Abandon

I thought I'd change it around a little and do my bike ride today instead of tomorrow.
It's fucking hot. My dumb ass is wearing jeans. As I roll through downtown I notice a little more activity for a Saturday as oposed to a Sunday. Office people having to work Saturdays standing around on their smoke breaks, pissed. crank/meth ( whatever the difference is) heads ambling around, skank ho's loitering at the bus stops. Everything is STILL closed. Even Arby's for fook's sake.
I wasn't going on anything predetermined. Just riding up one street and down the other, looking down every alley expecting to see some travesty of humanity. Nope. Not so lucky. POP! PPSSSssssss........There went the back tire. Bin Laden finaly caught. I had to walk the bike all the way back to my apartment. That was the fact as it stood at the moment, anyway. I made it to the Quick Trip on 15th and Denver. My jeans seeming to become more solid as they soaked up sweat with every step. I propped the bike against the wall, went in, got a generic Gatorade, and left out the back door. That QT has a front and back door. I just kept on walking to my apartment.
I abandonned Ol' Blue. She really isn't worth the trouble to repair. It was her time. She served me well, but like most bitches, when the thrill is gone, abandon her at the convenience store.

Beatin' 'Round

  I guess I'll post something new more often, even if it doesn't quite fit the theme. Does it matter? I'll even stop substituting letters in cuss words in a lamo attempt to make it more swallowable. Fuck that shit. See?

 

  Mine, Not yours

What the fuck is joy?

One thing I can say about joy, "Get your own, asshole!"

I like to sit in the tub drinking cans of High Life.

It doesn't matter if there's any water in the tub or not

I just like doing it.

I like to sit in a particular storm drain tunnel by the river

and ameteurly play my flute.

It sounds great and there's no heat from Sol the Merciless.

That's the sun, bitch.

I'm defensive because when people see

that I've a speck of joy

they try to take it.

As if my joy will do them any good.

You see, I've programmed my joy

to explode once in someone else's possesion.

Evil thoughts like that bring true joy,

motherfucker.

 

Hardcore

Alright, since no one reads this anyway, I might as well pull all stops and put upon the screen some of my ramblings from days of yore. This is NOT going to be pretty...

Milk Doesn't Pee

Milk doesn't pee well, but it shits like a motherfucker. The lead-up is a painful, boiling bellyache and what happens next sounds like a movie review:

Explosive! Dynamic! Bombastic and fantastic! Cling to your seat, but don't sit on the edge!

I guess my guts like the curds but my ass is streaming whey at an alarming rate of flow to the soundtrack of a bass tuba in a showerstall.

Now that my bathroom smells like a dirty diaper bin, I will tell you that the ecstasy of releasing all that gastro-rage is glorious. It might be worth drinking another half gallon in less than an hour just to do it again if it weren't for the bellyache, lack of sleep, and that it's just plain nasty.

Self discovery is worth a little incovenience...ONCE.

Meloncholia

  unusually cool today. Around 75. Damn cold, almost. Just right for a bike ride through Downtown Tulsa. My bike is an old Schwinn Continental 10-speed. Blue. OLD. The front rim is bent slightly and the rear wheel is missing a coupla spokes. The tires are on more borrowed time than Bin Laden. The seat would be more comfortable if it were a rock but that might appear strange so I wrapped it with an old towel secured with electrical tape. Only slightly effective. I wore my geta which interlock with the pedals nicely and the soles become huge pedals.
 It's about 1:30pm
 I head down Riverside towards the old 11th Street bridge. It always fascinates me, that bridge. Derelict structures usually do.  The wind seems against me even as I turn onto Heavy Traffic Way, which is misnamed. Across the tracks I make a right on Archer. The "A" in The GAP Band. Some homeless guy is sitting on a turned-on-its-side trash barrel. This is our walk of fame.  I pass by DEADTOWN TAVERN, the owner of which, whom I've had many good conversations with, was recently beaten to death by a steel pipe-wielding psycho. Across the street is the "Kermit" building. That's what we called it when I was working at the Brady Theater. It's green. It almost burned up when two winos inside passed out while trying to roast a cat for supper and their mattresses caught fire. I shoot over to Brady St. and see that my old watering hole isn't open yet. Caz's. Good bar owned by a real stand-up guy. He opened a restaurant right across the street from the bar. It's closed, too. I hope it does well. I make a right and go up the bridge straddling the tracks. At the top of the curved bridge is a spot many here call "The center of the universe".  The spot is a circular pattern of brick and you stand in the center of the circle. Everything that comes out of your mouth will echo smartly. Step just a little off center and the effect is gone.  A coupla yards further is the Union Depot, a gothic, art deco building in grey stone that belongs in a Batman movie. One directed by Tim Burton. Make a left and head toward Arnie's. Another good bar. It's open but I don't go in. I turn around, again facing the wind. Can it blow both ways like that? I guess if our grandparents can walk uphill both ways the wind can blow both ways.
    Smack dab in the middle of downtown. It looks like a miniature city that a model railroad runs around. Why? Something's missing that shouldn't be. People. No one. Anywhere. Everything but Arnie's is closed. All these new restaurants, clubs, bars, delis, little convenience stores and flower shops. ALL closed.  It's like this every Sunday. I stand in the middle of the street and just stand still. I like to feel the adrenal surges in my stomach from the creepiness of all this vacancy. The wind, still blowing both ways, carries no sound of voices. Nothing.  Just two-faced wind. I continue on toward Nelson's Buffeteria but the old vertical neon sign above the entrance is gone. Is it shut down? It, too, is closed on Sundays. I didn't look in the window long enough to see if they were shutting down for good. When I just steal a glance through the glass, its Winter. Years ago. The face of a woman I was nuts for looks back.
  I keep riding.  I'm next to Orpha's lounge which is ALWAYS open and it is today, as well. It's the seediest, most feared-by-yuppies bar downtown. I don't go in. No money. Many haven't even heard of this place. Most of those that know of Orpha's have never been in. I have. I like it. I don't know if I'd go at night, but during the day it's actually pretty fun. EXCELLENT juke box selection. I notice an apartment is for rent above the bar. Now THAT could be interesting. I'll investigate later.
   I make my way back, against the wind, of course. All the while thinking about how much more fun it would've been if everything were open. I could stop every now and then, sit outside, have a sandwich and a beer, and watch the people walking by. BUT, as I've been saying, everything's closed, no people, and I got no money, honey.
  I get my bike up the stairs and into my apartment. I sweep the window blinds aside and look out across the river. "It's only right that it's so cloudy." I think to myself as I let the blinds seal out the grey light for the rest of the day.

Many Hats

  I've done a lot. Been a lot of things. Welder, sailor, firefighter, artist, printshop worker, dishwasher, insulation worker, plumber, stagehand/rigger, collection agent, marketing scams, and between it all, manual laborer. As of now I work in fleet maintenance for a lawn care company. I'm also building hot rods. T-buckets. Very cool.
   I think the only occupation I truly admire is that of hobo. I don't mean a wino or a bum. I said a hobo. A hobo wanders far and wide taking an odd job here and playing harmonica there for enough money to eat, have a few drinks, and keep on keepin' on. Freedom. No taxes, no bills, no insurance premiums, no boss, and no schedule. I don't think I have the balls to be a hobo. To be that free. I'll bet you don't, either.
  I'm thinking about changing my job yet again. Until I can start completing these hot rods something else has gotta pay the stinkin' bills. Fixing lawn care trucks and loading them with fertilizer just ain't cuttin' it.
  Just about time for a new hat.

Bona Bloggga

  Here we are. Monday night. Me. Drunk. Big surprise. I like this girl I see. She kinda like me. We laugh a lot. kiss some. She's crazy. Me don't care. Looks good. Naughty librarian. Likes my geta. Who doesn't? She's gone. WHA?!
 
 
                        It only makes sense............

On high

Churches. Everywhere. I would bet WADS of money there isn't one square mile in the city of Tulsa without at least one church. Most of them are sects and sub-sects and splinter-sub-sects of the same denomonation. There are more and more pre-fab cathedrals going up every day. Apperently it makes a lot of money. For someone. Church folk say that churches contribute to the good of society by providing fellowship for the community. Seems to me the only fellowship is in the congragation itself, not the community. Congragations of different churches certainly won't work together so each church is its own island of fellowship. They don't pay taxes. If they REALY want to help the community, they should pay taxes like the rest of us. Like all other businesses. Think of all the real estate taken up by churches that could be occupied by tax-paying businesses. Our roads might be in better shape, we'd have more sidewalks, and maybe even a trolley system. You know, like a real city. There'd probably be enough left over to pay everyone's liability insurance for their cars. EVERYONE. Don't believe me? If you've seen ORU and Rhema, you'd believe me. Those two megalopoli of christ were built completely from donations. Donations from suckers like you. Not one bit of it goes toward the physical improvement of the city itself, only the "spiritual" improvement of the city. BUNK.
I should be an evengelist. I can sling that hash all day long. Money for nothin' and your chicks for free.

Politzei

Cops in Tulsa aren't as bad as cops in other parts of the state. STILL full of nothing but attitude. I don't like cops. I think most of what their job consists of is ridiculous, essentially. Most of their job is to collect revenue. Just like goons for the mob collect insurance money. I have MUCH more respect for Mafia goons than for cops. With goons, you give 'em money and they leave ya' be. Simple.Goons can even be beneficial if you treat 'em right. Not cops. Cops give you a ticket you can't pay on the spot, it messes with your driving record, maybe going to court is involved which means time from work which Mr. Bossy just loves, and you CERTAINLY can't offer them a bottle of good scotch to smooth things over a bit.
Did I mention that I hate cops? I've noticed at events how cops turn a harmless situation into near-riot conditions. If ANYONE is making trouble, it is they. We could all do without the insulting, interrupting, condescending,macho-he-fag-bully-intimidation-bullsh!t as well. I always thought cops should respond to CRIME. By crime, I don't mean an expired license tag, or jay-walking, or a black kid with dogs on a leash.
They like to say " I don't make the rules, I just enforce 'em." Which is worse, asshole? Making stupidity or enforcing it?
All that to say this....I don't like cops.

BONUS BLOG!

That's what I'll call it when I come home mostly drunk with no flusie. Might be a lot of 'em. Nights like that. Noodles cooking...Smelling good. pro'lly smells lika box of old farts to someone else. I rode my crap-cycle to Brook Alley since my usual bar, Brookside Bar, after 67 years was closed due to a tiff 'twix the building owner and the family that owns the bar. Anypoop...a coupla really cute ones were leaving as I arrived. Par for the course. A fellow struggler made a nice comment to me about my geta. (Google it...I don't feel like explaining) He said, "Rock on with your expression!" To which I replied, "Too much Satan fer one hand, AAAOOOWWW!!!!" with both fists together with pinkies extended.
Earlier, I was at Yankee's. A little bar. Usually a dude ranch but a good place to start. This guy came in with the hottest date. A totally naughty librarian. MMMMMM...naughty librarian. My favorite fetish. Next to the Jessica Rabbit-in-a-rubber-nurse-uniform-in-the-shower fetish.
If I thought for a second she would be impressed by me stabbing her date in the neck with my pocket knife and throwing her over my shoulder...I'd do it. Laws and all. So here I am, alone again (at last).
More anger when this happy buzz wears offf.....

On the Street

I haven't noticed any street performers today. Or yesterday. Or for the last 20+ years. I remember as a kid seeing a guy all in mime attire juggling objects like a madman telling corny jokes and drawing a huge crowd of OOH-ers and AAH-ers at the River Parks.
I remember going downtown when the Williams Center was a fantastic mall with a cinema and an ice skating rink and seeing people playing various instruments outside in the Bartlet Square area: saxophones, guitars, harmonicas, you name it. This one guy was not a performer but more of a service. He was an old black guy who had this contraption rigged to his bicycle so that he could prop the back wheel up and petal the grinder on the handlebars and sharpen your kitchen knives for whatever you thought it was worth.
I was too young to vote on the issue. Many of you a$$holes weren't. The "moral majority", which is neither, wanted street performers to go away. They did now that you pr!cks legally slapped the label of "panhandler" on them. Go downtown on a Sunday afternoon. What's going on? NOTHING! You could lay in the middle of the street with no worry of traffic. I've done it just to prove that point. There ARE, however, plenty of winos to scare you and pester you for money. They, apparently, are allowed.
More on my anger with Tulsans as it continually develops...

Bell Curve

We here in Tulsa love our fireworks, yes wees do indeedy. The rich spend ridiculous amounts of money on their displays so as to keep up with the Joneses and the poor just like to get drunk and blow sh!t up. Sounds good to me. Our annual fireworks show along the Arkansas River Parks draws a huge crowd every year. With crowds come cops. EVERYWHERE. Killing as much of the celebratory buzz as they possibly can. I agree that they should be present, but they don't have to walk around hassling a black kid because he's got two big, friendly, lovable rotweilders adequately leashed. I know they were lovable because they were licking everyone that pet them. So, of course, the cops have to check it out.
The crowd was your typical mass of down-bred, badly-tattooed, front-teeth-missing, wife-beating degenerates just trying to have a good time. They must've had a free shuttle service from Walmart to get SO much of that crowd together in one place. Normally it would be great mullet spotting but I think they're actually figuring it out! Evolution? Do you have the same Walmart complex that I have? When you go in, are you afraid you look like everyone else in there?
It was a good night. The beer flowed in as fast as the urine flowed out, never changing its smell. We, the strugglers had a day just for us. We put our bills off yet another day and tossed our concerns to the humid, stench-of-the-refinery-across-the-river ladened wind, made the sign of the horns and sang the national anthem...BREAKIN' THE LAW, BREAKIN' THE LAW!

En Eutero

Strange. How you find things to do and just do 'em. I've always had this stray wisp of a thought to post something that expresses my perception of the city I live in. Tulsa. The little city that tried. It keeps trying. We keep struggling. We bust our collective ass and have nothing to show but a busted ass.
Some try to leave. They come back. I left once. Stayed gone for six years traveling the world while in the Navy. After I got out I could have went anywhere. I came back.
We Tulsans must be in love with struggle. The Dust Bowl is our classical age. All of our ideals stem from that event. Toil, struggle, suffer, hot, sweat, filth, biting bugs, frustrating malfunctioning machinery, low pay poor education...WHITE....TRASH...
Stay tuned.

More to come.