This won’t cure you…

But it should put you on the right track.

H stands for History…

Well, I’ve done it. Kicked the dark secret. Beaten the odds. Had some help. Methadone. Acquired on the black market. Committed a felony to help get my daily behavior lawful. Wasn’t easy. Wasn’t hard. It was just something I had to do. Now the tough part…The rest of my life.

Alter Egos Emerge~

Dr. Flashlight made an unannounced appearance Monday night, when a rare spring power outage struck the beach drive community like a mule-kick to the scrotum. Luckily, we still had laptops and iPods and leds and candles. Yes, the candles are more of an atmosphere enhancer than a tool, but we had ‘em. Not having interweb or Netflix or HDTV blasted by a 40 inch photon cannon is a bummer. On the bright side of this blackout, we are saving a shitload of electricity. Maiden got ahold of one a them there house-coons, right in front of the porch. Well, I looks over to the ol’lady, and she says, “Get that Goddamned coon girl!” Well, seein as I’s the one  be payin’ any vet bills, I called her off. Funny, in the book “Where the Red Fern Grows”, they make coon hunting seem like brain-surgery crossed with Non-linear algebraic Nano-licking butt-fuckery. Come to find out, just live here. The mutherfuckers come up to the front door and ring the Goddamned doorbell. They aren’t even smart enough to leave a flaming bag of shit. Stupid coons.  Added some spores to a sterile bag of rye berries today, I wonder what will happen? I’ve been led to believe, If my heart is pure, I will be shown a wondrous place, full of magic and forgotten knowledge. Maybe even a secret source of ju-ju. At the very least, enough braincain to land four dimensions from this shit-plane. I believe the flavor is Virginia Creeper. Anyway, a funny thing happened the other day, Valerie asked me if Ozzy did the “Dog the Bounty Hunter” theme song. “No fucking way”, was my immediate response. Well, after hearing it again, I looked it up. Fuck me. He is schlepping for Dog. Now that got me to thinking. What a fucking crime-fighting dream team. Ozzy’s brains, and Dog’s brains. Wow. Fucking blow-my-mind. God left his finger prints all over that one. In sports, the M’s had the day off after taking 2 of 3 from the Philly's. Loving this team. Dustin Ackley was called up for this series, and performed as advertised. Now it’s off to Washington DC to play the Nationals. M’s are like 36-34 or around there. A game out of first. Totally unexpected success this season. I guess we probably have a few of those years owed to us…I won an auction for a Behringer 1204fx-pro mixing board for 76 bucks. Now I will have some phantom power for my mxl 990 condenser mic. I shall be in a  position to capture the sound of my acoustic vision. The duality of summer and freedom. A musical version of a bicentennial quarter.

Got my condenser mics…

Put in a couple of bids on mixing boards, didn’t like what guitar center was slinging. I prefer the old Behringer 1204fx, but they are no longer in production. I’ll find one. Got to have phantom power…

M’s dropped one to LA.

The Back of a Front

 

I don’t need you, I just can’t put you down. Putcha down down down down putcha down down. Breaking stones and pushing glass. Hunting dones and pins and cash. Rare’s the one who pay’s it back. Kiss the ass to get the cash, then scour the planet for any past, any reason, any chance, prior promised  favors bashed. perceived insults or paydays passed, anything to start the clash. Forsake your friend, don’t split your stash. Real pain is paying up today for dope you did that’s not  in hand. The front is both the front and back. A helping hand which saves your ass. Your gratitude relayed is fact. A moments hope for fellow man, until it’s time to pay ‘em back. The dope is gone and it went fast.   All that’s left is pay it back. A task that’s fraught with hidden traps.  The world conspires against your plans. You  got ripped off   your dope and cash.  You caught a case or bought black glass. Your car broke down, run out of gas. You have some luck, but it’s all bad. Guess three’s a crowd, you, luck, and black. Avoid the calls and let time pass. Eventually the front and facts, fade with time, fade to  black. All junkies know that stacks go fast, not to fronts just to black. The boosters get you bags for black or bags for crack, some ballsy thieves can get you gas. They never seem to boost any cash, but steaks or shoes are yours just ask,

Summer has arrived…

But, alas, I have many chores to accomplish before I can truly enjoy the sunshine. Currently, my many alter egos are chillin in the bat-cave, waiting for a mission… Cro-killer, The Man, Rod Swellington, etc.