of electricity in Pennsylvania... okay, so I'm thinking it's a job interview (and trust me, they wanted a resume, told me to come in business attire- which means Tiffany spent 10bux for a suit coat for me at Goodwill, etc etc etc) w/ an Electric Company that's come to town, right? Well, sort of... what it is, is a pyramid scheme... Now, they will deny that it's a pyramid scheme, and show you charts n shit all fucking night proving that it's not. OK- I get it- it's not a pyramid because you've made a much more complex chart that- ESSENTIALLY- shows the same shit that a pyramid scheme does. What it IS, is a multilevel marketing scam, truly pissed me off being there... They wanted me to get 3 more people, get them all to switch service providers, and then for each of them to get three more, so on and so on... there were 4 of us there tonight... 1500 are training tomorrow. After 3 hours of being told up and down and over and over why we need to get on board, it turns out that in order to pull this off, each and everyone involved, would have to use their website in order to get paid; for a one time fee $199.00, and after that just $24.99 per/month, we could have access to this website. Of course you make commission, on every account you get your friends to sign up with, as do they, but then you get a little off of their commission too, so on and so forth. Do you see the problem here? The population is finite- FACT. So, say there's 5million people in Philadelphia; 1500 of those people, are paying 200 bucks tomorrow to be 'trained' to get 3 to 10 accounts, who all will pay THEIR 200 bucks and then try and get 3-10 people who then pay THEIR 200 blah blah blah... major rapid multiplication explosion, in a finite state population. Imagine if you sold AMWAY, and at every door you knocked on the homeowner tried to sell you AMWAY. Anyway, total shit. Irritated. The links in this blog are pretty awesome, I might add and I urge you to check em out...
So, here I am- back to the fucking job-search thing. The funny thing was, the other 3 people duped into finding their way out to the airport Wyndham Hotel, were buying it... and I'm not saying it wouldn't work, potentially, at this level, but eventually, someone gets fucked; sooner than later. I'm not willing to make a few bucks by being a parasitic fuckwad at the expense of my friends or strangers, even. On top of that, they were showing footage of a convention center room w/ at LEAST 2000 people already involved. Like a pyramid cult or something. FUCK THAT! These assholes spoke of how great they were doing, including  little antidotes indicating that they came from humble beginnings, as obvious as one dude talking about snow coming through his bedroom ceiling when he was a kid and eating tree bark! lol... and another guy talking about how great his life is now and how he has a great house, "even though I grew up in the ghetto" etc etc etc... When he said that, I looked at his hands... SOFT like a babies ass, soft! Like hands that've NEVER seen hardship. ANYWAY, fuck em.

On to other shit: The State Farm Insurance guy makes me want to punch him in his fucking face. I hate him. He's smug and irritating and always in some gentrified culturally diverse setting, indicating subliminally that it works for EVERYONE, not just smug, pinchy faced, know-it-all, fucktards w/ sensibly stylish sports coats.

That rant out of the way, I urge anyone in  the area to come out to the Trocadero Theatre here in Philly Feb. 3rd for an exclusive showing of: LEMMY THE MOVIE- 49% Motherfucker/51% SonOfaBitch! Should be awesome! tix are 8bux.

In it, not of it...

Sick of the left, sick of the right, don't wanna be caught in the middle, so I think I'll stay outside in the dark shadowed underbelly I've learned to call 'home'. I'll come out to fight for canned goods, clean water, a keg of Boddington's (tap required!), and 3 cartons of Camel Wides... throw in some Peanut M&M's and a Dr. Pepper, and we're good... otherwise, leave me alone. I'm happy in the fringe; to quote John Kay " I'll live outside your city walls, you don't have to be afraid until I come together". Outlaw me, I don't fucking care... I prefer it, in fact. I'll let you have your sick political battles and you let me have my mind, okay? I pay little attention to laws anyway, so how about law paying little to no attention to me? I understand the need for regulation and order, it's just not ME WHO NEEDS it... It's either that, or I start kicking down doors, bitch-slapping idiots and kicking faces in... I would rather just chill. Sick of spoiled greedy temper tantrum children running the world at the cost of millions and millions of lives. All so a tiny 1% can have 30 cars, 6 houses, 4 yachts, and high priced hookers. I SEE YOU, FUCKER! I AM seeing 'that man behind the curtain'! Knock it the fuck off, and let us evolve! Sick of living under the reign of the industrially insane. Sick of watchingthem fight and step on necks and sue and beat down and financially bankrupt and escape any consequences... Sick of watching.