“Good luck out there shitface…you gonna need it.” Proverbs 4:31
Thursday, November 12, 2020
DRUMMING OF DONNIE JR. THE PIG DICKS BABY BOY ARE ALL JUST PUSSY LIPS
What is better than bullshit>
Probably wolf brand chili and some scrambled eggs with loss pride cheese wrapped in a war torn scorched from the fire mission style tortilla, all on sale mind you, all bought for the cause. I miss the American war, the American enemy I should say. For 20 years I've read about war from Iraq and Afghanistan, terrorism in the general speaking clone cable news phrasing to propagate and all impressive victory. Every news cycle engineered to dispel thought crime of any other outcome but absolute pulverization of the enemy to we were saving these miserable fuckers from the evils of terrorism and dictatorial monster regimes, all to spread democracy and civilization, build roads and schools, to set an example of shining democracy-freedom to the rest of the dark and inauspicious world, but who cares. Right on AMIGO
I can't remember the last time I ate a whole bag of RUFFLES CHIPs. OH yeah, I just did, with ranch and a lot of fucking hate for the world. I just can't seem to put out the flames of rage. What's a BRUDDY to do, what about
SOME HUGE FUCKING DUDES/?/
Where the fuckin A is Adam THE ONE TWELVE? A call to arms thyn droogies.
The guidelines to freedom are being re written like re-cutting of the pizza, I'm going for fucking squares from here on out. The delight for tonight shall be the last pizza by the slice. DADDING MOTHERFUCKER, THIS IS THE WAY WE DO IT LIKE OR LEAVE IT BRUDDY. If the whole fucking world is going mad I want full price upfront row motherfucking seats with free drink refills and a fucking tug job deluxe, good pot and beaten half to death before i fucking leave.
:MY JOB IS TO FOLLOW THE FUCKING LETTER OF THE LAW:
...AND WITH THAT DUTY I INTEND ON FUCKING ALL WHO OPPOSE ME IN THE ASS WITH UN NOTICEABLE REGRET OR EMOTION...I'LL ANSWER ALL THE FUCKING QUESTIONS NEEDED.
"Rivers run fluid making history, the very existence of gravity, based on God's Unholy Will to carve apart a beautiful landscape; showing power onto his tenets."
The work was slow, drudgery, if you will, too many steps forward with too many steps back. The FALSE ALARM IDEA had become NOT A DRILL. The Social dynamic has worked itself out of the cracks of marketing and regrouped and focused on a NEW PROGRAM of COMPLETE MIND FUCK. Snakey places once thought safe, reverted to paradises for creatures with purely blood brain thirsty kill zones. TARGET RICH ENVIRONMENTS is a common code name. REMEMBER. TARGETS HAVE CODE NAMES AND CALL SIGNS...NEVER FORGET.
As Nationalist take all Coasts the water turns red with the blood of the POOR FOLKS, the madness sweeps like Hell across a Midwestern field and the heat wave is very apparent. Coincidence? I do not bed, but i differ. Welcome to the BIG SCREEN, FRONT ROW, fuck the Bible, prophets and radio disc JOKEYS, when it rains... it pours.
The political "system" in the United States of America is following the Justice System of the same territory. Money. Dig IT.
IT'S RIGGED.
FUCK. IT.
WHO CARES.
COUNT OUR DAYS.
CREATIVE 'TYPES' WILL SHINE LIGHT ON THE DARK.
STAY COOL.
PLAY MUSIC.
AND WHEN THE TIME COMES:
KEEP THIS SONG BY YER SIDE
AND
KILL EVERYTHING YOU SEE.
...OFF THE DAMN ZOOM WITH A BUNCH OF LOONIES...
THE FUCKING THING WON't WORK, IT CAN'T SPELL IT'S OWN FUCKING NAME
Just got off a ZOOM with the Democratic party headed off somewhere in Aspen, not sure if it was an Aspen branch, or if they have branches or what the fucking score is but I was on the damned fucking thing and It wasn't that bad. NOT BAD AT ALL. I joined somehow by a sent email, logged in with no video like a sneaking treacherous spy, even under a false name, a street name only publish twice in the local paper.
<RAUL. KENNEDY>
I presume,
:TO THE LEADERS OR LEADERSHIP OF THE ASPEN CHAPTER OF WEAK AND CORRUPT DEMOCRATS - SNEEZING PROTO-CRATES, FOR SALE ASPEN TYPES AND THE FREE WILL OR DESTROY ACTION GROUP...(AND ANY OTHER LOOSE CHANGE GROUP I FORGOT TO MENTION)
GOOD AFTERNOON,
What a wonderful surprise to have been so graciously invited to this undercover ZOOM Intel offering and bamboozle uplift charity parade, a basic cheaters circle unity homework copy session where I and 17 others and have YOU tell ME the WISHES of thyne divine party. I Wish to bring up a serious and curious issue of the present day.
Considering the TRUMPANZEESS are organized and working as a field recon unit building and placing false voter drop off boxes, would it be considered inappropriate, illegal, false reckoning, or outright distasteful to place signs stating
OFFICIAL TRUMP VOTER BALLOT BOX
and taping said flyers to all city of Aspen trash bins through the general metropolitan downtown area?
OFFICIAL
TRUMP VOTER
BALLOT BOX
X X X X X X XXXXXXX
XXXXX
XXXX
XX
X
OR
vice versa with the arrow going the other way.
Pointing ti the trash can
ALWAYS WITH THE THOUGHTS OF THE HIGH COMMAND I POLITELY ASK YER PERMISSION TO DO SO.
Business advice poolside escalated into deafening slurs of agro chants while family's coward in the spotlights of hotel parking lots. Most days we would get back to our parking spot, 13 after leaving our rally position in the paddock garages also labeled with a 13. Garage 13 was a staging point for all things tables and chair related. Our neighbors were strange creatures loading in and out a variety of booty from queer shirts to soda, energy brain juice, water but mostly ice. This ice is like gold on any event battleground and we had full right on fuck you access. We ran a tight cooler at all times, a young buck should learn from the start a healthy stocked cooler with a wide variety of mix and EXTRA COLD BEER at the bottom is basically a sign of preparation and full on intent to be a winner. You let your cooler drag the pass soon enough your creatures will loose faith. I can't stress enough keeping a strong variety of mix and keeping the ice box within an arms reach.
The forward progression moved at a brisk mind melting pace paved by the highway of speed, No sleep and strong drink. A pint turned turned to a fifth in no time, arguments in the morning consolidation seemed to increase day by day. A real hatred grows between humans when money is on the line, jobs are contracts and the beating your ass sun makes you slur your speak. I hated those moments and it nearly pushed me in. Creatures become monsters when drugs take hold, shaking vision and sweat pours from all creases of the body and brain, sickness of spirit consumes the days and time looks like a thin artifact baked in the sweltering heat. Time was an idea. No matter how hard you could work, time would pass but always a feeling of hurried unfinished progress and a feeling of inadequacy. Blathering poolside of a job well done, or "WE ARE THE BEST" fell in as shadows from the truth. SPUN, SHOT OUT, DRUNK and TIRED were the actual headlines.
Tunnel vision confused me from night and day, the poolside arguments and meat jockeys haunted me in slumber and wake, tales of being handled by men into a company truck during a company party coursed through my veins like the 10 double Maker's Marks I gulped to take me further away. I can't recall a clear vision of that night, a thought of dumbness and wasted CORPORATE ESPN STOCK FALLING money kept running through my head and the idea that everyone here is a scum sucker. Those are bad thoughts on a strong whisky trip, especially Makers. The night turned against me with a whispering sucker punch, I assume; as you would me, the drink worked it's way into my being. Phone numbers made no sense and I kept thinking the Civil War was a joke and if it wasn't it sure as fuck was't dead yet. Austin Texas in my view, at that point in time, was a cumshot dripping down a painted cinder block wall. Pussy was obsolete because it might be considered "uncool" and if you saw some, you might as well ridicule, because you are a MAN. WITH A MOTOR CYCLE. JUST LIKE THE OTHER 20,000. MUTANTS FROM SOMEWHERE HELLS. Fashionable great smelling breeds on a 6 year stint, creeps not worth stabbing. I've seen jokers in my day. Magic show bikers and tearful tramps, but this was a new low. An entirely new category of, "yet undocumented scum."
I was in a bad brain.
I was engulfed in a swarm of Hipster Cannibals and personally I was hot from whiskey and all thee above. I vaguely remember proclaiming my departure and possibly fighting in the parking lot outside the shit show. A great friend, Brother, and Allie....saved me from a spot in the Austin County Jail, we never discussed such details of this incident but the knots on my head serve as two things: I was drunk enough to bang my head around on ground or truck... or b.) I was rescued by a true friend out of a beat down, either way...I'm writing this now. We made it to the room and I woke up, still dreary from the night before with a sense of hiding from all other ESPN TYPES for the entire work day. I hate these days of regret and blackout drunk crime scene thoughts; every time you see a Sheriff you think "well, I guess that's me" Walking into staff services, a shit pit of weak NON LABOR TYPES, I overhear a conversation about last night's events, how "it ain't a party till you see people puking all over each other" One girl chummed in, "I couldn't drink anymore whiskey i was so drunk but I ordered two more doubles, I mean, when your so fucked your dumping whiskey down your shirt you should stop, but I didn't!!!!!! They had a 10,000 guarantee on the bar and that was met by 10:30...hahahh" I overheard this walking into the front doors looking for nothing, actually just patrolling. I kept think about Full Metal Jacket when the guy says " we're jolly green Giants roaming the Earth with Guns." That was my mentality and gift. I've, we've, 898, have done a few through tests of all limits. But that's the gig. Labor makes it happen then suit and tie dummies with girls with fresh faces and great smells with clean cloths and perfect teeth to match, GPA's with degrees; go home with STORIES. Well, fuck you. Shit don't happen by chance, and most images in word or picture aren't exactly clear as an un muddied lake, there is always a variable. And those variables are possibilities, possibilities to become efficient tracks of the landscape of OUR PRESENCE. To move quickly, without hesitation, is but ONLY our greatest compromise.
I'd had never been to Texas and you'll have to pay me more than my last check X2 to bring me back. Slow moving humid butthole of this great Republic we chant USA, or also called America, Texas has it's own right and backwards way of thinking. My first year working X Games Austin, I've been asked a few times years passed and quickly put the offer down, this year the timing and money was just right. So the blast commenced. Imagine opening a storage container full of sexed up, speed up, muscle dummies with plenty of lube and giving them exspence accounts, hotels rooms, food, motorized vehicles, heavy machinery, paid for full bar dinner parties and radios with endless hours in the brain warping Texas heat and then eventually paying these creatures. Lord the BLAST WAS HOT! My self and two other creatures shared a room at one of those extended stay businesman Hotels near the airport, it was nice to say t he least but we spent most of our time drinking cold beer in the parking lot next to our company truck, sweating in the sun after a good 12 hour work day. The BIG DEALS were spread about the company, the thunderstorms and flash flooding didn't disappoint. Days later, dead bodies were found, TWO to be exactly on site. Helies came in flying sideways, as to look for pot operations when in fact, the search was for dead humans, Swept away on low roads, the same roads we traveled for work. The lonesomeness of Texas is the possibility of dying without a good story to tell. SAME AS ALWAYS. BIG DEAL. Some kid named "Joey" saw the bloated cursed fucker with eyes all over. " Drink a few tonight and wash away that memory Amigo, DRIVE IT IN!" His face was moved with eyes of death, ghosts in the TEXAN wash are hard to forget, probation for him had ended days before...his blast, all of a sudden turned Turbo.
The weather turned Hot and crucifixion, wet brain waste was the daily diet, heat swamp brain ruled the radio and no one had a plan, direction or a Superior became terms of a lost civilization or a lost language, echos bouncing off lost caverns of serious negotiation. "Contractual Obligation" were the sounds off lunch break arguments, "i eat my lunch in the truck because i like COLD BEER, and i don't think ESPN types would find my behavior acceptable, but ill compromise for the idea of avoiding a police escort......and by the fucking way, theres a reason i sit out here....I don't fucking like yous"
The heat, the lightning, the obstacle course of sheer and total dumbness was amusing but at the same time astounding. I've been surrounded by dangerous humans, so stupid ii pray at night they just drink the bleach, this encounter was perfectly on point. You have to figure in the time spent on site but on standby with creatures at the gills, with fury and provocation ready to invade any venue, country or crowd, bike rack ready to be bunked, site operations creatures...never hold on stand by. Comparable of the charging soldiers of WW1. "Copy...Traveling" The last words of a problem in helm. "We strike when the order is given...if you want to fuck about and waste the time of my company men, you'de better have keys and an unlocked fence....otherwise, i'll cut the lock open, the gate and rip the sign...our men are on stand by at all costs. GET YER SHIT TOGETHER, Radio MAN."
He tried to explain his lack of coordination, we drank water out of our truck cooler and had moments of tense silence. When I called it and said fuck this and pulled away he motioned for a chat.
"Fair. What is it now? Im the fucking delivery guy, some want to push as to say we are the set up guys, once again....no plan? NO HELP." Policy runs these situations and I must be one my way. No, fuck off."
Mark and I moved ass out the radio shithead land repeater site and gave a air conditioned FUCK YOU!"
The heat moved over our country asses as we were caught in a horrible nightmarish shitfuck contract orchestrated by the true faces of death, the pipers, the death angels on the top the tower holding heat against the will of workers, water couldn't put the flames out, the madness would never run out.
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
"IDEOLOGICAL QUARRELS OF A MASSIVE EXISTENCE."
-WHEN IN DOUBT, LET IT ALL OUT-
Reverb surrounded the walls
UFO JIM singing of MEXICAN UFO's
I remember someone from my past muttering
"THERE AIN'T NO LEFT TURNS IN HEAVEN...
DALE. R.I.P"
Yeah.
Well let's fucking find out.
Slow motion sickness gathers and dissipates all energy, consuming and spitting out a 20$ bill of life. Refugee status is out of the, the question? Meetings start and end, life extends it'self into a cheap version of something to do. THE RADIO AND+TV are at MAXIMUM VOLUME.
There's always a HOTEL BED SHOP IN THE WAITING.
I've seen TRAMPS, BUMS, scum LORDS, TV TYPES, FALSE DR.'s and even pure EVIL. You walk a line that ain't so straight, YOU JUST MIGHT COME OUT SIDEWAYS. SEE YAS IN HELL!
Thursday, April 28, 2016
REASONABLE ACTION LISTINGS....PG. (9)
THE CULTURES OF DEATH...(CONTINUED)
GARY ROBERTS:
continues:
(speaking with a low approach)
"....I could smell the lunch he had while sitting in his Lincoln continental,
right over there,
off east third street.
He was MUSH,
a shit river that had run dry,
a cheap bag of fuck,
a loser
eventually a dead body.
no one i would have lunch with."
I drove a car once just to kill the fucking engine and then receive the gift of setting it on fire and walking to Memphis.
The Engine wouldn't blow.
and I had to keep on driving.
NO MORE TOTAL BUMMERS AND FUCK UPS> REMEMBER MORTARS ARE NOT FAR OFF RAT WAR RAT WAR RAT WAR
1:18
RAUL KENNEDY Aspen, Colorado.
Thursday, November 19, 2015
"Yeah, well, fuck yeah I'd spent time in MEEKER, shit all over the floor! I was there just a past two weeks. I've been FUCKED BY A NAVY SEAL BUT NEVER MARRIED ONE, SHIT ALL OVER THE FLOOR!"
RAUL KENNEDY,
"THE BEEKERS BENCH/GONZO LOUNGE"
ASPEN, COLORADO.
81611-666-666
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
:You could smell SPIT in the air:
I had smelled the smell of SPIT, before.
BARS.
Pool HALLS.
The Regulator was using Math and Magnetic sexual CONFLICT THEORY. At times, the lights would flicker and become IRREGULAR, HIGHLY DANGEROUS FEATURES OF THE FILM. But when i relaxed and looked through the periscope of my mind, I realized i was much in tune to my surroundings and COCK.
"Hunter S. Thompson, legendary author, political commentator and "gonzo" journalist, died Sunday night after shooting himself in the head with a handgun at his home in Woody Creek. He was 67."
-The Aspen Times February 20, 2005
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me In the jingle jangle morning, I'll come followin' you
Though I know that evening's empire has returned into sand Vanished from my hand Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping
My weariness amazes me, I am branded on my feet I have no one to meet And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me In the jingle jangle morning, I'll come followin' you
"AFTER A FEW DAYS OF RECKONING, WEEKS I WOULD ADMIT....
CIVIL UNREST AND MORE AND MORE MIRRORS OF THE CIVIL RIGHTS FLASH...THE 1960'S ITS A FAIR PASS OF REVOLUTION COMPARED TO .... NOW.
COPS.
THUGS...
RIGHT WING VIGILANTES AND SUPER SUCKERS OF CAPITALISM.
ALL THINGS MOSTLY CONSIDERED.
LOOK IN THE REAR VIEW MIRROR OF HISTORY AND IT ALL LOOKS LIKE THE SAME. EVERYTHING, I MEAN EVERYTHING, A REFLECTION OF A PEERING EYE, FOCUSING DEEP INTO A STEAMING KITCHEN OF OF GHOULISH FOOLS, COOKING NON-STOP FOREIGN POLICY. THE POLICY OF WHO'S NEXT.
(AN ACTION PUT BY MY)
PROVOLONE JACKSON (MOSTLY GENERAL OF ALL THINGS ACTUAL):
Ladies and Some Gentlemen,
LET ME PRESENT THE FACTS
AS,
HAS BEEN SAID AND TRANSMITTED OVER COUNTY LINES AND SOME TERRITORIES:
A Feverishly witnessed reconstruction of home life, activity; IN WHICH LIGHTS FLASHED BUT DUCKED ON HOW POWER IS GIVEN...THERE'S A SLIGHT MARCHING OF WHITE PRIVILEGED DEMOCRATS...
BERKELEY IS A...
DARK BACHIAN SHADOW DREAM OF WALKING MIRRORS ON THE SIDE, BEATEN. I KEEP HEARING 'BEATEN'
GASSED LIKE...WHEN...YOU TELL ME..............
THIS NEW DEMON =-CRATIC ONE SIDED NO FIGHT BUT PROTEST, TO BE BEATEN IN THE STREETS FUCKING IDEA. THAT PEACEFUL PROTEST EXISTS...?
OVERWHELMINGLY THE SADDENING, MADDENING RAPE OF DEMOCRACY, A HOPELESSNESS AND DESPERATION ONLY FELT, HEARD BY THE SOUNDS OF A DEMOCRACY, A NATION FOUNDED ON EQUAL RIGHTS...THE SOUGHT THUS BOUGHT, AND PAID FOR SOCIAL ANIMAL...
A MOTION SICKNESS
ECHOS AGAINST THE MOUNTAINS
..A MOON/MOTION ECHO PREVAILS
A FEELING OF CATACLYSMIC DOOM BEYOND ANY BANK ACCOUNT
AND FURTHERMORE. SELF CONSIDERING.
ATTN:
REPORT FROM THE CINCINNATI FRONT
(ONLY MIRRORED BY PLAYBACK MESSAGE MACHINE ON MY PHONE.)
SHAWN OBNOXIOUS:
...Ideas have come an gone..AN ULTIMATE AND TRUE TEST OF OUR TIME, must be our THOUGHTS...thoughts, giving up access to get a story, even if working for a company or publishing house IS TO SAY; FUCK THEM.
WRITE SOMETHING FROM THE HIP AND MEET ME IN 3 MINUTES BEFORE THE DEADLINE.
/REPORT FROM THE WESTERN FRONT
SHAWN OBNOXIOUS:
FULL RETRO/REPORT FROM THE WESTERN FRONT;
___________________________________________________________________________________
TRANSMISSION IS TO BE...GUARDED...AS...PROFIT.
4;14AM CMT
HEADLINES ARE POURING, FOLKS ACROSS THE VANISHING WORLD OF PROTESTING BLATANT INJUSTICE IN A SHREWD HALF MEDIOCRE RICH WHITE PROTEST AFTER ANOTHER.
PEOPLE IN THE STREETS WERE BEATEN.
BERKELEY STUDENTS WILL GO ONE TO REMEMBER DAYS OF "INJUSTICE" AS GAS PRICES REMAIN CALM.
CALM ENOUGH FOR THOSE WITH CASH TO SPEND.
LOOKING BACK AND REMEMBERING OVER BOTTLES OF SHITE WINE OR RED...CHUCKLING IN RETROSPECT OF AN ATTEMPT, TO MAKE A SURE-FIRE CHANGE, ACTUALLY YOU AS HUMAN...CANT REALLY IDENTIFY WITH ANYTHING BEING SAID IN RT.
...a man named ROBERT ZIMMERMAN SANG A SONG. IT WAS A LONG TIME AGO,
I'VE HEARD IT ON VINYL ON OCCASION... I THINK HE SAID:
"YOU GOT A LOT OF NERVE
TO SAY YOUR ARE MY FRIEND
WHEN I WAS DOWN
YOU JUST THERE GRINNING
YOU GOT A LOT OF NERVE
TO SAY YOU GOT A HELPING HAND TO LEND
YOU JUST TO BE ON
THE SIDE THAT'S WINNING
YOU SAY I LET YOU DOWN
AND YOU KNOW IT'S NOT LIKE THAT
IF YOUR SO HURT
WHY THEN DON'T YOU SHOW IT
YOU SAY YOU LOST YOUR FAITH
BUT THAT'S NOT WHERE ITS AT
YOU HAD NO FAITH TO LOOSE
AND YOU KNOW IT
I KNOW THE REASON
THAT YOU TALK BEHIND MY BACK
I USED TO BE AMONG THE CROWD
YOU'RE IN WITH
DO YOU TAKE ME FOR SUCH A FOOL
TO THINK I'D MAKE CONTACT
WITH THE ONE WHO HIDES
WHAT HE DON'T KNOW TO BEGIN WITH
YOU SEE ME ON THE STREET
YOU ALWAYS ACT SURPRISED
YOU SAY, "HOW ARE YOU?" "GOOD LUCK"
BUT YOU DON'T MEAN IT
WHEN YOU KNOW AS WELL AS ME
YOU'D RATHER SEE ME PARALYZED
WHY DON'T YOU JUST COME OUT ONCE
AND SCREAM IT
NO, I DO NOT FEEL THAT GOOD
WHEN I SEE THE HEARTBREAKS YOU EMBRACE
IF I WAS A MASTER THIEF
PERHAPS I'D ROB THEM
AND NOW I KNOW YOUR DISSATISFIED
WITH YOUR POSITION AND YOUR PLACE
DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND
IT'S NOT MY PROBLEM
I WISH THAT FOR JUST ONE TIME
I COULD STAND INSIDE YOUR SHOES
AND JUST FOR THAT ONE MOMENT
I COULD BE YOU
YES, I WISH THAT FOR JUST ONE TIME
YOU COULD STAND INSIDE MY SHOES
YOU'D KNOW WHAT A DRAG
IT IS TO SEE YOU.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________...A LOOK FORWARD WITH EYES GLAZED OVER THIS MONTH...DON'T FORGET MY FRIENDS... WE ARE STILL AT WAR...__________
It's strange to walk around a town rich with capitalist tradition, rich in fashion and grease on the streets. The WESTERN FRONT is working hard into her THIRD possibly FOURTH WINTER high atop a Mountain. It takes a little reverence to peer into a shop front of this nature, I cant see a damn thing of coincidence, Perhaps a shadow of Art, clouded by image and stature. Something is positively not alright.
This mannequin posses with the same dead eyes in which the fashion it wears projects. Intimate quarters firefights and mortar attacks as the building collapses, thee final doom and cream boiling over. Gary Wilderness would be sad and still ashamed of this presentation. But yet as we muddle on words into the coming storm I still believe, and by that see nothing to change my mind. The totality of what we have created as people is shaping up to be one impressive outcome.
Half dead creatures from beyond sent here for paying vacation jobs and International Atomic Playboys accompanied by women of equal and lesser value based on a standard English writing test. Hell any test for that matter, a test of human vital signs.
But as I say. The program is getting better. Loads to witness, I'm a little impressed these days. Hard to see your reflection in an image so vague/vogue..
Better just to stare into the lights and pray for War.
We've killed the great dictators as a child and teen WE grew to love. To count on point by averages and praise for attack. I miss our old foes. Whats left is not only the final round about, but something so pure its worth fucking witnessing. "Soon enough," Is the HIGH DEFINITION NEWS BATTLE CRY.
SOMEWHERE HIGH ATOP A MOUNTAIN,
NEAR ASPEN COLORADO,
A WESTERN FRONT,
MONTREAL RAUL
(transcribed by: RAUL KENNEDY)
(orchestrated by ; GARY WILDERNESS)
(photos:RAUL KENNEDY ASPEN COLORADO 2014)
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
"I'VE LOOKED AT IT TWO WAYS. WHEN YOU STAND OUT THERE, YOU APPEAR ALONE. I SAY "WE'VE SEEN THINGS LIKE THIS BEFORE, IT'S NOT GOING TO BECOME A CRISIS OR AN ISSUE OF ANY MATTER". THE SECOND WAY: IT'S COMMON LAW TO DANCE WITH THE ONE THAT BROUGHT YA.THAT'S COVERAGE, THE WAY OF THEE GAME. EVERYTHING WORKS BOTH WAYS" -GARY WILLERNESS
I remember sitting on the bus going to Cemetery Lane leaving Aspen with James and Tim. Strange twin girls age roughly 8, of Asian and Aspen decent, abruptly asked Tim and James at point blank range,
"are you guys camping?"
No.
he replied,
We`re Explorers.
We were campers, living at the end of Cemetery Lane, Red Butte rd. the last bus stop, after the bus stop you read the Aspen City Limit sign. Outside city limits, and at night avoiding headlights by diving to the side of the road. Running up oil can alley by moonlight. Back to camp, tired and ready to work another 40 hour week for cheap pay. Hard way to live, hauling everything in and out, water food, booze, ice, propane. cooking by moonlight, doing dishes, making lunch. drinking. smoking the best cigarettes, listening to Monday night football by radio and the sound of a ditch creek. Wake to the weekend sound of a tramp alarm, dizzy and steam from yer piss. Watching meteorite showers between tents till three am, having thee advantage of having any day off with the reality you wont get paid. check short, but valuing that advantage.
NOTES:11/26/2014 7:53 PM
Friday, February 21, 2014
OPERATION WESTERN FRONT
A certain level of common value has been obtained, most heavy, not all, combat operations have ceased. The new directive phase is starting with extreme urgency and persistence. Operation goals are to maintain adequate finance and housing. These struggles continue for all but at this time we find it a directive to remain secure and steadfast. The WAR rages all around us. Aspen has been busing with tourons and Greedheads. Little Annies, as a command post has been over run with shitty Canadians and drunks from all over the world, a general sense of FUCKALL. We look forward to regaining this post and regroup, using her as a rally POINT. When this post is over run we resort to the studio, a safe haven, and luxury resort, no time limits and we can speak freely on all issues concerning OPERATION WESTERN FRONT. I look forward to working this operation too it's max, drinking heavily and doing a variety of drugs. This is the bubble, a battle ground for the greasy fucks and all that remains, trust me not much is left. We shall push onward and full steam with a sense of vengeance and fight with a tenacity of destroying the enemy not just as one man, but generational. That is the greater hope, to change things not just for today, but forever. Things are good, we will win.
SHAWN WE ARE FUCKING KILLING IT.
F13
... Cold cause the window was wide open, my coat was wrapped around me and feeling like a fucking bleeding body bag...the sound of distant gunfire popped like like fireworks in the distant, the beating hooves of horses thundered all around me... this wasn't a dream, this event I was partaking in was happening not at the present moment in time but somewhere in the distant past, somewhere well off in the closed closet of time, or so it seemed. Someone was stalking my mind, the changing year where everyone who's been secluded comes out aroused and ready to play, slowly losing their mind, desperately slipping into complete and total fucking madness, treacherous and dangerous mental states of health. I climbed out of my nest and looking over the horizon i could see distant explosions and bursts of smoke, smoked mixed with the low hovering clouds and shells fall all over the mountain side. I lit a cigarette and looked for my boots and socks, piled nicely to my right and exhaling blue smoke and breath in the cold morning air I realized I had traveled back home, somewhere I didn't recognize but felt like home. It's cold, I thought, mighty cold indeed. I began looking through my day pack for a pair of light gloves to break the chill of this hellish morning, all the while pops and thuds all around my local surroundings, but where where the horses? More important things to understand in the mean time, why was there a war outside my bridge, outside my home, who was firing, why? For what benefit? I quickly put on my socks and boots now that the nicotine had reach all the important places need to jump start my day. I rummaged through my pack and located a pint of Canadian drink, brown and strong, a sip would relieve this horrible taste in my mouth. Ah, a sigh and then packing my bag, tightly then tossing the frozen death trap in the craw space above my head...
It'd be nice to go back to work, understand a 40 hour work week again, quit my addictions to cigarettes and raging alcohol, loosen the grip of incessant unpredictability. Stability has grown to be very boring, but essential. War rages as scheduled out on the western front...a foot plus of snow predicted for Monday HIGH ATOP A BRIDGE. SEE YOUS IN HELL
RAUL KENNEDY
MY RESIGNATION FROM 'MODERN LIFE AND LIVING' IS BEING WRITTEN DAILY, DAY BY DAY...THANKS FOR UNDERSTANDING-GARY WILDERNESS
"And the work of a thousand dreams boiled over into the soup, a cream of all things forgiving. The lasting absolute tragedy is still unknown." -GENERAL Provolone Jackson
I've never been to Montreal, from what I hear it's dirty, full of whores and for "those in their late 20's looking to live cheap in hostels or bum daycares." Someday I will cook skirt steaks and sweat last nights drink over cutting boards, roam Montreal late into the morning mumbling about Telluride and ancient black and white film festivals that lasted only for one despairing year. For the time being let's call Aspen home, home is where the fat is.
It's Christmas eve, the day before jewbear walked on the moon played synthesizer for the MASTER KEEPERS back in 2004 and was excusably hung out to dry in the sub zero shit frost of the primitive dinosaur valley of dreams. Screams where heard from miles as broken piano keys, BLACK AND WHITE fell like pouring rain. REMEMBER PROGRESS. NO LIMITS ANYMORE. ONE IS STILL NOT ENOUGH. But at times one can be just too much. Too much to handle, sometimes certain folk should be wiped clean from the play ground, sometimes, Thorazine cocktails are still not enough.
.
The (RMF's) ramble into the Gomorrah that is Aspen Colorado, America's riches little town. Small town mystique with a flare of uncontrollable money rage and old fashion greed. I'm not saying it's a horrible place to reside, it's fantastic as a Tour-on center for payments due and accessible social contrasts as viable as breeding it's self. It's like a burning painting that never goes out the art on the canvas never changes but the fire rages on, still as admirable as it was in the first hour of torch. Art parties are fun, camping in the woods like a fucking rebel seals my deal, McDonald's in the mourning like another sanctuary city in America is fabulous, pretending to be a surgeon on the bus is a hobby best done after a long and exhausting night of drugs and drinking. This is the loaned behavior of Ted Kennedy, surly and drunk...carried from Bar to Drinking House, where Hunter S. Thompson breathed cocaine behind a man using a newspaper as a shield all at the Hotel Jerome J BAR. Things come close, passing cars, to spend forty winks beneath creaking bridges when it's 5 degrees, howling nerves at all times of day, beers with the toxicity of thee finest malt beverages east of the Mississippi and better than the filth of any inner city.
(BREAK)
It's Christmas Eve. The Year is almost beyond, I suggest we relinquish what remains as far-fetched and hang from the rafters, be thankful for our collective liveliness and pretend everything is as splendid, as splendid as once heard; as the soup overflows thy pot and sizzles into the sucking vents of our forgiveness.
Going to post random shit bits from the WESTERN FRONT I have a stack of writings and a whole note book, some are dated others not. I will write them here just as they are written there. When I left Ohio I felt the excitement of fear, the opportunity of rage and a little sadness. When I left Colorado in a blurred rush I stacked all the loose bits and wrapped them with a rubberband. This is the first one, the one on top (I'm going in order of stack not by date)
Dec 23 11
Christmas Eve Morning. Sitting at the Aspen Hospital looking for free coffee sitting with a couple of Hobos. Chevy, the old man, and the other old man. At 8 O'clock we go to the day center and start cooking "I'm like any other guy---I like hardcore porn"-old man. Just another day working the streets of Aspen. Waiting for the cooking to begin. Just another day. We should write a vulture and say "lend and tell me what a whole I'm in."
Note: Eventually Im taking all these notes and together and filling in the peices for a book of sorts, these are direct notes and more to come.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
I was driving a Mercedes Benz in one of my many pain filled legacy like dreams last night. Slowly driving past interstate 75 and the approaching, dimly lit streets of Springboro Ohio, I found my voice monotone in dreary sound. I remember now in fact this was not a dream, and in true, I I I I was looking for a late night Applebee's or an Arby's made out of wood. But as drove on, my mind slumped deeper and my speech became more rhythmic. My car radio is broken. I was too hung over one morning to roll the windows up as it poured rain and consequently the motherfucker died.
The radio.
THIS SECTION CANNOT BE PUBLISHED
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX; more practical than floating barges of rabid crocodiles being herded by crazed shitless Islamic terrorists whipping them into the malls and deep into the veins of Manhattan. But(t) fuck, new York hasta be sick of occupation by now, don't you think? Rick Perry is most likely in control by now, slaughtered on SNL acting like a drunk and hobo addict. You know, the Banks and the Trends and the Strokes shit.
Operation Mountain Dew Pregnancy Test #5
Soundtrack: CARIBBEAN QUEEN performed by, William Ocean.
...would set the atmosphere quiet nicely. "I shit standing up. I am more MAN than you." The Kardashians will probably become heads of the NEW WORD COVER UP sponsored of course by Revlon and the New York Yankees. Derek Jeter will probably slip n slide into seconds thirds and even 5ths. LOOK HARDER. LOOK CLOSER. Wipe the fucking grin off yer Lindsey Lohan. Get ready for Cadillac drones with leather cockpits hidden away somewhere in the wet dry deserts of New Mexico. Giant Dairy queens in the heart of Darfur (when the time is right and the smoke is settled) will be obsolete when they build the first Chipotle on the Moon. But this is only the beginning.
Camel Ciggaretts and cold coffee, the way I like to do my mornings, nights and weekends. Too much booze leaves my ID at bars, chased down by hippsters that know my name. Just use an old debt card, the ones you have in your wallet or purse for looking cool when you open your folder of cash crops. Square it down all tuff like, actimg like you own the joint and order drinks two at a time. You have to realize basically your stealling, whats cheaper a 50 doller bar tab or a 23$ new ID. Easy economics. Buy beer for your friends, the trick is keeping a strong pace, must order two at a time. Like double doller burgers, coneys, pitchers of beer, packs or cigaretts, 40's, bottles of whiskey. When it's time to leave, just step outside to smoke a cig and slither away into the night. If the bar steward catches you just use your Id as colateral for the payment. You can't use this trick twice in the same bar or they WILL call the choppers on you. Do what you can to win the WAR. Do it for America. Do it for civil rights. Do it in thanks of the smoking ban. Drop Nike Bombs.
What had been talked about for months, including the idea of me moving somewhere into the armpit of northern Kentucky, Burger Mania turned into OPERATION BURGERSTORM.
(note. I have about 4 minutes to write this before the user of this computer comes home and curses me to hell, obviously assuming I was "handling thyself)
I took a month to organize and just a few desperate hours to excecute. My self and BlackJack Jonny AKA Jonny Cakes formerly and currently of many locally and would famous musical groups...FUCK the bastard is back. more to come I SWEAR!
...ADAM 12...THE GRAND DADDY...SUCKER PUNCHES IN NORTHSIDE...THAT GURU IS ABOUND...GERTY LOVES THE BURGER..."WHERE IS MY BURGER PAUL'...AND MUCH MORE. STAY TUNED. SERIOUSLY
I HAVE TO GO.
ABLE? HAVE YOU SEEN BAKER?
Ummm, the smell of underpayment, ass sweat and and the general feeling of discontent. I'm here to obtain a new SS card and by the way did I mention I'm in Middletown? Oh, yeah Im in Middletown and and it's feeling pretty good, sitting in a barn like building next to an vacent shopped out old REX appliance store the city is broke down like a shit-mountain with burning villages all around...whats that smell? Oh thats amrco/ak steel, smells like business left town. It seems a portioned majority of these people are looking for more money, more benefits or searching for a way to obtain total benitfits and escape under the wing of our governement. Reminds of that British Film MeanTime, when the whole family is on the dole and the younger brother gets involved with a bunch of hooligan skinheads, I can't remember how it ends. But im sure its very slaggy and the film just stops, thats how most skinhead films are. Some tragic end with no meaning illustrating the stupidity and futile exchange of life when in reality there is no future and thus no stop and no start. I get the idea of hopelessness in the city and in the country, things really do seem a bit drab and and totally useless when everyday is a hallow perception of the haves and the haves not. The daddys girls and the boys groomed to win sent off to parade their future and tend the past sacrafice of good fortune of their fathers. Rich people are pretty. Genarationally they dont do hard physical labor. Like ancient Egyptian skeletal remains, achealogists could determine class by the warping of bone remains do to physical labor and poor diet, thus determining who was worker and who was ruler. I don't know, the scene here upsets me to a certain degree. Old people applying increases in medicare B plans, workers trying to file for disability claims with doctor's notes and thick ky holler accents, scared white girls getting ss cards for license reinstatements and then me. Getting an official government print out of my ss so i can turn it into little ceasers pizza at the age 27 and probably make minimum wage working with high school kids in lebanon ohio in the year 2010. I think i need my fucking head examined or good speed and excersize. I have to make some shit happen and decide what the fucking crassfaded eyes of Jesus Christ am i going to do. I gotta get outta this office, i can smell my feet. Oh, great thats my number: B120
Giants lose, jobs found and lost simultaneously, good fortune lost in the sliding part of the fading moon, and still, “I thought you understood, what’s it going to take to win your love back?” Um, never mind all that.
If we look closer to the principle value of thee objective, perhaps the answer stands in the dark hallway and still, a STILL, a focused motion of water, translucent with crystal clear perception to thee bottom.
No thought or misunderstanding.
Lets be clear.
16 part dimensions of science, geometric value…if there is such a thing. I wonder. In these times of insurrection, trouble, and insecurity, do major leagues still throw Baseball games? Tonight seemed like a definite example of something, or some money sucker rube paradigm I was not aware of. But, in the long run, or at least the slow stride to the finish, my keen perception leads me down the road of guilty intrigue.
Why?
My hands smell like popcorn and all I can hear is the slow and unmasked sound of the alto sax. Oh for the Christi Christ of montage circulation lets let that sax make a song and for the peeling unrevealing altitude of your dear dead God. THANK YOU…
…Most of you…arrived late…Most of you…and I’m not saying all, but the majority took pool walks and danced in the bar without paying tabs…I HAVE…well…mostly. I have committed the same crimes of reputation that you have ALL committed…no terms of service allow me to retain full and undisclosed commitment to the people in which I trust…and to all you great and imaginative working class folks…I say…
“LET’S DO THE CONTINENTAL WALK.”
-HANK BALLARD AND THE MIDNIGHTERS
