He's got a long way to walk, those tired old legs, through the cool dark sand where he stopped and he wept, as a boy all alone and alone once again, birth just like death, time never rests, alone he must be, alone we can see, all alone without you, all alone without me, can't believe that it's happened, the years that have passed, the numbers have risen while strength was surpassed by the past and the present that justifies time, an age that has lasted, crime after crime, the sound of the water, lapping at shores he sits and he ponders the waves he endured, the change of the currents and weather he's seen, the eye of the storm, the calm of the sea, he walks through the sand, sun sets for him only, alone in the dark, a journey so lonely, he wades in the ocean, night fills the sky, a fearless old man, ready to die.............
I witnessed a summer storm off thee auld firescape bitches! Yay, I am the man, WHOOOOPEEEE! Look at me, I can snap pictures of clouds with no imagination and absolutely no skillz! This calls for a celebration! To commemorate this moment I am going to torture a small animal! YAY! I need another drink...
Is that Lil Timmy Hotcakes with our lord and, ahem, burp, ugh, savior, Jesus Christs death shroud that has become petrified in the window? Or perhaps Lil Timmy is using reflections to warn us of the perils of Christianity. Maybe it's really a warning to Michael Jackson to tone down the demerol intake, a day too late. I do believe in my heart of hearts though, (cause you know our hearts have hearts) that he is saying, "stop the peace in the middle east biatches!" cause he's a nice guy, a nice guy.
When looking through the nekked eyeballz you could not tell where the sky began and the ocean ended. This sailboat gently sat on the almost still waters of the Mediterranean Sea, paradise found. No stress, no fear, only life at a snails pace, whispering by in the heat of the morning sun.
These little bastards are friends 4 ever. Even though they growl and snarl at eachother, have problems sharing toys and inevitably succomb to smelling one anothers private parts they still have a deeper bond than most humans I know.
Washington Square Park in the summer is the place to be. Such a long history of creativity and fun. A wonderful oasis in the West Village. Children playing in the fountain, artists painting the vivid colorful surroundings and musicians singing and strumming away in the beautiful sunshiney day. I am happy to see this park has not changed much in decades.
A moment of silence for Michael Jackson. No matter how strange or crazy he seemed, we made him that way through relentless scrutiny and adoration. He will be missed and never forgotten. HE HE, WHOOO! CHAMON! (I just grabbed my crotch btw)
I know, I fooled you, I bet you got all excited cause you thought I was gonna post pictures of Zac Efron and his crew from High School Musical based on my post title. Or maybe you expected something a bit more obscene and pornographic, something gaping and cavernous perhaps. But alas, I have bored you with furry little foreign pussies for your ocular pleasure.
I used to love toys. I played with all kinds of them, all alone, indoors or out. Before I would go to sleep I could get out my G.I. Joes and with just the folds of my sheets, a flashlight and a little imagination I could envision deserts and mountains, ninjas vs monsters, an army of the undead ambushing a He-Man figure while he called for back up from my die cast Voltron. When I was a kid I always wanted the big toys but I usually got stuck with the small ones. I knew kids who had the G.I. Joe aircraft carrier or the Millenium Falcon but I had to delve deeper into my imagination than them, I had to create my own forts and ships with cardboard and elmers glue. I had no choice but to be creative cause money was not in abundance when I was a lad. I used to order shirley temples at the bars my mom would sing jazz at just so that I could get those little plastic swords they stick through the maraschino cherries and use them to create a crew of pirates out of action figures I already owned. I used to be all about the toys, back when I had absolute creative independence. All I needed was a matchbox car in my pocket and some time to forget my troubles and off I went on a new adventure.
No really, think again. No for fucking fucks sake, I am serious, think Ibiza, think again. Such a shitty excuse for paradise why would you ever want to spend time there. It's no mistake, trust me, it's this hotels slogan so how could it be untrue. Unless somebody's son is to blame for this comedy of errors, then maybe I would think Ibiza, again and again and again and...
Have you ever wondered what are good cigarettes in egypt? Well, Cleopatra of course! Silky smooth, super star, kill your kids for a few drags of poison, Cleopatra's. Historically I have no idea if the once great queen of Egypt smoked anything but if she did it was probably after a good night of passionate love making with Mark Antony, laying in bed, thinking of asps biting breasts and ruling the world.
Who knew Terry Thomas had a grandson? Furthermore, who knew he lived in Ibiza, Spain. I guess the real question though is, "Who the hell is Terry Thomas?" Actually, the real question when observing these two pics is in the second picture, blonde girl on the far right, where are her hands and how is this dog still sleeping while being so ruthlessly violated?
If I was made of solid gold, never fear, growing old, need not worry going broke, surely slowing, slowest poke, heavy and a burden bearing, all that glitters when preparing, letting all who see be dazzled, deep inside I have unraveled, friends will come, all will go, from hand to hand, from high to low, locked away, far too long, forget the feel of sunlight strong, If I were made of solid gold, I would out live the loves I hold, I would be mostly all alone, wealth and beauty to behold, from dust I came and dust return, I must be one with all I burn, melt away and flow through veins, until I reach my home again, waiting for a chance to see, the light of day has ceased to be, If I was made of solid gold, my wish would be, flesh and bone.
It's not the fact that this is an old man tanning his face during winter in the middle of Washington Square Park that irks me, it's his purple, leather, snake skin, "look at me, I'm sexy!" bag that makes me uncomfortable. I bet back in the day this guy rubbed shoulders with Hendrix and Dylan in the dark, dingy cellar pubs of Greenwich Village, smoking some doobies and laughing about how they would someday change the world. Well, I guess his high fashion , geriatric man purse is a start, just maybe a tad too late in the grand scheme of things.
Well, what can I say about the town I live in. It's a place where you can get lost in the shuffle, forget what matters and ultimately go bananas. Dirty, filthy, greedy and yet it has pockets of beauty and calm. I guess like any entity you have good and bad, positive and negative forces that keep some sort of balance but if you live here in the city sometimes it seems like the balance has begun to favor one side of the scales. I see on a daily basis the disease of greed, the kind of greed that epitomizes evil, the kind of greed that allows people the excuses they need to keep bleeding the weak dry, keep sucking the life from the marrows of our once great metropolis with no care in the world, no remorse to speak of. I used to think, "laughing all the way to the bank" was some funny saying that relyed on humor to fit, not reality. Unfortunately it seems that the people who gave this city color, backbone and a sense of community are being driven out while lifeless bloodsuckers lie and cheat their way into a plush leather executives chair, hovering above a lifeless street 50 stories high in the polluted skies. What will be left when nobody can afford to live and eat in this once great city except for the smallest percentile of American families. There will be no flavor, no color, no hope. Only wealth and greed, back and forth on the seesaw of tyranny. So much was born on these cold, urban streets, a true testament to our imaginations and the beauty we have inside our minds and souls. But now we have abandoned our love and whats inside our hearts and minds for the comfort of a box in the sky, an overpriced meal, and a false sense of calm. Greed and regret go hand and hand when you come to the crossroads of life and death, and when this great city has finally been Disney-fied, entirely, and all soul swept away by the broom of greed, our joy, hope and love will be replaced by regret. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
With such economic hardships making life so difficult for all American citizens it's good to know we are not alone (misery does love company). Even seagulls have taken to fighting for scraps in these difficult times. Watch them as they hover over our heads waiting for us to let our guard down so they can swoop in and steal what precious little we have. Some gulls have even been spotted down by the docks turning tricks to make ends meet, destroying our former view of these elegant, simple friends by the sea.
"Oh, blackberry brandy where have you gone, I need you now that I know I'm wrong, I need you when the sun comes up, when the whole wide world comes crashing down. Blackberry brandy it's my favorite song, I sing it all mother fucking night long, with a grimace here and a sock on my scalp, I've given up but I'm never going out, I got blackberry brandy so I ain't alone, nothing but time, nowhere to call home, leaning on a tree, cool as can be till blackberry brandy comes to reclaim me."
Maybe you were young, dumb and full of, um, scum? and you went to a tattoo parlor and had a tazmanian devil tattoo put on your arm, or a smiley face with a bullet hole, or maybe just a big black circle tattooed on your leg and you sort of regret it now that your older and wiser, but don't fret cause obviously some people have made worse mistakes as far as tattoos go, case in point...
I like to imagine this smiling innocent childs candy box is really filled with dimebags and razors. Maybe it's just the hard, New York streets in me but children are the best decoys and nobody would ever see it coming. Besides, we all know what would make this young buck the most profit and it sure ain't his winning smile... BTW, this could be a girl, and if so, I digress.
This picture takes me back in time like a mofo. This was me 26 or so years ago in Greenwich Village (actually this is a young boy in Venice Beach), free and easy, rolling on my belly, frolicking in the midday sun. Long before it was uncool to superman on your board, before you needed to know tricks and look the part, ripped jeans and a pair of Vans on your feet. This pic takes me back to when I knew nothing of the world besides doing what I loved for only the pure joy of doing it. When I still thought growing up was cool but a distant spec on the horizon. It didn't matter who saw me or who snapped a pic, who cared or who didn't. Getting lost in what you love and the background fading away is what made me young and kept things fun and fresh. As I have grown I have realized I forget to live in the moment, paralyzing myself with worry and concern when I should really stop and enjoy my time here on earth, like this little guy blazing accross the asphalt universe.
I want to run away accross the world, stealing my way from place to place, never worrying about anything other than myself and my closest companion, surfing the waves from shore to shore, continent to continent, free to live and not be tied down to social and economic convention, on the run from the man, on the lamb, chased over borders by agents of the damned, creating my own future and living in the now and tomorrow, the past just an echo, a real life, where sun on your face is the payoff, salt water in your hair is the fruits of your labor, juggling precious metals as economies crumble and you tip toe the line between freedom and enslavement, all for the right to say, "I am." Miki, I salute you...
I know how it feels, you arise to the addiction, the hunger, your chest suffering from all that clean fresh, untainted air that filled your lungs the whole night as you slept peacefully, all curled up in your my little pony sheets. Now it's the dawn of a new day and without thought, just impulse, you reach for your soft pack of Viceroys only to find that in your drunken stupor the previous night you forgot to buy a new pack and your out of luck, and Viceroys. What are you going to do? I guess the only answer is to throw on your daisy dukes and some half cabs and half step your way to the local bodega to re-up, but to no avail. Your broke, you spent all your cash at the karaoke bar getting sloshed while singing Nickelback songs and you haven't a nickel bag, let alone a nickel to your name. With options few and far between you stagger your half drunken, nicotine jonesing ass out the door of your pad and head down the stairs to the street where your options multiply. Looking around for the first sad soul you can bum a stoge from you see a bum you can steal a butt from, sleeping in the morning sun on a bench built of love and hope. You inch closer and closer, you can almost taste the tobacco, your lips tingling, throat kvetching, lungs constricting. You reach for the stoge dangling from the hobos lips and make a clean getaway. You did it, you won the game, you past the test, you pitted yourself against addiction and you won, you beat it, you prevailed. From the lips of a hobo you live again! Standing tall and triumphant you wipe the shmutz off the end of your freshly swiped cig and place it between your lips ready to taste the fruits of your labor! You gleefully reach into your pockets and finger around searching for fire but alas you have none to be found, you don't even have the keys to your humble abode. You sigh and rest your weary bones on the curb and soak up the fact that your back to square one. Addiction is a worthy adversary...
I wonder if juggling for euros in Ibiza Spain could make me more money than working in America? I mean, with the conversion being so good for the people in Europe I bet this guy with no legs makes more money in dollars than most people I know here in America per hour. He had a whole heap of euros in front of him and I kept thinking maybe I should just snag that money and run, he has no legs, it's not like he's gonna catch me! But I stuck with my morals and values I learned over here in good ol US and A. Oh well, I could have been somebody, I could have been a contender, but instead I just snapped this pic and shuffled my broke ass back to my hotel...
So it has come to my attention that Buster loves ice cream. I don't exactly know where it comes from or how it started but it could be hereditary or just a fluke. Anyways the little bugger is bongos for ice cream amongst other things like:
bananas, socks, paper towel rolls, poo poo, steak, pork, penis (like Glambert!), dirt, undies, fingers and pretty much everything else on this god forsaken planet we share. Enjoy!
So, the time has come for me to blog myself silly. Even though I know I am alone here in cyberspace, writing to myself in this vacuum, I must persevere. I must leave my mark. So I will be doing more of a photo blog (up in ya) where I will post photos (I took myself ty) and give a brief description and you can have a laugh or leave a comment or just not even look at all. It's all good, I am doing this for myself anyways, you are just an after thought. So to all who see, gfys, and for the ones who don't know and never will, I salute you.