Disemboweled Hindu Cows

Polemical tirades are fun. The whole spitting in the eye of God thing. Rocking the boat. Fucking Galileo, man!!!

Let’s tip the whole thing over.

But the problem is, it’s too easy to be outrageous these day.

Being outrageous is pedestrian, stuff for reality television, the boob tube. Atheists are best sellers. Hardcore rap is so…90’s. Andrew Dice Clay is a novelty act. (I think he always was) G.G Allen is dead.

Sure, I could draw a cartoon of Mohammed, but I don’t know what Mohammed looked like.

And everybody already hates Bush.

I’m getting older too.

I’ve realized that drinking isn’t as fun anymore, and that’s depressing.

It’s not that it’s not fun; it’s not wild anymore. There are no more forties in the hills above Sepulveda. There’s no staying up all night rapping. There are no boisterous proclamations about future artistic accomplishments with fellow starving artists.

It’s contained. Polite.

Now it’s all politics and talk of houses.

I guess the only thing I have left to rage against is myself.

Great.

Just great.

So I wrote a haiku.

We traveled these roads

Disemboweled Hindu cows

On 2 Demerol

Not sure what it means.

Not sure what the blind bluesman is hollering about.

Not sure why I’m up at 2:43am, writing haiku.

Something about the futility of trying to spark a fire, but really, about how I’m growing soft in the fire. Maybe it’s true. Maybe I hate Bob Dylan for wanting a picket fence, because I really just want a picket fence.

But still, late at night, there’s that craving to create, to set the sail and see how she blows.

You start typing and after awhile something comes out, hopefully.

That’s my yearning… to keep yearning.

Keep seeking.

Creating.

Now someone pass the Turning Leaf.

Los Angeles Spit-Cleaned

It’s been raining for a week now. In Los Angeles this is rare. It’s like an entire winter’s worth of rain in seven days.

I love it.

The L.A river is full, rushing, rumbling underneath the street, cars sloshing through puddles, the bridge drips water. The city is spit-cleaned, every car given a free rinsing. Worms and snails appear on the sidewalk.

The rain gives me a great excuse to stay inside and write, to watch the clouds build up out my loft window.

L.A is blessed with Mediterranean weather with sunshine most of the year. The rain helps keep things in perspective.

Malibu residents had to flee their million-dollar homes because the canyon walls were turning to mud. Giant puddles swamped intersections across the city. Rain makes us feel like humans again — scurrying, drenched, small things running for cover. Not to mention that we need the rain desperately. I put out all my plants on the balcony and they happily drink it in. (They normally get fed with shower water — I put the container in the shower, while it heats up, to conserve water)

Rainwater must taste like heaven to plants.

Also for the first time in days, I left the house to run an errand. I drove east, towards Pasadena, where I saw a rainbow for one brief second.

You can kinda see the rainbow here. But it’s already half gone. Already on its way towards disappearing. Halfway to never being there in the first place. I blinked after taking the flick, and it was gone.

I got out of the car, breathed in the fresh air.

For the first time in a week a patch of blue sky floated over my head.

The sun illuminated the edge of the cloud. The blue was a deep, sublime piece of atmosphere. Palm trees swayed.

Puddles on the cement began to shrink. Small kids peeked their heads out their front doors to have a look. I felt privileged to witness this eternal ritual.

It’s days like today that Neko Case’s ‘In California’ plays in my head, over and over, her effortless serenade on a loop, singing to just me.

Another suicide on the 405
The Black Dahlia she’s smiles and smiles
It’s the same old town that bled her dry
One more starlet one more time
Bound to make it do or die
Talk a walk to Bonnie Brae
Try to wash these dreams away
They try to tell me L.A is beautiful when it rains

I drove by a rock slide in Highland Park. Boulders laying by the side of the road. Like in our own lives, erosion doesn’t happen gradually, but in sudden bursts of upheaval.

In a few days everything will be cleaned up. Residents will be allowed back into the canyons. The sun will return. Lunchers will crowd sidewalk cafes again.

And I’ll be searching for a new excuse to stay inside.

Notes From The Ant Empire #6: Plane Crashes, Heath Ledger, and Who Let the Dogs Out?

Heath Ledger dies of apparent overdose on pills and the world asks, “why wasn’t it Britney?” Some people are saying it was suicide. His father otherwise.

In the Australian city of Perth, where Ledger was born and raised, his father called the actor’s death “tragic, untimely and accidental.”

All we know is that a talented actor is dead.

These days, everything you read and hear about is apocalyptic doom. The decline of the dollar. Global Warming. Islamic Terrorism. We should remind ourselves that we’re more likely to meet our end the old fashion way: Heart attacks. Cancers. Shot by an arrow.

We’re all caught up in a fatalistic fixation of some future calamity. Certain of certain chaos…

Lately, imagined death is on everybody’s mind, maybe a real death will remind us we all got some living to do in the meantime.

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In true Ant Empire bizarreness, Mitt Romney asks a group of black kids “who let the dogs out?”

On Martin Luther King Day! Proving my point. Mitt Romney is half robot/ half 1950’s sitcom dad/ half slimy protozoa.

Yeah, I know that’s a mathematical impossibility, but it’s Romney. The man’s amazing!

At first, I thought, Romney’s a Mormon, he doesn’t seem to be in touch with pop culture, maybe he truly wants to know “who let the dogs out?” Maybe it was just an innocent, sincere question.

But then he added the woof woof at the end.

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Two planes collided over Corona the other day, raining debris down on a used car dealership. In related news, there is a deal on a new Altima if you’re in the market.

Am I the only one that is surprised that this kind of thing doesn’t happen all the time? Fuck going to the moon, I’m shocked every time the 747 I’m riding in is able to lift all the ground and defy the laws of physics, at least how I know them.

More enlightenment coming my way; the reporter interviewed other pilots and they said the freak accident could have been because it was a clear day.

John Elwell, who has been a pilot for 42 years, said sometimes clear days can be more challenging that those that are overcast.

“The sunlight is the biggest problem because it is in your face and it impairs your vision,” Elwell said.

Put that down on the list as one more thing that could kill you: a clear day.

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When we were down in New Zealand and Australia my wife collected sea glass she found washed up on the beaches. I was recently in the Mojave and noticed the abundance of brown, clear, and green desert glass.

Pieces of Michelob, Corona, and Heineken.

Tales of our civilization will be written on bottles of beer.

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If aliens do come here to Earth, it’s obvious they don’t want to be seen or bothered. It’s obvious they want nothing to do with us.

I can’t blame them.

Inexplicable Shits I Give About Inconsequential Stuffs

Life is short — smell the roses. But roses have thorns and sometimes bees.

Life is short — try not to care so much about stuff that doesn’t matter.

That’s more sound advice, I’d say.

So in that spirit, I’m going to confess some of my more petty pet peeves, get them off my chest.

PEOPLE WHO GROAN WHILE TAKING A PISS

Is it really that excruciating to walk up to a urinal, unzip your pants, and relax your dick muscles? You can’t pull this off without sounding like you’re going to have a heart attack?

Seriously, man up and take a deep breath before the whole ‘taking a piss’ experience has you collapsing in a puddle of urine on the linoleum. The only excuse for this behavior is if you’re over 70 years old.

Old dudes are allowed to moan.

PEOPLE WHO MISPRONOUNCE GEOGRAPHICAL PLACES

Nevada has been around a long time, there’s no excuse for calling it Ne-vah-duh. It’s Ne-VA-DA. And it’s Or-a-gen, not Or-a-gone.

And this rule is especially true when it comes to places that we bomb. At least, as a citizen of the country which is unleashing chaos in their home, you could have the decency to call it I-Rack. Or, if you’re capable — ee-Rok. But never I-Rock.

As in, “My brother Billy Bob got sent to I-Rock this summer to fight the terrirists.”

PEOPLE WHO USE ABBREVIATIONS WHEN SPEAKING

The other day a co-worker responded to something I had said with “OMG, that is too much!”

I’m sorry, there’s no time saved by using that abbreviation in verbal speak. I wasn’t charging her by the letter. What the fuck!

(Not WTF)

And people who say HST, instead of Hunter S. Thompson.

KEYS BEING IN THE POCKET OPPOSITE YOUR FREE HAND

This one I obviously have no one to blame but myself.

It never fails. I’m walking out of the donut shop with a hot coffee and a bag of donuts in my right hand and I reach down with my left hand into my left pocket; but, drat, my keys are in my right pocket causing me to reach across my body awkwardly and struggle to unwedge the keys from the opposite pocket.

Maybe my pants are too tight, but this process is a lot harder than it sounds, and I hate having to regroup with my parcels. (I’m weird like that)

PEOPLE WHO DON’T RECIPROCATE TO A BOUGHT BEER

If you’re another dude and I bought the first round, it’s not because I’m such a nice guy that makes a lot of loot that wants to cover your buzz — I’m broke and not a very generous guy to begin with, and if I’m drinking with you you already know this — no, it’s because drinking is a social act. You should buy the next round.

I don’t even care if at the end of the night we’re exactly even. Let’s just not sit around splitting every round and spending a lot of time tinkering with math. That’s not why I go to a bar.

If I buy the first round, and you finish your beer and go to the bar but only come back with another mug for yourself, you’re a dick! And that’s the last free beer you’ll get from me.

PEOPLE WHO LEAD OFF SENTENCES WITH HONESTLY

Honestly, I hate this. Some people say it so often, it’s the new ‘like’. It’s become a meaningless phrase.

“Honestly, I don’t think it was wrong to get with Tim, it’s not like they’re brothers.”

“Honestly, dude, I don’t care that she got with Tim, I’m better off without her.”

Why do people feel the need to clarify a statement with honestly? It’s because they’re usually lying about whatever it is that follows.

Honestly, would I lie to you?

Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama: Ladder Match

So far this election cycle has been the most exciting in a long while. To begin with, we had the prospect of the first African-American and first woman nominees from the Democratic side, and on the Republican side it’s been the most up-in-the-air race since 1980.

For political junkies, this election cycle is like crack 2.0.

Dynamic. Historic. Invigorating. Full of surprises.

Tonight was a shocker. Hillary came back to own the female vote and upset Barack and check his Iowa momentum. If the election were a ladder match, they’d both have their foot on the first rung.

For those who don’t know. I like Obama.

What’s not to like? He’s charismatic, reasonable, dignified. He’s articulate, pragmatic, and inspiring. He’s the embodiment of the American Dream, while Clinton is the embodiment of insider politics. The only change that Clinton can offer from the past is her first name… and that doesn’t even require much.

This is her big change: BHillary Clinton.

Barack has made a name for himself, in a short time, entirely on his own merit, earning every bit of power he’s gained inside the system. When it’s over and Hillary is wondering what happened, she might wail, “just who do you have to sleep with to become president around here?”

Clinton’s achievement would be tainted by the advantage she received from her first lady “experience”. (I’m sure Gloria Steinem doesn’t endorse the idea of marrying into power and inheriting political capital from your ex-president spouse as a symbol of equality)

If Hillary Clinton becomes the first female president, it will be with an asterisk. *

I might get body-slammed by women for that last comment, but it’s not Hillary’s being a woman that makes her campaign so loathsome and makes her a heel, it’s that she has used her famous last name to get to where she is. Sure, she has credentials, but she’s never won an election as Hillary Rodham, and without Bill, her experience is exactly six more years of being in the senate than Obama’s. Big whoop. And when the going gets tough, as it recently has for her, she brings out Bill.

Haven’t we learned about electing members of these political dynasties? Bush, Clinton, Bush Clinton. Haven’t we seen enough movies that we know the sequel is never as good as the first?

The thing that is working for Obama, that the other candidates misrepresented, is that no one cares if Obama has enough “experience”. We’ve heard that argument every election and it’s gotten us corrupt insiders, inept phonies, and hardened ideologues.

Bill tried to help his wife by claiming that with Obama, we were “rolling the die”.

Guess what, Bill?

After Bush1, Clinton, Bush2, that’s exactly what the electorate would like to do.

We’re a gambling nation. Have you ever been to Vegas? We’ve built modern temples and pyramids to gambling. We love rolling the die.

And besides, after Bush2, what do we have to lose?

Electing Barack Obama would make this country proud; and help towards restoring our place in the international community and repairing our reputation around the world as arrogant, narrow-minded, war-hungry yokels.

He would be an inspiration to minorities, to community-activists, to people who, for one reason or the other, have a difficult circumstance in this country because they’re a different color, or female, or handicapped, or gay. He’s a gallon of fresh air to people who believe in the American Dream, and the greatness of this country, and in the abundant fairness and optimism of Americans.

Symbolism goes a long way.

And if it’s rolling the die, and purely symbolic… I’m okay with that.

If I’m entranced by his eloquence and lofty prose… I’m okay with that.

If Barack is going to have to learn on the job, and make a few mistakes along the way… I’m okay with that.

I am not okay with Hillary using Rovian scare tactics. I’m not cool with Hillary’s maestro of slime, Mark Penn, smearing fellow democrats. I’m not okay with Bill whining and blaming the media like he’s competing with Rush Limbaugh for lame excuse honors. And I’m not comfortable, at all, that Hillary squeezes waterless tears out at a manufactured coffee klatsch, surrounded by very sweet looking, motherly women in sweaters — the scene appropriately completed by the empty coffee mug in front of her — and the nightly news ate it up and, apparently, women swooned over it and voted for her based on her “emotion”.

Is this really progress? Are women going to elect a president based on the same technique used to get out of speeding tickets?

Gloria Steinem, about as biased as they come in this discussion, wrote in a New York Times article that if the roles were reversed, and Barack was a woman, he would be grilled for his lack of experience and his idealistic rhetoric, and would be considered too emotional by the public. Basically, she was pulling the gender card. And while she makes some good points in the piece, I wonder how it could have helped Hillary to be a man… I mean, in 1992 the country was not ready for a gay first lady.

I’m supporting Senator Clinton because like Senator Obama she has community organizing experience, but she also has more years in the Senate, an unprecedented eight years of on-the-job training in the White House, no masculinity to prove, the potential to tap a huge reservoir of this country’s talent by her example, and now even the courage to break the no-tears rule.

I’m supporting Senator Clinton because… no masculinity to prove. (i.e: she’s a woman)

Let’s try that statement around, Gloria.

I’m supporting Senator Obama because… no femininity to prove. (I mean, afterall, she is a woman)

But that would be silly. I’m not basing my vote on Hillary’s ovaries, or Barack’s black penis, or Edward’s pretty hair. I’m basing my vote on shaking up the status quo. You can’t have slept in the White House for eight years and shake it up. You can’t have the largest lobbyist base of all the candidates and shake it even a little. You can’t have voted for this mess of a war and even jiggle the status quo.

So here we are, the race is on.

On one side is Obama, young, intelligent, a uniter. On the other side is Hillary, divisive, semi-hawkish, crafty. She has shown that she is tough and has tricks up her sleeve, along with the power of her ground game and old school democratic support she’s going to be a formidable opponent.

We have a choice. Allow Bill to block for her, and Gloria Steinem, while Hillary climbs the ladder and grabs the belt. Or rush into the cage and help Barack take this country in a new direction, away from the politics of old.

I registered as a Democrat today so I can vote in the California Primary.

I put an Obama bumper sticker in the back window of my car.

I sent the campaign $25 bucks tonight.

Barack, I got your back.

Lando For Obama

Hell yeah, today feels good.

It’s hard not to get a little excited at the possibility that Obama could be our next president. Sure, he might not be saying a whole lot at the moment, but if ever there was a time to get behind a message more than a candidate, now’s the time, and Obama is the candidate. More than who he is, it’s what Obama represents — change, reason, diversity — that is so inspiring.

That may not be fair to the other candidates, but it’s what America wants, new blood.

We want the American dream back, and Obama represents it to the fullest.

The Clintons had their day, however much an improvement on the present it was, we don’t want to go back to the 90’s. She can’t lead us in the present because she has all that baggage from the past, she’ll divide the country maybe worse than Bush.

Obama is the future.

And the future is here.

A big win in Iowa, but also a big endorsement today from a well-respected figure in the black community.

Lando knows what it takes to topple evil. Someone who keeps their friends close, and their enemies closer. Someone who is crafty, wily, who can get inside their defenses and get pass their shields.

Obama has the force and he’s cool like Han.
Gonna get the nomination let’s get this shit on’.

Anyone else feeling good about this?

Happy New Year’s (Beautiful Children of Hope)

Raise your glasses to the passing of 2007, what a pissa of a year you were!

2007 feels like the year where we-as-a-people realized we were fucked…

Al Gore helped point it out. Of course, George Bush did his part conveying that feeling too. Even the tarnishing of Roger Clemons reminded us that our actions will catch up to us.

There’s a swirling mass of plastic debris in the Pacific with our name on it.

The dollar keeps dropping lower and lower, I think it’s trying to out-limbo a contortionist.

The economy is in such shabby state even some illegal aliens are bailing back home.

The culture was infected by the viral degradation of 2 girls 1 cup.

But tonight is not the night for laments and belly-aching.

It’s the night to get drunk!

It’s the night to kiss your loved-one passionately, and clumsily.

It’s the night to make bold Emperor Nortonian proclamations in the kitchen while spilling champagne.

It’s the night to take too many pictures that come out red-eyed and foolish.

Story of my life, huh?

It’s almost New Year’s in New York, I feel a dance-a-thon coming on..

Somebody put on some music and clear out the tables.

As bad as 2007 was, it’s over, it’s done, we can turn the next one into something better.

I guess that’s what we’re all celebrating — the chance to start over again.

We’re all beautiful children of hope tonight.