Peeper in the Night

Months ago my home was visited by a peeping tom.

The peeper caught a female friend of my roomate as she stepped from the shower. I heard her alarm and dashed into my backyard, steak knife in hand, chasing him into the night. He escaped, but I thought he had learned his lesson. I was wrong. Last night, the peeper returned. I was preparing myself for sleep. I sat, enjoying a movement, mentally focused on the interview with Moscow that awaited me in the morning. Suddenly, outside, I heard the crunch of dry leaves underfoot. My landlord wasnt home, neither was my roomate...the cat was inside the house. Beyond all that, the weight of the steps screamed 'human being.' I knew the peeper was approaching. I turned to face the window, and waited as he stepped ever closer, and the noise he made became (to my now hyper-alert ears) deafening. I watched, frozen, as two sets of fingers reached the windowsill, and then ever so slowly a face raised itself and a pair of dark frightened eyes met my own.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?!?!?" I screamed my loudest hatest shriek at him and raised my fist, as if it could penetrate the glass of the window and somehow punish him for violating the sacnticty of my zone. The police came, we searched for hours, but I spooked him good, and he was long gone. Next time the peeper will not be so lucky.

I have devised a plan, and given a formal pledge for vendetta. The peeper will know my wrath.

I have procured essential tools to exact my revenge, and bring this criminal to justice.

1. 500,000 volt stun baton

2. Police Strength Pepper Spray

I will be victorious. I am patient and determined. I am the patron saint of partywood.

Blurred Highway Vision

Christmas has passed. I spent the holiday with my mother, brother and step-family in Waxahachie, Texas.

The hateful little town I grew up in has changed for the worse. Once merely closed-minded to the point of despair, it is now a closed-minded consumer wasteland teetering ont the brink of incorporation into the DFW metroplex. Years ago, when I still lived there, you could at least attribute the ignorance to how small and rural the town was. Now its just sad and stubborn and paved. Seeing my mom was a treat though, and the same goes for my brother dear. We had fine sweat meats, soft rolls, delicous pies, and smiling laughing chats. Our peaceful reverie was broken only by periodic dogfights

between tiny Arlo (yorkshire terrier, and lord of the house), Belle (playful yellow lab puppy), and Rylie (chocolate lab goofus). I've always been more of a cat person than a dogfan, and this stance was only strengthened by watching the three snarl, leap, bounce, yelp, whimper, simper, drool, paw, scratch, and generally disrupt. I had pie in my belly
for god's sake. I had no patience for dogfights....(annoyed).
Later, I saw Syriana with my mom. The film featured a bearded, portly, George Clooney
speaking Arabic and Farsi the majority of the movie. I really enjoyed it. Some other moviegoers walked out, anticipating Oceans 13: Saudi Arabia!! I expect. I normally don't enjoy films with an immediate and obvious agenda, however when the agenda is to inform and educate about impending crises, I can make an exception.
I have an interview bright and early tomorrow morning with Moscow. If they like what they hear, I will have a postion and a date of departure for my Russiaing.

Scotch Rat

Last night I went and saw my friend Scott Pierce (of effing press) read at 12th st. books. Also there was Charles Potts, a wise old poet from Washington state. The reading was quite nice and I talked to Potts for a good while about language, words, and symbols. He lived in China and Japan for a while roughly 10-15 years ago, and I was quite curious to hear his impressions of those places. After sneaking scotch and a number of beers, hunger struck me so my friend Doug Warriner and I left for the (formerly) open 24 hours G/M steakhouse run by Korean war vet Gus Vargas, only to find it closed!!?!?! We had a hankering for G/M sliders, but settled for soup at whole foods. After soup we reunited with the poetry contigency at Opal Divine's where the scotch flowed freely and I got a chance to chat with Dale Smith (one half of Skanky Possum books). It was a nice night only interrupted by some NIN reject named Josaiah

who demanded that we scream like fratsters for the benefit of the caller on the other end of his cellphone call. Its nice to hear great poetry and know its power immediately.

The disparity between what is good,

and what is self indulgent

becomes increasingly apparent in the face of such a display.

Im glad Ive had an opportunity to be exposed to the good.

Later, drunk on Scott's porch we dug a dead rat that Philip Trussel killed out of a garbage can and investigated it in order to give Scott some insight in to the size of the enemies hiding within his walls. It was sizeable. Philip is rat killer numero uno.

Slackjawed Vagabonds

Yesterday I helped my father with his house. After laying on my back in an attic on a rolling auto shop cart, sliding through the vaulted crawlspace stringing wires and cables, I returned with him to the Drury Inn where he is staying until the renovations on his house are complete. At this hotel, dinner is served every night, along with coctails, beer, and soft bread. Unfortunately (and much to my dismay), several derelicts (of the I'm too lazy to work, drag rat variety) have decided to take advantage of the tragedy in New Orleans to get some free food and lodging. I actually heard these punk kids bragging about how they came from Omaha, or Dallas or even New York to fool FEMA and steal benefits that rightfully belong to the displaced of the big easy. They were huddled outside in a pack smoking cigarettes. One girl to five greasy young men, she had a wicked shiner on her eye. I pitied them and was repulsed by their arrogance and sloth. Their fraud weighs our system down....our already troubled system. They will (or already have) become dependent on the system of public benefits this country offers, and subsequently, they will be the first to suffer when their abuse (among other factors) helps to topple said system. I hated them last night, hated that they are of my generation, and to a great extent are representative of the sense of entitlement that many of my generation possess. Then I wondered how they came to be where they are...how they came to have the attitudes they have. They arent entirely responsible for the way they live their lives. We all are to an extent. Oh America America. Oh my generation! We are going to lose. We are losing. I am sad for it.

Glisten Hard

So my band, Parque Touch, finished recording on our debut LP this weekend. Big thanks to Bop English and Nick Mallard for all the work they did on production and arrangement! The final product sounds great, and this would certainly not be the case without the many many hours those two put into recording it correctly. The next step will be to ship it on to New York were Joel will touch it and put it into hands that will make us famous.



Our bassist Stuart Blankenship was also an integral part of the process as you can see here.



Im soon (in minutes) to go help my Dad with renovations on his new home in San Antonio. Honor thy father and mother they say...and I would agree! Warm thoughts to all, especially my paramour, Estrella, who presently finds herself in the wonderful (albeit cold) city of lights! She's so ephemeral (watch her flutter and disappear below)...I miss her.



Parque Touch CD release shows will be coming soon. Stay tuned for dates and venues!!

Pursed Whiskers

истребитель!

истребитель!

I want to post some funny cats I've seen around lately. Please enjoy.

бочкообразный




кошмар




громадный


I found the new Destroyer album. Its pretty spectacular, and today I feel the excitment of a fresh morning with new music by my favorite band and journeys and opportunities ahead of me. I even felt some nostalgia for the the ritual of the nativity as I passed an old church's stain glass facade today on my way to work. I remembered playing a shepherd at First Baptist Church when I was 12...which in turn made me remember changing into victorian attire in the bathroom of Dunaway Elementary School for the school's choir (the Barcus Bunch...aptly named for music teacher Eileen Barcus, whose lawn I often watered for 3 dollars a day) production of Scrooge (a pretty tacky modernization of Dickens' classic). I almost tried out for the lead role of that play. To this day I can remember one of the songs. It was called "I hate people." That was the chorus of the song, and it was a call and response with the body of the choir. Scrooge would sneer, "I hate people," and the choir would answer back, "he hates people." That went on for a while. Scrooge's monologue was something like.

Pharisees and parasites
squanderers and fools

calculating swindlers
prevaricating frauds
perpetrating evil as they roam the earth in hoards

feeding on their fellow man
reaping rich rewards
contaminating everything they see
corrupting honest me.....like me.

my memory is spotty as I learned this song when I was 10 or so...the refrain has been going through my mind all morning though, so I thought I'd share it.

радостный рождество



Oh Christmas! you're so expensive!

Help Me Destroyer!!

Ive been searching for new songs from Destroyer's next album, Rubies. So far, I've found one "European Oils," it's quite nice! Mr. Dan Bejar has been singing my heart song for the last 2 years or so, and each new release tends to be better than the last. Alas, this information age has spoiled me, and I now feel entitled to a copy of this record (due out in mid february) immediately. I don't wanna wait for our lives to be over, I want to destroy right now. So if any of you readers happen to have a copy....Ill make you a batch of Lefsa for it!



So, Kong was amazing! Ill refrain from going too deeply into it, just know that it's massive, massive adventure. It seemed to me, the main focus of Jackson's take on the Kong story is man's fascination with the mysteries. The fewer they become in the world the more fervent is our desire to seek them out. Unfortunately, just as Kong, awash in the spectacle of his many struggling girl dolls, unwittingly smashed the bones of woman after sacrificial woman, so too does man destroy the mysteries he is lucky enough to behold. Rooooooooooar! Fight back mystery, fight back!!!!



Not a whole lot more to report today. Ive begun using the "Rosetta Stone" language software for help in my Russian studies. I find it to be a very effective tool! From what I understand, it's what the Department of State and the Military use for ultra-rapid language aquisition. Its intent is to replicate the learning process of an infant through repetition, and complete immersion (in this instance, an absolute lack of your native language). Though it's a bit pricey it seems quite useful.



I wanted to also mention a great resource I found for global folklore. This site is organized according to theme or subject. Each topic will contain tales from peoples the world over. It's an interesting way to get a taste of how different cultures treat a variety of diverse issues. I've always been drawn to old folk addages and stories. There is something resonant about them that humbles and settles me. It's the same feeling religous folks get from their ancient texts, I suppose. Here it is! Enjoy! http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/folktexts.html

Stones in my lungs

Im drinking mate this morning. I remember once, entering Barton Springs I saw a dude (a true dude, in boardshorts and all) who was carrying a thermos and a gourd. Happy to see another mate enthusiast, I said, "ahhh sipping mate are you?!" He said "it's maté dude!" Of course it wasn't, maté means "i killed." It is not something you drink. Goes to show you can't rely on dudes for data. He was so adamant in correcting me. I nearly felt sorry for him. But fuck him, he gave me an eyeful of boardshort that I didn't ask for, and he spurned my friendly greeting.

Drinking mate always reminds me of Argentina. It's a visceral reminder of the smells and cold and faces of that place. I think back to the exhaust choked streets of Salta, 24 hour bus rides through Patagonia, and the bustle and high heels of Buenos Aires. Mate is an institution in Argentina, you can go to any corner of that vast nation and never escape it....then again, why would you want to.

Tonight Im going to see King Kong. I am a Peter Jackson fan, and I trust that this will be a spectacle in the truest sense of the word. I remember being captivated by the original Kong (the '33 version) as a child during my infatuation with giant monster movies (which continues to this day I might add). It was back then that I saw the original Godzilla for the first time and cried my eyes out when he was vaporized by a massive underwater nuclear explosion (fuck you and your ingenuity Raymond Burr).

I always favored Godzilla to Kong, and was quite upset when I purchased King Kong vs. Godzilla at age 7 only to realize I had, of course, bought the american cut of the film, in which, Kong is triumphant. I've still never seen the Japanese cut. Though Kong was not the beast I championed, I still have a soft spot for the giant beast pictures.

A-Russiaing we shall go...

Добрый день,

Im leaving the country again soon. It looks as if there may be work(study) for me in Moscow. Ill take your Vodka drinks. Ill walk on the IceLakes. Eventually Ill speak the language and ride the trans-siberian railroad to lake baikal where I may commune with the old shamans and watch their icey mushroom dance.

I figured Id get this blog going (i created and abandoned it over a year ago) in order to document my journey. As for today, Im still in my office, feeding XXXSMEADLINKXXX insurance documents and helping retirees make the transition to Medicare D!

Hoozahten! Its true there are small adventures every day, and certainly those deserve documentation.

My beard resents that I shaved it. Its making its hate known with needle sharp whisker pricks.

Ra-ra-rasputin, lover of the russian queen, he was a cat that really was gone!
Ra-ra-rasputin, Russia's greatest love machine, they put the poison into his grog!