Thursday, July 24, 2014

THE BREAKTHROUGH

"Evening upon evening, I would weigh out bucketfuls of equal sized balls of clay.
Barbara would throw an item, say, a simple cylinder.
My task was to make many, exact copies.
I rather balked at this, I did not see myself as some sort of industrial machine! I was an ARTIST!
So this was my introduction to zen. I would do a full day's work, then, after everyone else had gone home, I would start my practice. And after a couple of hours she would come back into the pottery, and chuck all my work into the clay bin. Day after day, week after week. until, one night, she only threw about fifty cylinders out, and left three on the table. She sliced them in two, so we could see the thickness of the walls and base. "Those aren't too bad... make another twenty, and I'll come back"
...The breakthrough came on a day when I stopped thinking about what I was doing, and my conscious brain let go of the motor skills. When I came back to consciousness, there they were, lively shapes, not lumpen, but turning still."

My friend Soubriquet, on his introduction to Pottery.

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

PURE POETRY

"“If the path before you is clear, you’re probably on someone else’s.
There is no fixed path to enlightenment. Enlightenment is not a destination, a goal, the resting place at the end of a long journey -that’s the mind’s version of enlightenment. Enlightenment is the lighting up of where you are right now…
Take any moment. Any moment at all. This moment. For any moment is the access point.
There are never any blocks - only access points. You are not some separate entity on a long journey towards a future completion.
You are pure poetry.”

~ Joseph Campbell




Tuesday, July 22, 2014

"IT HAD GOTTEN PRETTY BAD, MAN"

Back in 1997 I was out in my driveway washing the car one morning. My wife had left me, the house was being foreclosed on, we had filed bankruptcy and I wasn’t working. I had no plan, no visible means of support, no prospects.
As I’m washing the car, I see a figure a block away, jogging down the street towards me. I can’t see his face, just his size, shape and the way he runs, and there is something familiar about this dude. The closer he gets, the more I am sure that it is an old friend of mine from High School.

Sure enough, as he approaches I can see his face,and its exactly who I thought it was. He see's me now, and there is that moment of recognition, and he stops for a chat.
We exchange the usual stuff, what have you been doing, how are you, etcetera. We hadn’t seen each other in about 20 years. I tell him the particulars of my situation, the separation, the foreclosure, the bankruptcy. He tells me that he has quit using dope, and found a new way to live.

“It had gotten pretty bad, man” he tells me.

He has about 6 months clean. He has been attending Narcotics Anonymous meetings regularly to stay clean.
“You should come!” he says. He looks me in the eye, then up and down. He can tell I’m using. I have that vacuous look in my eye, I’m fidgeting like crazy and slurring my speech. I have all the symptoms and affectations that come with being a dope fiend. Because even though I wouldn’t admit it, I AM a dope fiend.
“You should come to a meeting” he says again “”We meet at 6 O’Clock up on Brown Trail. You never have to do any dope again Steve.”

I remember looking at him like he was nuts, and saying: “Aw man, stop doing dope? You got to be kidding me. Man, I’m going through a divorce, a separation, a bankruptcy and a foreclosure. I have no job. I have too much bad shit going on here to even think about not doing any dope. Maybe when I get all this other crap settled, I can think about getting clean.”

“Ok dude, whatever” he said, and off down the street he jogged his clean no dope black ass away.

It would be another 11 years before I got clean. I would go from divorce foreclosure and bankruptcy to living in a burned out trailer and giving up entirely. And it would take the State of Texas stepping into my life 6 years ago today to get me to a meeting, and to accept what he told me that day in 1997. “Any addict can stop using, lose the desire to use, and find a new way to live.”

Funny, it was 17 years ago I saw him that day on the street.
I still see him regular, down at the group.
A friend sent me a message this morning, “Happy Six Years Birthday” she said.
Us dope addicts, we have two birthdays, one is the belly button birthday, and the other is when we get clean and get to start our life up again.
I’d forgotten all about it. I take that as a good sign, maybe.
Happy birthday to me!


Here we are back in High School during Chemistry Class.


Friday, July 18, 2014

BULLETHOLES BUYS SOME PORN

The first time I went to buy some porn, I was embarrassed to be there. So I told the guy behind the counter I had been elected to find porn for a bachelor party.
“Maybe you have something that would be funny?” I asked him.
He looked at me with a fairly skeptical eye. “Something funny?” he asked

 "You know, something to get the guys laughin.’” I said.
He raised one eyebrow.
“Funny? You want something funny?” and without even looking, reached up on the shelf behind him, pulled down a movie and looked at the cover.
“Gazongas. This ones called Gazongas, haha. Is that funny enough for you, Funny Boy?”

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Bulletholes and Bambi

THE POST THAT NEARLY NEVER WAS. 
One of my best chums in junior high was a girl named Bambi. I had a lot of guy friends, but when I think back, I liked Bambi the best when we were 13 years old.
She was the only kid on the block that would play tackle football with me.
We spent many an afternoon in the woods and fields alongside the neighborhood hunting birds with bows and arrows, and collecting snakes and frogs along the creek.
On really hot days during the summer of 1971, we would play spades in her living room, listening to ‘Snoopy vs. The Red baron” and “Jeremiah was a Bullfrog”. Sometimes we would go to her garage and play ping-pong, or to her back porch and shoot some hoops. She always whipped me at horse.
Bambi, she was the worlds greatest Tomboy, and she was my best friend for at least a couple years.
We went our separate way about the tenth grade. I discovered pot, and she went to a different High School so she could be on the swim team. I went bad, and Bambi stayed on course.
She got married right after High School, and I was going to go to her wedding, but I got stoned and I missed it.
But a couple years ago, when I got clean, I got to thinking about Bambi, because she was one of those people in your life that was so special that you know you will always like them, and what with the Internet its so easy to find old friends and say “hello” and sometimes it’s a good thing to do, especially after you quit using dope for 35 years.
I couldn’t find Bambi.
But I found her dad, and after a year of thinking about it I finally gave him a call.
I introduced myself again, he would know who I was, and I left my phone number.
I was surprised to find that he returned my phone call so quick, and I didn’t get to answer it, it had gone straight to message.
“Sure Bulletholes, I remember you. Bambi is divorced. Her number is XXX-YYY-XYXY. She has had some surgery and she has Amnand disease now”
Now I was really surprised that he just came out and gave me her number. I figured he would forward it to her, and she could decide whether to call me or not. And it seemed like I needn’t really worry about this Amnand Disease, whatever it might be, because he didn’t sound like it was a big deal at all.
At least I hoped it wasn’t serious.
So I called Bambi!
We talked for an hour, it was like we’d just been down in the creek yesterday, or were about to throw the football a little, just like the old days.
I was relieved to find that Bambi doesn’t have Amnand disease. In fact, there’s no such thing.
See… Bambi isn’t Bambi any more.
Bambi is a man now, and his name is Roger.
I really do have to get a hearing aid.
I remember the day 42 years ago Bambi and I went to the local sporting goods store. The man behind the counter had said “How can I help you boys?” and we bought some arrows to shoot birds with. Bambi suffered through it, and laughed it off. It wasn’t the first time that had happened. It certainly wasn’t the last.
So, when I find out that Bambi is really Roger its no surprise.
And I promised Roger to keep his anonymity, but the story needs telling.
People would be about as surprised to find that Bambi is a man as they were to find out Bulletholes is an addict.

Wednesday, July 02, 2014

AND NOW A WORD CONCERNING WOMENS HEALTH


"I'm Al Alberts from the A.M.A., I say
Silicone implants are A-OKAY
They make small breast disease go away
And besides they're endorsed by the E.P.A

Hey, Ed Edwards from the E.P.A
Silicone implants are A-OKAY
It's true those things will never decay
But there will be a cure for death soon
I'm sure anyway

I'm Click
I'm Clack
For Triple A
Silicone implants Hey!Hey!Hey!
The cost of your auto, it will be defrayed
They're like personal internal airbags, okay?
That's my brother!

Gentlemen please, the facts remain
There are thousands of implanted women in pain
Address the issues, please explain
Lest our dialogue be in vain

Okay, it's true, the silicone slips
So it works its way down:  voluptuous hips!
Still a problem?  Button your lips
We'll cut it out and make computer chips

Yeah, well, it's weird but true,
The tiny little things are made of silicone too
So is glass and surgical glue
Put it inside for a womb with a view

Wait A Minute this is all too confusing
Silicone in everything, everything is oozing
Computers attractive to nursing babies
And breasts with an IQ of 3080"

from "Primordial Ooze III by Jonas Billy

Friday, June 27, 2014

GUN CONTROL

Summer, 1993
One night at about 2 am a bunch of us were partying over at Velvet's, just like usual. Suddenly the front door bursts open, and its some wild eyed dude, and in one hand he’s got a handful of some slutty looking chicks hair, and in the other hand he’s got a big ol' pistol.
“Where the fuck is JoJo!” he hollers out.
JoJo was one of the people that lived in the trailer there, but  he was was not there at the moment. Jojo’s roommate steps forward, her name is Velvet.
“What are doing bursting into my house?’ she demands
“JoJo been fucking my wife here!” and he jostles the slut around by the hair a little, and waves the gun some more.
Man, I’m sitting on the couch, and I just want out of there, ya know? I'm pretty sure that as crazy as this guy appears to be, he has a valid case because JoJo was fucking just about eeryone in the county, married or not, and this chick looked like she'd been around the block a time or two.

Well, Velvet, all this does is piss her off.
She stomps right up to him, grabs him by the ear, says
“I told you JoJo aint here, get the fuck out of my house” and with a swift kick to the ass,  tosses the guy out and closes the door behind her.
Man, we all just looked at her like she was some kind of badass, ya know? And someone asks her ‘Velvet, weren’t you afraid of his gun?”
Velvet gets this funny look on her face and says:
“GUN? WHAT GUN?”


She never saw the pistol. I dont know how she missed it. I think about that every time I have occasion  to say “I’ve never been in a situation that would not have been made worse with the introduction of a gun.”
Which has been a lot lately because here in Texas we have a  bunch of Open Carry gun nuts going around with rifles slung over their shoulders.

Friday, June 20, 2014

COST OF LIVING

My rent  went up 36 bucks a month. They want me to sign a new lease.
I resisted the urge to do what I usually do and go down to the office to raise hell and start asking in a whiny voice what they are going to do with my 36 bucks a month.
"We're replacing the roof" they will say.
"But my apartment already came with a roof didn't it? I've had a roof all along." I will tell them.
"Its a cost of living increase" they will say.
"Cost of living? Whose cost of living?  You are going the wrong direction here. If you want to decrease the cost of living you should be LOWERING my rent" I will say.
Of course, none of this makes any sense to them at all, even if it makes perfect sense to me, and the end result is that they just think I'm a smart ass prick, and for the next year we will make each others lives miserable.
So I went ahead and kept my mouth shut, signed the lease and slid it under their door in the middle of the night.

Friday, June 13, 2014

THE MILLERS AND THE NSA

These shooters in Las Vegas, the cop killer militia nuts that were run off the Bundy Ranch by members of other militias who , arguably, were slightly more sane than the Millers?
The ones that neighbors and personal friends complained about, and the cops went to see them three times?
Where was the NSA?
I thought they were listening in on everything.
What were they doing up there?

Busy watching Dita von Teese?



Oh, I know what you are thinking.
Why can't it be Kate Upton?

Or why not go all the way with Scarlett Johanesson?


Monday, June 09, 2014

I MUST HAVE FRISKED 1000 YOUNG PUNKS

I got pulled over one Friday night by a black cop. It was back in my Jesse James Days, so of course I had warrants. The second car showed up, lights flashing, and the black cop goes to frisk me before putting the cuffs on.
He grabs my belt buckle and pulls up, puts his hand to feel the inside part of my leg, and takes a good long look at my crotch.
“Is that all you?” he asks.
“Yessir”
He lets go of my buckle and says “DAMN”.

He and I just laughed and he put me in the backseat of his car.
I was very proud.