Monday, May 30, 2005

back yo

it's
the
return...

after the doktor threw those cow balls down on the desk, we agreed with management that a "rest" would be in the best interests of all, so i flew into kingston for a while and got some kinky reggae...and i got some time to get the book together. i'd like to say thanks to NOT A GODDAMM ONE OF YA...all i got was shined on, man. place your orders soon suckers...first pressing is limited to 25 and that comes with a personal visit from the doktor, pants negotiable.

loaded up on some stone love mixtapes and copped the new damian marley single. "welcome to jamrock" is mean as fuck and brings to mind all kinds of...naw, i'll save that for another time. and the flipside has 'hey girl,' and it's destined to get played in all the clubs this summer or my name is not johnny st. clair.

email about the books, though. seriously. i'm not kidding.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

salvaging the revolution


MESSAGE FROM: 412 – xxx – xxxx [DOKTOR]

Meet me at the point i will arrive by river at dawn

RECEIVED: 4:03AM 04/20/2005



the sun shined somewhere behind the buildings in this city, but the river spilled westward into darkness. not long after those first birds sang in the morning, i became acutely aware of a foul presence lurking in the east, hurtling forward in the darkness in some kind of vain, half-retarded attempt to outrun the sun.

suddenly, an airhorn blast. the doktor was about fifty feet off shore, dropping an anchor from some kind of battered, aged speedboat.

“swim, you pigfucker!”

“i’m not swimming out there…pull closer.”

“impossible…i’m just learning how to manage this beast. i can’t risk pulling up along that concrete. it might shatter the hull.”

“what?”

“Swim!”

and why not…the doktor helped haul me aboard after i thrashed about for five minutes or so. i sprawled out on the floor of the boat as he sped away.

“it’s fuckin’ cold.”

“what?”

“i said it’s fuckin’ cold.”

“what?”

“cold, you bastard, cold”

“i can’t hear you.”

“what?”

we traveled at top speed past tugboats and barges filled with coal or coke or some other such unholiness. when we reached a less-trafficked spot on the river, the doktor cut the engine.

“where did you get the boat?”

“nevermind that now,” he said, “i’m glad you made it…i figured you would have bellyached about your job and professionalism and what-not.”

“it’s saturday.”

“of course it is.”

“is this stolen?”

“of course it is…but that’s only partly your concern. this is our new job.”

“what are you talking about?”

“this…these waters…ahhhh…i am, after all, a man of the sea.”

“this is a river.”

“I’VE GOT NO TIME TO SPLIT SEMANTICAL HAIRS WITH YOU! listen…we are going into the salvage business.”

“oh christ…”

“yes! the salvage business…MAO salvations…i will be the Chairman.”

“like Chairman Mao?”

“no, you moron, MAO…M-A-O…Monongahela, Allegheny, Ohio. together we will rule these waterways.”

“doing what? you are goin’ fuckin’ crazy, you know that? i can’t believe i left my shoes behind for this…”

he tried to smack me, but his reflexes were dulled from…something…

“i’m not crazy…i’m more lucid now than…than…than in a long time, alright…look, you’re in on the ground floor of an opportunity that can shake this city to its rotten core…the societal implications of this operation will have far-reaching consequences and could quite possibly – with a little bit of luck – start a movement.”

“what are we planning on salvaging?”

“ahhh…you’re coming around, i see.”

“i’m waiting.”

“are you sure you’re done crying?”

“take me back to shore…i’d rather be sleeping.”

“rather? you pussy...look, this operation will be many-headed. i figure the quickest facet to implement will be the fishing excursions.”

“fishing excursions?”

“yes…fishing excursions. what…we get some rods and reels and a few tackle boxes…load the ice chest up with beer and sandwiches, and that’s all we’re gonna fuckin’ need. we’ll charge $100 an hour.”

“who’s gonna wanna go fishing with you?”

“oh no…not me, motherfucker…i’m not pulling your weight forever. i might man the steering wheel, but you are the captain on the fishing cruises.”

“what are we gonna catch?”

“YOU DECIDE THAT YOU LAZY BASTARD! these rivers are alive with monster catfish…perhaps we should advertise with the legend of the man who was swallowed whole by a catfish as big as a Buick.”

“did that really happen?”

“WHO CARES?”

“what are some of the other ‘heads’ of this operation?”

“huh?”

“you said this operation has many different parts…what are the others?”

“oh yes…but don’t forget about the fishing cruises…that is your area of detail and to shirk your obligations there would be unexcusable. the residuals on those trips could really be sweet in the long run, you know, down the road…”

“shut up and get on with it.”

“ok…sunken treasures.”

“treasure?”

“treasure, baby, treasure.”

“in these rivers?”

“in these rivers…well, maybe not so much treasure, as sunken Stealth Bombers.”

“it wasn’t a Stealth Bomber, you moron…it was a B-25 that crashed into the Mon.”

“i’m disappointed.”

“in what?”

“in you.”

“why?”

“because you are believing what they are telling you…i say it was a Stealth Bomber, and we’re gonna find it, and when we do, you’re gonna feel dumb.”

“you know, i did hear that the night it happened…strange military trucks were seen in the area and many, many people along the river were hauled in for questioning, or quarantined, or worse.”

“really?”

“yeah…and i heard that it might have been an alien spacecraft!”

“are you serious?”

“no, you moron.”

“unirregardlessly…that sunken plane is around here somewhere and we’re gonna find it. who knows? perhaps it has acted as some sort of underwater artificial reef for giant Cadillac catfish. we can supervise underwater dives, act as tour guides, sell the pilot seats on Ebay to the highest bidder. i bet it’s loaded with gold bullion. that’s the reason it went down, you understand, it’s cargo was too heavy.”

“right.”

“here’s the kicker…”

“can’t wait.”

“shut up and listen…the real cash cow is the salvage operation.”

“the plane is government property…”

“we’re not salvaging the plane, you thick-headed bastard…well, parts of it we will salvage, but it’s really pennies compared to the full-scale operation.”

“sure it is.”

“cancel all plans for the fourth of july.”

“sure i will.”

“i’m serious.”

“oh, i don’t doubt that…you are seriously disturbed, that’s for damm sure…and your Hunter fixation borders on the obsessive…the creepy, even.”

“HE’S A GODDAMM AMERICAN PATRIOT, YOU SOULLESS HUMP! besides, this fourth of july will be a new independence day…Our independence day.”

“i’m already free...”

“i’m not talking about just you…i’m talking about Us All.”

“oh.”

“i’m talking about the Weird.”

“can we get on with this? that river patrol boat seems to be circling, probably calling for reinforcements.”

“this fourth of july…when all of those greedheads and fishheads have their little suburban boats parked precariously around the point…we will arrive. and we will wait.”

“for what?”

“for them to get drunk and run out of gas for christ sakes.”

“what’s a fishhead?”

“NEVERMIND! listen…we will wait until they run out of gas, then we will ferry them to the mainland and return to pillage the boats.”

“that’s robbery.”

“fuck that…we’re gonna be the modern day robin hoods…johnny appleseeds.”

“what are we planting.”

“the seeds of a revolution.”

“oh christ…take me back to shore.”

“yeah man…we ferry them back to shore…charge them an arm and a leg…and then rip the boats to shreds…sell them for parts, scrap, whatever.”

“why do you think they are gonna be running out of gas?”

“stop taking the bus and find out about the price of gas…”

“no thanks.”

“well, it’s through the roof and rising…those rich bloodsuckers have all of their money tied up in mortgages, cocaine, anti-depressants, boner pills, and sex club fees that they won’t be able to feed their motorboats for long. all we have to do is sit back and wait.”

“and then what?”

“then we put the lion’s share of that money back into the city.”

“for what?”

“to fill the point up with lite beer.”

“lite beer?”

“lite beer…the popular choice…see, the way i see it, it’s a sure fire way to get a large number of people involved. plug them with beer…we can talk until we’re blue in the face about chemical weapons or the whittling away of civil liberties or corporate wars in faraway lands, but no one will give a shit. lite beer will bring people around.”

“fuck…this isn’t good.”

“what isn’t?”

“you starting to make sense.”

“motherfucker, i’m about to make dollars! and once we get them down there and they start drinking, then i pull the jedi mind trick on them. give me an hour or two, and they will be ripping up the pavement on the boulevard with their bare hands.”

“and then what?”

“then we plant grass.”

“uh…”

“it’s a start.”

“a little unity.”

“right on brother, right on…”

he fired up the engines on the boat and we roared back into the sunrise. if you looked at the water in just the right way, you could catch the iridescence of the spilled gasoline on the surface. i’d be lying if i said it wasn’t at least a little bit beautiful. riding on the river in the early morning sunlight, we had planned an operation and maybe started a movement. with any luck and the right kind of eyes, maybe we’ll take this act to the White House.

Monday, May 02, 2005

professionalism #6

“hey…i saw the new website…you changed the way it looks?”

“what are you talking about?”

“i figured you’d have rainbows and shit all over it, you fuckin’ fairy.”

“i don’t have a website.”

“you’re such a fairy, you’re about to sprout fuckin’ wings.”

[blank stare]

“are you ready?”

truth was i wasn’t. but if it had to be now, then so be it…let’s get it on, right? this had all the potential for real ugliness, and i could tell by the crusty brown bag the doktor was carrying that police involvement was almost guaranteed.

“listen asshole…i’ve been thinking about this…our whole approach…and i think we should be subtle,” i said. i wanted to be reasonable, but looking at that bag in his hands, i was certain that reason was an impossibility.

“nonsense…violence is the only was to deal with these pigfuckers. it’s what they understand. they breed in it, eat it, root around in it for christ sakes.”

“how about the Threat of violence? can we go that route? the implied…”

“you’re worthless and weak.”

“shut up…everything is d-day with you…”

“EVERYDAY IS D-DAY…”

“yeah…no timeouts, homeboy - just one time...”

“are you ready?”

“yeah…let me take a piss first.”

“save it…you can piss on her desk if she turns us down.”

“now…we are looking at a percentage increase, correct?”

“what?”

“for the raise…we want a 5% but we ask for 7.25%, correct?”

“we want Bills! Greens! Dividends! i don’t have time to split percentagical hairs with her!”

“DAMM! what’s in the bag by the way?”

“hey…that’s my business.”

“hey…fine by you.”

“you’re goddamm right it is. now…when we go in to talk to her, leave everything to me. you just stand back and nod your head…you know, keep your arms folded and say ‘yeah’ a lot. and don’t forget to block the door…she might make a move or try to call security, but don’t let anyone in or out until we have something in writing.”

“for fuck’s sake…we’re trying to get a raise, not shake her down for protection money or something.”

“protection money? what do you think this is, the Godfather or something? man, nobody gets the shake down for protection money…it’s all about drug money, baby!”

“what?”

“just shut the fuck up and leave everything to me.”

“that’s what i’m afraid of...the fact that you and that twisted fuck-up of a mind of yours is somehow equating a meeting in a professional setting with some kind of drug shakedown is troubling to say the least…i mean, have we regressed to the level of…”

“will you shut the fuck up…blah blah blah…jesus…get your game face on.”

“right…what’s in the bag again.”

“don't make a difference.”

“seriously…”

“don’t concern yourself with it.”

“why not?”

“you wouldn’t approve.”

“oh no shit…”

she was on the phone when we arrived…her red hair all frizzy locks, catching the early morning sunshine and twisting it into something vile, corrupt…she motioned for us to sit and grinned with yellow teeth…another day at the wax museum…clowns and carousels…sideshow freakshow freakout…admittance is cheap and always, always a ripoff…

“gentleman…good morning…oh i bet i know what this is about!” she seemed positively giddy, tidying up her desk and reshuffling papers. “now…what can i do for you?”

the doktor stood up from his chair, opened the brown bag, and produced a slightly smaller ziploc bag…all yellow fluid and leaking, sweating perhaps…something gray and bulbous, veiny…floating in the liquid…

he pounded a fist on the glass desktop. “you know what THESE are? do ya? huh? they’re the nuts we cut off the LAST manager…so…do we get what we want, or is my boy here gonna have to start cuttin’? tell her something, johnny…”

subtlety is truly a lost art.

Sunday, May 01, 2005

one hit

saul williams – list of demands

this cat was supposed to open up for the Mars Volta when they did the lambada in town a few years back…but he was nowhere to be found. i knew he was a poet and had written a book with one of the coolest titles – said the shotgun to the head – so i just figured he was gonna be doing a reading or something.

i didn’t know he had his own musical thing going on…

this tune would sound perfectly at home on a TV on the Radio album. electronical and harsh, drums at the forefront in a punk rock kinda way. his voice is strangely irritating and compelling at the same time, and the song is kinda catchy in [again] a hardcore punk kinda way. but it’s not what you’re thinking of when you hear punk rock…and if you’re a moron the way the doktor is when it comes to punk rock, you think it’s something you can find at the mall.

but i digress…apart from the line about god crying because her diaper’s wet, some fine lines. dig it:

“i got a list of demands / written on the palm of my hand / i ball my fist and you gon’ know where i stand… call the police! / i'm strapped to the teeth and liable to disregard your every belief / call on the law! / i'm fixin' to draw a line between what is and seems and call up a brawl…”

it’s real pissed sounding and could be equally applicable to the current state of affairs in our country, your slave-drivin’ boss, or any other jackass who’s breathing down your neck. it reminds me of that time i was in line at the bank and this girl came in with a ski mask on, screamin’ about reparations and white devils. man…it was so much fun to help her rob the place that day…