2.1 million dollar car 16 cylinders (two v-8's)

2009 Bugatti Veyron 16.4 Grand Sport, mid engine, all-wheel drive two-door convertible.

Price: test model, $2.1 million, including sales tax and delivery (price fluctuates according to the value of the euro.)

Power train: 8-liter W-16 1,001-horsepower, quadro-turbocharged 16-cylinder engine. Seven-speed automatic transmission, with paddle-shifting and manumatic function.

Curb weight: 4,387 pounds.

Seating capacity: two.

Fuel consumption : 8 mpg, city; 14 mpg, highway.

Fuel tank capacity: 26.4 gallons.

0-60 in 3 seconds top speed 253 mph

only you can prevent forest fires

smokey the bear fired an m16 rifle
but it jammed and the viet cong
poured over the barricades
he wept about his honey
and his picnic basket but
the dead children didn't go away
it looked like rain again
he would have to hear it
nothing smells like a wet bear
but he didn't care
he liked the smell of the rain and the smoke
and the the sound of canned rations
being opened.

The medina in Tangiers

down the mogul
protusions
sleeping with the rich
caramel bedded camel like
dromedary
sweet eyelashes
mosques and minarets
and drunken mullahs
dirty dirty and sad
sad sad and dirty
poor and obnoxious in an
ancient city
dressed like an
ancient turd
'go GO that way, don't listen to me SEE if i
CARE!'

Berkeley

crust bucket
flo-nilla
ivory tongued flotilla
piracy of privacy
'aint no such thing muh negro'

possible supporting actors

"I'll be good, boss. I won't backslide."

Well there's been talk going around about who we will get as supporting actors. Jack Nicholson was thrown around a bit as my dad or maybe a cranky neighbor. He and his agent came to a meeting and, man, was he an asshole. I couldn't believe it. He was all, like, what's my motivation? And i was like, "I don't know Man, what is your motivation?" Anyway I always thought he was cool- Five Easy Pieces, where he's a roughneck oil rig worker who has to go back to the northwest because his father's dying and he leaves his girlfriend in the hotel for three weeks.
Maybe he was in character in the meeting- who knows?
Anyway they were also talking about who would be my girlfriend (not that I have one)and I was all about Scarlet Johannson. She's hot.
I'd also like to get Julie Christie in the movie and Catherine Deneuve.
Julie Christie in McCabe & Mrs. Miller- classic Altman.
Maybe Warren Beatty as a judge when I'm getting sentenced for some crime against the state. Or maybe he could be my dad and Nicholson my lawyer.
I'd also like to get Burt Bacharach to do some of the music. Something like the south american getaway music he did for Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I used to have the poster of them from the final shot of the movie on my wall as well the classic shot from Easy Rider.

If Strother Martin was still around we could have him the movie as an old prospector or something.

Anyway there will be more meetings and more names thrown around

lawsuit update

My lawyer says we'll just have to sit it out and wait; these lawsuits take for ever! The Society for the Presevation of the Integrity of the Works of Lewis Carroll (SPIWLC) have subpoenaed pretty much my whole life; emails, tax records, phone history, bank account history, fucking medical records, EVERYTHING. These fuckers don't fuck around! They wanted an injunction against me writing about the case ( gag order) but the judge put the Kaibosh on that. My lawyer says we're going to hit back at the board members and request all the same stuff from them- he's looking for conflict of interest. He thinks they might back off if we go after their personal info. I never knew making a movie about a blog could be so complicated. The movie producers are waiting to see what happens but they are trying to generate pre-publicity- "there's no bad publicity" We might be doing a photo shoot for Vanity Fair! yeah fucking sweet. I always knew this blog would pay off big time.

alice in wonderland my ass

Ok Now we're getting sued. For real. the Society for the Preservation of Lewis Carroll has decided that we are using the creative works of Lewis Carroll for financial gain and and causing harm to the reputation of his works. I'm like WTF can they do that. The producers don't want to spend the money to fight the case, seems the society has some deep pockets. My lawyer thinks this may actually be a gold mine. He says they're barking down the wrong rabbit hole, that they better beware the claws that catch and the jaws that bite and don't even think about messing with the Jubjub bird. Word! He told me not to write a word about this but what good is a blog if you can't write about what is really going on in your life?

WTTTW the movie

I wonder if this is the first blog that's been made into a movie? The producers sent over a photographer this morning to get some photos of me working. He had very specific orders- no pants. I was like what? and he said yeah they wanted photos of me in like a bathrobe or something drinking coffee looking like I just woke up at three in the afternoon. I thought man this is bullshit what kind of bullshit is this? but my lawyer said just do it they're getting ready to sign the deal so don't fuck it up... those fucking producers are a bunch of scumballs. I wonder if they actually read my blog? I wonder who will play me in the movie? Probably Philip Seymour Hoffman or Nicholas Cage like in Adaptation or maybe that nut job Chris Cooper. Or I could be kinda badass like a mixed up Daniel Craig.

soon to be released !

After the notoriety from the attempted censorship and forced apology from the administrators I have some folks interested in doing a movie of my story! Fucking and A!
They want to call it 'Whiffling Through the Tulgey Wood' and then some subtitle like 'a bloggers story' or 'Life of a Blogger'. They would try to get a real sense of what my daily life is like - filming me for three weeks as I go through the process of trying to put my life back together after the devastating events of my blogger censorship and enforced apology. Me meeting with my lawyer talking about how where the deep pockets are, how we can get the UCLA (united civil liberties of america) to help with the legal fees and xeroxing, scenes of me riding my bike to the cafe to get a double latte,saying hi to some cute girls, stuff like that. i think this could be a summer sleeper especially if we throw in some CIA stuff. It's really a lot to deal with.

apology

I have to apologize for the last few posts
you see I'm under a lot of stress
and now they're threatening to shut me down.
they said I needed to clean up my blog and apologize or
I wouldn't be allowed to continue-
'Too many complaints, questionable material and what if young people who are underage read it?'
so this is my apology I'm sorry I fucked up and wrote a bunch of shitty poetry
and you had to read it and your kids - something happened to your kids
I'm sorry -i don't what it was but I'm sorry anyway
so please just go fuck yourselves and I'm sorry

I'm from the streets

your whole building is a bunch of faggot ass bullshit
okay yeah I get it somebody towed your car now
please go the fuck away you stupid
dipshit
can you believe that crap
fuck that guy
yeah what a dumbshit
our faggot ass building haha

!1!!!

got me a fife
got me a old fiddle
i'm a fucking country boy
so suck on the end of my shotgun
and pony up to the
bar
we'll eat cornflakes painted red
white and blue
we'll smoke indian blood cigarettes
and spit into spitoons made from real mohair and
the skull of an abandoned female caribou
'I AIN'T SHIITIN' YOU THIS STUFF IS REAL!'
but tell me somthing - do you work in a medical office-
how did you know-do you read chinese?
No it's your umbrella
no I saw them they were stealing biscotti from Starbucks- biscotti!
I saw them outside counting up their loot- one guy - the one
with the over stuffed jacket had like seven packages
sealed in plastic
I didn't know what he was going to do with them-
eat them, sell them

'it's the economy' what are you gonna do
call the cops?
'THEY'RE STEALING FROM STARBUCKS- MY GOD WHAT'S NEXT?'
I've seen it rain and fire in the sky
he said
pony up here and I'll tell you a story.

are those ski goggles or beer?

oh miserable
anthropomorphized
digital self
for sad sad figure
in a pixelated glass
staring with
eyes aged by
drooping
curtain of light
plasma screamed
tv
dripping
IV tube reality with razor blades and bullets
pushing metal on newspapers
crowding out the japanese tourists
on the train with their
rain gear and plans
for the weekend
i'm staring at a girl
with her mouth open
looking up like
joan of arc or some girl
in a porno and it's disconcerting to see
that on the train when
you just want to drink your coffee
and get to work
but along the way you read
about senators falling into pools of tar
and they try to laugh it off
'ha ha fell into a pool of tar like a
sabre toothed tiger' and then you have
your blood drawn and it doesn't hurt
but it sure is dark
you didn't realize it was so dark and syrupy
'one good thing about having high blood pressure- the blood comes out fast!'

as the sorrow
of resumes
filled
like a hot air balloon
in an Italian neighborhood
he thought of a man he knew
searching for his glasses amongst the papers and
manila folders, handwritten letters and envelopes
and the glasses, smudged and bifocaled
were resting on his forehead
he took a deep breath
knowing that balloons sometimes don't come down
despite the song

I watched a giant leaf fall to the earth it was mottled and yellow and red

and I walked these borrowed
roads diverged with the
baby smell of a yeast-ie
brew pub in my nostrils
counting the old fence posts like Robert Frost
poems

He drank too much
beer
whiskey
vodka
whatever

Hoboken?

it had the feeling of a bad omen(or bad poetry??)
"He moved to Hoboken"
a true life story

he lied

read about it in
in Newsweek another long line
of literary grifters

his hours
was that it?
but it wasn't
what he thought
he didn't know what
he was thinking when he
dropped his oj
and fell down on the sidewalk
he remembered thinking something
is wrong(italics)
I'm not that building
the one
with the sunshine on it
isn't right to my eyes,
my eye
that man
with the brief case
I'm not a shadow of a building
she won't understand
why I have a bullet hole in me

creamora/
Beelzebub
wandering
into
shots/
of jaeger
stoically
smoking
sinsemilla
and boring
us/
with stupid
medical marijuana
polemics/

Iggy Pop working at Gas/Mart

driving around the lake
watching the sky
for aliens or Gargamel
firing at police cars
with their sirens blaring
turning into gin and juice
with my mind on my money
we stop to get coffee
and cigarettes
Iggy pop is working behind the counter
his name badge says Iggy Pop
it really is Iggy Pop
we're embarrased by the whole thing and ask him
if he's ever met Todd Rundgren
He says he did in the mid-eighties in
San Francisco
but now
there's a line behind us so we say good by
"loved the stooges, man"
even though I never really listened to them
and we're back on the road
for some reason we start fighting
"that wasn't really Iggy Pop"
"yes it was!"
we stop talking. We're listening to the radio and suddenly
Lust for life comes on-
bomp bomp bomp bu bomp bomp bu da ba domp

'Here comes johnny yen again
With the liquor and drugs
And the flesh machine
Hes gonna do another strip tease.
Hey man, whered ya get that lotion?
Ive been hurting since Ive bought the gimmick
About something called love
Yeah, something called love.
Well, thats like hypnotizing chickens.'

I say "yes I have had it in the ear before"
I am just a modern guy

the road splits and we go to the
right
grandma's house
she's baking cookies and she has a friend
visiting, Mr Wolff.
He has weird gray hair and very large teeth. My friend notices them as she's taking off her beautiful red cape
What big teeth you have she says smiling
we decide to leave early
Mr Wolff insists we stay and stands in front of the door his eyes gleaming
rubbing his large hands together
I notice his hands have gray hair on them as well
a lot of it
I hit him in the head with one of grandma's lamps
he crumples like a Reeses peanut butter cup wrapper
we leave in a squeal of tires
"what about your grandma? " my friend asks
I start to reply when we hear the report of an automatic rifle.
"grandma used to work running arms to the Zapatistas."

Will the dead walk the earth again?

Bob Wilkins was a huge influence on my psyche as a youth. I watched him regularly on Creature Features and he would be in the studio and would talk about the films at the commercial breaks. He later said it was just him and the camera man in the studio and his goal was to make the camera man crack up. He had a very dry sense of humor -wicked dry. Bob- I hope to see you walking the Earth as the living dead. Moo wah hah ha.

diving down deep into the dirty water of your thoughts

It was the third bus to go by.
They were all full.
Bundled up commuters looked up at him from their magazines for a fraction of a second and then back to their magazines.
He flung his lunch sack into the garbage can.
"Fuck it- I'm taking the day off."
He knew his boss would can him. He didn't care. It was his sixth job in as many months.
The first had been as a door to door enumerator. The local Chamber of Commerce had decided to collect information on every house in the city, kind of like a private census. The Chamber had hired a company J.R.PUCHE to gather the data and publish it and PUCHE had hired him to gather the data.
"Kid, don't let 'em scare you off- tell 'em you work for the City and it's required information for police and fire emergency information." His boss wore his life on his shoulder like a dead monkey.

The July sun was beating down on him.
He rang the bell at the first house. Nothing. He rang again. A woman's voice yelled from inside the house.
"Go around to the BACK!"
He walked across the dead grass of the front lawn to the driveway. There was an old Dodge Valiant in the driveway with the hood up. The rest of the driveway was strewn with broken toys and motorcycle parts and a large red tool box.
A woman was on the back step wearing shorts and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. She was smoking a cigarette. Her hair was brown and dishevelled. Her nipples were pronounced.
"You're here to fix the car right? Jimmy said you'd be coming over. Are you friends with Jimmy? He's my brother but he's such a fucking flake, I haven't heard from him for three days- he said you'd be here on Tuesday. Well, it's right there, take a look."
She slammed the screen door on her way back in.
He stood there for a second.
"Hey lady, I'm..."
His voice trailed off.
"Oh well fuck it."
He walked over to the car and peered under the hood. He knew about cars from when he was in high school. He had fixed flats and done minor repairs at a gas station on North L St.
He got behind the wheel. The key was in it. He tried to start it and it turned over but wouldn't catch.
Okay, he thought, spark plugs. He pulled a couple plugs but they looked fine. The distributor looked okay and he didn't want to open it. He wasn't going to do anything to the points.
He sat down and smoked a cigarette. And then another one.
"What the fuck am I doing here?'
He really didn't want to go door to door asking people stupid questions about their stupid lives. Most people had the brains of a doorstop and they'd as soon piss on you if they thought there was something in it for them.
He got up and looked down at the engine. He took off the air filter and peered down into the carburetor.
"What the fuck?"
The head of small doll was wedged into the intake manifold. One of its eyes was gone.
The other one was blue and stared up at him. He threw the head on the ground.

The car started with a roar.
"Yes!"
The woman came running out.
"YOU FIXED IT!"
She was excited. She flung herself against him. He could feel her breasts pushing against him.
"YOU'RE AMAZING. THANK YOU,THANK YOU,THANK YOU!
He was starting to get a hard on from all the thank you's.
"Okay well, tell Jimmy he owes me one."
"Oh you're not getting away that easy."
She took him by the hand and led him into the house.

She was a screamer.
"YES, YES GOD YES OMIGOD THAT IS OMIGOD HOLY FUCKING OMIGOD."
In the next room the TV was on loud. The Price Is Right was on. Bob Barker was talking to a middle aged woman about whether she wanted to risk it all.
He didn't hear the motorcycle pull up to the house.
He heard a man's voice behind him.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!"
There was a crashing pain on the back of his head and then blackness.

When he woke up it was dark. He hurt in too many places. Then he saw a crack of bright light.
'Where the fuck am I?'
He was laying in a pile of of unidentifiable stuff. He realized he was in a dumpster. He pulled himself up and pushed the dumpster lid open. The searing light hurt his eyes and his head was swimming in pain.
He crawled out of the dumpster and walked home.