all the way live #9

said the Doktor, “who the fuck is mike doody?”

“doughty”

“dotty?”

“doughty”

“fucky?”

“fuck off…he used to be in soul coughing.”

“who the fuck are they?”

“i don’t know man…i got some of his new stuff and there’s these couple songs on there…and…”

“and?”

“nevermind. you wanna go or what? i mean, it’s not like you’ve got anything else goin’ on on a weeknight.”

“besides my p.o.”

“besides your p.o. but after that…”

“what kind of crowd?”

“i don’t know…hippies maybe?”

“there are two kinds of hippies, ya know,” he said.

“yeah motherfucker…and I’m the kind that will steal your weed and eat the last muffin.”

“what?”

later that night, i arrived at the Den of Iniquity and was rudely welcomed by a smell fouler than usual. i seemed to have caught the Doktor in the midst of his primping and preening for the occasion and i quickly realized he had been quite liberal with the patchouli in preparation for the evening. i tried reasoning with him that you only needed a drop or two, but it was as if he was trying to douse a fire. a very large, Gay fire. “IT’LL NEVER WORK,” i screamed and tried to wrest the bottle from his grip, but he kept me at bay with a bull whip. “FUCK YO COUCH NUKKA! FUCK YO COUCH!” i screamed and then melted into a viscous puddle on the floor.

“get up…Get Up for chrissakes…GET THE FUCK UP!”

“alright, alright, ok, ” i said. but i knew things were pretty fuckin’ far from all right.

“what’s wrong with you?”

“i don’t wanna get into it right now.”

“WHY THE HELL NOT?”

“oh man…i got a fuckin’ head full of acid.”

“what? where’s mine?”

“oh MAN! you STINK!”

the Doktor looked at me for a long, cold while. he was eyeing me like a piece of furniture, like he was admiring the shape of my skull, maybe for use as the base of a lamp. or…Something. “who’s driving?” he finally said.

“i’ll drive with my head out the window. you STINK! fuck…”

“look at you. you’re a mess. you’re more of a mess than usual. and that’s saying something.”

“saying what?”

“what?” he said.

“you said ‘that’s saying something.’ what is saying something? and what is it saying? is it the couch? huh? is the Couch saying something about me? i Knew it. i’ve always hated that fuckin’ couch!”

“?...don’t…hey…Stop it…get away from my…”

“FUCK YO COUCH NUKKA! FUCK YO COUCH!”

“stop that…put that away…awww, look what ya done…jumpin’ jesus on a pogo stick”

“that was a weird thing to say.”

“what?” the Doktor said. “how much did you take?”

“take? uh…i took all of it, of course.”

“why? why didn’t you save me any? why? a hit-and-a-half or something?”

“man…i mean…i had it, then i smoked some weed, ate some pills - some speed - so i was gettin’ all anxious and shit waitin’ for the bus to come, so i took one cuz i was all waitin’ and anxious and shit, and i got more anxious and shit, and i guess the weed - i don’t know - i guess i forgot i took a hit…so i was all anxious and shit, ya know, and so i took another one, and i guess i forgot i had already taken some, so – i mean – i didn’t know, so i just kept eatin’ the shit until it was all gone and now here i am.”

“indeed…here you are. and now what the fuck am i supposed to do with you?”

“with Me? look…i’m a grown-ass man. you ain’t gonna do a Goddamm thing with me. besides…i got some more, if ya want it…”

“i thought you said…”

“i know…i KNOW…but here’s the weird thing, it was only the ONE POCKET dude…i totally forgot to check the other side.”

“for fuck’s sake…maybe i don’t want any.”

“oh no…you Do…you do…here…take this brother, may it serve you well.”

“but what about the show?” he said.

“what show?”

“doughty.”

“Doody? who shit?”

“doughty…the dude from sold coffin.”

“soul coughing.”

“whatever…what about the show and all the hippie girls and drugs and stinky hugs and shit?” he said.

“fuck it man…i got a burned CD right here,” BAM! “go get your boombox and we can hop the fence down at the zoo and feed the bears.”

“Cool.”

one hit

mike doughty – unsingable name


alright…forget the fact that this cat is literate like a poet, or that he counts the replacements and public enemy as two of his most influential groups of musicians, or that he implored the crowd in minneapolis to replace that desire to yell “freebird” during rock shows with cries of “it’s raining men.” forget soul coughing. forget dave matthews on his new record. forget his struggles with heroin since 1990. forget all that and just listen to this tune. the groove holds a hook that rises like a wave crashes on a sad beach and washes away the spot you saved for the girl you always wanted. words that know the sweet sadness of so much left unsaid and a heart broken by sunshine. but fuck it man, cuz that long bell’s lonely ring chimes over everything. i wanna split for singapore now.

...i ain't even gotta say nothin'...

...stop me if you've heard this one before...

a man walks into a bar and leaves before his ashes hit the floor
stop me if i ever get that far
the sun's a desperate star that burns like every single one before

so i belly-up and disappear
well i ain't really drowning 'cause i see the beach from here

professionalism #10

"st. clair...get over here."

"what's up?"

"i was just at Milk's office"

"yeah"

"and i rounded the corner...and he's standing there looking in the mirror, putting his army hat on." the doktor gestures as if he's putting a cap on his head very carefully, and for a moment i imagined something French, a beret perhaps.

"an army hat?"

"yeah man...he's got the whole fuckin' deal on. shirt, pants, badges and shit."

"aw for fuck's sake. "

"yeah man"

"we gotta see this."

"too late dude...he headed up into the rafters about fifteen minutes ago...said he's got the whole floor plan laid out and memorized. he's gonna drop in the boss's office when she's in a compromised position."

"and then what?"

"who knows man"

"why is he so pissed off?"

"does it matter?"

"no, but..."

"said she cut him off in the parking lot this morning...he was going on about 'last straws' and 'principles' and 'taking to the hills' and other nonsense."

"word...look man"

"oh Yeah"

"she is...i don't even know man. i think i'm...wow...she blows my whole habit..."

"can you speak in a complete sentence?"

"..."

"go talk to her...tell her something"

"i..."

"i, i, i...you stutterin'-ass motherfucker. look, you say what you wanna say and i'll record it on my camera phone."

"i'm not even messin' around with that."

"look, it's ready, just say something..."

...and then...


i was sitting in a waiting room. it was something like a doctor’s office…all knotted pinewood paneling and chairs against the wall, a receptionist’s windows, a clipboard and a pen on a tattered line, a clock, some green plants…and i seem to remember children laughing and running. a man sat smiling against the wall with a shaggy dog on his lap. sunshine spilled through the windows.

i didn’t feel like sitting down, so i went to the door to look outside. it was dark and my truck was directly in front of me. i walked over and threw my bag in the backseat, next to my boombox. it had some clothes and my notebook inside, but not much else. there was something else that i had put into the truck, but i can’t seem to recall what it was.

i drove off since i was tired of waiting at the waiting room. i was on second avenue in hazelwood, headed away from downtown, and the sky was steel gray and the wind was blowing. the avenue ended just before the bridge and i got out of the truck.

“hello,” an old man said.

“i’m on my way to get her,” i said.

“oh…well, you can’t go that way. this road won’t take you.”

“how do i get out of here?”

“you gotta go that way,” he pointed to a wide set of cement stairs where the river should have been. there were scattered people walking up and down, some in pairs, some alone. i couldn’t see the top…they were obscured by some kind of sign, and there seemed to be stores on either side of the steps. “that’s the only way out.”

“i can’t get my truck up there.”

“no,” he laughed, “no you can’t.”

“and what about my stuff? and my girl? how am i supposed to get her out?”

“well, son, i guess you could hold on real tight, but i’ve never heard of anyone pulling someone out of here. why don’t you go look up there,” he pointed to the steps, “you know where to find her.” he clapped a hand on my shoulder and his laugh pushed me to the steps, half-way up.

i had to walk through a store to get out, and i was embarrassed about passing through without buying anything. the lady inside smiled wide and said something i can’t remember as she waved. i walked on through.


“wha…what…the fuck…”

“dude, you ok?”

“amyls…you should get him some amyls…that’ll wake him up!!!”

“dude…the Milkman totally crashed on your head…”

“johnny, you should have seen it…i was just about to slip the columbian necktie on the bitch…she went berserk…”

“dammit man…i had a fucked up dream”

“about what?”

“and she looked up like this, she did this when she looked up, she went…”

“i don’t even know…there was this guy…i don’t know man, it was strange...like spiritual”

“gay. black or white dude?”

“black guy”

“i see…the old mystical negro and the little white boy…you’re such a fuckin’ racist”

“how does that make me…ouch…man, my forehead is bangin' yo”

“…feel the pain, johnny, let it in…it’s good for you…”

“don’t worry man, i’ve got it all on video right here,” he said as he closed the phone. “wait until this gets posted on the internet. shit’s classic. you got knocked The Fuck out.”

“fuck!!! i had her cornered in the shitter! like a rat on its haunches…i remember this one time back in ’65 when i worked down near the tar plant renovating tractors…”

“don’t show that shit to the girl, ok? i don’t want her to know…”

“…like two squirrels fightin’ it out in a crown royal bag…”

“ouch…i’m in pain…i need something…and what the fuck is the Milkman talking about?”

“how should i know?”

“…history!”