Pee-wee memories

Having the opportunity to begin re-watching Pee-Wee’s playhouse, it caused a bunch of very visceral memories to arise.

Around 85-86 (I can’t remember precisely the year, you’ll see why.) I was in very bad shape emotionally, spiritually, physically. I was strung out, a drunk, as well as ingesting as much psychedelics as I could get my hands on. Yet I was hanging out with a lot of intensely creative artists and musicians, and some really beautiful, yet fucked up beings. Fer instance this is when I met Uncle Bunny. He and I were both a little off kilter at this time as I’m sure he’d be the first to admit. The DEA and AAPD were constantly chasing me and my friends around. Various people were dying, getting big jail time or turning over on the rest off us. All the crazy stuff that happens in such a scene. However I have some really good memories as well:

• Getting super fucked up with Michael Davis and singing “Child of the Moon” and other Stones and Bowie tunes together in his dingy little apartment on Division.

• Rolling around on the floor at Arrowwood and laughing so bloody hard I finally just peed myself. (Kids --only try that at home).

• Hanging out at the lake, tripping just so hard, watching meteor showers and feeling like I really had a deep soul connection with the humans around me instead of feeling isolated and completely cut off like I usually felt in that state.

• DeadElvis and his evil twin Vic who were some of the funniest, cruelest, sharpest wits ever and kept you dying with laughter while performing amazing feats of prestidigitation which looked great when you were psychedelisized.

• Oddly enough even the memory of being drunk off my ass with Steve and Nikki, and one by one throwing a couple cases of empty beer bottles and some of the furniture into the middle of Thompson Street. Then having to hide in the woodpile for an hour while the cops sniffed around, just seems really ludicrous and entertaining from this side.

• And I had my friend Selm, who I was (at least) half in love with and half annoyed as fuck at, his life of total privilege, the way everything seemed to just fall in his lap as well as being a marvelously talented artist and artisan, really good looking, and who ended up taking over my business when I became just too fucked up to manage it. So much that so I ended up with a huge debt to him (thanks for taking care of that Chad, wherever you are).

And more, tons more, painful, humiliating, sweet, bittersweet, enlightening and ridiculous scenes that I hope I never forget.

I love a good (made up) ritual and this was the Pee-wee ritual:
Selm and I would almost always end up hanging out at his efficiency on W. Madison by the end of every Friday night. We would make sure we were well stocked on everything and just hang out all night doin’ whatever was at hand. Usually there would be a third or fourth person, frequently Uncle Bunny. The ritual was to drink and whatever all night, but make sure you stayed up until Pee-Wee came on at 10:00 am. When it was about time for Pee-Wee every one left would cuddle up in a puppy pile and get all snugged down. Watch Pee-Wee, laughing our asses off for the last time that day/night/day (whatever you would call it). Then finally pass out.

And I remember now, how every time he would walk over to the ironing board, to open the secret compartment for his bike, my heart would start just aching. Another Pee-Wee was over, another day/night/day like never before and never again was over, the buzz was dying and in 8 hours I’d have to wake up to little or no money, to go wandering the streets to find some. Face the fact yet again, that I was pretty much reduced to just another crapped out, lowdown junkie whore until I could get fucked up enough to ignore it for another week.

I remember Pee-Wee getting banned, it happened not long before I did as well. It had gotten to the point where I was a real danger, in oh so many ways, to myself and others. There was very little fun anymore anyway. I don’t know, maybe the people who were not on the shit list were still having fun. As I would sit by myself in total poverty and squalor, becoming more and more paranoid and wrecked, I certainly imagined that they were all having all the fun without me.

But, so, I was watching Pee-Wee those first couple nights it was back on, and I was shocked at the sudden heartache I felt when he walked over to that damn ironing board.

Aarrgghhh

I am Charlie Brown in the football scrum this week

Crikey

Taking a well earned day off.
As it turns out I snaffled my music lesson anyway so I get a true day. Well, except for all the housework to be done and the last little bit of cleaning up at the estate sale and the actual writing of the paper which has not heretofore occurred.

Last week WAS nutball crazy. I can’t even go there in terms of the amounts of craziness. I should get a job as a psyche/psychic meteorologist because there were indeed many scattered shit falls and the winds of hyperbole blew strong.
I am now trying to just hunker down and wait it out until Mercury goes direct (I’m told on next Monday).

I think I have noticed something, (I’m hoping people will watch for this and report to me for the next five years or so) which is that the first Mercury retrograde after the summer solstice is always a serious motherfucker.
It makes me want to find someone with a good astrological software setup and find out what was going on during the Infata (sp?) and other wars and funky actions that have happened in various July’s and August’s. And for people in their personal lives as well.

So I really should get on with the doin’s instead of the hangin’ round the net. I just wanted to check in and all. Not look like a total slacker....

Shit Storm

I feel like I am about to get creamed and not in the good way.
So --
Come to the estate sale again on Sat.
Visit Uncle Bunny at the nursing/rehab center.
Pray for me working a booth at stupid art fair.
Wish me luck on my math test.
Encourage me to finish writing my damn paper.
Say Bon Appetit’ to the folks I’m giving lunch to on Sat (in the middle of running the sale).
Cross your fingers that we get the rest of the house emptied in time for the closing on Friday the 28th
And probably look for new content on Sunday, in the meantime here’s pictures (courtesy of Coccomotion Studios).

Word Salad

It 5:30 in the morning and I’ve been up for an hour and a half. Surfing, surfing, surfing. I barely even read books anymore. And why should I? Recently in class we were in small groups discussing something about something, and some beautiful little classic book came to mind so I says to this kid “ooo like in blah, blah, blah?” He says; “I don’t read books”. And then later wants me to help him with his paper because oddly enough the composition teacher wants him to actually be coherent in his writing.

And so I’m reading several of my friends myspace blogs. One of them cannot spell even slightly and sees no need for spell check. Essentially every fourth word is misspelled or typo-ed. That does not even address the idea of coherency and trying to connect the messages and thoughts in some form of order. He seems to use massive amounts of question marks and exclamation points ( I’ve counted up to fifteen) when he can not find any effective words to actually say what he wants to say.
I am glad that this (seemingly Post- literate) person is trying to express himself. I will continue to read him. I want to discern his intent and learn new things about him, but it is so JARRING to try to snake out his actual intent. It’s also kind of depressing to think that the public education system has failed people so miserably that they cannot really communicate through the self expression of writing.

A different example of education gone awry is this other fellow who has a good vocabulary in the sense that he knows interesting and expressive as well as obscure words but cannot put them into correct usage. (And again, has there been some sort of universal decision that using spell check is completely uncool?) So while he’s trying to express something important, that he’s feeling intensely, he ends up sounding like Daymon Wayan’s jail house philosopher. Sounding like, “When the constabulary of your soul exhumes the reading of the mind, the expression of the pajamas grasps the cats intent, to wit, the James Bondian anagram.”
Huh?

I readily admit that I have writing issues. For one thing, I write as if everything was a conversation. If it was possible, I’m sure my run on sentences would go two or three paragraphs. I in fact, had a funny encounter at writing lab recently where I had written a five or six line sentence as it’s own paragraph. Of course I was stopped dead in my tracks by the 20 year old English whiz.
But I appreciated learning the things I never learned in no-school though. I never knew that the name of that thing between the commas was a clause for instance. I finally learned some things about colons and semicolons. I learned how dashes are meant to be used. Sure, I’ve already forgotten some of it. But I know where the book is to refresh my memory on the absolute correct usage. And face it sometimes I actually want to fuck up a sentence and bend it to my will instead of being under it’s yolk ( that was a typo but it so illustrates that point that I’m leaving it, I know it’s yoke and anyway try saying yoke and yolk while staring at the written words and see if it doesn’t all turn to Cyrillic in your brain like it just did with me.)

But my point, and I do actually have one, is that because I’ve read kazillions of BOOKS, I have a basically sound foundation to start hanging all the nice finesses on. Because I actually wish to be understood I go back, edit, and try to rephrase things that could be nebulous. ( I know I make it worse sometimes). And for Pete’s sake, I frickin’ spell check, even though I know I’m a decent speller, if for no other reason than I know I’m a shitty typist.

I suppose that there is nutrition in the word salads, and that it nourishes the souls reaching out to just express something. But if it’s meant to have any staying power and not just become bowel movement Du Jour shouldn’t there be some bread and/or meat basics to go along with it? So the reader can feel like they’ve had an actual satisfying meal and light up that cigarette of repletion?

2 seconds over the near north west side

OK I have like 2 seconds to drop news------

Uncle Bunny: having issues, we need volunteers to help with stuff call me or Dali Madison.

Huge Antique and estate sale tomorrow 9-5. Location: 437 Spring St. Some of me and Lizardbreaths proceeds to benefit Jewel Heart. I’m pretty much on cell phone only now till done. Bring me snacks. We love nachos, chocolate and pizza.

Kittens Again!

Ok there’s not pictures yet. But my brothers cat Yog Soggoth, had 8, count ‘em 8, frickin’ kittens! Her first litter too -- poor thing. But, there are some really cool little dudes and dudettes that will need good homes fairly soon...
I’m contemplating a pair, but I’m really raw still.

On reading so much about Syd all over the net

(I wrote this this morning as a bulletin for The Bottom 99's myspace account because a lot of people were sending out "Syd is dead" bulletins)

I wanted to make a comment on the comments I've been reading about Syd's death.
I want to address both schizophrenia and diabetes. Both of these diseases are ravagers and have stripped us all of many loved ones, either physically or emotionally.
As a group who lives with both of these illnesses and their effects I feel we have something worthwhile to add.

When the recent news appeared that the two richest men in (basically) the world had pooled their resources to fund the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation I couldn't help but notice that nowhere in the foundations goals were there any concerns for giving aid to persons with mental illnesses.

And yet statistics clearly show that the majority of the burgeoning homeless and disenfranchised populations in the western world have a mental illness as one of their primary issues.

I also notice that the very basic issue of feeding the vast populations who are malnourished was not listed.

I contend that mental and emotional stability and a belly full of safe foods are at least as important to the human race right now.

So if you are in a group that feels setting an example or backing a cause is part of your social responsibility, I encourage you to support mental illness charities and resist funding/sponsorship from agri-businesses and tell the world (or at least your friends and supporters) why.

And the next time you're on the way home from a gig and find yourself stepping over a homeless person with pity, approbation, disgust or whatever you experience, please keep in mind that that person is likely, in essence, a motherless Syd.

Thanks for your time
Stella Magdalen

Weird things I saw on Mulberry Highway:

• A billboard of Duckman with crap on his face saying “I’ve got a meat beard”

• Some folks up on the embankment sitting in the grasses, just casually watching the traffic.

• One of those insane giant tires shredded everywhere, and the odd looking tow truck it came off of sitting on the shoulder on it’s completely denuded left axle.

• A pretty intense looking dread, bicycling the wrong way down the same stretch of shoulder who would be meeting up with said tow truck soon, and be forced to go around into oncoming traffic.

• A pitiful truckload of pigs on the way to slaughter.

• A hazmat emergency vehicle, fully flashing, on it’s way to where?

• About 15 different (both county and State) cop cars either looking to, in the process of, or chasing someone down to pull over.

Dali Madison's Findhorn

Those stargazers are six feet tall. And smell divine.

Maybe

Things are not so very bad - I just dropped a piece of toast and it did NOT land butter side down.

Finally--The Bela Lugosi's bloomed!

I really miss my sweet girl

I suppose

I have to say something or I’ll be just wrong. OK, it was a very weird, very truncated, gig. It was not at all what the original proposal outlined due to a lot of mitigating factors.

I have to say that I am under the impression that I looked kinda fabulous, in a weird, Anita O’Day meets Vampirella, kind of way.

And I have to give Karl La Fong props for successfully banging the shit out of the most annoying trap kit ever. (He had to sit with the snare basically in his lap). One of those tiny jazz traps, bahhh.

And I have to give thanks for all the folk who braved the Blind Pigs insanity and various town and traffic issues and stuck it out to get in. And a bit of the old raspberry to those who didn’t come. Sorry, but I really don’t think we suck and we could use more support.

Unbelievable

I jump through hoops to get us this (Friday night) show in the land of annoying bars and nowhere decent to play, and everything that could go wrong is going wrong.
This week has just been insane and yesterday walking out of my music lesson my ankle just crumpled on me. I thought it was no big deal but by last night I had some sort of sprained ankle thing. It’s not like a severe sprain but like where all the bones freaked out and rubbed each other it’s really painful.

So much for wearing my Frankenstein platform boots on stage tonight. I’m skipping school too, as the idea of bussing both ways and walking all over campus is really giving me the shudders. Pisses me off, I had perfect attendance till now.

I suspect I’ll be a grumpy monkey tonight, but don’t worry I’ll fake it.

“love you more bunny love in the skyline baby”

I spoke with Uncle Bunny myself last night and he was about to get up and go for a walk. I guess the dream of Hawaii for this next birthday as well, is a really excellent motivator. He’ll be home in a day or two.

I am spending a lot of time meditating on death.

Earworm radio this AM:
She said - The Beatles
John Prine song, can't recall the name, don't feel like looking it up, some of the lyrics of which are “Had a lot of children, fed ‘em on peaches, and they all found Jesus on their own.”
Love You - Syd Barrett

FYI

Uncle Bunny got out of surgery and was able to call Lizardbreath. He says he came through with flying colours, visitors allowed tomorrow.

That’s all, I’m beat.

Funny that--

I was sitting here thinking about things. My appt with my Dr. today, our appt with the vet for euthanasia at 4:30, my issues and tissues and just a bunch of junk. Then it suddenly occurred to me that I started this thing around a year ago, and while I had thought it was the 7th, when I went back and looked it was today, one year ago, which was a Sunday (BTW). So Hoopty - Doo to me, now I’ll have several things to commemorate on July 3rds from here on out. My blog anniversary, my cats death date and the day I finally succumbed to the pressure and went on anti - anxiety drugs. Fucking drug companies, I hate you, you bastards. It’s like I don’t own my own life anymore, they do. The insulin burned like shit today as well.
merry fucking christmas

Oh yeah I almost forgot

The trouble with Bunnies

For those of you who read and know him - Uncle Bunny fell and broke his hip today. He’ll be having surgery tomorrow. He seemed somewhat chipper at the ER but I suspect that’s because morphine is a wonderful thing. It’s like - you know the pain is over there somewhere but you just don’t care.

I also find that I don’t care if I ever have another cigarette when I’m on it.

Just getting started

I just made a first pass at another thing that’s been plogging the psyche for a couple months. I haven’t really opened my mail since apparently sometime in May. So I just went through the giant avalanching pile that I had at least collected together in one spot and did the initial sort and toss. Which resulted in a grocery bags worth of recycling and imminent shredding.

One good thing about the making of the intensely painful decisions, is that it gives you perspective on your other levels of discomfort. And the concept that no matter how painful and uncomfortable things are they just have to be done and gotten through. You can’t just wait for most things to resolve themselves because they either won’t at all, or will just become increasingly painful.

We’ve all got our demons

Now I don’t mean that for a definitive statement. I’m sure there a couple people running around without. Maybe they’ve got some other issue(s).
But.
The thing about the compassion factor is to try to bear in mind that “everybody’s got a thing” . Everybody, (include self), except possibly some awakened ones, got something. Maybe the difference for the awakened ones is not that they haven’t got ‘em, but that they chose them which is, after all, a significant difference.

I’m gonna go play the piano now.