the captain's march

a while back i had promised some short stories and other creative material in this space rather than just the old run-of-the-mill observational claptrap you get from other bloggers. Some delusional diatribe i wrote after being laid off. What can i say? i'm busy curing cancer—building the perfect weapon—making the perfect omelet—whatever,—sometimes i've been just plain lazy...

being unemployed is a stressful business, not everyone is made for the guerilla life...

anyway, I recently returned from a two week spa treatment in Tucson, AZ and came up with a quickie for the Tucson Weekly (http://www.tucsonweekly.com/tucson/Home)—not published—it was for a 25th anniversary contest they put together. The rules stated that the story could not be longer than 84 words since the publication was founded in 1984. The results of the contest will be released in the weekly on July 23rd (i think). The following is the unabridged version of The Captain's March...

The Captain was keen to his opportunity. During his five years of captivity he rarely received such a fortuitous break. The gate was ajar—there were no sentries lurking about. He took a final survey—all was clear. He took a step out unto the perimeter grounds...

At last! Freedom in his grasp!

He quietly stalked through the open gate making his way through the courtyard, one lone obstacle in his path. He summoned the strength to make the leap over the fortresses ivy-infested wall.

"Captain Orange!," exclaimed the Cat Mom as she picked up the plump orange boy cat, tucked him underneath her arm, his pearly white paws hanging in defeat—the jig was up. Firmly in the Cat Mom's clutches he was ushered back into the house.

"Foiled again," lamented the Captain. "My time will come."

tw—June 2009...

guerilla decompression...

Let us reflect...

if you want a blow by blow of the events of the hostage exchange in Kansas City you can either catch the news on facebook or beingabastardworks. You find all you need to know there...

after 5 days of guerrilla tourism—(i believe i've coined the use of the word to form phrases like guerrilla finance and guerilla health care—all parts of the everyday life of this resident of the constellation)—i've chosen to decompress, do some house chores and get back to life outside of the Yaribs (a term coined by one A. Howley)...

i will say that I spent a fair portion of my time was looking for an item to represent the trip—my old celica florida license plate,  a piece of desert wood and handmade cabinet from Tuscon, or my HI metal plate from Hatteras, NC for example. It was at the City Market in KC that I found the mirror pictured above at an antique shop named Vintiques...

i decided to hang it today even though it still needs to be stripped and repainted, that's looking a job for the weekend. The place is really starting to come together—guerrilla decorating...

the woman at vintiques commented with a smile that it was a good mirror...

it was a good trip...

now you've got, what you want—do you want more?...

it has taken the better part of 13 years but Bob Marley is back on display...

my exploits of music liberation have been well documented. 'The Heavyweight Champion' was veritable holy grail, the 'Prestige Collection' as icing on the cake. Of all the music, relationships, and life lessons I took from Tower one thing has been the prize possession from that time, The Bob Marley Songs of Freedom art piece that used to hang in the Jazz room in the Carle Place Tower Records...

so now, forever to be hung in the Constellation of Logic...

thanks again Kari...

in your face, dean thrilla...

this is Ken Korell's klingon brother...

you don't know what that means—and there is no reason you should unless you are familiar with the Thursday Night Stoop...

if you were an insomniac in the late 80's early 90's, you might recognize Jay Kordich, the man featured on the cover of the above book pictured, as the Juiceman. More or less he cured himself of cancer in the 1930s by eating and juicing vegetable and fruits. He sold a juicer via late night infomercial and back in the days of Ur when I was recovering from scurvy, I asked for one for Christmas. One Thursday night in the middle of a stoop Dean Thrilla began a diatribe about how I would use the thing a few times and then never use it again, that it was a waste of money in my hands. I told him he was wrong and that I would be a juicer for life. Years later the juicer sat in the basement closet of my parents house. Idle. Thrilla was right...

my mom puts things "away." "Away" is some magical land that only she knows the path to. For many years either me or my brothers or father have been mystified by the whereabouts of this away. Last weekend my mom took a trip there and cleared it out for a cleaning—apparently even "away" can get cluttered. As I said hello after dropping her car off, (which she graciously allows me to use when available), she mentioned how she had found the juiceman juicer and asked me if I wanted to take it back with me. I declined, the years of storage took their toll leaving a thick film of grease and dust inside and outside of the once great appliance. I stopped by Friday to pick up the car for the weekend when I noticed the juicer, shiny and all brand new looking. It seems my mother took the thing to the proverbial cleaning-woodshed. So I brought it home, picked myself up some produce...

how you like me now, Dean Thrilla?!...

...thanks Mom

an open letter to the right wing...

really, if you want us to take you seriously ever again, you'll have to excise Sean Hannity from your ranks...

"the liberty tree?" I'm not going to go into the specifics of the inanity of this political paranoia spun by Hannity except to say that Stephen Colbert nailed it again...

this Hannity dude is out of his bird. He, along with his brother in facism—Rush Limbaugh, are still the standards of a party that doesn't believe in their twisted morals. Shed them before its too late or you'll just be part of the joke...

and for all of those free market-niks who love to cry socialism and would like to see the free market take care of its own mess consider this:

the billions and billions of dollars being pumped into your banking and an investment system as well as your manufacturing centers can only be defined as socialism. If we were to allow the free market to cleanse itself of this recession, your free market wouldgo the way of the dodo, and we would be stuck with socialism on a grander scale. Which would you choose?

those of us who live in the constellation of logic would not hesitate in calling out left wing yahoos who take bleeding heart to a new level, but I must point out they should have their chance to gloat. After 40 years of leftist repression, they finally won one. Eat it, enjoy it and make the adjustments necessary...

i'm going to house a mother—...

for some reason the topic of housin' came up in my evening chat with the Cat Mom. I'm referring to the urban phrase that means to show dominance over another or thing, made infamous by EPMD in the seminal track2—I'm Housin' from their groundbreaking debut Strictly Business, 1988...

this morning I went about the task of sending a youtube video of 'Im Housin'' to the Lady Cat, for she is not familiar with a lot of hip hop, which always strikes me strange since she comes from Freeport and one of her best friends could probably recite the lyrics verbatim at a moments notice...

it should be of no surprise that someone would attempt to remake this song for their purposes—whether it be for a greatest hits collection or playing it out live—what have you. In fact, as some of you might already know, Rage Against the Machine did a cover of the tune on the collection 'Renegades'. Its not a very good, nor is any  other track on that particular record. The band was already in the midst of hating each other and breaking up as it did, shortly after. Gone were the days of 'Killing in the Name of' and 'Bulls on Parade'—a song I have dubbed the most aggressive in the history of the planet. To put it short, I'm a fan of RATM, just not of anything they did on this retread release...

i prepared to send the video when I came upon the comments section. I was alarmed to find out that people felt the Rage version was superior, and one comment went further in shocking me by asking which version came first. Man alive! Am I still on the planet or have I been sent to some remote corner of hell, where taste has been expunged?...

i'm all for allowing people their opinions, but they are like assholes, they squeeze more shit out  than anything else. Allowing people to go on believing that their taste is true is a crime. No one with a discernible ear could possibly determine that the Rage version is superior and that in fact they should have never even attempted covering a song that is so good, it could not be done anymore justice than when Erick Sermon and Parrish Smith first put it down so many years ago...

i blame this on the youth, who I've been told can't be blamed but the fact remains—this younger generation that is now entering their 20s has absolutely no idea of what aesthetics are. This is not some salvo of a crotchety old man, I'm not a fan classical music but i can understand its depth, nor am i a fan of Elvis but they tell me 5 million Elvis fans can't be wrong (i'm still looking into that), i understand why people don't like sports, radishes, or rainstorms. I know why the caged bird sings, for pete's sake i live in the constellation of logic!...

the only logical explanation to listening to the two versions of this song and choosing the Rage cover over the flawless original is that kids just don't know any better. They are conditioned differently than past generations, at a far greater curve than the generations before. The Internet, coddling, drugs and cable television has robbed this generation of its ability to effectively create a viable opinion about anything. They are brainwashed. How else can you explain the Jonas Brothers?...

so i'm housin'...

are you listening? Vol 2. sunday soundtrack

when I was in Florida I made it a point to make Sundays a productive day—NY Times, trip to the beach for a run (either in the morning or at sunset), food shopping and other assorted errands and do the week's cooking. Lately Sundays had gotten away from me. Today I took 'em back...

the new flat was in need of some plant life so I hit the streets regardless of the rain and made my way over to home depot and pick up some jungle greens to spice up the ol' domicile—there you go Sods...

next I brought the car back to the folks', seeing as it isn't mine and took the LIRR back to Jamaica and caught the E back to the FHills. This gave me some time to take a few pages out of 'A Confederacy of Dunces', which I've been remiss in finishing and grab a peanut butter and chocolate cone from the Baskin Robbins on the Ave in the QV Mo...

back in the apartment i talk to the lady cat for a bit over a cup of tea and then got down to the business of opening a bottle of wine and making a red sauce—this one with some diced green peppers for a little tang—pasta on the way...

as I do in these situations—being all domesticated and all is throw on some tunes into the trusty 6-CD changer and let 'em fly. Sunday's Soundtrack you ask?...

      Seventh Tree—Goldfrapp

      Complete Stax/Volt Soul Singles 1968-1971—Disc 1

      Mag Earwhig!—Guided By Voices

      Slanted and Enchanted—Pavement

      Reading, Writing , and Arithmetic—The Sundays

      40 Years Island Vol2 1964-69—Rhythm & Blues Beat

what are you listening to?...