Sunday, March 31, 2013
Saturday, March 30, 2013
STEREOTYPES AREN'T RACIST
I posted those videos because I've noticed people have a very large misconception of what Hollywood is.
Tourists from all over the world come here, to ride around in roofless vans, gaze at cement stars and get hustled.
Parents bring their children... always been unsure why.
I mean, Hollywood most likely has less crime now than it has had for the past 30 years.
Which is like saying a hungry cobra with one broken fang isn't dangerous.
I've witnessed/experienced a lot of crazy shit since moving here.
And have come to the realization that the longer I stay the more deaths I'll be connected with.
The third video posted, the shooting of cars on Sunset and Vine, I used to smoke weed with that dude's lady.
We both frequented the Liberty Bell Temple (a medical marijuana shop).
She was petite and attractive, rare qualities for a hollywood pothead.
The first time we met she didn't talk much.
Something rolled underneath a couch and she bent over to pick it up.
But she didn't just bend over.
She went prone on the floor, reached under the couch to grab the lost paraphernalia, then inched backwards while raising her ass in the air and held a yoga-esque pose for 5 seconds.
Putting it out there, "take me where I am," for anyone stupid enough to mount.
The girl was always complaining about her boyfriend too; how the snow was ruining him, his infidelities.
So, for the most part, I avoided talking with her.
A few months later I heard the news: he lost it at the tail of a month long cocaine bender after she quit the relationship.
He went out in the street, with a gun, and tried to take as many lives as he could.
Fortuitously he was a bad shot.
And only killed one person: a music producer.
(good job)
The humorous/shameful part of the story, the one the news didn't comment on, is that the Hollywood PD station is about 1.5 blocks down Vine; walking distance.
Those pigs must have been terrified.
They just let him shoot at people for a while.
Sitting in their small castle, grateful for unearned safety.
Waiting for his ammunition to deplete.
Then shooting him down.
Dead.
Tourists from all over the world come here, to ride around in roofless vans, gaze at cement stars and get hustled.
Parents bring their children... always been unsure why.
I mean, Hollywood most likely has less crime now than it has had for the past 30 years.
Which is like saying a hungry cobra with one broken fang isn't dangerous.
I've witnessed/experienced a lot of crazy shit since moving here.
And have come to the realization that the longer I stay the more deaths I'll be connected with.
The third video posted, the shooting of cars on Sunset and Vine, I used to smoke weed with that dude's lady.
We both frequented the Liberty Bell Temple (a medical marijuana shop).
She was petite and attractive, rare qualities for a hollywood pothead.
The first time we met she didn't talk much.
Something rolled underneath a couch and she bent over to pick it up.
But she didn't just bend over.
She went prone on the floor, reached under the couch to grab the lost paraphernalia, then inched backwards while raising her ass in the air and held a yoga-esque pose for 5 seconds.
Putting it out there, "take me where I am," for anyone stupid enough to mount.
The girl was always complaining about her boyfriend too; how the snow was ruining him, his infidelities.
So, for the most part, I avoided talking with her.
A few months later I heard the news: he lost it at the tail of a month long cocaine bender after she quit the relationship.
He went out in the street, with a gun, and tried to take as many lives as he could.
Fortuitously he was a bad shot.
And only killed one person: a music producer.
(good job)
The humorous/shameful part of the story, the one the news didn't comment on, is that the Hollywood PD station is about 1.5 blocks down Vine; walking distance.
Those pigs must have been terrified.
They just let him shoot at people for a while.
Sitting in their small castle, grateful for unearned safety.
Waiting for his ammunition to deplete.
Then shooting him down.
Dead.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
WALKED BY A CHUBBY CRACKHEAD TALKING TO HERSELF ON HOLLYWOOD BOULEVARD AND THOUGHT "LAND OF THE FREE"
(Certain I'm the only asshole who has seen this film.)
Monday, March 25, 2013
YOUNG MEN AGGRESSIVELY DRIVING TRUCKS TO OVERCOMPENSATE FOR THEIR MOMMY ISSUES/LACK OF SEX
"The small fat content, in particular makes the feces steaks healthier than their animal counterpart."
Sunday, March 24, 2013
I DON'T WANT TO FUCK BUT DO WANT TO WATCH YOU FROM A DISTANCE
Mark "Super Samoan" Hunt turned 39 yesterday. I've been following him for a while, like 10 plus years, and he's always been a favorite to watch.
Hunt isn't the most skilled fighter, he actually has lost several times during his career in mma and kickboxing. Out of 59 fights, 20 have ended in defeat. That's losing 1 out of 3 matches.
He's also not a cartoon character of muscle. Contrary to popular aesthetic, his body type is similar to someone's beer swilling dad.
What the guy does have can't be taught: heart, chin and power. Mark will absorb a large amount of punishment to get close enough to missile a thick-boned fist at an opponent's head.
His KO's aren't just knockouts, they're destructive ballets.
Here's a K-1 fight against Jerome LaBaner. The french roided dude was considered a huge favorite to win, especially since he had already beat Hunt the previous year.
Galagher can't smash watermelon like that, holmes.
Even when the Super Samoan loses, he's entertaining. Nothing held back, nothing safe, just balls out until he breaks.
Here's an epic K-1 fight against another islander, Ray Sefo:
Mark moved to the Pride organization to try MMA in 2002.
At the time Wanderlai Silva was on a 4-year win streak. He dominated everyone until he fought the Super Samoan. It was a war which went to decision, Hunt walking away with the victory. The most remarkable strike in the fight was an atomic slam (jumping on a prone opponent with your ass). No shit.
Later Mark went on a severe losing streak. Not because he was over trained or doing recreational drugs, but because people realized striking with the guy is retarded and exposed his massive weakness: grappling.
UFC bought Pride in 2009 and dismantled the japanese organization. They had to make a decision to father fighters in or pay off their contracts.
UFC President, Dana White, looked at Hunt's record and didn't think he was UFC material, meaning his perceived skill wasn't enough to shed blood under their elite name.
The UFC heavyweight division is flat, especially when compared to the robust talent of the lesser weight classes. Because of this Mark was allowed to finish out his contract as a stepping stone.
Dana openly shit talked Hunt during press conferences.
The first UFC fight ended in a loss from a submission, which inspired some much needed work on wrestling.
Since that initial loss Mark has put to sleep all of the named fighters he's been matched against, the last of which was Stefan Struve, a young skyscraper of a man who was considered to be the new reaper of the division.
The two met in Japan last month and the fight went like a typical Mark Hunt melee: punches, then carnage.
Struve got Hunt on the ground twice but didn't do much damage. The work put in to patch the grappling weakness was evident.
Hunt absorbed a lot of damage, a shitton I would say, to get close enough on the inside to use his reach. Struve's head took powerful blow after powerful blow.
It was quite amazing.
Both men became fatigued but wouldn't relent. Mark hurt Stefan several times but the kid kept his feet underneath him.
Mark's face took an incredulous look, like you could tell he was thinking "how the fuck do I put this shithead down?", then he fired an overhand left-right combo in the third.
The fists landed squarely on Stefan's jaw and sent a broken tooth sailing off towards oblivion. It was like watching a grizzly bear open a pudding cup after a long period of starvation. Oh yeah, he also broke the Struve's jaw.
The ref didn't stop the fight after Struve went down; Mark just walked away confident his opponent had wilted.
I think fighting is one of the last forms of honesty in the 21st century. All the half-truths, watered down ideology and passive-aggression of our culture don't exist during a fight; because they can't--a person with heart will be exposed.
Hunt isn't the most skilled fighter, he actually has lost several times during his career in mma and kickboxing. Out of 59 fights, 20 have ended in defeat. That's losing 1 out of 3 matches.
He's also not a cartoon character of muscle. Contrary to popular aesthetic, his body type is similar to someone's beer swilling dad.
What the guy does have can't be taught: heart, chin and power. Mark will absorb a large amount of punishment to get close enough to missile a thick-boned fist at an opponent's head.
His KO's aren't just knockouts, they're destructive ballets.
Here's a K-1 fight against Jerome LaBaner. The french roided dude was considered a huge favorite to win, especially since he had already beat Hunt the previous year.
Galagher can't smash watermelon like that, holmes.
Even when the Super Samoan loses, he's entertaining. Nothing held back, nothing safe, just balls out until he breaks.
Here's an epic K-1 fight against another islander, Ray Sefo:
Mark moved to the Pride organization to try MMA in 2002.
At the time Wanderlai Silva was on a 4-year win streak. He dominated everyone until he fought the Super Samoan. It was a war which went to decision, Hunt walking away with the victory. The most remarkable strike in the fight was an atomic slam (jumping on a prone opponent with your ass). No shit.
Later Mark went on a severe losing streak. Not because he was over trained or doing recreational drugs, but because people realized striking with the guy is retarded and exposed his massive weakness: grappling.
UFC bought Pride in 2009 and dismantled the japanese organization. They had to make a decision to father fighters in or pay off their contracts.
UFC President, Dana White, looked at Hunt's record and didn't think he was UFC material, meaning his perceived skill wasn't enough to shed blood under their elite name.
The UFC heavyweight division is flat, especially when compared to the robust talent of the lesser weight classes. Because of this Mark was allowed to finish out his contract as a stepping stone.
Dana openly shit talked Hunt during press conferences.
The first UFC fight ended in a loss from a submission, which inspired some much needed work on wrestling.
Since that initial loss Mark has put to sleep all of the named fighters he's been matched against, the last of which was Stefan Struve, a young skyscraper of a man who was considered to be the new reaper of the division.
The two met in Japan last month and the fight went like a typical Mark Hunt melee: punches, then carnage.
Struve got Hunt on the ground twice but didn't do much damage. The work put in to patch the grappling weakness was evident.
Hunt absorbed a lot of damage, a shitton I would say, to get close enough on the inside to use his reach. Struve's head took powerful blow after powerful blow.
It was quite amazing.
Both men became fatigued but wouldn't relent. Mark hurt Stefan several times but the kid kept his feet underneath him.
Mark's face took an incredulous look, like you could tell he was thinking "how the fuck do I put this shithead down?", then he fired an overhand left-right combo in the third.
The fists landed squarely on Stefan's jaw and sent a broken tooth sailing off towards oblivion. It was like watching a grizzly bear open a pudding cup after a long period of starvation. Oh yeah, he also broke the Struve's jaw.
The ref didn't stop the fight after Struve went down; Mark just walked away confident his opponent had wilted.
I think fighting is one of the last forms of honesty in the 21st century. All the half-truths, watered down ideology and passive-aggression of our culture don't exist during a fight; because they can't--a person with heart will be exposed.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
I HEARD A WHITE WOMAN BOAST "I'M NOT USED TO PAYING FOR THINGS." AND MADE A SILENT WISH FOR HER FACE TO BE MUTILATED
In the eighties the phrase "show me your tits" was en vogue.
No joke, it was totally okay for men to yell nudity demands at a female pedestrian.
Some women liked the attention, I think.
But those sorts always do.
No joke, it was totally okay for men to yell nudity demands at a female pedestrian.
Some women liked the attention, I think.
But those sorts always do.
COCAINE VOLCANO
I have a reocurring imagination of shaving off my facial\head hair, then sleeping in a gutter for eternity or until someone runs my body over with the wheels of a car.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
I WANT YOU TO WANT ME SO I CAN FEEL BETTER ABOUT NOT WANTING MYSELF
Sitting in the car at Vermont & Sunset.
A very tall, very homosexual man approaches.
He bends over, hands on hips, and begins talking.
I have no idea who he is.
He looks clean.
Slightly stupid.
A possible employee of the month at a bowling alley.
I ignore him at first
But he's acting as if it's casual for sound waves to operate differently than they do.
And I stare at the face conversing with the glass between us.
Completely sure I have had no previous association with this person.
His words like oreo crumbs in the mouth of a child.
I roll the car window half-open.
"Uh... yeah?"
"Roses cheezits!"
I feel confusion.
"What?"
"Roses cheezits?"
Am I hallucinating or something...
My hands are normal size.
My feet exist.
There is no background music.
"Haha, what?"
"You-uh know, I-uh know youuuu."
I realize he's speaking with an accent.
One which sounds like a hybrid of italian/spanish/excited cockatoo.
Slowly, I shake my head "no."
"Aren't you-uh th' cheezus from-uh youtube dot commm?"
"No, that's not me."
The man places both hands near his jawline and moves them in small circles.
"The beaarrd-uh, a person, it fool."
For a brief moment I question if I am the jesus of youtube dot com and imagine myself walking the streets of hollywood dressed in a linen robe, kissing babies, waving a hand over menstruating vaginas, smoking blunts which never burn out.
"I'm not him."
The man makes a facial gesture like he was never there, as if the conversation hadn't just happened.
"I mistake-uh."
Then he walked away.
A very tall, very homosexual man approaches.
He bends over, hands on hips, and begins talking.
I have no idea who he is.
He looks clean.
Slightly stupid.
A possible employee of the month at a bowling alley.
I ignore him at first
But he's acting as if it's casual for sound waves to operate differently than they do.
And I stare at the face conversing with the glass between us.
Completely sure I have had no previous association with this person.
His words like oreo crumbs in the mouth of a child.
I roll the car window half-open.
"Uh... yeah?"
"Roses cheezits!"
I feel confusion.
"What?"
"Roses cheezits?"
Am I hallucinating or something...
My hands are normal size.
My feet exist.
There is no background music.
"Haha, what?"
"You-uh know, I-uh know youuuu."
I realize he's speaking with an accent.
One which sounds like a hybrid of italian/spanish/excited cockatoo.
Slowly, I shake my head "no."
"Aren't you-uh th' cheezus from-uh youtube dot commm?"
"No, that's not me."
The man places both hands near his jawline and moves them in small circles.
"The beaarrd-uh, a person, it fool."
For a brief moment I question if I am the jesus of youtube dot com and imagine myself walking the streets of hollywood dressed in a linen robe, kissing babies, waving a hand over menstruating vaginas, smoking blunts which never burn out.
"I'm not him."
The man makes a facial gesture like he was never there, as if the conversation hadn't just happened.
"I mistake-uh."
Then he walked away.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Friday, March 15, 2013
EVERY DAY FEELS LIKE 72 HOURS
A black couple sat down next to me. The woman had large sagging tits and a perpetual "wha' child?" facial expression. The man was tall and skinny, dressed in slacks, collared shirt and pork pie hat.
He looked sleepy.
There was a suitcase between them, the kind typically reserved for long european vacations, with handle and wheels.
The woman pulled out a translucent garment bag and unzipped the seam. Preserved inside was a vibrant purple snuggie with peace signs printed all over.
"Television is winning the war on drugs."--I thought.
The garment bag was folded and placed on the chair, like a sanitary napkin. She then sat down again and wrapped herself with the snuggie.
The man fished his hand in the suitcase for several minutes, then pulled out a shopping bag. He looked at the woman.
"How many choo' want?"
"Huh-uh, lemme think... Jus one."
Two pieces of white bread stacked on one another appeared in his hand. A slice of processed cheese placed on top, still in the wrapper.
The bread and cheese was offered towards the woman, palm up.
She didn't say anything.
The hand started waving side to side.
"How many?"
"Hu?"
The hand waved back and forth aggressively now.
"Woman, how many!"
"Oh, shoo, ya' know. Jus one."
The man felt satisfied. He unwrapped the cheese.
A greasy round piece of pink was added to complete the sandwich.
No mustard or mayonnaise.
Nothing fancy.
Just the same chemicals compiled differently.
Stacked.
He handed the woman the sandwich, then made his own.
She took a bite.
"Mmmm."
"Mmmmm... yes."
They nodded in unison, not at each other, but at their respective food.
I suddenly felt nostalgic for my youth.
And debated climbing inside the suitcase to sleep for a very long time.
He looked sleepy.
There was a suitcase between them, the kind typically reserved for long european vacations, with handle and wheels.
The woman pulled out a translucent garment bag and unzipped the seam. Preserved inside was a vibrant purple snuggie with peace signs printed all over.
"Television is winning the war on drugs."--I thought.
The garment bag was folded and placed on the chair, like a sanitary napkin. She then sat down again and wrapped herself with the snuggie.
The man fished his hand in the suitcase for several minutes, then pulled out a shopping bag. He looked at the woman.
"How many choo' want?"
"Huh-uh, lemme think... Jus one."
Two pieces of white bread stacked on one another appeared in his hand. A slice of processed cheese placed on top, still in the wrapper.
The bread and cheese was offered towards the woman, palm up.
She didn't say anything.
The hand started waving side to side.
"How many?"
"Hu?"
The hand waved back and forth aggressively now.
"Woman, how many!"
"Oh, shoo, ya' know. Jus one."
The man felt satisfied. He unwrapped the cheese.
A greasy round piece of pink was added to complete the sandwich.
No mustard or mayonnaise.
Nothing fancy.
Just the same chemicals compiled differently.
Stacked.
He handed the woman the sandwich, then made his own.
She took a bite.
"Mmmm."
"Mmmmm... yes."
They nodded in unison, not at each other, but at their respective food.
I suddenly felt nostalgic for my youth.
And debated climbing inside the suitcase to sleep for a very long time.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Monday, March 11, 2013
SADNESS MITIGATION
I came across this note today:
I think my original thought process was to explain the depth of sadness in my life during each album's rotation and how it helped.
Don't feel like writing about it anymore. I will say that I've listened to each of the listed albums over a two hundred times.
Easy.
Write about the albums that helped distract myself from depression over the years: license to ill; a cassette dub of the dr. demento radio show; kill em all; dare to be stupid; happy hour; unplugged in new york; live in australia, 1959; pinkerton; take off your pants and jacket; not exotic; 13 tales of bohemia.
I think my original thought process was to explain the depth of sadness in my life during each album's rotation and how it helped.
Don't feel like writing about it anymore. I will say that I've listened to each of the listed albums over a two hundred times.
Easy.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
I THOUGHT ABOUT SUICIDE 5 TIMES WHILE THINKING THE BELOW THOUGHTS
Trying to decide which has a more fucked connotation: a person who dies from an incurable disease or a person who dies from negligence.
Talking about anything substantial seems pointless.
My friend's ex-girlfriend let herself go and now resembles the fuck child of Cruella DeVille and Oggy Doggy.
The world would be a better place if every person had unfettered access to a pair of tits.
Tiny men who wear white blazers...
Imagining my body being crushed by the giant boulder from Indiana Jones is how I cope while at parties.
Only black girls should wear animal prints.
Just want to die in a fire while children watch.
Battletoads.
Talking about anything substantial seems pointless.
My friend's ex-girlfriend let herself go and now resembles the fuck child of Cruella DeVille and Oggy Doggy.
The world would be a better place if every person had unfettered access to a pair of tits.
Tiny men who wear white blazers...
Imagining my body being crushed by the giant boulder from Indiana Jones is how I cope while at parties.
Only black girls should wear animal prints.
Just want to die in a fire while children watch.
Battletoads.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
EFFEMINATE MEN ARE THE POLIO OF THE 21ST CENTURY
Out of all the flavors of bitch made men I think the most amusing/annoying is the squish footed, lisping texan.
The long years of titty coddling by southern women is palpable in every movement he makes.
Like a whine ballet.
Such grace.
(hushed announcer voice): Watch the frail manboy in line at starbucks as he passive-aggressively complains with a feminine drawl about the lack of cake pop availability.
This fall on NBC.
The long years of titty coddling by southern women is palpable in every movement he makes.
Like a whine ballet.
Such grace.
(hushed announcer voice): Watch the frail manboy in line at starbucks as he passive-aggressively complains with a feminine drawl about the lack of cake pop availability.
This fall on NBC.
CHRISTIAN SLATER AS LUCKY LUCIANO
The glow-in-the-dark store at the mall provided the best opportunity to grope underaged girls.
Feel me?
Feel me?
Monday, March 4, 2013
SOMETIMES I PRETEND I'M A MUTANT BIKER FROM THE MOVIE "WEIRD SCIENCE"
Feel like my life is a game show called "Just Can't Win" and the objective is to see how long I can exist while failing.
I don't mean failing in an emo way, but in a physical way.
Went to Beverly Hills to see a doctor last week.
Left completely crushed and hopeless.
Would feel slightly better about Cedars Sinai as an organization if every doctor in the hospital formed a line and spit on me.
Maybe have everyone eat cheese and oreos before hand too.
I received lab results today for some blood work my friend paid for, which are perplexing.
Now I feel slightly more hopeless.
Think I entered a bonus round or something.
And the audience is hushed, waiting to see if I finally lose or keep winning at not winning.
Can he do it?--I don't know.
Sometimes the only possible offense and/or defense is to remain defiant.
Even if that means flashing a broken smile at the sky while an unknown assailant chokes you into oblivion.
On a different subject:
I saw a small portion of panties around lunchtime when a woman bent over to enter a car and it made me feel slightly better about the world.
They were pink.
I don't mean failing in an emo way, but in a physical way.
Went to Beverly Hills to see a doctor last week.
Left completely crushed and hopeless.
Would feel slightly better about Cedars Sinai as an organization if every doctor in the hospital formed a line and spit on me.
Maybe have everyone eat cheese and oreos before hand too.
I received lab results today for some blood work my friend paid for, which are perplexing.
Now I feel slightly more hopeless.
Think I entered a bonus round or something.
And the audience is hushed, waiting to see if I finally lose or keep winning at not winning.
Can he do it?--I don't know.
Sometimes the only possible offense and/or defense is to remain defiant.
Even if that means flashing a broken smile at the sky while an unknown assailant chokes you into oblivion.
On a different subject:
I saw a small portion of panties around lunchtime when a woman bent over to enter a car and it made me feel slightly better about the world.
They were pink.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
STEVEN SPIELBERG IS THE SENTIMENTAL MICHAEL BAY
I'll know I've made it as a poet when I'm doing readings in the black light poster section of a Spencer's Gifts.
Friday, March 1, 2013
I WANT YOU TO READ THAT POEM WHERE YOU REMOVE YOUR TSHIRT THEN BARF ALL OVER YOUR NAKED TITS
Any person who vocalizes an accomplishment hasn't accomplished anything.
In other words, people who say they own a famous Hollywood bar never do.
In other words, people who say they own a famous Hollywood bar never do.
I'VE ONLY THOUGHT ABOUT DEATH 37 TIMES TODAY
You know those occasions when you're somewhere public, maybe at a bus stop or a restaurant, lost in half a daydream, and suddenly your eyes fix on a juicy ass in motion.
And for a moment your mind is only focused on the thing; the way the protruding cheeks jiggle, the firmness of the bubble, its suffering against captive fabric.
And while in that moment your brain subconsciously replays stop-motion films of destructive waterfalls or blinding sunrises from eighth grade science class.
And as the ass moves farther away you notice something isn't complete, there's a slightly foreign feel.
Which is when you realize the ass is attached to a swinging dick.
What's up with that?
Not, like, what's up with being attracted to the same gender.
More, like, what's up with men who have great asses.
Just seems bullshit.
A normal guy can't compete with that noise.
It's bad enough some dudes have massive shlongs.
Asses, too?
Fuck...
Really grateful for the invention of money.
And for a moment your mind is only focused on the thing; the way the protruding cheeks jiggle, the firmness of the bubble, its suffering against captive fabric.
And while in that moment your brain subconsciously replays stop-motion films of destructive waterfalls or blinding sunrises from eighth grade science class.
And as the ass moves farther away you notice something isn't complete, there's a slightly foreign feel.
Which is when you realize the ass is attached to a swinging dick.
What's up with that?
Not, like, what's up with being attracted to the same gender.
More, like, what's up with men who have great asses.
Just seems bullshit.
A normal guy can't compete with that noise.
It's bad enough some dudes have massive shlongs.
Asses, too?
Fuck...
Really grateful for the invention of money.
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