it's a cover up

apparently someone doesn't appreciate my point of view on god and satan's epic feud.

my friend/step-brother cody gomes sent me this photo, it made my day.

which is today, so this is my day being made, today.

two guns, and the meeting of ninja mike: part two

this is not an unfamiliar site in these desert lands.

an empty and abandoned building is as common place as stars in the sky, and just about as frequent, depending on where you're viewing.

remanence of civilization scatter the ground as far as the naked eye can see.

rusted spray paint cans, broken guitars, gears and switches belonging to god knows what clutter my mind and give my feet suitable trinkets to kick about.

a wooden fence, incapable of keeping anything out, directs you windingly past two ancient gas tanks, decorated with a cowboy and a davy crockett doppelganger, towards an empty kidney shaped pool and that sore thumb of a KOA building.

the aura of this place makes my skin crawl. something is off about it, and i definitely do not feel any sense of comfort, but my fascination of this place is unfleeting.

i make my way into the A framed structure, to witness what looks like a construction site half finished during the destruction part of the process.

holes in walls give a clear view into connecting rooms.

each step is chosen carefully as to not step on something that will result in the need of a tetanus shot. 

i now realize why so many spray cans clutter the grounds outside, as i walk the interior of this buildings halls.

crude messages and drawings of paint, muddle the walls "jimmy loves suzie" "hank wuz here" "fuck you!!", hardly a stretch from our primitive cave man paintings.

a solid kick to a stubborn bathroom stall door, reveals nothing more than a decaying toilet.

just as i'm about to get my fill, at this former gas station, i get a jolt to my system.

when in an abandoned camp ground stranded in the middle of nowhere, and you suddenly hear another human's voice crack the air, it tends to send a cold stiff finger grazing down your spine.

that's when i do a turn-about seeking the source of this voice, i see the silhouette of a shaggy looking vagabond staring down at me from the top door of the A-framed building.

this is ninja mike.

two guns, and the meeting of ninja mike: part one

somewhere deep in the mountains a subtle hint of a breeze emerges.

slipping between branches and limbs.

leaves and evergreen needles shake the wind.

firing off a harmonious orchestra of what sounds like a million rattle snakes tails warning the clouds.

the breeze runs through gaps and grooves of the mountain drawing speed and energy.

going from a gust to gale force winds.

flowing into valleys and across a desert plain.

it has slowed it's pace now and toys with a tumble weed, skipping it across the baron terra.

up and over a ridge.

in front of my own eyes sheltered behind a sheet of glass and across a vein of concrete raised above the earthen skin.

and that is when i spot it, exit 230, Two Guns, Arizona.

if the land could reminisce, it would tell you it's tale of fires, due to arson,

an indian genocide, numerous curses, and failed empires.

but the land can only speak to those who truly have an ear readied for listening.

by the looks of the dying buildings and scarred land, no one has cared to open an ear in decades.

i pull along the powdery red dirt path and slip my car into park.

i can't help but sit and stare at this forgotten child in the sun.

weathered away by the years of sand blasted winds.

what's left of stone and mortar built homes are sanded smooth as tan glass.

the skeleton with the least decay is an old A-framed KOA camp ground building, turned gas station, turned empty.

this is two guns arizona.

misinterpreted moments in history by paul rossi

misinterpreted moments in history:

so this biblical battle between god & satan was merely a dispute amongst roommates.

satan was always up late partying all the time, and god had a solid nine to 5.

they had a house meeting and the devil got the boot.

then satan got his own pad.

thus a heaven and hell.

the devil made his way down to georgia.

what i can not forget, i can drown

i'd drink myself into oblivion if i could.

i'd tip a bottle back so far that i'd rip a hole in the time space continuum.

if my liver could keep up we would go on fantastic journey's through the galaxy.

fueled by moonshine and other clear liquors.

i'd slip in deep and disappear in cloudy mixed drinks.

i'd have an I.V. drip installed to keep my throat from getting sore.

if my stomach could only handle the weight and balled up feeling in the mornings.

caused by gallons of hootch, and no food to absorb it.

i'd lace my beer with liquor, and that concoction with even stronger alcohol.

i'd miss reunions, anniversaries, birthdays, weddings, and holidays.

drowning each and every moment in firewater, just to watch it burn.

gutrot would be my nickname, and i'd respond with nonsensical muttered phrases.

i'd create an ocean out of drowned memories and sorrow.

i'd do this all, with bloodshot eyes.

because when you hit rock bottom, you've got nowhere to go but up.

and i may as well know how it feels.

pessimism

"In answer to the "Is the glass half empty or half full?" question, the pessimistic approach would be to pick half empty, while the optimistic approach would choose half full."

This is the picture and explanation for "pessimism" lifted straight from good ol' Wikipedia.

Well my question is.... what does it mean if you look at the glass, and think... fuck you and fuck the cup. i'm trying to get a fucking drink of water here, not psychoanalyze my life with liquids. 

better question is: if that glass was filled with whiskey, and you ask anyone i know, if it's half full or half empty... you'll get a resounding "half empty" response from almost each and everyone. i think it all depends on what's in that little glass there. not like this is "signs" by m. knight however the fuck you spell his name, and we are waiting around for aliens to show so we have a clue as to how to defeat them because some little girl doesn't know how to finish a god damned glass of water. and then you have to have joaquin phoenix around to "swing away".

however i may have read way to far into a simple analogy. 

drink up.

clinical depression

i'm really beginning to believe i should be treated for clinical depression.

each morning/afternoon i awake i find little to no joy in anything.

throughout the day i question the point of doing anything.

maybe a constant steady work flow would be a prescription.

possibly if i had something to do each moment of every day it may fill that void.

faint chances of happiness gleam in my eyes as i pass by mirrors.

i could stop and stare but that familiar look just comes back, does not compute.

i tried jogging once, but that just makes me want to kill myself.

and if i'm already depressed clinically, i assumed i should find another hobby.

i'd go to museums, but that causes more depression.

this is what art has become? lousy.

why isn't my work up there? it's lousy.

i couldn't make it up there anyway? lousy.

see depression.

girlfriend? friend? dog? maybe a fish? all expendable.

maybe i'll study some foreign language so the voices in my head have some ethnic diversity.

if it was up to them, they would leave me. hell i'd leave me. i've tried.

maybe i'll move to portland and become an author, they all seem to live there.

maybe i should start writing books first? which came first the chicken or the egg?

either way i'm not getting arrested for screwing the hen, again.

mon capitan

this is "the captain". he is 81. he was my neighbor for over a year. i really don't know how to sum this man up in words. everytime i try to even come close.... some other story involving him and his wife re-enters my mind, and it just throws it all off. i'll try to encompass him periodically through-out this blog, with stories, and unbelieveable wild rides. for example; timothy leary once tried to pay "the cap" for his services with a mason's jar of yellow sunshine acid during the 70's.  not too bad at all.

turn on.

tune in.

drop out.