X-mas day, triple XXX style. What did I do? Slept in, hit the snooze, wrote a tune, woke up and had an extremely strong espresso. (ahh!) Thought of all of you, in all corners of the globe, sent out positive voodoo. Then beautiful Tatyana from Prague came over to my Soul Kitchen and sang songs in Czech, playing my acoustic 12-string guitar. So, um, you know ... the usual. Peace. -Todd
Tookie Williams is dead, co-founder of the Crips, killed by the (taxpayers of the) State Of California, "We The People." Any thoughts on this, my California friends?? The death penalty has been abolished in practically all western democracies except ours. Instead of being at the forefront, we are in a tailspin, in the backlash, at the bottom of the bin ... and the world is watching. Did he do it? Who knows? It will probably be only a matter of months before it is proven that Tookie was innocent. Ouch. In any event, should we kill to show that killing is wrong? Why did people leaving the execution room shout, "The State of California just killed an innocent man!" Very disturbing ...
Now hear this!
The point of our prison system (according to the Laws of the State of California) are supposed to be to re-habilitate, not to punish. We have failed. If there ever was someone who has been repented, it is this man. He has written 9 books for children while in prison, and has dedicated his life, or remainder thereof, towards ending violence in Los Angeles. If our system doesn't work, than it seems to me that we are murdering the fact that our re-habilitation process doesn't work. For that IS THE POINT! We have killed a man who is (most likely) innocent and in any event turned a new leaf ... ponder that one!
Dear Governor Chauven-egger, since you think you're so badd, I have a challenge for you, you big glob of blubber: I CHALLENGE YOU TO AN ARM WRESTLING MATCH! It will be a match to the death. The loser gets the chair, or an ugly sudden death penalty by lethal injection (as you wish). WHEN I WIN (you flabby, pea-dick, B-movie actor!) guess what I will do ... I will PARDON you. Peace. -Todd
Last night was good. The party was raging next door ... took her outside in the cold hallway, we started kissing. Mmmm. So nice, been wanting to do that with this girl for months. Is she ready for the real thing? Am I? (the real thing) Nothin' like a good flirt to get the night moving. We were heatin' up that icey hallway! And then big Jon-ass walked out, right into us both, going, "Oh, gee, um ..." fumblin' for his smokes. Way to go, man!!?? Thanks, foo! Yeah, anyway 'twas a fab night. Yummy Yesterday. -Todd
Part 1. For Santa Barbara: "Wish you were here ..." (Pink Floyd)
Part 2. Furthermore, I met the two most outrageous french girls on the midnight train, all by myself - you shouldda been there! (See "Part 1." above)
Now then, hang on to your hats, 'cuz here goes another zany cock-a-maymee (all true!) story of epic purportions (burp!) starring Yours Truly and the Santa Barbara Kidd, somewhere in Europe ... (Modern day Kerouac and Japhy, our forefeathers.) We'll just let the "Captain Blue Balls" thing go for now, you know who you are ... but let's just say he DIDN'T get laid in the Park Hotel this time - heh, heh! Poor sad, mad, rad bastard! Eeek! (Though surely mo' sane than most, considering they go to jobs that they hate, get married for all the wrong reasons, etc. etc.) Let this also be considered some sorta Part-Deux to the now infamous blog "Welcome To Bohemian Heaven." Here goes ...
Got this last minute email from the Santa Barbara Kidd, saying he'd be back TONIGHT in that hip town I'm in (rhymes with "Merlin") so it was suddenly like, "Whoa! Call the babes and get some merlot - Sir Party Macho II is coming back!" Thought I wouldn't see him for half-a-year to be honest, 'cuz his heart's in Italy, but was insanely happy to hear about the change o' plans. Yes, the Santa Barbara Kidd, who shall remain name-less (writing this me-just like a midgie Kerouac who changed the names so-as not to get sued, too, or misconstrued) yes, the Santa Barbara Kidd who used to work at Cafe Siena on State Street but this time was IN Siena (in Italia) although he really wanted to be IN SIENA (if ya know what I mean) hence the Captain Blue Balls thing 'cause she shut him down - oh, shit! I blew your cover, Kidd SB. Please forgive! Hey, man, you're about 11 for 12 (baseball stats) on the girlie thing just like Japhy, so don't sweat it! Dare I say, I haven't had this much fun since ... well ... um, the last time you were here, about a week ago. Heh! And ya know I gotta share this with out dear readers in Sweden and Oklahoma and shit like that and many other places where they have nothing better to do, and remember that Jesus loves you! (L.A. Jesus, that is.) And now I will just plunge in, fellows, and explain how we hooked up with that rock 'n' roll muse known all 'round central Europe as L.A. Jesus. A real rocker. Yep, we walked into his bar, where he plays with his band, and also sometimes sells drinks, and also sometimes drinks the drinks, and it was only about 3 am which is par for the course, and - NO WAIT! I'm telling this all wrong ... First I get the email, then I realized that Kidd SB would be flying in in about 4 hours, so ... rushin' like a Russian, I had to clean up the place and shave and fix the coffee machine (ruined by Big Kidd Klutzey when he dumped coffee in the top where the water was supposed to go, not the coffee - way to go - but that's another story) put on my best Kurdt Kobain/Picasso outfit, and waited artsy, casually, 'cuz we both knew there was gonna be a PARTY! And we did NOT disappoint, did we!? Nope, nope, and so he shows up around one in the mourn, and then we chatted and laughed and hollered and celebrated and drank beer and coffee until about 3 am (Said, "I GET that whole thing where you get all set up in a town, job 'n' flat 'n' all, but just gotta head down that ol' highway anyway - just like in the Dharma Bums when they drive all the way to NYC, gotta get there asap, and then just turn right around and drive back to California, JUST 'CAUSE!"). And at three we decided to go out on the town in a frenzied state, yes, certainly the right thing to do on a Tuesday! but first we cursed the very soul o' that that daggone Kidd Klutzey for ruining the coffee machine (OK, he's "grounded!" get it?) on that night when we had 6 Schweriners all staying in this flat, and no-one slept a wink, and Crazy Steffi woke up at 6:45 and split back to Frankfurt 'cuz there was just TOO MUCH sex in the air! Ahh, poetry. She beauty like a mad dandylion. But it put a damper on the coffee sitch. And Kidd SB read my entire copy of Henry Rollins' "Black Coffee Blues" in one night, and we hit the street at 3 AM and we went looking for Jesus. The first thing that happened was some hustler who came up to us and said in a strange (formerly) Yugoslavian accent, "Sex, Drugs, Rock 'n' Roll!" and we went, "Exactly," guess he wanted us to check out his strip club, or something. No, never. And I knew that we were headed in the right direction ...
"Looking For Jesus"
Well, I didn't know that we were looking for Jesus, but he was certainly looking for us, and we found him, and now we KNOW for sure that he loves us (Jesus) and we definitely got sidetracked on said night, 'cuz we were headed in an entirely different erection, but she moves in mysterious ways, had a different plan entirely until the man known as (L.A.) Jesus announced bravely, "Your buddy is only in town for 10 hours, and we gonna show him a good time (aw, shit!) and so we did, and he drove us in his Caddie ("I haven't had a drink all night," yeah, Lie Number Nine) all swervy to another un-known place, which we found out was called "The Place." Let me just say that I've never been to The Place before (but have had nightmares about it) and it was forbidden and dangerous, yes, it was a brothel and furthermore (sorry, mom!) I was pleasantly suprised by the dark odor and the (hint of opium) elegant aire of the place. The girls were, well, friendly. Kidd SB said to me, "Oh my gawd! I've never been to a whorehouse before!" to which I quipped, "Well, now ya have ..." And we both did secret baseball signals to each other to say that we really didn't want any hookers (or at least didn't wanna pay) and so they started saying, "Oh, they're gay." To which we said, "No we're not, honey ..." Yeah, so we pretended (?) to be gay, with a mock accent, and then somehow it turned into something like, "Listen, here, bus-ther, I am a bad-assth GAY and proud bodyguard and I will kick your puny assth! Do NOT fuck with me, Larry!" Now we're the pumped-up Gay Bouncers. To which someone else replied, "Thass right, honey, you bettah lispthen to what Buffie tellsth you!" And the gay(m) was on. "What have you got against George Michael, honey? Of course he ain't no Sir Elton, myyyy goodneth!" Somehow we managed to convince everyone there that we were part of the Gay Mafia, ruthless and brutal, just with very good manners. Oooo, I like that, MAN-NERS. Heh! We were good, almost too good. Even the call girls started to believe it! Keep in mind, this is not at all anti-gay, just vaguely anti-mafia. No-one is spared in our rantings! (Damn that stolen car in Prague! I'll be having nightmares and flashbacks about that one for a long time ...) But seriously, folks, the Calico crew is only into hetero stuff, ok? Really. If only because there's no way to get married! Oh, I'll never fit into society ... I just want to find a nice picket fence for me and my whore bride to settle down, and maybe become a Senator. The best beaver quote of the night was from Jesus, our host and mentor of the long evening, who said deadpan, "L.A. Jesus don't eat no un-shaven box." He was serious. And we were roaring!!!!! He had this stern Bogart expression on his face that was just too much. Later he showed us a record contract he signed, which looked like a Chinese diner take-out menu, he thought the light was too dim to catch it - but I'm just kiddin' - I hope they DO get that sweet 'n' sour record deal. His music is good. Thank you, Jesus!
"The Grandma Pub"
Yes, then it was on to what shall be called The Grandma Bar. Now let me say (disclaimer) that I've never been to the Grandma Bar before, and I don't really even know what is was called, except that Jesus recommended it ("You'll love it - all the drinks cost one buck.") and we were taken there by some pimp/dealer/mutual friend of The Place who shall remain nameless (if only 'cuz I don't know his name, and don't wanna know!) who dropped us off and disappeared into the mist. Man, there are some serious characters out and about on the streets of such a Metropolis on a Tuesday night. So we walk in this bar, and you guessed it, there's only one girl in the whole place, and she's a grandma. Yowza. Nothing against grandmas, you know, I've got one, too - but the problem simply stated was: this one was horny! The SB Kidd and me sent ourselves another baseball look, like, "Uh-uh, no way!" And I knew right then and there we'd be going home "stag" as they say, heh, but we weren't giving up yet. Well, as per usual, we ordered a one-buck tequila to be washed down by a one-buck beer (each) and if the Myth of the Calico is to grow on both sides of the Atlantic, well dawgummit (dentures) then of course we had to flirt with Grandma! She saunters up immediately going, "Chi-CHING! These guys have money!" Or at least we were the cutest, or at least the youngest in the 5:45 AM bar crowd, or maybe she recognized us as the Gay Bouncers, but I doubt it. 'Cuz Grandma was definitely into cucumber. Probably always was. Now, I believe in fair and equal opportunities, but let's face it, her time had come and gone, and that was probably somewhere around 1971. So I'll be polite here, but our body language was definitely saying No Dice. But she came right up and put her arm around us both and we played along ... we gave her phoney names, but someone said, "That's Todd," and she asked, "Which-is-Todd" which somehow became "Wichita" and after another round of perky seedy one-buck drinks (I've heard of Two Buck Chuck in L.A., but this is rediculous!) witch we included her in on, glug, glug, she wanted to dance, and I said, "Yeah, we'll meet you in WICHITA in exactly 48 hours at the Wichita Internation Airport (is there one?) and we'll show you our Jumbo-Jet (sexual innuendo) and then we'll dance up a storm!" And Kidd SB chimed in, "Where's the money, Lebowski??" witch made no sense, but was rip-roarin' hysterical lunacy, so friggin' funny, and actually turned out to be THE perfect answer at that moment, to a drunken, horny Grandma somewhere 'round 7 in the morning. At a one-buck pub. On a Tuesday. Yeah, if that last pub was all Henry Miller, then this one was all Bukowski - and we rumbled and stumbled into the wee hours. Grandma kept getting more and more flirtatious, and at some point the arm went from o'er the shoulder to under the stool, and then up towards my buttucks. "Hey, man," I said to the Kidd, "Grandma's thumb is now squarely lodged right in the crack of my ass!" Ooooh. To which he replied Fast in his best Jeff Spaccoli, "Exxxcellent!" We managed to escape some time later, as the sun came up, after avoiding numerous attempts by Grandma to get us to meet her daughter ...
Once again, like some team of mad poet-warriors on a protest march screaming, "Free The Breakfast!" (whatever that means) we slinky-hopped down the boulevard like musical thieves (I believe we were singing) in search of a decent breakfast. Focus. I have vague recollections of stumbling into an all-night joint, which didn't matter 'cuz now it was almost 9 AM! We did the usual, "Where's the Breakfast, Lebowski?!" We ordered some "mediterranean" cuisine which could have been fried dog-poopie for all we cared at that hour, being ravenously hungry, and in fine story-tellin' form. The conversation raged, munch, munch, from music to history to wars to girls and back to the Gay Mafia again, a la "I will desthroyyy you, Twinkle-Toes!" Man, that was some funny shit. What heights one can reach in the space of a day ... Santa Barbara said, "Man, I'd be dead at 27 like Jimmy and Jannis if I lived in this town, at this pace." Just celebrate LIFE, my brothah, who knows when our time comes, ya never know. Live it! You're probably on the flight back to California right now as I write. It was real, dawg! 'Twas not a dream. (If that plane goes down, in a secret plot to stop Worldwide Joy, then Guv Ahhhnold is DEFINITELY in the Gay Mob.) We had the obligatory laughing gas attack on the subway ride home, much to the chagrin of the jobbies riding next to us. I had a solid 3 hours sleep before I got up at noon and helped my buddy Bookstore Dave, literally. Hurtin'. "That's crazy talk!" bellowed Kidd SB. But I did it, I headed out again, head throbbin', new poems runnin' 'round in my pulsating cranium. Pushing the limits (of sleep deprivation) makes me write like I'm on opium, without the nasty side effects. Heh! Ain't no stopping us now. And I dare us, I double-trouble-dare us, to do a repeat performance of all this next time in Santa Barbara, thwarting the pigs and their minions. Woke up 2 days later, still in magic Merlin-town, he was gone but the memory lingered, and the dear boy wrote a postcard to me that said, "Keep on the Livin'!" And I will, and you should, too ...
WE WORK HARD. WE PLAY HARD, TOO.
We were in this jazz club the other night, see, done heard these cats goin' OFF and the prune-juice started flowin' and we started jazz-dancin.' Not sure how it happened, but my man Bookstore Dave from Boston seemed to challenge me to out-dance him (at least I took it that way!) which I knew was well within the realm of possibilities, and so as the bass player did this sweeeet swingin' lick, I just went, "Well, ok - top THIS!" and I did a flip right across the floor of the club. Feet went flyin'. People applauded, and Dave just about died laughing. I'll bet for the rest of the week he's gonna call me "Flip." Peace. -Todd
Man, oh, man ... it's the anniversary of John Lennon's murder. Unbelievable. Blows my mind. What a sad, tragic event. This guy was the embodyment of peace 'n' love. Who could shoot him?? That's fucked up. There are some sick bastards out there ... and many of them work for the CIA. Peace. -Todd
Journal entry: What is Love? What is Genius? What is "what is?" (Ahh, to strive to be in that flow.) It is what it is ... -Todd
She told me that she told him that she loves him so what does he do - he hops on the Trans-Siberian Railway (that's what I woulda done in his shoes, even though she's beautiful) and he's safe from any hassle ...