Scraps of paper from the Western Steer era (late 80s).

Rough giraffes scream beatnik poetry at midnite
and the corpses grin like Cheshire kitties...

The chartreuse eel laughs out of the side of his mouth
while the shy dog sighs...

Book mark.

I wrote, recently, about how I love to find notes, shopping lists, tickets, etc. It gives you a little peek into a stranger's world. I buy a lot of used books and it's always a thrill to find an unusual book mark that someone left. I've found airline tickets, condom wrappers, newspaper clippings - and this 5x7 photo. Oddly enough, it was in a copy of William Burroughs' "Naked Lunch." I haven't a clue who this is or who snapped the pic - which makes it all the more interesting.

 

Dream.

In a dream, last night, I was having a pleasant conversation with Bea Arthur, on the (non-existent) patio of my home. It was a nice warm evening. The patio was more like something she would have had on "The Golden Girls." In fact, I'm not sure she was Bea Arthur, as much as she was Dorothy Zbnornak. While we chatted, however, I had the nagging thought, in the back of my mind, that I was to have a dinner party in just a matter of minutes and nothing was prepared - and the house was a mess. I excused myself to attend to my duties.
When I reached the kitchen, which was my kitchen, yet much larger and nicer, I began to feel frantic. It was a catastrophe! The oven was open and the interior had been decorated, by my nieces, rather Hedwig-like, with pictures and stickers and bits of ribbon tied to the racks. I attempted to divest it of its embellishments, but was having a rather difficult time with the stickers. My eye wandered over to the sink, to find it full of dirty dishes. This would never do! Cuba Gooding, Jr. was peeling potatoes at my bar, amid open bottles of beer, bags, crumbs, bottle caps, food stuffs and general trash and garbage. Why he had 3 ten pound bags of potatoes open, I don't know. He didn't seem to be in much of a hurry, either. I had to get into gear.
Some of the guests were already arriving (early, of course). I went to my stereo and put on the "54" soundtrack and cranked it up. "If you could read my mind, love, what a tale my thoughts would tell..." A little disco to get me into cleaning mode. I told him, "I'm just going to clean up around you. If there's something you're using, I'll leave it for you." I called my nieces in and told them to clean up the oven, pronto! I began tackling the dishes. I was determined that, even though I was getting off to a rough start, this party was going to happen!

Jarod in Flux.

Life keeps happening. Jarod Reactor is still in the mix.
Reacting.
Life keeps happening. It won't let you stand still. It's a swirling mess, a cacophony of chaos.
Chaos.
Maybe he stacked those bricks up too high - although it really wasn't high, at all. Others have erected taller monuments. Churches. Obelisks. Tombstones. Maybe he had slime for mortar. Maybe he used the workers from the tower of Babel. A babbling crew of sun bleached spectres.
"Pass that trowel, Shem."
"I am but a ghost. I have no form. And I can not understand your tongue."
Chaos.
The sun remained when the rest of the sky fell - but, his construction did not. Brick by brick it collapsed. There arose a cloud of dust that eclipsed the sun, which, while still intact, was rendered impotent (at least for the moment). The rubble from the destruction threatened to bury him. But, it did not bury him. Our Jarod is alive!
Meanwhile, the universe expands and time remains a mystery. Let me repeat that: Time is a mystery.
"Let's make order of this chaos!" That's Jarod's rallying cry.
Life is chaos, Jarod Reactor. Chaos is life.
Nervous and righteous. Angst-ridden and super fly. Buttered up and laid to the side.
Stoned, blown and renowned. (Make those words rhyme. You can do it!)
Pick up that cast aside trowel and create. You have to create, Jarod.
Memories of fever dreams - these are tales that can't be told. Not with words. Not easily. These are the totems he has to create.
Creation from chaos.
A bucket of stars was thrown upon him. He is blessed now. Blessed by light. Illuminated like a fallen angel.
Create!
All of that inner turmoil - that cup of iron filings and molasses - has to be dealt with. Do your thing, baby. Do your thing!
Ingest sensually and digest explosively.
Birds in cages. Pictures in frames. Words on the page. Blood on the roof tops.
Heaven remains yours, minus a bucket of stars. What are you going to do with it?

Response to comment about "Mindless meandering."

That is my favorite comment from you (or anyone), so far, Wonderpop! Did you catch the bit about Goldwax? I guess I included that because art (images, books, music) is my answer to the big question. At least it takes your mind off all the craziness.
Wow, I feel like I engaged you. But, you know, without a ring.

Mindless meandering.

I heard a guy on NPR, tonight, talking about theoretical mathematics, the string theory and the idea of "multiverses" - parallel universes. I would go mad contemplating these notions at any length. Just what I've read about black holes warped my mind. I wish I could make sense of my own personal microcosm. I know I'll never understand my place in the universe. Or universes.
The next story, on NPR, was about a little known R+B record label, from the 60s, called Goldwax. The songs were great, the performances soulful and the production, gorgeous. That I could understand.

Life keeps happening. The wheel keeps turning. Is there a point to it? Are we animals confined to an unnatural system of societal pressures? Is that why we're so miserable? I know I keep trying to make my dog change certain behaviors, but he can't. He's a dog. His brain is wired differently.
I think my brain is wired differently. Artists (good and bad) attempt to create their OWN universes. Or inject some order into the one they already have. Now, if I could only find a way to make a living from this philosophy...
"Solipsism" is the idea that you can only know your own mind - that all other minds are unknowable and, get this, may not even exist! I generally find my mind to be incomprehensible and I often question ITS existence.
Label that. (Insanity?)

My progress.

It's not right, it's not pretty, but it's back together and on the road. Everything is "off" because of the warpage from the accident. The closer you look, the worse IT looks. But, I got the lights working and it has a new radiator and AC condenser.
I'm going to drive this piece of crap 'til it dies (hopefully, no time soon).

 

 

My progress.

Both of my brothers-in-law came over Friday and helped me put my car back together. It sure was nice of them and I really appreciated it.
The front end could not be straightened out completely, so things didn't fit back correctly (of course). I was going to post a pic of our work, but it's not something I'm particularly proud of. I did a few things to it today and I'm going to try it out tomorrow and see if there are any discernible problems. I may need to add transmission fluid and I still need some bulbs for the head lights. The hood doesn't shut tightly. I hope it won't pull up in the breeze. If everything works, I'm gonna drive it, no matter how ugly it is - and be thankful to have a ride.
Could I be any more freaking positive?!

Crunch time.

My income has been cut in half. Meanwhile, my bills continue to mount.
Because this has been one of the coldest winters on record and because I've been home more (necessitating more heating), my electric bill has nearly quadrupled! (Not to mention the gas bill [although, it seems I did].) My car repairs have amounted to $700 so far. I have the added phone bill, now that I don't have a work phone. I've used up every bit of money I had saved (which, admittedly, wasn't much). And there's no relief in sight.
Tons of bills, half the income. Do the math. This WILL NOT add up. I would sell blood, if I wasn't concerned about it affecting my heart condition. Or, if anyone would even want my blood, with my checkered past.
I'm just going to have to stay in bed all day. If I don't get up, I won't be going anywhere, eating, using heat or spending money. How's that for a plan? I should have implemented this plan before I wrecked my car...
And, life keeps happening.

Hominy snow.

We're getting more snow. This is the 3rd snowfall we've had this winter. That's quite unusual for our area.
These most recent snowflakes are lumpy. My sister says it's called hominy snow.

Denise Cass Brookman.

I just had to post the back cover pic of Mrs. Brookman, author of "The Tender Time," with her English Bulldog, Brutus. She earned a BA in Liberal Arts from Northwestern University and sold her first story to "Seventeen" magazine, in the early 50s.
How perfect is this photo? I love the black (dress? slacks?) and the necklace. I'll bet the Brookmans were real martini imbibing swingers!

 

"The Tender Time"

I'm reading "The Tender Time" by Denise Cass Brookman. It's a Best Loved Girl's Books book, published in 1958. Even though "TTT" is populated by kids who say "Gosh" and "Golly" and girls who find boys "dreamy," it's not badly written. Mrs. Brookman often transcends the genre, if only in brief flashes. I can imagine her composing something much more sophisticated and adult-like.
I'm just a sucker for the cover illustrations on books from the 50s and early 60s. I mean, look at Jim's eyelashes and Stephie's smile. And the way she's leaning into him. Dreamy!

 

People used to love me.

Jim,
I just wanted to say thank you for bieng (sic) so wonderfull (sic). You have cared for me in so many ways that I could never repay you. A lot of people say, "I will alway (sic) love you" and do not. I will always have a special place for you in my heart. I couldn't imagine life the same without you. You may feel down sometimes but I would like for you to know how I feel about you. I think you are smart, funny, a good listener, talented, hard working, loving, kind, + thought full (sic). There aren't many people I am comfortable around, but I feel like I am a part of your life + vice versa. I look forward to seeing you when I get home.

Love,
J.

P.S. I hope you feel better soon.

(Comment: I sound like a great guy, don't I?)

The Alchemist. (Written when I was 13.)

The alchemist.
He sits.
He waits.
He ponders.
He excitedly opens a huge dust covered book, runs his trembling finger down a page, then closes it - sadly, quietly.
The sun's rays, which peer through the small window at the top of the dingy room, become dimmer, dimmer.
The alchemist.
He sits.
He waits.
He ponders.

My progress.

I have my new radiator and A/C condenser. It was ordered yesterday and arrived this morning. I also found the other parts I needed at a junkyard. And guess what? They're white, like my car! I was expecting to have to ride around in a two tone whip. So, that's very cool. Now, if I can just remember where all of those bolts go...
I laid in bed last night worrying about finding parts and being able to afford them. I could not have done ANY of this (in view of my recent economic misfortunes) without the aid of my friend Chuck. Thanks again, Chuck. (I think of you every time I consider a comma.)

Unpleasant photo alert.

This is the result of a combination of car repairs and blood thinners. I should have taken a photo before the blood congealed, when it was pouring down my hand. Oh well, this is gory enough.
My brother-in-law came over this morning and we managed to pull the front of the car out a good bit. I think I can work with it now. I called a local junk yard about some used body parts. They said, "Yeah, we have what you need." They gave me a price and everything. I went to the junkyard to get the parts and they told me, "Sorry, we don't have any parts to fit your car."
Ok.
I went to an auto parts store for my radiator and air conditioner condenser. Again, I had been quoted a price over the phone. When the guy rang up my purchases, it was $80 more than i had been quoted! I said, "Whoa!" I explained that I was given a price over the phone and that was not it. He said, "Let me see what I can do." He looked at his computer for a while and eventually came down to the original price. I tell ya, the auto parts business is crooked.
Right now, I'm waiting on a call from another junkyard. They may have what I'm looking for. If not, I have a Punk Rock back-up plan. Yes I do... This car WILL be back on the road in a couple of days.

 

Waiting.

I'm up, waiting for my brother-in-law. It's a tad rainy, so he may not show. Also, my nephew is still here. Why doesn't he ever go to work? He brought in some toilet paper and paper towels last night. This kind of shit makes me nervous. It's like he's moving in. It's also like he thinks he's paying rent with paper products. He's so self centered (coming from a guy who writes a blog). He rambles on about the most mundane aspects of his life, never taking a breath (again, from a bloggist). When he runs out of words, he actually says, "Blah, blah, blah."
Jeez, I need my house back. And, my car fixed.
This day isn't starting off so well.

My progress (such as it is).

I got my unemployment money today, so, with the loan of my sister's car, I was able to get my meds refilled. Phew! Also, while we didn't actually do any repairs, my brother-in-law did come by and inspect my wreckage - of the automotive persuasion. (The psychological and emotional wreckage will have to wait.) We have a plan now and we'll get to work on it tomorrow, barring any rain. I priced parts today, too. If I can just bring all of these elements together - get my ducks in a row, as it were - I should be able to have my car back on the road by sometime next week. Here's hoping the chassis isn't bent and it doesn't cause the tires to wear unduly. I think it may be ok.

RIP Don Kirshner.

Don Kirshner died yesterday. One report said he was 76. Another said 77. He was known in the music industry as "The Man with the Golden Ear."
I first became aware of him in the 70s, through his show "Don Kirshner's Rock Concert." It was one of the only shows on TV where you could see real rock and roll played live. Some of these acts were eye (and ear) openers: Bowie, Alice, Kiss, Ramones, the New York Dolls, T.Rex, etc.
I fondly remember his low key, somewhat monotone, introductions. He was kinda like an Ed Sullivan for the 1970s.
He was instrumental in the careers of too many people to mention - from the 1960s until his death. He certainly was a fixture of my youth. Goodbye, Don.

My non-progress.

It rained today, so I didn't get any car repairs done. I don't feel too good about that.
I walked to the store, in the rain, to get some food to last for a couple of days. Now, I have no money, no car, no gas to heat with and no money for meds (I ran out today). The last time I saw my doctor, he emphasized that I should never go without my meds. No one seems to understand - when you're broke, you can't do anything. Certainly, a cardiologist doesn't understand being broke.
Other than walking to the grocery store, I've just been in the house all day - watching "The Lord of the Rings."
I feel so helpless just waiting. But, that's what I have to do. My unemployment money probably won't be available until Thursday, because of the MLK holiday.
I'm a patient man, but my patience is wearing thin. Very thin. If you could see it, it would look like those slices of bread used to make Donald's sandwich in "Mickey and the Beanstalk."