Archive for September, 2006

Mom-proof blog-post Goes Astray

A question for my readers:

If you had a blog like Open Container speedWay would you give your mother the address?

I think not. For her own Good…She’s on my side. Shit she bought me my lap-top! And she knows my plight. But she surely needn’t learn the garish details.

Consider: my mother was last employed as the pastor for two Methodist parishes in central Maine.

Does she really need to know her son is a close relative to the good-time Devil himself??

My answer to the mom quandary has been to cut paste & email her when occasionally I deem a post mom-proof. Like my last — poet without equal. One swear the whole way through and not a single drug reference. No gratutitous bigotry. Came off I’d say fuck-near respectably…

So I emailed it to her — Subject: Mom-Proof Blogpost. Spliced in a few links because I wanted her to see what kind of cool folks I’ve met hanging around & blogging.


Here verbatim is the resultant IM volley between Mom & me…

Mom: I have a confession to make.

me: confession??

Mom: Yeah! I found your blog.

me: ARG!!

Mom: Why ARG!!

me: Are you sure you want to read it??

Mom: Yes! and I was pretty impressed by what I did read. However, if you prefer I not read it, I won’t. I probably shouldn’t have looked for it without asking you but I did. I figured one of the links in the blog you sent would have a link to your blog, which is how I found it.

me: Like sneaking through the side-door at a Phish show!! long ago?

Mom: Last night!

me: You know when I added those links I figured you’d be maybe able to find me.

Mom: So it’s ok?

me: I’ll make a cup of tea & ponder for a moment…

Mom: Aslan [my nephew/mom’s grandson] is home sick today – strep throat – and I think I’m coming down with it too. Yuck!

me: yeah everyones got the Yuck around here tooo

Mom: BTW, your formatting in a blog email doesn’t come through. Looks much more better at your blog site. How about you? Do you have the yuck?
Aslan says Hi!

me: Hi aslan!!

Mom: Anyway, if you don’t want me to read it, I won’t.
Aslan wants me to tell you we’re watching Monty Python. Do you like his stuff?

me: Me, no havey the Yuck — if I had the time & space I might come down w/something…probably enjoy it w/my own bed & a kitchen to make soup
Love monty python. Barrel of laughs

Mom: We’re about to watch the tale of Sir Lancelot. Actually, I’m not really watching it; just tuning in.

Mom: U still there?

me: yeah someone just stopped by,
Get this: my friend who just stopped by has a few hours of work for me so I’m off to do that! I’m going to help him demolish a house. Actual work…for MONEY!!

Mom: That’ll be cool! Great release too! Where are you now?

me: KC’s

Mom: I have to admit, I was awfully distressed to read that you’re going for days at a time without sleep.

me: As far as my blog goes mom…I’d love for you to read it BUT…there’s stuff on there YOU may not want to read

Mom: I love reading what you’ve written. And I fully expected I might read things you hadn’t told me.

me: On the other hand I’m proud of my blog more than anything for its honesty…my main concern about you reading it — besides making you old before your time — is that I’d feel the need to censor myself.

Mom: Due to “eavesdropping?”

me: Yeah — almost like you being right there next to me at the party I described in an earlier post where I threw my adderall up after eating LSD…that sort of thing.
Ok I’ll let you digest that. I’m off to tear a house down.

Well. One thing I learned: I will not censor my blog for my mother’s benefit. Any more than she would Praise Shrooms for my benefit when I’d go to her church sermons.

Speaking of psilocybin mushrooms — if you’re still here, Mom, I’d love for you to pop in on this post I wrote a while back. Like the folks in the described study, shrooms have been cosmically good to me.

I’ve mentioned that before. But one thing I’ve never told my Mom is:

Psilocybin mushrooms may prove miraculously beneficial to you too. Give it a prayer & some well informed thought!

Well. Mom. Hunter S. Thompson once said “You Buy the Ticket. You Take the Ride.” I think he meant things like when you sneak onto your son’s blog & next thing you know you’re praying to Jesus about whether or not to try Shrooms!

Oh & one other thing Mom: I love you. Leave a comment if you like & please stop by anytime…

Some speedWay regulars may be in shock over what they’ve just read. Not about my mom or anything. But because of the bit about me going to Work!

I shit you not — happened just like I said.

What can I say? There’s a house to be torn down. And my friend wanted to pay me to help do it. So I did. Pulled nails out of boards mostly. Worked a full-on 3 hour day!

Call me Demolition Mike E.

Praise Sweet Mother Earth for the bucket-loads of rain that make it so I can’t work today!

At long last — a hard-earned break from the daily grind. I should celebrate!

poet without equal

Something got me to think tonight about my old friend Herb Caen.

Herb Caen — I bet my cool blog-buddy Velma agrees — is among the finest Observers of our time. A master of prescience & a gifted comic to boot.

Velma is from northern California. Somewhere around my age? I think. So she maybe top-of-her brain recalls, as I do, the title to his 1.17.1991 San Francisco Chronicle column. It was 2 days after the ‘deadline’ set by the first Bush for Saddam Hussein to withdraw from Kuwait. Caen’s column ran that day behind a front page heralding the start of the first Gulf War; when US bombs first rained on Iraq.

The Other Shoe

As opposed to the other Other Shoe. Which can’t seem to stop catastrophically dropping.

I do think it true that the media are addicted to Bad News. Everyone buys newspapers with headlines like WAR & City Sunk & President Shot. CNN in 1991 was a brand new 24 Hour News network looking for a 24 Hour News story. A line is drawn in some far-off sand & voila! Their 24 Hour News story: On in perpetuity.

Do conglomerate rackets like the Chronicle’s actually start wars to sell more papers? Shit — they may.

Herb Caen only wrote about War when he had to. Not overly often — and clearly he liked it that way.

IT’S THE dramatically sudden appearance of more men in uniform than you’ve ever seen on the streets — symbols of a giant awakening to conflict, perhaps to blot out the peace and loveliness of All This . . .
+ Herb Caen
What is San Francisco?
Oct. 22 1940

Caen’s Chronicle column ran daily from the late 1930’s until his death in 1997. A thousand words wrote 5 days weekly for 60 years. Fifteen million words; Herb Caen wrote something about everything. But mostly of his splendid love for the City.

Bet if he were 20-years-old today he’d blog about San Francisco. On good days for the heart-leap Fun of it. Other days Herb Caen would do it because it’s in his blood so he has to.
Mr. Caen single-handedly coined the terms Beatnik (“they’re only Beat when it comes to work…” ) & Hippie. Like hitting the Daily Double on some cosmic poetry race…

He had a Knack for the angle you’ll read nowhere else:

SCOOPLET: When Garcia died last Wed. morning, Todd Anderson gasped, “I hope it wasn’t something he ate.” That’s because Jerry had his last meal Tuesday night at Piatti in Mill Valley, which Anderson manages. Garcia and his wife, Deborah, sat on the deck, held hands and ate artichoke hearts and pasta. “He looked awful,” says Anderson, “but he was as friendly as ever.”
+ The Rambling Wreck 8.15.1995

The Herb Caen I knew never doubted his allegience. Him & Jerry both felt proud of their Heros & laughed out loud at the Fools.

[Letter Writer] Jeff Watson asks, “How many Deadheads does it take to change a lightbulb?” A. “They just watch it burn out and follow it around for 25 years” . . . Aww, get a life yourself.
+ Three Dot Drifter 8.21.1995

His signature column style — a thousand niftily arranged words on a dozen topics separated by ellipses ( … ) — is indicative of not so much columnist as Poet.

San Francisco’s Poet in Chief.

No Comic Relief here on our speedWay: after reading Ishtar’s stunner on her Baghdad taxi ride the day Civil War struck Iraq. It was a video of Hunter Thompson — an old pen-pal of Caen’s — on Conan O’Brien. Classically funny. But it seems Conan’s conglom-o-racket Yanked it…yes I think it was Money Related…well whichever way, it is Gone.

So goes.

Safe travels for Ishtar. Go Saints! Happy Birthday — and 1,000 thaks for keeping the Torch lit for the Late — to Anita T!

Play for Peace & pray for Fun please.

I lived in San Francisco for a year in the early ’90s. During that time I read Herb’s column insatiably. I looked forward to it when I woke up in the morning; I read him like a drug.

Herb Caen is my favorite kind of writer — one I’ve never met yet happily know is my Friend. My hero.

Always in the money like my nigaa scrappy T.

Smart fast & funny like I wish I could be.

My brain doesn’t work right today. Plain don’t.

Can’t write for shit. Plumb can’t.

I offer 2 compelling alternatives to the crappy bull you’re accustomed to reading around here:

Please read Ishtar’s chilling first-hand account of the day Civil War struck Iraq.

If you need a laugh to cheer you up after — you may — dig this:


Sugar Bombs TNT & Scooby Snacks


Think I’ll wrap this lil’ Office of National Drug Control lambaste we’ve had here up by takin ya’ll Back.

How far back?

Way the fuck back.

I’m talking cartoons on Saturday morning. Wonder Twin powers. Sugar Bomb cereal & make-believe Scooby Snacks.

Back to the early 80’s Gateway Drug dayz.

Sugar is the Gateway Drug. In my case the Gateway to Ritalin. Next thing you knew I got a mailbox on my bumper & a stolen front tire. Traded those heapin bowls of imitation processed Sugar Bomb breakfast food-style substitute in for a for a real nice psychiatrist who prescribes me my Adderall.

So there I was one Saturday with a head full of sugar & animated TNT and suddenly the TV-add wanker squawks off about the evils of fried eggs.

DUDE!! But that’s like…I mean actual breakfast!

*Mike E says Say WHAT!?*

I could go on and on but think I’ll just let the TV-add douche eater squack for himself.

So here it is ~~~ Hang on to your Open Containers there kiddoz ~~~ The first shot fired in the War on Drugs. The cracked egg heard ’round the World! Let’s make some NOIZE people for your BRAIN-ON ->drugz!!!


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WHEW! Gives me a hankerin for a cold can of Mountain Dew.

Know what: I say bring back the Drug War!

Know why?

Cause it was hallucinated oodles more fun than the War On Terror and we were winning.

Wow. If I could convert blog-posts like this into their smokable form I could bag it up & sell ’em. This is the best fun I’ve ever had writing.

Thanks in no freaking small part to you folks down there on Planet Earth who hang around this crappy joint with me. Who incidentally are, by my good estimate, a handful of the best & most exciting up&coming writers in the Cosmos.

You kids are a genuine spectacle. And so good to me!

I just remembered something: why I ever stayed awake for so long to begin with. Wasn’t because I had nowhere to sleep. Nope — I plain didn’t fuckin Wanna! What if I missed something shazammin?

Dig: I like the Feeling!!

So I’m off with it. groove:On. Do me a favor ya’ll: drive fast Stay Strange & swing yourselfs loose with a chuckle.

ps To the Googler who wanted to know: do they check for shrooms in drug screen…  Nope. Hot damn! They sure don’t.

See ya on Pluto fellow traveller dude!

imagine ways

A friend — my oldest friend on Earth — just asked me if I sleep well ever. A couple weeks ago I stayed a couple nights at Superstar Brown’s crib. Gobbled a few monster pot cookies then slept for 40 or 50 hours straight.

Since then I haven’t slept so great. Last week I was awake from Monday until Saturday night. I have a chair I can sleep in at my buddy KC’s place any time I like. But it’s a small place — one room — and though it’s one Champ of a chair for a sit or a nap or to cold pass out in it’s not so conducive for curl-up rejuvenator sleep.

Lots of nights it’s easier just to stay up.

Besides the night-time is my own. Even if I do sleep the days are tough. It’s hard to talk to people. Maybe folks think because I don’t work at a job, like them, it’s somehow easier for me? Because really we’re Up To near the damn same thing — surviving the fucking day. And PTSD happens to be damned honest work. 30-odd hour motor-overtime days. Always on call. Hunger pangs. No pay.

I’ve been awake two nights. A few hours ago I maybe could’ve slept. But I need to go to the post office between 9AM & noon. By the time 9 rolls around — a half hour ago — it’s full-blown today. So I’m up. I like this time of morning anyway. Quiet…

It is hard to write after 2 sleepless nights. Can’t count on myself the same ways. And the bounce-back period is roughly equal to the time I spent awake. A look at the calandar in my sidebar will give a good idea of my sleepless/recover cycle.

It’s been 2 years since I’ve had a home of my own. I hurt for it.

Oh well. I got a fresh pack of smokes. Cup of coffee compliments of KC. Free wireless floats by from the Bar across the street. And — most crucially — I have the lap-top computer my Mom bought me.

Oh bless the woman’s dear soul! My motherfukin Mom so unassailably rules. Mom I can’t let you read this — and I think you know deep down you don’t want to — but I say!

Now & forever Thank You.

Plus I am one fantastically wishful thinker with a potent sense of make-believe. Best thing about Mike E! I imagine ways…

Hey — I busted some chuckle-rips in my two previous posts — at the expense of the Office of National Drug Control Policy! Know what? Fuck it. My heart feels good today.

Works when I’m proud for it & long odds pay out sweet.

move your feet lose your seat Buster!

The Office of National Drug Control Policy [ONDCP] has kindly issued the following PSA [Public Service Announcment]:

A Spot just opened up on Pete’s Couch.

Dude. Dat couch be shaZam-o! Too cool.

Now all’s I need is an 86-year supply of Doobage!

[click for 30-second video]

I blame Canada.

[The Dope Fiend’s] knuckles will be white from inner tension. And his pants will be crusted with semen…from constantly jacking off when he can’t find a rape victim.

Dr. L. Ron Bumquist
Keynote Speaker
3rd Annual National District Attorneys Conference on Narcotics & Dangerous Drugs
Hotel Flamingo Las Vegas 1971

Add to that at least one new dope-fiend perversion:

Beastiality?! [click for video]

Shit you not — It’s all over the YouTube.

Must be the new-fangled ‘high potency’ Canadian marijuana they’re all Hooked On nowadays. Kids don’t know what they’re in for I hear. 3 tokes down the line & all of a sudden they’re humpin house critters…