Whom I Call By The Name "Arthur"

In 2009, I was in dire straights - homeless, and being mistreated by the unlikeliest (in terms of likelihood of existence) group of people. I was having a hard time at building 80 in General Hospital one appointment, and just then, I had a vision of one little man with a handheld machine that looked like a bullhorn; he was cavorting or tumbling, and then became three of himself...

In late Spring, early Summer last year, I saw the same man. I was looking out my kitchen window, and almost always, something catches my eye. Or somebody - drivers passing by, government-looking types raiding for boxes of paperwork, the lovely V. doing her weekly inspection, et alia. This was in May or June, perhaps, and I saw the juvenile delinquent/altar girl/Infanta Concepcion-get-a-mantilla-I-hear-voices-worse-than-Laura Branigan's Gloria... I remember, clear as day, she had a sullen little attitude and was driving their golf cart around; on the passenger side sat the little man: Caucasian (perhaps luso-brasiliano or Portuguese American by his aspect?), dark haired, afflicted with achondroplasia dwarfism... He seemed to be panicking, gesturing wildly. And surely, the ride looked perilous for him...

I don't know why I mention it. For years I've been treated less than understandably often times when I hear voices, react to people who aren't there, et cetera... I've faced hostility, anger, judgement, cruelty, intimidation from those who more or less would protest they themselves ARE there... But anyway...

I've always wanted to find this little man, because no matter how much of a scalliwag some might think him, I know I'd just want to eat him up like he was a candy bar, EL-OH-EL, as it were...

Whatever, I'm funny in lots of ways: the Sal Mineo/my-house-is-backwards-on-bottoms-land-and-I-wear-hankies-out-my-left-back-pocket funny, as well as odd...

"I Love 'Gloria Patri'!"

Hey, dead lady: so long since we've been to black mass. We should, like, totally go! Alone! Together! Without each other! Air kisses!

 "It's FAAAAAHN!!!" She sneers...

I Have As Good An Excuse As Any...

SHADOW PEOPLE AND SLEEP PARALYSIS, John McNair

This Time It's Personal With A Side of Extreme Prejudice Served Up With For Real Sauce!

The loss of Puerto Rican crops this year is a harsh reminder of a history lesson I remember from going to school in Japan: Rice *is* LIFE! Do please find your favorite Puerto Rico relief effort, and donate what you can! (I know this might distract from my own personal blegs, as not only do I have the Way family's housing issues to consider - my own part in them - I am currently broke and wouldn't mind a little sum'n-sum'n ticked my way on Venmo.com to user William-Way-5. But this first paragraph's for the people put out this hurricane season....)

こめ - "ko-meh" - 米rice

***

Note to Mrs. Chris Isaak of the Outer Sunset (Bai Ling, or 白靈): On-trend on the W. Coast FOR HER include silk, skinny denim, light statement jackets, nautical themes, athletica, (for our people) leatherette accessories, and bold patterns.

Dressing the Mister? Slim button-ups (short-sleeve and with a factotum tie is tres happening), light statement jackets (maybe denim or a varsity starter for a young look), dark slim denim (my Han-Yi brand jeans pictured below give you an idea of hue, but I'm 40-somethingay and go for skinny rather than slim), again with the bold patterns, early 2000s dot-com era backpacks and shoulder bags, and again with the nautical themes (keep those docksiders!) All advice courtesy of the bold young men and women who sacrifice so much for their country... AT CROSSROADS TRADING CO., OF COURSE!

Hot Fashion! You are fashion and style!

***

(@ #USMC #Mikey): It's been a while since I sent first a letter, then a postcard, to the good people at Quantico; I've heard neither from them (which I would have), nor from you, young Mikey - you should know multiple ways of contacting me by now... But it doesn't mean of course what I'm supposed to think it means; some people really are stupid in their malice - it's a good thing you enlisted and saved their lives thereby. Without both your risk-taking and especially my own, truly volunteered, life-long civilian help, they would have drowned in the fucking rain by now, they're so damn dumb...

But enough about poisonous people and the shit they do to us... I long to live with you, and you can do my pedicures, and I'll squeeze the blackheads on your back; I'll cook good food, and you and your boys can watch those stupid movies and play video games... I want us to run away together to Alameda, or San Diego...




...Or have you taken your papers and walked? I still and will always want you... Find me, and let's work it out!

***

I would love for the situation centered around ALL-TOO-CLOSE-IN-PROXIMITY neighbors to be cute as some rom-com starring Johnny Depp and Mary Stuart Masterson, but it's not. These folks are, like, totally "Yikes! Zoinks! Jinkies!" Heebie-jeebies all around, with really offensive hijinks to boot. (Eso es lo que pasa: I'm talking about the brujo and his sneering, heroin-chic, heather leather-and-woodchips, walking-dead wife.)

EMPHATICALLY DISLIKE. Oomph in the emphasis. (Okay, I like the man personally, but I find him untrustworthy and prone to suspect behavior; as for her, my heathenness comes out, and I find myself terribly averse to the living dead - SHE'S A FRICKIN' CORPSE ALREADY! NOT COOL TO HAVE AROUND, AS I AM TRYING TO ENJOY A REAL LIFE HERE, GET MARRIED AND AM ENTITLED! I AM MALE BRIDEZILLA IN THIS!)

***

In fourth grade, at the long-demolished-IIRC-due-to-redistricting Woodrow Wilson Elementary in Richmond, California, there was a little blonde girl, Summer. One fine fall day, a bunch of us boys banded together to bully her white-trash ass: we stole a teardrop-shaped, amber-colored hard plastic bauble from her, then kicked it around the asphalt playground - in the process, scratching it up horribly. She cried, and I think it was Sheldon, or Hunter, or I (or maybe even a teacher, or one of the indomidable girl trio of Christina - unlikely - or Leah or Katie... Anyway...) who prevailed upon the rest to go to her and individually apologize once we learned that her dad had made the pretty, precious thing FOR HER EXPRESSLY while incarcerated.

Only today do I realize he had crafted her, at great risk to his few liberties and privileges, a blade; he gifted it to his little girl (perhaps by proxy, through the mom or other family) to use it as a weapon should some sonofabitch mess with her (we are talking '84 or '85.)

But of course, all she knew was that it was something beautiful her jailbird dad had created for his baby girl - she did not at all immediately see in it something to ARM herself in some - heaven forfend - MERCENARY fashion. Nor did I, for that matter, until this very writing today, and I've always loved blades and cutting edges [FULL DISCLOSURE: I was raised by a former sailor who was a staunch Second Amendment Dad.]

My point is, it just goes to show you about certain "evil voices" - voices I've perceived and the source of which, communicated with - and the occasional philosophy behind them: that poor character comes from impoverished stock.

IT. DOES. NOT. (Cf. the Eichelbergerians.)

A Little More Realism Might Garner Support From Viewers Like Me

You know, if Sesame Street was really preparing kids for life in the real world, somebody would blow their lid at Big Bird for insisting that Snuffleupagus existed, becoming bent out of shape at his irritating delusions and hallucinations; Bert and Ernie would both have Grindr accounts and host all-night, drug-fueled orgies that would go hilariously sour; and Elmo would ruin his life in his addiction and end up at rock bottom getting kicked out of Oscar's garbage can, where he had been staying temporarily since his eviction by a greedy landlord.  Oh, and Maria's mysterious death outside of the Fix-It Shop would age into being a never-solved cold case -- I mean, who the hell has ever seen a cop form the Sesame Street Station even once just walk a beat, let alone make an arrest in a serious crime?

Come to think of it, I'd be afraid to even call 911 in the real Sesame Street.

Maybe The Pot Is Calling The Kettle Black, But...

Look, I'm bipolar II, with hypomania, depression, uncontrollable emotional outbursts. and psychosis.  I'm crazy as a shithouse rat.  I think telepathy and telekinesis are real, and that I've been the subject of secret government experimentation.  I've had visions, hallucinations, conversations with the dead, clairvoyance, satori, epiphany, theophany, have been inducted into mystery, and I've survived mind-rape.  I've been visited by ghosts, shadow people, various "thems," and the local sheriff's deputy who was serving a restraining order.  I dip my french fries in my chocolate shake and am convinced I'm the biblical Antichrist.  Sometimes I feel like a boddhisatva starring in a Dr. Who episode penned by Philip K. Dick.  I'm fucking out-to-lunch most of the time.

That said, I don't get libertarianism.  Professed libertarians call themselves pragmatists and realists, but they rely on and believe in (or want to be true) absolutely fanciful, delusional ideas that are completely at variance with the way people and the world actually behave.  As boneheaded as many American voters are, we will never have a libertarian president.  Most of my fellow countrymen are at least that in touch with objective reality...

I wouldn't consider libertarian notions irritating or a peeve, but the existence of libertarian candidates is amusing, IMHO.

"You Ruined My Life!"

♫ Be careful what you wish for
It might come true
Somebody might up and give
You to you
Then you'll see
How much it hurts to be
(You had no idea
So much comes for free)♫

- From the upcoming musical, "The Twisted Tweaker From 602," a show nobody has reviewed as Hunter S. Thompson's bats gone retarded.

Secret Squirrel Vs. Harriet the Spy

I have something absolutely fascinating for HUD, the IRS, and the FBI to have coffee over and chat about among each other.

Guided By Voices

♬People in my head
Kind of wish me dead
Too bad there's not some sort of a lull --

Demonic little faces
saying scary phrases
in oh-so-tiny places
like Frankie's skull!♬

From the upcoming musical, "The Twisted Tweaker From 602," to be performed off-off-off Boadway; it will debut in Winona Ryder's, Jared Leto's, Sir Anthony Hopkins's, and Amanda Bynes's noggins simultaneously.

Not That I Have Room To Talk, And I Hate To Say It, But...

...Isn't tweaking near Bohemian Grove just asking for it?  And by "it" I mean stuff that merits a visit from special agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully.