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Who’s Barrette Is In My Pocket?-
Last Night (North Beach)... These Are the Things that You Do These Other Things that You Do- girlfriend smash! bottle of wine...
These Are the Things that You Do
when you do other things
you know you will do
bottle punch!
Streetfight right
‘...right down the middle, baby! Right down the middle!'
Down the middle of Columbus
these are those things, too
These Are the Things that You Do
When the ocean runs off to hide
gonna bring down that boy
from up the Northside
gonna spill that tongue
go for a ride
you know there’s no poem
that’ll get you that high
These Are the Things that You Do
When you do Other things
These Other Things that You Do
these things you do
i thought you knew
there’s no ocean @ the end of this road
keep stealing things
your bound to get shown
ALL THOSE OTHER THINGS
you knew you would do
These Are the Things that You Do
Grant Street holdouts
* got a job in the Morning *
if you roll out of bed before noon
These Are the Things that You Do
As you do OTHER things
you know that you do
gonna take all humanity
* roll it in a ball*
maid cleans the carpet @ two
Audio-corpse hiding in micro-cassette
These Are the Things that You Do
* you know it’s only written for you *
for these
* Are the Things that You Do * ========================================
Definitive Naked earthquake Surf -(poem)-
Naked roof surfer rides it down
just out of Sleep’s tender fingered clutches
Rides it down
Naked Roof Surfer does
‘pon cresting red bricked waves
Building blocked up in the 1920's by West Coast Scotsmen
lugging buckets of mortar ‘cross Cascadian ranges
‘cross Columbian riptides
[Also known to be the future site of the former Grand Coolie Dam] (Finally realized by the early 21st century (by the by) to be the natural predator of many endangered species of sacred fish spirits) nudge nudge wink wink THIS... only after they mastered spawning upstream which still does not negate the fact that bricks are heavy especially when you carry them over mountains Naked Roof Surfer riding the roof down Where news casting clown stands vociferously chickling paints on fish pants Which fly fishers may be seen wearing this spring @ better mens shopping outlets in truly hip chic urban areas Roof Surfer Naked riding roof down @ perpendicular angles to Earth’s angry plates Shuffled by the muscle of machine built by man powered by alternating current inspired through secrecy via guffawing celestial conspiracy The chickering clown points North by Northwest from the corner of Pine & Melrose -Lucky our LIVE camera is locked & loaded... SHOOT ‘IM, ME BOYOS, SHOOT ‘IM! LIGHT ‘IM UP & SHOOT ‘IM! Joe & Sally HighDefine are really gonna love this one.- Naked Roof Surfer downriding the roof -What could you be thinking Naked in bed @ 10:45am when the rest of Amerika is hard @ work you worthless bum?- You are the sole impetus the reason for this godly wrath so ‘his’>>>(are we still calling the angry vengeful all-seeing all-knowing ‘his’)>>> SO.. ‘his’ target- ing system is a splotch off kilter... Maybe ‘he’ doesn’t want to spend the C-note on the upgraded version... & who could blame ‘him’- without shaking their respective fists @ that mansion ‘cross the largest lake in Washington? Naked Roof Surfer when you ride it down you must ride it out of town in order that hardworking bastards may build more mansions acquiring hourly wage slave whoredom gigs @ 4 star downtown open air strip malls paying exorbitant rents buying expensive imported shit with credit cards set to stun online overnight next day delivery sit in their bars + sit in their cars + sit in cafes +++((pretending their once & future stars))+++ for the love of all that’s secular... Can’t you catch a wave headed towards Mongolia Naked roof surfer riding the roof down? What if there where no FREEZONE? Then where would you be? Still asleep on caffeined overload, i bet They didn’t write those freelove songs for you roof rider/ boat rocker 35 years old & not one clue in your bag of tricks so what if the sidewalk kisses the ground? so what if the roof kisses the sidewalk? so what if everybody sez ‘It’s all about you isn’t it?’? Naked Roof Surfer riding the roof down naked crumbling onto naked sidewalks of naked pavements in naked cities serves you right Roof came down the Naked Surfer on the roof was riding stumbling upon descent over broken concrete broken ‘NO PARKING’ signs broken freeway exits Doing the long-haired cafe scribble just one more reason your not making banco on this whole schematic here get plugged in- jacked up- downloaded put a damned plot in the play & keep that camera still! I want bandwith broadcast quality art from artists & write from writers You’ve pissed off too many powerful people NAKED ROOF SURFER so ride it into the Bay & down the Sound & get your skinny ass out on the myster-ee-ous-o Sea all the children sing scapegoat set afloat use a rooftop surfboard for a boat &Laughing MANIACALLY @... US?! Hardworking Liberty-loving economic foodchain souls... BUT... if you can find it, roof surfer, naked as you are if you can find that elusive illustrious golden day sunshine dawn Naked Roof Surfer riding the rooves of the world down to transmission soaked Earth concrete won’t you show us all? @ least you could sell us a little hope... Before you go
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SLIM JIM METAPHYSICS
SUN MOON RAIN WIND STARS & FLOWERS
- Flowers?-
- Flowers too-
-Remember Seattle, Jim? I remember we decided we would stick with the American Heritage definition of ‘condensed language...’ but Flowers?-
-SUN MOON RAIN WIND STARS... & also.. FLOWERS-
Ah,... Jim?
- Yes, Slim?-
Remember that Spec of a sud jockey, Jim? Very critical of anything slightly resembling this This... ‘Soul Unleashed’ style of which you speak
- Critical minds resemble the consistency of flabby baby bottoms. We will NOT speak of this critique again, Slim.-
But, Jim! What if the peoples don’t like us, Jim?
- SUN MOON RAIN WIND then, Slim.-
No Stars & Flowers?
- No Stars & Flowers. If they don’t play nice, they get neither STARS nor FLOWERS-
What about FIRE & BLOOD, Jim? If they don’t play nice... What about FIRE & BLOOD?
- It’s FIRE & BLOOD that’s dam bursting floods-
How now, Jim? How now & what ho?
- That’s angst exposed to win mediocrity a minuscule modicum of notoriety. Have or have you not noticed, Slim, how everybody’s been flooding that dam?-
With FIRE & BLOOD, Jim?
- Yes, Slim... with FIRE & BLOOD.-
Who do you speak of now, Jim?
- Sitting naked in my mynd... i threw the STICKS... i cast the RUNES... i rolled the EYEBALL of a Goat,... & let me tell you... you would be shocked @ what was exposed-
What was it, Jim? What was IT?!
- SUN MOON RAIN WIND STARS...-
& Flowers, Jim?
- But of course, Slim,... & FLOWERS.-
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DER SCHIMMEL RITTER IS WRITING FOR HUMANITY
Sometimes... the crying rider - der schimmel ritter- is riding for humanity... On a yellow horse @ 10:32 p.m.- that’s Seattle time -past the grunge stations... the S.U.V. parking here on I-5 * heading very south as i am with a -left-turn-green-arrow-... THE GREEN ARROW! THE GREEN LANTERN! The greeny green green to make the world go ‘round... these are all the greens i see in this Emerald Town... the freeway entrance... lanes merging, other lanes joining... That’s sixty miles an hour, pal. Do you want me? Do you wanna let me over? Now that i’m using my patented -left-turn-green-arrow-? NO! You don’t want to let me over... because you’re a very important person... you’ve got too much on the ball to be worried about DER SCHIMMEL RITTER riding his yellow horse in the moonlight... The Moon hanging over downtown... very small/little/tiny downtown... such a little pearl- especially when seen from the water... from the ferry... from the westside... from the industrial concrete man-made bunker island out in the harbor... amid the halogen floods & magnetic cranes [matters not whether orange or white]... YES! YES! i know it’s a ‘tow-away’ zone/// that’s why i’m going 70 mph... I don’t want to be towed away, get it? Here i am driving further south with my love for humanity {AHEM} hopefully i will be able to give them- ALL OF THEM -everyone of them a ride on my yellow horse TONIGHT! They in turn shall pay my rent... shall buy my videotape... for i need my raw product... Just... way out there raw product... That’s what it is...
Lady said i should go to school... i should take a coupla classes in... ahhhh... ART!
This is a class in ART, Lady! Lady, look @ me!!! This is a class in ART! This is how you make ART! Driving around Lake Union...
Oh, smarmy Lake Union... used to be the home to thousands of hippies... only had enough money to buy a little houseboat... rent a houseboat... feed a cat... live on the water... no playground/// no soccer mom training gear/// no playground... no nothing... NOW>>>
you may as well buy a beamer for the price of a houseboat... & why not buy another car? Wouldn’t that make the world a much better place? In the long run? If everyone owned an infinite amount of cars to travel the freeways... to piss off
DER SCHIMMEL RITTER...
who are going down desperately towards the Regrade... on the ‘graveyard shift’... (cough, cough!)... we can pull out all the dead bodies & make it respectable for everyone... get it? DER SCHIMMEL RITTER! Past REI i ride... past the business machines... Turning on Eastlake... Here i am! Who’s gonna hit me? Nobody! Noone would hit the rider... you don’t want to get any on you, that’s why... & there you have it! The Suite Cotswald Port Dances... Five people in the Regrade five lonely riders... mostly Ethiopian... mayhaps an American... but i.. i am THEE SCHIMMEL RITTER on this yellow horse... late @ night... i see the young boys in their pullover shirts, wondering if they should walk against the ‘Don’t Walk!’ lights... wandering to do a little disco dancing in their sandaled feet... they decide... ‘Let us do do that disco dancing we’ve been planning for so long... meet some women... have a few drinks... Chill out with DJ Soupy Soup Soup... Chill out with Mack Dad DJ Baby Baby Baby Wipes... ‘ There’s the Moon! So beautiful... silhouetted against Pike Tower flapping giant American flag... i don’t know whether or not it is truly an American flag [ i prefer to think it is instead of some major corporate cartoon spending money to plod the boot stomped backs of the downtrodden masses] (so i’ll just assume) it’s an American flag waving over the Moon... Under the Moon’s ever watchful cratering eyes... original skyscraping hotels made out of brick... Your days are numbered... stuck up from the 1920's... you had best get as much use as you can out of that neon green title... braced above your penthouse decadence tongue kissing candy dreams... pretty soon it’s que sara ! It’s BAJOOM! It’s BOOM-a-LOOM! They’ll sell your bricks online smuggled through the yellow barrier tape by scavenging salesmen on skateboards riding razors in their suit & tie... Low income housing turns top dollar condominium when those times do strike... DOWN ONE WAY STREETS... Meaning: as long as you don’t go two ways @ once you’ll be doing fine... down Terry Avenue... there’s that Moon again... this time it’s hiding behind a tree as if that were the safest place for it to watch me & the others smoking in the twilight... there’s a lot of construction going ‘round these days & they’ve been throwing things off the roofs again... actually... pressing the zero-four-five buttons we find that Steven Potteroy has not been moved by these machinations for evidence of recorded messages remain... ‘Hello you’ve reached Steven J. Potteroy @ zero-four-five please leave a message & i’ll return your message as soon as possible.’ to which DER SCHIMMEL RITTER responds with micro-cassette technology recording the syllables sounding through the Night’s time ‘i’m recording this message so don’t get any funny ideas... i’m standing outside your frontdoor.’ -click- this across from the wordpit where Drunken Writer’s Collective collected in the wordhole far from the astral noodle... in the shadows actual... after readings-greetings-meetings-beatings of the nuevo cyber-pop-media movements & self pithied soliloquies... Yet... only to mount the yellow horse once again... to fly around town... flying, Flying, FLYing... the madness of constant motion... hoping to get something out of all of this mess... hoping to learn to love to live... i win a bronze medal for my exploits @ least... a bronze medal... i’m #3!... that’s something, huh? #3 @ the Dog- called the Greyhound -called the bus station to the uninitiated... cruising past all the people the greyrider smiles off prancing pony beaded massaging seatcovers ‘i’m #3! Me! The outrider! DER SCHIMMEL RITTER! The crying rider... writing for humanity on his yellow horse!’
SONG-: Schimmel Ritter... where are you going? -*- Now that the night is done... Oh, Gimble minder... Put your yellow horse to bed -*- after all has been said & done... Imperfect Binder... How you shout those Chinese baby laughs -*- better get your ticket -*- board that train never looking back -*- only headed for the... Sun
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Across the Midwest, On My Way to Mongolia
Writing on a train, rolling through the midwest... No! i will not start this off by way of romantic lie! The train is stopped to load passengers @ the St. Paul station. [THERE i said it & it is true with no embellishment. HA! Didn’t think i could do it, eh? Write a sentence of truth so plainly bland that no one in their right mind would dare to deny it. If you’ve got a problem with a little truth you may as well close these pages right now/// wrap them in that gawdy paper you’ve got in the closet from a dozen holidays ago/// take that wrapped present throw it in a paper bag/// go down to the local postal hole/// tell ‘em to put it into one of those empty refrigerator boxes we always hear the homeless people love sleeping in sooooo much {this by the top pop jocks & jills as Big Daddy Warbucks foots the bill for their fastfood drive through plasma tans [[[which (((REALLY))) just keeps gaining in erotic appeal & gets more sexy looking the older you get & the more your flesh starts sagging } & send it to that person who everybody thinks is some sort of mutant just BE-cawse S/he is not attempting to be part of the disinfo that’s being pedaled by a mass media glad rag]]] Not even halfway through the trip & ALREADY i’m putting false images on it! The silver train swallows it’s cargo. Kathryn is looking for a handi-wipe...er.. some form of antiseptic to clean a cut received somewhere (more than likely Wisconsin --[taking into consideration all the paper shuffling she does as a Fed...]-- maybe an old paper cut that worked itself a little worse when she got to her childhood hometown of Amherst & started slinging packages into the loft while i got real dizzy.) this//////[[[i stay herbal that’s why... only carnivores seem to have a problem with this little conspiracy of mass slaughter being a WAY unkind thing to perpetrate upon the surface of a GI-GANTIC living entity trapped out here in a quadrant of space () millions of par secs from anything that even resembles it merely 2222 miles into the first half of our journey. This journey’s purpose? To move all extemporaneous belongings to a safe storage place. The safest storage place in the United States of America being >>> Amherst, Wisconsin (the family fishfarm)
Kathryn grew up on this fishfarm but since has travelled this country & the world searching out the holy grail of her passions. You could call that ‘romanticism’ if you wanted to. I really don’t think Kathryn would mind that too much. She lives by certain concepts she picked up out here in the Heartland & if that’s all right with her then that’s all right with the world. Comes from a lakey prairie home type setting where the younger brother (the baby of the family) could be working on a spaceship in the basement out of AOL CDs & Mom’s making that ‘Cheesy Potato Hotdish’
{that sounds fairly humorous when you say it on a full stomach but just wait until the late night cable stations start running all those sleepers you never wanted to ante up for back in the 80's { those Cheesy Potato’s don’t sound so silly now do they, mister? ...Or maybe you would prefer>>> trekking through the 40 below drifts ALL THE WAY to Steven’s Point (that’s the nearest 24hr convenience store, huh?) For some crappy junk food after you’ve been drinking beer & brandy all night (not to mention the Vodka... No... let’s not mention it)
She hooked up with me six years ago... Jesus! Six years ago... i told myself i was on my way out of Planet America... WAY OUT... couldn’t deal with the greed, the wholly unAmerican concepts of stagnation through dinosaur ideologies, nor the overly consumptive nature of the prevalent *ownership/purchase/might/& right* square cornered four way circle jerk... on my way out...
Gnawing voice behind the brain asks ‘Where ya going, Mr. Smarty-pants? Somewhere better? HA!’... Anywhere i don’t have to hear lies being professed as truth in any one of the multitudinous dialects. That’ll be good enough for me. As anyone familiar with my work would know>>> i have previously lived along the Mexican Border... ‘Bordertown, Baby!’... loved being some freaky alien where i couldn’t understand the words the people were spitting over their shoulder... smirking & calling me a gringo... No comprende, Amigo!... insults don’t ruffle the alien... the alien didn’t pull his scales out into feathers when that was the ‘in thing’ to do the funky def dope slamma jamma thing the disco hustle thing to do the yuppie coke freak thing or... (hide the kids)... this 'freaked out', paranoid, dilettante, politically correct, soccer mom road rage wannabe apathetic condescending thing to do... NO! Aliens do not do those things you do... insults bounce off of aliens... yellow jello shooter shots bounce of your windsheild ... your psychopathic Uncle bounces off the walls of the sanitarium when he finds out that money is a lie... the unregenerate priest bounces off the pearly gates when he sees all the angels have tattoos & they say it gives them nice dreams... but still i felt crappy...
I finally decided to go to Mongolia [[[of all places]]]... to live among the memories of the beautiful savage hordes of my ancestors... America ain’t so big compared to what Mongolia was back there... before the modern convenience... the generations of easily swallowed lies... well,... i guess that’s it everybody gets a shot sooner or later.... they all get a shot to really screw things up for hundreds [[[sometimes thousands of years]]]... until one day a bigger screw up shows up with hat in hand... illiterate... can’t even speak the language... & just takes everything for him or herself... one of the world’s most successful forms of primitive empiricism... MANIFEST DESTINY... ME:::&>>> no money, but what i could scrape out of taxicabs, willing supporters of my rather socially unaccepted forms of artistry, & the inevitable odd job. (Always odd. Always a job.)... i’m going to Mongolia...
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Chronicleer
The Mother of All Creation still rising ,she is still blindingly pulling eyes towards a-blinding sleepy eyes sleepy red white & blue eyes, redder than all the beer bottle labels even more than that funky salsa musico, that mellow calypso, that reggae beat EVEN MORE than those massive Persian couplets so brutal in the early morning hours no doctor worth his weight would/should/or/could prescribe more than two before sunrise with a clear conscience heavy heavy are those sunrises a leader striking heroic poses against telemetry backgrounds a young girl who still believes in fairy tales dolls her self up The music shifting so much & often neither are able to grasp the face of reality They walk off hand in hand through silvery veils of mystery dawning They share the mutual understanding they are both out of time A voice booms from Heaven’s public address system ‘YOU ARE NOT ROBOTS! Time is ending soon!’
COCK-A-DOODLE RISE! COCK-A-DOODLE RISE!
RISE-A-DOODLE DOO! RISE-A-DOODLE-DOO!
COCK-A-DOODLE RISE! COCK-A-DOODLE RISE!
RISE-A-DOODLE DOO! RISE-A-DOODLE-DOO!
...THIS ECONOMY WON’T MOVE ITSELF! We need product & service. That’s what we’re paying for... A woman walks slowly in conjunction with the planets. The sound of planets connecting in the ether. Liquid rings mark the table. A strange blue/print is formed. Steel grey blankets cover sun rising skies. Somebody’s been transmitting again... GO AHEAD>>> cry on your sleeve/// the monkey’ll force it out @ that point you connect to the link. There’s a youngman walking his road alone. After the trauma. After the Drama. Disconnected from the freedom he felt in Philadelphia... back East... somewhere in Amerika. He drew the FOOL card, pulled it deep from his own deck before this journey started. Now he’s got himself a special form of torture,... slow & sweet he sings those hang dog blues plucked from the flowering of his dead end youth... tossed by the zephyr of passing semi-rigs... he’ll know this is what it means to be ‘alone’[[[if it doesn’t kill him/\he’ll never be able to leave]]] the only hope which he can’t possibly know is that he could land in a box labeled alien by those who stay put, keep their mouth shut & locked as if to conceal some ancient mystic wisdom gleaned in the fiber fine print whispering
Novus Ordo Seclorum
COCK-A-DOODLE CA$H! COCK-A-DOODLE CA$H!
CA$H-A-DOODLE DOO! CA$H-A-DOODLE DOO!
COCK-A-DOODLE CA$H! COCK-A-DOODLE CA$H!
CA$H-A-DOODLE DOO! CA$H-A-DOODLE DOO!
He’ll stumble among the monuments they built for themselves to prove their not as bad as all that. Those visions dancing on his retina. Atlas is shrugging ‘What?... That?... forget about it.’ His brain bound the moment the image is stored deep.. Deep.. Deeper still further back in soft tissued memory... stored in the crawl spaces... a fingerpainting taped to the refrigerator door of a whorehouse,...way down south... somewhere in America...
He’ll return, chances are, one strange day to the wet asphalt of his spawning ground... On that glorious day to see he’ll notice a woman walking slowly in conjunction with the planets. If he’s extremely lucky, on that day, a semi-rig will rocket past blasting an old blue eyed version... listen... you can hear it in the rubber rolling the pavement...listen,.. under the temporary umbrella cloud of diesel exhaust... listen,... that’s life... that’s what all the people say...
Cock-cock-cock a-doodle TIME! TIME a-do-do-doodly-do! Cock-cock-cock a-doodle TIME! TIME a-do-do-doodly-do!
Time to come up for some air now, Charlie. Still cock-cock-cock-a-doodling... still blowing that brass godmouth... still watching years slip triptych into colors, ya know? Colors LIKE Colors yellow, orange, blur, green. Regular colors. Normal decent colors. Noone has a problem with colors right, Charlie? Welcome to the 21st century! We still burn crosses,... burn crosses in our minds everyones’ predjudism is of the highest most holy city concillatorally ordinancary ordained with a couple amendments added for those mean tortured love children jumping up to wrastle talk show security guards flat on their respective asses... We.. Still.. Have.. Sneaky alleys don’t trick yourself into believing all is sweet & Low & fat-free. It’s the 21st century fer crying out loud! Charlie! It’s the 21st century!
COCK-A-DOODLE- GENERATE COCK-A-DO-DA-DOODLE-GENERATE GENERATE A BETTER DOODLE DOO
GENERATE A BETTER DOODLE DOO
... the voice of the majick rooster trails off to the other side of the planet The Landscape asks our young coxcombed Rooster
“What is it you try to tell? Are your passion so enraged screaming through the sunrise must you awake every sleeper must blast through their waking pull them back to dirty streets to remember they are living of this time/\/\/\this place Your maudlin stare/\Your rapacious voice Your cocky strutting/\Your dodging snide From weather vaned perch you scream your sermons both manual & pious attempting to pilot human nature from their naturally destructive course Did you awake the shahs & prophets? The Emperors & Architects? Either Fascist or Politically Correct? Your roosterings have had no effect on ways the money’s spent All your harems, All your hordes are thrown back from another time. & Sir!”
Our Landscape turns on heel “I won’t waste my Time!”
The Landscape walks off to fill the horizon.
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American Road Trip (up & down the coast)
What was it?{four people in black car rolling North I-5 to come back down 101 heading south} THINK! THINK! THINK! Amazing!- simply this-Nothing more A suicidal possum opted to take it’s life today- Eyes throwing Starbeams- High-speed love stories are very subtle- running freeways littered with tears- that gasoline on your jeans- smells American to me- Somebody’s dark eyes in the rearview- keep the ocean over your right shoulder- Maybe... don’t try to figure it out- if the possum had lied- very verrry still- the clearance of the carriage of the car would leave a happy possum- how happy to be happy- prismatic optical contrivance blinds the mind- the Moon’s contagioned lips over your right shoulder- her protector is a salt water junkie- Back in town the walls of Saturday Night resound happy screams- The more you give... The less you have...- out on the Highway- to be robbed & stolen- Any heroes save possums?- Just a bloody brainscrew!- this is nowhere near truth- i lie- possum flat- the best intentions of noble intent ring of overly stated redundancy- Was there a kiss?- How the junkies dress their pigs- the question remains still- Was there a kiss?- The pain is untrue- unlike falling down drunk- the possum’s eyes kissed the driver’s eyes- they were both very afraid- the possum lost- the pain was stored in the driver’s brain- memories play damnable poignant- EUREKA!- beautiful people are ugly, too- EUREKA!- ugly people have beauty unknowable- EUREKA!- ‘Oh Yeah!!’- Charlie blowing out the Black Rabbit past hordes of ‘heavier-than-thou’ motorcycle enthusiasts- ‘Oh Yeah!!’- a lady chases napkins down a cigarette littered sidewalk beach- ‘Oh Yeah!!’- ‘... but we’ve got a Mingus- flavored Black Rabbit racing down the coast- ‘Oh Yeah!!’- rental people will wash possum blood off the Black Rabbit- ‘Oh Yeah!!’- Better replace that ‘No Smoking’ decal, too- $ell it again for another North American Junkie Road Trip- ‘Oh Yeah!!’- ‘... but... they don’t have a Mingus flavored Black Rabbit!’- ‘Oh Yeah!!’ maybe no possum blood- no contagioned kiss- no snorkeling platypus- [sic = spelling is correct]- unlike the exquisite pain of kissing- can’t buy it @ a ‘Blue Light Special’- anything you want but not that- poor sad sleepy dream after possuming the Road- can’t hold Beauty down- it get’s Road colored- Even the most noble of Thieves can only displace it in Space- it was actually a Japanese Black Rabbit w/ roots so thick, ‘they could never cut ‘a Spaniard’s’ hair’- but... the possum was American- as is the Beaver- industrious enough to teach us ‘how to...’ build dams- The Beaver & The Spaniard teaching... Industrious Thievery- You take one economical sized Black Rabbit of Japanese decent... Mix it with a possum south of Gold Beach on PCH- It’s a recipe.- You see?- BUT the ART... Is a culinary sculpture- of Light & Smoke- of S.F. firetruck songs- there’s more than that- really- some people refuse to give anything- some people don’t give you enough- to work with- only tears- or keep their secrets locked away- the possum knocked on my floorboard- it was a secret possum knock- there was a Spaniard- a Possum- An American- A Junkie- a lot of Pigs- there was a Black Rabbit from Japan- the Green Tortise had already given up the Ghost- there was a kiss- there was an end- an end to this American Junkie Road Trip
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