gimme some death

I'm now into the final week of school. Which includes:
-Five page paper for Film
-Five page paper for History
-Two page paper for Jazz
-Final exam for Film
-Final exam for Ethics
I haven't started studying or doing any of the work for this stuff, I decided to go to New York for a week instead. I kind of wish I was the guy in the picture above.

New York, New York

Well, I'm back (to Arizona that is). As I said in the previous post New York was fucking cold, but the last few days made it fucking worth it. Friday I went to a bar in the east village for a bit, which was alright. But after that I went to the apartment downtown that I had been given the keys to one day earlier. It turns out one of my friends was going to Florida the next day, and he offered me use of his apt. while he was gone. And what an apt. it was, two blocks north of Wall St. in a sixty story high rise (the views from the roof deck were amazing). So I went there with my friend Ana, partied for a while, and got my first sleep in three days. I woke the next evening very hungover, walked to the market, got a couple frozen pizzas, and an eight dollar six-pack of Miller Lite (a little steep, eh?). After a few hours of wallowing in my headache I took the subway into Hoboken across the river and did basically the same thing at Ana's place that we did the night before. Woke up the next day, called my sister and had her take me to the train station so I could enjoy a two hour ride down to the shore so I could go to my parents house and tie up some loose ends. I got some rip-off Japanese takeaway and stayed up all night getting things in order. Then I got to enjoy another two hour train ride back to Hoboken. I found out that The Cribs were playing at Mercury Lounge that night in the East Village. So Ana and I went to a Japanese place, got some really good sushi, and were back on the subway heading into the Village. When we got off we went to Down the Hatch, a favorite of mine whenever I'm in the area, a place where you actully get a pitcher of beer for six bucks (normally in NYC it's fifteen). After drinking two of those in about 30 minutes we realized we were about to be late for The Cribs show and hailed a cab. Got there and caught the last couple of songs from the opening act Unbusted (they sucked). In between sets we grabbed some more drinks and were on our way to becoming pretty drunk. The Cribs came on and the place was jumping, they were definitely better live than they are on the albums. Of course there was the obligatory beer drinking on stage, but they were pounding beers, especially the drummer, who at points was jumping up and down on his stool while still playing. At the close of the set they launched into this two minute freakout with lots of soloing and feedback. It was a quick forty-five minute set, but it was quality, when they stepped off the stage you could tell that those boys just wanted to go get drunk. After that we left and wandered around looking for this bar Happy Endings, that my friend Jake told me was the best thing in the city that night, but we couldn't find it. So, we just stuck to the original plan of going to Arlene's Grocery for the rock n' roll karaoke with a live band. It was good as always and we ended up drinking a lot more than we had planned. While I was there I took this really good CD off the bar of bands they recorded there and if you're interested you can grab it here ----> link. After that we grabbed a cab back to the subway station for Hoboken. I grabbed a few beers at the deli on the way in so I could drink them while waiting for the train. The conducter for one train saw me and told me I better get rid of them before I got on my train. Then I lit up a cigarette in the station and the second I did a voice came over the loudspeaker and said, "There is no smoking in the station." (big brother is watching). When we got back to Ana's I decided it would be a good idea to get in the car and grab some food (please note, I was extremely drunk). I went the wrong way down a one-way street and was driving head on with a cop, "Fuck!" I said. Of course, he pulled me over and before he reached the car I accepted the fact I was going to get a DWI and spend the night in jail. However, for some reason beyond my comprehension, the subject never came up, and I chatted merrily with his partner while he wrote the ticket up. I finally made it to McDonalds to get some shit food, and while they were making it I stole a bunch of Arch Cards, which I later realized were worthless unless you activate them. When I got back to Ana's she was sleeping, so I went to watch some TV while I waited to go to the airport one hour from then. Next thing I know, I'm waking up, it's light out, and my plane took off four hours ago. I went to the airport, got on standby for the one o' clock flight, went to the gate, laid down, and slept on the seats for two hours. Hopped the flight, landed, got my bag, caught the bus home, and here we are, Tempe... Arizona... and it's fucking cold here too.

Fucking Cold.

Yes, yes it is. Motherfucking cold, as a matter of fact. Well that is here in New York at the moment, which is where I am. Not where I was yesterday, in the warmth... in Arizona... in Tempe. I walked the streets last night until 3am when I got on the train to go where I am staying while here. I was wasted.... and yet still cold. No palm trees, just concrete and bums. I don't really know where I'm going with this... so I'll go outside, smoke a cigarette, and freeze my ass off until I return to Arizona.

Ramble...

Desolation angels float on through the night
Gaze through ancient time pieces into the twilight
They give it and go, break down, feel right and slow
Focused on primal realities that are always calling
Shade down the characters on the pathway to excess
Wrapped up in trench coats of delight
Go down to the 4 o’clock saloon
Wrapped up in old fashioned existential doom
Teeming with the aged partners of the galley
Weeding through the decrepit scum of the pissed soaked alleys
Cut up through Marine Park, through the forest of the marina
Downtown backend parking lot,
Swing around the gateway and deliver me a shot
Six down, walk through the waiting room, up three steps
Water ricochets in the bucket from the ceiling
Lean down on the sticky palette, order it up
Cheers to almost forgotten rituals and institutions
One back,
Two down,
Three swallowed,
Four imbibed,
Five digested,
Six consumed,
Seven wasted.
11 o’clock hits like refreshment, hordes rush in
Welcome back to October
We’re appropriating the games were playing
Flowing into the background of the girls vigorously swaying
Splashed her down onto the bar
Shirt pulled back
Brimmed belly buttons of Jack
Neophytes stare,
Old-timers glare,
But we’re there

Notes From The Underground...

Back to the last night of the century. Between me being blessed with this not give a fuck attitude and psychosis of the DxM, I was certainly not in rational state of mind. With my battle cruiser tank severely wounded and my extreme want to go out and continue the quest of getting fucked up, I made an unorthodox choice. ---------------------------------omission----------------------------------------- Slipped out stealthily into the car and rolled out into the street and was on my way. I got out of town and drove swiftly through the back roads to my destination, Mike Mosar’s riverside apartment in Sea Bright.

Upon arrival, I’m greeted by some of the regulars who frequent there. Bull, Mark, Bud, Mike, his girlfriend Erin, and Bull’s girl Stacey. First things first, I needed some booze. I took out my Everclear kit which I used for getting numb drunk very fast like. It consisted of a pint of Everclear (95% alcohol), one packet of Kool-Aid, and a cup of sugar. I got a cup out of Mike’s cabinet and prepared my concoction. Now, how you do this is; you take the Kool-Aid, the sugar, about five shots of Everclear, enough water and ice to level off the cup, mix it all up real nice, and presto you’ve got one night’s worth of drinking in one twelve ounce Solo cup. One long sip on the cup, instant gratification. I nestled down into the snug of Mike’s white pleather couch. “So” says Bull. “How did you get down here, I thought the Impala was all wasted and shit.” “Well Bully my boy I’m riding in style tonight, go take a peek out that window over there.” Bull gets up and takes long strides through the kitchen and brushes the curtain aside. He looks back at me and explodes with laughter and exclaims “you’re fucking nuts man! …. Fuck.” Bull came back over and joined us on the couches again.

Mike’s living room was a cramped 10 x 15 room with a white stained carpet, scratched up white couches due to his white pit-bull Angel, a couple of turntables in one corner, a TV with video games in another, and glass table in the middle. Mike was standing over by his turntables, fooling around with them, playing whatever new crazy electronic music he just got and he turned to look at me and threw me a big bushy bag of weed and a dutchie and said “Yo, Xavier. Why don’t you roll us up a big fat dutch, and after that I gotta surprise for y’all.” “Sure thing man.” I snapped back. I swear this guy always had the best gear and lots of it. Breaking it up was a pain in the ass because there was so much resin on this stuff it stuck to your fingers. You had to use a scissor, and even then some of it stuck to the scissor. After I had it all chopped and diced real fine I slowly unrolled the outer leaf of the dutchie, cracked the inner leaf vertically down one side, licked the outer leaf with a soft gentle caress and I was ready to roll. First you roll the weed into the inner leaf like you would a blunt or a joint, then you take the wet outer leaf and twist it around your rolled inner leaf with a cigar like roll. Then you gotta dry it with a lighter or if you have the means about ten seconds in the microwave, because trust me there nothing shittier than a soggy dutchie. It was done. Ready to smoke. Put it in my mouth, raised the lighter to its tip and was about to spark it when Mike yelled from the other side of the room “No! No! No, no wait a second man, don’t light that yet I got something I wanna do with that. Come into the kitchen with me.”

I got up and followed Mike over to his refrigerator; he opened up the freezer portion of it and removed a small glass jar which looked like the one my probation officer used to give me for urine samples. “Is that juice?” I asked him. “No doubt. I scored this shit off Punk last weekend when me and Erin went to the Sympty party at the Wave. Dude this shit blew my fuckin’ head off, we smoked a dippy and I was retarded for hours, tripped my face off. It’s gotta be mad close to pure.” Mike took the dutch and dipped it in the juice and sucked it from the end sticking out so that the dust saturated every hidden orifice of this thing. We were in for quite a ride. He handed it back to me and proclaimed, “Now you can spark it.” We went back to our circle waiting on the couches. I lit it up and breathed in deeply, the resin of the gear and the dust sizzled sweetly into my lungs. Nothing like the combination of piney tasting kind bud and the minty, sharp, chemical taste of the dust. Hold in the smoke, let it become you. Exhale a blue cloud of euphoria, paranoia, and hallucinations into the heavy air of our white stained enclave.

Pass it around a few times let everyone get high, elevated, tripped out. The apartment is vibrating all around us, fuzzy with a technicolor dreamscape. Shit?!? Is that couch floating over there? Shapes melting, distorting, circles becoming ovals. Nothing is tangible. Welcome to the 4^th dimension. I gaze around the circle to seek out the expressions on the others faces, I see stupored demons and minions of the eternal night here in this hazy bubble, all is surreal now, and nothing is real. I get up and walk out through the sliding glass chrome trimmed doors into Mike’s backyard, a ten foot section of grass and dirt that leads to the wooden barrier between water and earth. The river is rough tonight, chopped out to the max. Tsunami waves pouring over, bombarding the dirt like a mini Hiroshima. It’s traversed halfway around the world just to approach my mind on the shores in New Jersey. Need to relax, reality no longer viable. Smoke a cigarette, calm yourself down. Maybe I can hide in the cigarette; they wouldn't dare follow me in there. Gotta shrink down first, get real small man. Ah, presto. Wow, this blade of grass is like an enormous evergreen tree, fuck me. Ok, let’s inject into the smoke. I proceed to push my way through these dark and light brown gigantic leaves of coarsely textured tobacco. I push my way in; and I am engaged, I surrender to the smell. When you shrink yourself like this the smell of the tiniest things becomes immense. As I walk through my tobacco sunburst jungle, I hack at these tobacco vines with this machete I'm carrying with me. Lightweight plastic handle, black razor sharp anodized blade, what a sweet, sweet tool for touring the jungle of Philip Morris. All of a sudden an unstoppable force is pulling me unmercifully deeper into the jungle. Blue smoke is pouring in from behind me chasing me farther in. I hit the wall. A soft wall made of strange synthetic fibers. Swoopth! I'm being pulled through, tiny asbestos like cords scratching my body apart. Thwack! I hit a slimy soft pink bed with a surface that feels like infinite Braille, it soothes my scratches. Ahhh..... Smoke pours in.... GAK! HAK! FAK! Suffocating; can't breathe. Puff...... I fly out into the wide open world. All is tranquil as I float safely onto a dew encrusted blade of grass. Let's re-enlarge now. I'm back, face to face with Mark. He's smoking one of my cigarettes and I say "Thanx for stealing my smokes, dick."

I'm starting to come down now, less transfixed on the paranoia and delusions, feeling better. I decide to go back inside and finish my turbocharged Everclear cocktail. "So what’s going on tonight?" I ask. Mike: "Staying here, dust got me flooooooored." Mark: “I gotta run up to the city and pick up some gear from 'the man'." Bull: "Me and Stacey are gonna go back up to Freehold, her friend went on vacation and asked her to housesit. Wanna roll?" Xavier: "Word." I throwback my drink, say my goodbyes and Bull, Stacey, and I were on our way. At this point the minds focused, yet my balance fucked up. I roar back over the bridge next to Mike's apartment complex.

Bluebird.

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay in there,
I'm not going to let anybody see you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke
and the whores
and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that he's in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down,
do you want to mess me up?
you want to screw up the works?
you want to blow my book sales in Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I'm too clever,
I only let him out at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say,
I know that you're there,
so don't be sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little in there,
I haven't quite let him die
and we sleep together like that
with our secret pact
and it's nice enough to make a man weep,
but I don't weep,
do you?