asynchronology IV - archive 2006



2006.12.29.1513 my friend the mesquite tree

drove all day on the 26th - made the mistake of going over the grapevine again when 58 across to mojave is much nicer - new casinos popping up everywhere, and poker at all of 'em. the salton sea looked like home - at least a vacation home. spent a day waiting for Mutagen to be delivered (had some problems on the way) but was finally able to settle down a bit and make camp here. will update soon. too much stuff happening right now.


2006.12.25.1637 let my darkness light the way

i just counted -- i have moved seventeen times since returning to the United States in 1997, inclusive of that one and the one i'm about to make tomorrow or the next day. from Stuttgart to 106th St, NYC; to Avenue B; to St.Marks Place, Staten Island; to 30th St, Long Island City; to Paintbrush Drive, Sunnyvale, CA; to Willits; into the desert; to Scott Blvd, Santa Clara; to Bering Drive, San Jose; into the desert; to Wetherole St, Rego Park, NY; to Oakland, CA with four internal moves at the same address; to Slab City, CA.

all's ready for (finally) getting my sorry arse down there.


2006.12.24.1507 pulling their children away

....neighbor's truck broken into while i slept just yards away in the Charm....i woke up to a car speeding and weaving toward me at 3:30am....angry voices....and some ppl wonder why i keep a loaded .45 semiauto with me when i sleep....$130 in more gadgetry to finally (hopefully) get rolling with the Rockette Bob documentary film....Absolutely Nothing for Sale....the piece he was working on of the same name was destroyed by hooligans in Reno, taken apart literally piece by piece and left on the street....the pedicab was tossed in the Truckee river and most of the decorations least i have both on video....crashed so hard after breakfast i suspected sodium pentathol....literally couldn't move for three hours, lying back in the driver's seat of Mutagen....people walking by making comments....parents pulling their children away quickly....


2006.12.23.2051 chaos always triumphs

....more earthquakes....all piled up there, so close to Julia St....DVD drive dies as i'm trying to rip my video footage....portents....chaos always triumphs over intent....


2006.12.23.1806 long lost recording found, and some gun talk

The guy on my right was clumsily blasting rounds of .50 AE from his Desert Eagle into a 25-yard paper target only five yards away, hitting everything except the black at the center. When he knelt to reload I had to look away or I'd get nervous. This guy had precious little weapons training, if any, and English was very obviously not his first language, nor in all likelihood even his second. I was much more comfortable with the guy on my left, even though he was shooting a cheap ass Brazilian 1911, and his muzzle control left a bit to be desired. I was shooting my Springfield XD .45 ACP for the first time ever. All my shots were at 7:30 from the point of aim, but close enough. The gun shoots well. Smooth, easy, with much less recoil than usual in a .45.

This course, Intermediate Pistol, covered a lot of ground, but the most valuable lesson for me was the script for dealing with a real live deadly threat situation: point the gun (in a solid Isosceles or Weaver stance) at the intruder (and we will of course assume this takes place at your own residence); scream "STOP! DON'T MOVE! DROP THE WEAPON!" as if the only thing preventing you from spraying his or her brains all over the wall is your fondness for the wallpaper. If they start trying to "explain," or do not comply with your demands, you simply repeat them, robotically. There is no discussion or variation from the script. If you find yourself having to speak these words a third time, shooting is probably what you will have to do.

On an entirely different theme, I just came across a lost recording of mine on the interrnet. Some DJ at WFMU played the A side of my 1987 7" vinyl release, Daddy's Gun (Handful of Nails) in 2004. You can listen to it here (or visit my works>>music page.) It's like a Christmas present to me, because I really thought I'd never hear it again. Oddly enough, I made the recording on this exact date in an all-night session twenty years ago. Before you judge the sound quality too harshly, remember this is a low-bitrate audio archive of a low-quality recording made on a Tascam 4-track cassette machine pressed onto vinyl, and that I am playing ALL the instruments. Also recorded in that all-night session was the flipside, a faithful cover of All Tomorrow's Parties, which enjoyed some very positive critical acclaim in the alternative/underground music press of the time. On the date of the release of the first pressing, Andy Warhol died. On the date of the release of the second pressing, Nico died. Perhaps it's best that no third pressing was made, or we'd certainly be without our Lou Reed.

Twenty years just ain't what they used to be.


2006.12.22.0259 words can kill, silence can kill

If I were a better friend, I would have been more honest. I would have told you how much your infantile behavior disgusted me. I would have explained carefully how I saw you destroying yourself. I might even have called you in the middle of the night to tell you that, if I really had been your friend. My love was incapable of healing you. You didn't need love. You needed anger, rage, bile or just a cool, straightforward neutrality. If I were stronger, I would still be screaming from this side of the grass, poking holes in the soft underbelly of your pathetic excuses, your endless failure to take responsibility for yourself, the lies you buried yourself under to keep you safe from the truths you couldn't face. My silence killed you, not my words. And your train wreck arrived right on schedule. I'm sorry. Please forgive me for my weakness.


2006.12.21.1312 Dream

I am chewing orange sections in order to make orange juice, carefully removing the wet pulp from my mouth with my fingers and placing it in a collecting vessel. I am getting paid $20/hr to do this, which is plenty for life in the boondocks, I think to myself. After a while it occurs to me that the total yield would increase if I refrained from swallowing the juice while chewing. This discovery wins me great praise from my supervisors as I mix orangia with my saliva and expel it into the collectors.

Later I am driving in a station wagon with Plato, looking for a place to relieve my bowels. On a steep street, dark but for the wan amber glow of ancient electric lights, I retire into a porta-potty as a gaggle of young girls, apparently Mexican, smile and giggle across the street, wathcing my every move. Inside it is very messy and, despite extreme caution on my part I become thoroughly soiled by human ordure, finding it on my buttocks, clothes, hands and fingers.


2006.12.21.1305 Rockette Bob vows to be a nicer person...

Rockette Bob

"Yes, it's the most beautiful time of the year. i guess we need to change so we can fit in. today i vow to be a nicer person.......i had a company christmas dinner last night with 120 people involved with the washoe retarded citzens. i drank water and ice tea while eating sushi and a chinese buffet..........i had a nice dream that i owned a pet monkey that would go through peoples pockets getting  wallets, candy and shiney objects. oh, and the people thought it was so cute that they would give him a dollar. in the next dream i was dealing a modified air hockey game that was kinda a dice/crap game. i was fleacing the crowd and the managment (sands casino) shut me down as i won too much for them. the players were crying under a fake palm tree by the casino managers office................underage sluts driving trucks, all the way to niland..........the wish list.......bobby"

---> Rockette Bob for Dummies


2006.12.20 EARTHQUAKE 51177042

My storage unit / office shook violently for a moment. I thought someone careless had slammed into it with a forklift or some heavy object swinging from a gantry crane. But when I stepped out, there was nobody there - just the echoing rattle of the steel warehouse crackling at its seams, trailing off into an invisible distance. I knew something like that would happen today. I am staying in.



mutagen at the tanks

One thing leads to another, as they say. The daily grind of wait, wait, wait, while taking care of the myriad details of preparing for off-the-grid living 555 miles away from here is beginning to feel like my new routine. Sleeping in the Cinnabar Charm is only comfortable if it's parked someplace nice - the outside world surrounding NIMBY does not qualify. Two more days' work at the Archive. I need to get a spare tire for the Charm. And I still need a firm commitment from someone who can drive Mutagen down there - either with me or soon thereafter. Slab City is no place to get stuck without a running vehicle.

It's been a very challenging autumn, full of transitions, 180-degree turns, and a wide open hole in the earth sucking people into the underworld. I thought Allison's death marked the end of it, but the hole still seems to be open, and all of us still in some danger. I'm holding a lot back here to protect the innocent, so to speak, so forgive me if this all sounds cryptic.







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