The Derm, The Bomb, and the Erotic Thunder.

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Hiroshima, The Derm,. and the Rectangle Scar

Jet leaned back into his set for the first time in hours, leaning on the accelerator withe heavy, even weight.

'Time to get fuckin HOME'  His thoughts spat. His head was fuzz. Dense foam. There wasnt more than one thing on his mind and it filled his skull like a wad of toilet paper jammed into the cylander it was uncoiled from.

Waiting for drugs was the worst.

The craving had started the second his dealer replied " Yeah, im around." The Craving, true craving never started untill he knew he was going to get his fix. Jet's Hunger had driven him to message the pusher, but the feeling of drive and urgency had only arisen once the Sludge was within reach.

He had hurried out of the Compacto-grade quaters him and his bitch stuffed themselves into and rocketed into the drivers seat of his RoadWave rx92 within nano seconds of recieving the reply. The Wave had been a slick sex machine with a no questions , nonstop hover rig when he bought it. Now it was a second rate grav-bound piece of shit with four wheels more than anyone wished to worry about. When you live on the ground floor of Highland park a hover rig is only worth what the fucker who chops it off your car can sell it for.

But fuck it. It wasnt about cars anymore. It wasnt about status. It was about Sludge, and where it could take you. Where you might end up. When you might end up. Modern life is rubbish, right?

Jet had sat outside the squat where his Pusher pushed for a good 45 minutes. This was a fucking eternity. The drive only took about 15 and by minute 7 of the trip he was already buzzing with anticipation.

Sometimes he wondered if that feeling, the feeling of wanting, needing, might be more of a kick than any of the junk he had ingested. If they could bottle that feeling he'd buy em out. It wasnt a good feeling but it was a strong one, and for a junkie as far gone as Jet it wasnt about good or bad. It was about strength, potency. The sweaty palms and quivering joints of a Pusher bound car ride was fuckin potent. The waiting was the peak of that miserable high.

He sat outside the squat checking his watch ever minute and a half. The arms on his vintage analog watch swung so slow he often thought it was broken. Old tech had a way of mocking you. He lived in a world saturated with information, so much you could never count it all, never know or see it all, But a quantified set of info shoved in a circle and dictated by 3 slowly swinging black arms was easy to understand. There was no distraction from the truth it was trying to tell. That was it. This is time passing- and your going to fucking watch.

'Hey man whats the deal ive been here 30 mins' jet typed and messaged his pusher.

'Comin' The pusher replied.

'Godamnit' Jet thought to himself. "Comin" meant nothing. It meant he had seen the message. Thats it.

'How easy if your fucking job?' Jet thought, 'Literaly all you have to do is wal outside, hand me two derms, take my money, and go back inside. How fucking hard is that. Im literaly meters away from where youre sitting huffing Nan-Bug, twitching around. Just get up and walk outside.'

Jet looked down at his watch for the 32nd time the moment a ring tapped his window. Finally, jesus.

"Yo here you go man, 600." The pusher said through the transparent plate of passenger side plasteel.

Jet let the window recede into the door while extending his arm across the trash covered seat beside him. He had been holding the cash so long and so tightly it was soaked with palm sweat. If the Highland park coalition of vendors and residents (HPCVR) had still used paper money the wad would have been destroyed, but the sweat slid off the Corn-plastic like it was supposed to and the pusher grabbed a half dry 600 credits.

"Is this good shit? like clean fuckin high and easy travel?" Jet asked grabbing the derms awkwardly with his left hand, body twisted in a rush.

"Yeah, its the same as usual, your gonna shit your brains out." The pusher said releasing the two pink rectangles.

The nerves of waiting immediately fled and before he really heard what his man had said, Jet was half way to the Compacto. The cab was silent, he couldnt think about music, didnt care about singing along to some radio trash hed heard s thousand times. His head was filled with the journey to come. The tingling feeling racing from the derm to his fingertips. Electric pain shooting to every nerve in his body, from the middle out. His scalp tightening and taking an inventory of every follicle of hair on his head. His joints tightening, just to release and disapear into a time he never should have seen move. Into a time in which he wasnt welcome, wasnt understood, and couldnt be stopped from invading, to do as he wished.

He pulled the Wave upto the curb in front of his complex. The thing had been chipped so many times it served as more of a visual delineation of street and sidewalk than a lip. The walk from the wave to the lift, the ride up 33 stories, the sprint down the hall ending with a slap of a thumb against his greasy Print-coder slipped out of history before it began and he was home, sludge still in hand.

"Oh my god that took for fucking ever!" Tema said raising her arms, spilling a feww drops of the Tsing-Tao she had just opened. "Happy fuckin anniversary asshole!" she shouted, laughing.

"Happy anniversary! sorry i took so long, work was shit, but I got us something..." Jet said with a shit eating grin, hands behind his back. He gently thumbed the derms.

"I dont see any flowers...no champagne..." She joked sipping her beer. "Then what? Dick? I have had your dick- it aint a present its a pain in my ass." They both went silent a beat then erupted in laughter.

Jet produced the derms. It had been months since they had tripped on sludge together. Longer since they could afford it.

"Godamnit J- how did you come up with the scratch for fucking sludge!?" Tema exclaimed umping to her feet.

"I been working my ass off and saving for tonight. I wanted to do Hiroshima again like the first time." Jet said approaching her with his arms open wide. The junkie had left him. He wasnt alone in it anymore.

"Oh my god, I fucking love you" Tema said grabbing Jet by the waist.

The spidering rectangle scars on their fore arms ached, and as the lights on the ground level of Highland park grew dim, they peeled back the derms, stuck them to the usual spot, and disapeared.

Show me to my sweet, sick, Dark Cave.

Show me
to my sick
sweet
dark cave.

The cave where dreams stab at the clumsy waking mind.
Where the wounded and forgetful sleep crow is welcome and not mauled,
by the growling brown beast of perceived consciousness.

In the day I walk-
Strut-
confident in the ground beneath my feet.
Falsely sure of the surrounding wood, predictable and ancient.

When I hunger-
For nourishment,
pleasure,
thrill,
peace,
I find gravity a weak and cowardly foe and rear up,
effortlessly!
Onto my hind legs and roar.
The sunlight hunt is simple.
The sunlight hunt is cheap.
The sunlight hunt is fake.


But when the sun goes down,
and the woods o dark-
And quiet,
I become human again.

I become that primal evil we've scraped and sacrificed to shrug.
I become the human-
not the man.

Law,
conscience,
faith,
true,
and false,
hesitance,
meaning,
worth,
thankfulness-

No.

Sight,
Sound,
Breath,
Blood,
Focus,
Freedom-

The mirrors of "existence" have fled,
and not broken-
its too seamless and quiet for that.

The cave echos only wind and broken brush.

Claws become words.
Fur becomes the past, the future.
And the drool hanging from my fang-

Remains the same.

Red White and Burbank- Big Sur and the oranges of who gives a fuck

I woke up to the glow of a still smoking stoge smoldering in my bedside ashtray ( a Coffee cup my grandmother had received for completing her 15th year of alcoholics anonymous ).

I woke up once more to the glow of a blue crack lighter burning the tip of a poorly rolled joint.I was still covered in the rags from the pervious nights drunk, excited for San Fransisco.

Thelonius and myself had spent the previous weekend up in Angelus Crest National forest dropping acid and talking nonsense. We decided a San Fran trip was in order so we spent the week after our return swinging hammers and making enough money to buy some pot and gas to get our broke asses up the coast.

"Hey man were goin up to SF this weekend, you wanna roll?" I said to Red on the phone, Rolling slowly out of bed as to avoid the unpleasant head rush a three day hangover offers to the bastard that dare tempt its resolve.

"This weekend?" Red replied in a groggy tone. He was avoiding the same pain.

" Ya man, Thelonius and I are gonna head up today, or, like later today. Maybe tomorrow. I feel like shit dude. I killed another one of those carlo jugs. Wrote some good stuff but fuuuuuck I feel like shit." I Groaned, Managing to sit up without vomiting.

"Fuck yeah, lets do it. Traveling DopeStars dude." Red said, ready.

"Ok let me call you back in a few, Ima call Thelonius. See what the deal is. Later" Click. Nothing kills a hangover better than a good plan. i finished the joint and Re-tied the shoes I had slept in. Brown leather, scuffed to hell, and more ready than ever to stumble the streets of San Fransisco in search of something new.

I Sat for a moment looking at the burnt down sticks of Nag Champa haning out from between the keys of my piano. I looked down at the carpet, stained and ruined. Looked at the empty jug of wine the helped me feel better, then forced me to feel worse. Why the fuck not.

"I do believe , if you dont like things you leave, for some place youve never been before."

I Blew the last rip of my joint through the window unit by the bed and opened my phone again.

Ring ring ring ring ring ring

nothing

ring ring ring ring ring

nothing

ring ring ring

"He- Hey." Thelonius answered, awaking from his own drunken death slumber.

"So we gonna do this or what?" I challenged my aching brother.

"Yea lets do it." He said. He was always ready. God bless the sonofabitch.

We all stumbled around on our own for a bit then met up. We spent what we had on wine and pot, then Piled into Red's Car.

It was 10 am and somehow we were ready to roll.

"Lets do this" Thelonius said tossing his pack into he trunk.

If a competent traveler took a look into any of our bags the reaction would be more than a laugh and nothing less than a shudder. But what did we need. We were young and immortal.

" I say we go up the one and camp a night in Big Sur." Red said jamming his key clummisly into the ignition. We had all packed tents on account of not having enough cash to pay for a hotel once we landed in SF, we were ready.

"YES." I said craving a night under the stars.

We all agreed that would be our first stop.

The engine started.

Our blood shot eyes cleared.

Our skin rippled with chills.

I Pinched a snap from the sandwich bag resting between my legs.

Thelonius lit a smoke and blew a grey cloud through a knowing grin.

Red leaned ont he pedal.

We slid onto the 5 and Burbank was gone.

-------------------------------

We were two joints in and half way through "Loaded" when we hit Malibu.

"Man you wouldnt beleive the sit I got into after we split up last night man." I said to thelonius, looking over my shoulder into the back seat. I passed him the third Joint.

"Yeah dude you took off ,where did you go?" he replied takin the J and toying with it a moment.


"Well first of all" I started , " Na man, no way. She was pissed." Venus in Furs began playing. Thelonius lit the Tea. "I was rattling on and on about the same old shit, how im still in love with her and all that and she was piiiiised. She went off on me man haha"

We all laughed at my romantic missfourtune.

"Dude," Red began "Can you take over?" He said looking quickly to me then back to the road.

"I guess, why? We basically just hit the road..." I replied. He was too stoned.

"Im too stoned dude." Red admitted. " I got the urge to turn into oncoming traffic like 3 times already." We all burst into laughter.

"Fuuck, I guess dude, pull over." I said.

He did.


----------------------



Only now do I understand what it really feels like to truly start losing your mind.

We fought with everything we had to shake the consciousness we had inherited from family, society, and our on conscience. We felt true madness, true as far as we knew.

But madness isnt the loss of inhibition. It isnt the loss of the ground we were raised to appreciate, almost worship.

it isnt falling on the ground of a hotel youve never been in before, and never meant to.

It isnt being lost in hollywood on drunk looking for a car crash.

It isnt the boundless landscape of an LSD trip that may never end, or the infinite microscopic universe resting o the edge of a blade of grass far gone after an 8th of mushrooms.

True madness is seeing the benefit of being a part of the society you fought so hard to distance yourself from.

True madness is the slobber on the back of a postage stamp youve reluctantly pasted onto an envelope to pay your bill.

True madness is breaking your back for a warm shower and not even fucking knowing it.

But what did we know then.

We just wanted to get high.

And love everything.

And whats wrong with that?


------------------------


None of us knew how much we had to drink once the stars became clear and the ground became a blur.

"C-Come on dude lets take a walk, " Red shouted slapping me as hard as he could on the back.

"Yo wanna take a stroll ?" I asked waving Thelonius over.

"Na im gonna sit here and scope these stars for a while." He replied.

"Come on lets o." Red said starting into the bitch black wilderness. "I know where the bay is dude, follow me."

"Do you really?' I said stumbling behind. "wait theres no fucking way you do,  theres no fucking way."

"Fuck you follow me." Red insisted.

We stumbled blindly across the meadow we had made our camp in. The moment we hit the tree line Red fell ass over ears.

"You good?" I said between coughing bouts of laughter.

I helped him to his feet and we continued down what he insisted was a trail.

We could have walked a mile our a meter but I was in no shape to say. We both fell every few yards untill we saw the moon's reflection in a small shoreline puddle.

"There it is asshole I told you I could find the fuckin' bay." Red said stabbing me in the chest with his knowing finger.


I have done my best to recall events, places, and coversations with as much accuracy as possible. As I write im riddled with just as many substances as when I experienced these events, but to this day Im not sire if what we found was a puddle or the bay. Every time I think back on that evening the size of the puddle/bay changes. Sometimes its a massive bay opening its cliffs, shrouded in pines, to the mighty pacific , in all its glory. Other times its a muddy puddle skirted by broken twigs. Some times when I think back it was a stream. I havent gone back to investigate but as far as I know the landscape in Big Sur changes with every rising moon. But as tonights memory serves....

We planted our drunk asses on a log and looked over the most beautiful moonlit bay man has ever had the privilege to observe, and I vomited everything I possibly could into it.

I woke up just in time to fall asleep looking up at the stars.

More eternal than we ever hoped to be.


----------------------------------

The morning came and went like any other fucked up hangover prelude had, and we hit the road to SF once more.

"Damn last night was gnarly" I said shivering in the shotgun seat.

"Were we singing with some pollish dudes?" Thelonius asked.

"Shit....were we?" Red pondered aloud.

"Dude I think we were, like, at some point im pretty sure we were." I said, half remembering.

" Oh we definantly did, yes, I remember," Thelonius started.

" They werent Polish they were french." Red said.

" No, No they were....fuck, some sort of european...kind of..." I attempted to solve the mystery but before I could reach a verdict we all erupted in laughter.

We sparked the morning joint.


As the pacific waved and washed to our left we kept quiet, Re visiting the thoughts we had stumbled upon the night before.

Ideas, Poems, Dreams of old loves and hopes for new. Images of beautiful girls we had kissed, things we had forgotten to do. Things we were happy to have forgotten.

Then we saw the city.

We crossed the bay bridge.

Then we hit the traffic.


"God damnit, Hundreds of miles with no traffic and the second we get where were going- traffic. Bullshit." Thelonious said.

We were bumper to bumper , surrounded by steel and pine trees.

Then shit got real loud.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT." I said , eyes widening.

"The fuck?" thelonious said poking his head out the window.

"Earthquake?" Red asked.

Just then 5 blue and yellow jets blasted directly over the highway toward and passed us.

"Fuckin Blue Angels!" We all exclaimed.

The weekend had begun.

Red White and Burbank- part 2- The maze at birth- the maze that made it all.

Its never been a quiet world for me.

Ive prayed my whole life, even after I found out god was a farce, that the things around me would eventually make sense.

Ive idly waited like a fool.

Ive been handed one thing and seen an infinite amount of other things. All the same object- but every time a new shape.

Any time I was able to wrap a nervous and excited palm around the fabric of a "concrete" concept, it re liquified and changed. Became greater. Became terrifying. Became less. Became impossible. Became the un-breaking shoulder of atlas, Became the knot in his spine that echoed into eternity.

There was a time when I saw my life as an ode to impermanence.

It was beautiful and free.

And then I realized- Im going to be here for a while.

                             Red White and Burbank- The Maze that Made it all

"Mom , whats the white part of that stick called?" I asked, referring to a road side reflector.  I understood at the time what the shinny orange circle was called, but the canvas it had been thrust upon must have had a name.

"Its a..." She replied, expecting to have an answer for a child- A juke box full of simple questions and corresponding answers. "Umm.." she hesitated. I was un-shaken as I didn't understand the significance of a stuttering pause. "Well it's a post."

I looked on as endless rows passed me by. I cant honestly say if I knew she was wrong, or ill informed, or just trying to offer some answer to a question that to most, had no meaning.But to this child would linger until adulthood. 

I was 18 sitting in a cold attic with an old friend the first time I heard the Velvet Underground.

I was 18 sitting in a cold attic with an ex girlfriend the first time a smoked pot.

I was 18 sitting in a cold attic when I realized the questions I asked as a child, the questions I stopped asking outwardly as a teenager, and the questions Im still asking today weren't just nonsense. I also realized they weren't questions everyone asked.

I began to lose my mind.

Im not sure how I was able to hold on so tightly to something I quickly and violently realized was in its liquid form. My mind was un-frozen at birth yet somehow as a child I was able to cup my hands and carry it around as a fragile burden without anyone seeing.

"What is this?" my teacher, Mrs. Gahleger asked thrusting an off white rectangle I had scribbled gibberish on.

' Thats...my homework?' I didnt reply

"Does your son have trouble reading Mrs. Baker?" She asked my mother, releasing the paper.

My mother looked down at the sheet of state approved parchment she had been handed. She looked confused.

What did I do wrong.

"Well, he can read but-" She started, looking back down to the paper.

When I was in Kindergarten, as homework we were given a sheet of cheap paper with a space at the bottom to write a sentence and a much larger space at the top ( About 75% of the page) to draw a picture. Now I cant give little me credit for this level of deductive reasoning but Im fairly certain i perceived the larger space as the more important one.

In the space provided for the drawing I drew a man stacking bricks, A wheelbarrow, Clouds, tools piled on the ground, the sun, the mortar betwix the bricks, the mans overalls, the dirt on the man from his labors, the already constructed chimney, and a makeshift border the frame the scene.

In the space provided for the sentence, I replied to the prompt I was given: "A Man building a house". I was supposed to draw what I read in the prompt and re-write the prompt itself.

"ADNM BAILDUNG EE OUSEH" I had written. Just as they had asked. Clear as day.

That was the day I started to having to answer questions I didn't know the answers to.

Time passed.

I clawed my way through elementary school and found my self at the gates of the next obstacle:"Jordan Middle School".

This is where I learned what "They" say might not always be right.

Red White and Burbank- Pt 1 " The Whore house"

"see, heres my problem," I began, knowing what I was about to spit would be nonsense to M. Ness. "I dont want to play the guitar anymore, I dont want to play with a toy. I want to kill something. I want to make my guitar bleed to proove its alive!" Ness tagged me with blank eyes and recovered with a knowing glance as genuine as vacu-form plastic.

"yea exactly" He shot back, knowing nothing.

"no no you dont get it" I stumbled, arguing a point we both understood but would never resolve. "its-" I tried. "I-" I spat hoping for a wave. I finally settled on a brown paper statement: " I want the sound to be raw, real loud, and almost without reason."

Ness nodded in fervent agreement to something he didnt quite understand. It was his nature to appease the senses of his peers because it worked. He was liked, honored, respected ( to some degree measured in language, expression, and sexual favors ) and in essence - succeeded in the social game were all expected to play.

" So like Motorhead?" He uttered with calm confidence.

"y-..yeah dude" I was stunned. An obvious reply but correct. Simple in the way I was striving to portray. And coming from a less than intelligent source - I was taken aback. Not by his "genius" but by all the stumbling I had done dancing around the point I was trying to make. It wasn't the whole picture but it was a clear enough comparison to show he know what I was getting at.

Marveling at the simplicity achieved by a close friend I considered a dullard I sat back. ( A note on the asshole writing this song- I believe simplicity to be the pinnacle of understanding and unfairly attribute it to the "intelligent" when really the moron displays [ in most cases ] a more clear understanding of the basic meanings).

I was on the verge of apologizing when Ness began explaining how good the local "new country" station was. He was and is probably right.

"Duuuuuuude" he interrupted himself.

"sup?" i shot back. Reflex.

"I think I found a brothel in NoHo." He looked at me half smiling half shocked.

"whaaaaat, noo," I started, playfully dismissing the notion. " Wait like, old west shit or what?"

"No dude, fully legit." He held the same stare, unshaken.

"How the fuck did you-" I started, surprise in my voice but no trace in my knowing.

"Some internet shit." He shot back. " Dude I havent been but I swear its legit!" Ness continued, setting his les Paul face first on the couch. This guitar was art, engineering, science, sound, and negligence wrapped up into an expensive package no one could believe hadn't been broken yet. It was the third singer in our highschool punk band, the envy of kids wealthier than us, and a mystery to everyone. How was this hunk of wood and metal still in one piece? My guess is that it was born into a cradle of chaos and fed off the stupidity of those who enjoyed it.

"Great sales pitch dick." I replied. Typical Ness bullshit. " So anyway I want to start with something like this- " I offered , dismissing Ness's more than typical brag-rant. I began wrecking the strings with half learned chords.

" NO DUDE" Ness spat, slapping his hand onto my fretboard. " THIS SHIT IS FOR FUCKING REAL."

" How could you possibly know that you fuck, you've never been, you heard about it on the internet, and it wasn't important enough to tell me the SECOND you found out. So tell me - how the fuck do you know this shit is real? I dont doubt there are brothels in the valley but I sincerely doubt whatever you heard on the interweb is of any consequence. Prove it dick." Your turn Ness.

"Go, I have the adress." Ness said with confidence.

"Ok so im the test monkey now? I guess whore monkey isn't so bad. Give me cash then, if you want me to prove it." I became interested, more so at the prospect of a free adventure.

"Dawg, im broke as shit," He began, dismissing it all and grabbing his guitar again.

"Fuck man." I said looking past six strings, knowing i couldnt turn down the chance to prove him wrong- or right- or both of us wrong and end up in jail. At this point I had accepted experience is more valuable than the possible positive or negative outcome that could be waiting for me.

"Godamnit." I shat.

" you know your gonna do it ." Amil said from the bathroom. He had be listening for some time as he worked on a beer shit that could rival - honestly there was no competition. It had been hours.

"Fuck you both." I said defeated and ready. "Adress?"

Bad company

Cabs in Los Angeles are a joke to the Natives
A luxury to the tourists
Unknown to the kids
Blasphemy to the drunks with wheels as true as the night theyle never remember
Too expensive for the East side trying to reach the West
Unnecessary for the West side to reach the East
Too rare to hail
Too much hassle to call
Too expensive to justify alone
Too cowardly to suggest in a gang
Too slow from the Valley to Downtown
An afterthought in a responsible dream on the floor of a Burbank Household

But wheres my bed
Where are the keys we call ancient and my idols call cheap
Where is the beautiful girl who cries when the world shows its less than charming mug
Where is the 4 AM DJ with a poet, a dog, a sleeping ex-pat and 4 walls as his crowd

I used to be rough
I used to walk the whole way
I used to hitch a midnight ride from a generous creep
I used to be told where my home was
And now
No words are able to remind me
Not because they cant
Because they don't need to

Tiptoeing for another penny beer
Creaking as little as I can for another un-punished smoke
Sunrise napping on the guest bed so the capable, intelligent woman who knows right from wrong, and who is learning what really matters can sleep though the aches and pains of the real world i've so haplessly shrugged.

"Good" is gone
"Necessary" has become obsolete and too abstract to be worth wondering
"Too late" is too early, and too early is just right
"A good nights sleep" is about as realistic as wrangling the hubris that taught us how to create
"Im exhausted" is worth as much as "The sun is hot" and "The moon is round"

Why create when you can sleep, dream
Why sleep when you can create, dream
Why ask when you haven't got a choice
Why choose when the outcome remains the same

Stay up- Create
Knock out- Experience
Stay up- Experience
Knock out- and whats left of your mind will do the dirty work

Call a cab- Find that beautiful shack everyone but you hates
Stay on the floor- Dream about the messy , slippery, anarchy waiting
In the shack
Not so far away.