08 December 2012

[Crumbled tattered note dated August 16, _?__?_]

      I suppose I'll write about this since I had put myself into this situation in the first place. Holy shit do we live in a fast society or what? I am all over the place right now... gazette, watch, gazette, picture of you, pocket watch, gazette, your final note, and so on, and so forth. If I didn't have these things to occupy my time, I would be bouncing off the walls right now! Even when I try to stop moving, I look down at the carpeting in an attempt to calm down, I begin to look for patterns in the fabric and then I begin to wonder what patterns could be found elsewhere: The letters in the gazette, the details in the photographs, the fibre in the paper.... It's absolutely insane. What will the people next to me think? ...Who am I kidding, they won't believe their eyes. I need to calm down. I'm only seeking refuge from what had to happen. It was a rough and rocky road to here, but I made it....
Enough about me, I need to report on this note I just found:

[In a crumbled dirty note, dated August 16, ___]

Dear 81st Anniversary at The Heart Shatter Hotel,
_ell, the man next to me did flip his lid a bit too.
He exclaimed, "Fuck the economy! I'm not paying for overpriced shit!" as he threw down some David Bowie record he [presumably] just bought. He was wearing an old raggedy suit -- maybe from the thrift shop or maybe even the "late-great" years, themselves. He had a cigar hanging on the edge of his lip, and a brim hat on his head dangling in the wind. Everything about him was flapping in the wind at the cusp of time and space. He was about to fall apart; explode into a fountain of crumbled and torn papers stained yellow with cigar smoke. His chartreuse suitcase had green and blue sleeves waving out of the seams. The suitcase had to have been dragged for miles because it was [SCRIBBLES] beyond repair. I couldn't imagine where this man had come from. After he had smashed that record to bits, he pulled out a notebook and began writing. He was a mad-man with the pen, almost etching rather than writing his thoughts into the book. He was writing so furiously that his hat had finally fallen off. As he bent down to pick it up, he looked over at me and noticed me watching his every move. I quickly looked away and tried to play it cool. He ran over to me as he put his hat back on and said, "Have you seen this girl?" He raised his notebook up and flashed a sketch of a woman I have never seen before. It was drawn precise and concise -- a real artist's rendition. She was beautiful, it was like her soul was indeed trapped in the paper, beckoning anyone who could peer into her eyes. The name "Liv" was written down the bottom corner of the page.   It's cursive lines wound through it's own loops and hoops which continued right off the page. It was written furiously like he had to register this name into the book before he forgot it.
I answered, "No, I've never seen this woman before in my life. She is gorgeous, who is it? Are either of you lost?" He said, "Whether or not she or I is lost is not the task. What is however is the fact that you failed to ask me what lies behind that page."
He began to tell me how he thought "she was the brightest light in his life because of how the glow wrapped around the door and hinges that lead to her bedroom." He also made sure that I knew he felt compelled to sell his x-ray machine because he could already see her soul. He said that she was "undeniable because she could dance in disguise behind walls and you would know it was her because of the way she hummed." I questioned, "What did she hum?"
He told me that she loved to hum Original Memphis 5 - Walk Jenny, Walk. "It was her favorite song", he said.

Walk, Jenny walk, 
don't talk, Jenny walk. 
Smile, Jenny smile, 
forget your blues a little while

Now prance, Jenny prance, 
don't dance, Jenny prance. 
Strut your stuff, 'round the town, 
pick 'em up, lay 'em down. 
Now Jenny Walk, Walk, Jenny Day, 
walk those blues away...

I asked him: "Did you study the English language in school?" He replied, "Who said that I received any formal education? I only attended night classes for wakin' up each morning."
He continued on about her eyes, hands, legs, and even her spine. He said it ran upwards "like a brush stroke." He went on, "She was a painting. An unfinished painting, but made of all possible colors here on this Earth. She was incomplete, unlike all the others."
As he finished his sentence, he stood up furiously and exclaimed, "There's no more time to waste! I've got it! I've never had the courage to speak to this woman. She's my neighbor in the duplex house I live in. I've never had the courage to talk to her before, but now I do. I understand her now.
Thanks..." extending his hand outward for a hand shake. I replied "____ [note is torn off here.]

Only the name along with a small remaining piece is missing. I wish I could find out more details. An engrossing story nonetheless. I'll be home shortly, I've got to go buy a David Bowie record and some paint.

21 November 2012

Letter crumbled in the cup

05 NOV 12

dear cathoreen,
woke up this AM not feeling too hot... brain cells lost in the urban jungle -- flushed away with the attempts at getting-with. it's a real put-the-milk-away-in-the-microwave-and-the-coffee-away-in-the-dishwasher kind of morning. cloudiness -- as cloudy as outside today; grey and deafening silence. clouds wiping the blue away like big windshield wipers.
me too, scraping for every last bit of socialistic tap-in, i managed to clamber on over to my work cell. it was there that i managed to hook in for the 9+ hour gauntlet.
eyes heavy, vision wavy, face expressionless, even catatonic at times. no way to pass the time, even for a time passer. my brain decided to grow forks-for-arms and start scoring the insides of my head in raking motions; etching phrases like, "you'll learn someday" and "you dropped the needle on the wrong record". society is one hell of a ride, woman. can you pick up some used notepads from the thrift store while yr out? i might try my luck with them.

-walter greenchild

10 November 2012

The Man Who Thinks He Can (Thinking)

If you think you are beaten, you are;

If you think you dare not, you don't.
If you'd like to win, but think you can't
It's almost a cinch you won't.

If you think you'll lose, you've lost.

For out in the world we find
Success begins with a fellow's will:
It's all in his state of mind.

If you think you're outclassed, you are:

You've got to think high to rise,
You've got to be sure of yourself before
You'll ever win that prize.

Life's battles don't always go

To the stronger or faster man,
But sooner or later the man who wins
Is the one who thinks he can.

-Walter D. Wintle

Thanks to Mr. Anderson Wallace [Detroit] - August 16, 2012 
A flight from Pennsylvania -> Detroit 

Anderson, a man of about the age of 50 or so, is a man that truly grasps the concept of life; a veteran, a chaplain, and now a social engineer. He is a true father-figure.
Anderson was traveling back home from Scranton, PA after attempting to pull his son out of a whirlpool of crime and ill-decision. He took a one-day round-trip flight to help his son in Scranton, being tried for a serious undisclosed crime to talk to him and try to put some sense into his head. Anderson was able to recite this straight from memory after learning it many years before, while in a fraternity. He said it helped him to get through any tough time he ever encountered. Now he was trying to instill the same values into his son before it was too late.
It's never too late to turn it around. I share this story with all who read this. This poem has extraordinary value and you should read it when you're feeling weak, underpowered, or in distress.

09 November 2012

Airport Terminal Drunkard

August 20, 2012

It figures that the one bar next to Terminal C48 is a Sam Adams exclusive bar. I had to walk, once more, past all the suits, shit-heels, and eye-lookers to get to the next closest bar. [I'm weird because my luggage isn't rolling behind me?]

The best part about all of this: At the destination bar, I still managed to get my beer served in a Sam Adams glass! I ordered a real beer, not a Halloween costume. The only good thing about this is that the glass is bigger and therefore holds more beer than a standard pint glass. Touché, you Sam Adams bastards. I'll be wishing tonight as I drift into sleep that this glass breaks in the dishwasher.

This airport bar is typical:
Wax paper rustling, a baseball game, french fries begging for ketchup come as a side for every dish, oh, and the circus folk. Gnashing away at their food like savages; couples aren't speaking; Facebook eyes; sweat pants and big asses. People who think they are owed a drink because they came from "X" state and they're rooting for the right team. Get rid of your persona, blondie. I bet yr an English teacher or better yet, a ticket-ripper at the local cinema.

From my high-top table window seat, I watched a bag fall off one of the luggage carts in transit from concourse X to it's connection. It sat there on the pavement as 2, no 3, other maintenance and transport vehicles drove right past it and even around it. Suspicious package protocol? Got any?
         "No one sees the bag? It's right there!" Instant bad day for someone.

Oh, here comes a luggage cart. What is it, 10 minutes later? [Looking at watch and rolling eyes]

This is who, and what, is handling your luggage. These people don't work together. Rather, they work for the all mighty $. Mere credits -- no intrinsic value. The only thing intrinsic is their drive for more credits. It's a dangerous loop of lifestyle day-to and day-from.
This is our airport security, or lack thereof.

Incident on September 21st

This ride is the loudest 4 wheels to ever roll across the Earth. She's got more shakes, squeaks, creaks, and rattles than an old wood-splintered roller coaster. The wind is screaming in through her vent holes and she's huffing and puffing with each stop, trying to catch her breath. There's a turmoil inside her belly and me and the others are wondering where we're all headed. She's just hissing on down the track -- everyone's giving dirty looks right back to this single-segment insect representative. Cut 'er open and she'll surely bleed cheap whiskey and foul language -- real "no-parking-either-side-between-now-and-then" shit. All we know is that she's swallowing down and spitting up all these people -- tossing them back onto the streets; some with cigarettes still in mouth! Some lady's things got left behind back there, along with her stench; something like wet and dirty plastic bags, yellowing from the outside, in.

Forget that "Watch Your Step" sign, chances are when you read it, it'll be too late and you'll be reading it from the upside-down perspective.

She just keeps on keepin' on and so do these people; falling for her same old tricks -- gluttons for punishment, obviously. Her disintegrating chassis of blood and sweat, flexes and twists with every score in the pavement, throwing sparks and barrels of gasoline. People driving by watch the explosions, staring. They're all crashing their Toyotas into telephone poles. No one can call for help now. Say goodbye to Mama, Papa, and Aunt Lou-Anne. The last thing you read will be the first thing they'll see when they discover your eyeballs laying 40 feet from the incident scene.


Random sketches of places past

03 August 2012

Migraine migration

Typed/tapped out, one can see it better. It's not very difficult otherwise but it's obscured, mainly -- A simple thing such as a sneeze can obstruct your perception for that one/two second(s) needed to comprehend. Well here I am now, and it's real. Open those ol' eyes up now, will ya? The spiders are still making their webs, the birds their nests, the beavers their dams, the wives their dinners... It's about as accessible. Remember Britannica? Just remember your resources and you will almost float above the solution-- hands free, I swear. Shit, you might even find an e-solution. Maybe you even typed it out!
Well, hats off to you. Lucky for you I never wear a hat, and when I do, I'm working. What can you source from this? That's not the question, rather what can the source provide you? Maybe an answer, maybe not. Just be sure that you are yourself, a constant. One cannot read oneself if the constant is adrift. A moving reference never works!
Insanity, perhaps? Perhaps. Thank you, hats off once again I guess. I'm not at work.

29 July 2012

Why does Wal-Mart sell meat injected with water and chemicals?

From: http://thewritingonthewal.net/?p=1353

Why does Wal-Mart sell meat
injected with water and

If you read this space regularly, you know I’m a tad obsessed about the meat at Wal-Mart. It’s not that I plan to eat any of it soon, it’s that I think people ought to know exactly what gets done to it. I’ve been following the story Wal-Mart suppliers gassing the meat with carbon monoxide for months, and I knew that Wal-Mart watered down its meat but I didn’t quite understand how much until I read this outraged letter to Wal-Mart CEO Lee Scott:

I didn’t take the time to inspect the entire meat department but I did look at a small sampling of those cuts around me.

Ham………….contained……23% solution
Chicken Breasts.contained……15% solution
Pork Roast……contained……12% solution
Ground Round….contained……15% solution
Chuck Roast…..contained……11% solution
Beef Fillet…..contained……20% solution

I have no doubt in my mind that this is (sorry about the pun), just the tip of the iceburg. If you carry this through, you will realize that we’re paying considerably more per pound of “meat” than the label implies. While we believe we’re buying a 5-pound fillet for $4.96 per pound or $24.80 total, in reality, it’s costing considerably more. Divide the price for the four pounds of actual meat when you subtract for a pound for the solution and you’ll see that we paid $6.20 for a pound for the actual meat.

Now I realize this guy didn’t do a scientific survey or anything, but Wal-Mart told the NYT that “a majority of its fresh offerings are enhanced with a 6 to 12 percent solution of water, salt, sodium phosphate and natural flavorings.” Perhaps they have their math a little off?

If Wal-Mart isn’t selling water in its meat in order to rip people off, what exactly is all that solution doing in there? Here’s Wal-Mart’s explanation to the Hartford Courant:

Wal-Mart’s corporate headquarters told me that all its case-ready beef (packaged at the processing plant) is 

“enhanced with a maximum 12 percent solution of water, sodium phosphate, salt, and natural flavorings. As a result, case-ready beef is superior in tenderness, texture, juiciness, and flavor to non-enhanced beef cuts and provides a preferred eating experience.
[Emphasis added]“

So let me get this straight. Wal-Mart saves money buying its meat from factory farms. Wal-Mart saves money by not hiring meatcutters so that they won’t unionize. Wal-Mart saves money by selling its customers water at the same price by weight they charge for meat. Yet they’re trying to tell us they sell meat injected with water and chemicals because we’ll get a “preferred eating experience?”

How dumb do they think we are?

From: http://thewritingonthewal.net/?p=1353


This pretty much sums it up: If you like being lied to, scammed, tricked, made a fool of, and looked down upon by corporate jerk-offs trying to make money; If you like to put money into the pockets of these individuals who aim to rip you off; If you like to promote the message that Walmart stands for; If you want to see all of your local businesses shut out, then by all means, shop at Walmart. HOWEVER, if you want to take a stand and show them that you're not a fool, then don't shop there. EACH and EVERY thing that you buy from Walmart will support them directly. I'm not on a vengeance to take down Walmart, I just want everyone to know the truth.

Do not shop at Walmart -- take a stand!!

04 June 2012

I Could Go

Today on the way home, I decided to play Oberhofer. Best decision of the day. It sparked an image indeed.

I pictured taking the album, or in particular, the song "I Could Go" and blasting it in a recently rediscovered old dingy theater with dust everywhere. Dark wood that resembles a recent fire maybe. I picture the bass from the song vibrating the dust down from the rafters making it fall through the rays of sunset through the windows.... Orange beams of light that feature the dancing and falling dust as it slowly falls like snow inside.... Play the song loud. I have a weird early version that lacks some cohesiveness in the middle part but it sounds fantastic in it's primitive stage.

16 January 2012



Holes in my coffee 
Holes in my stew
Holes cover the walls and under my shoes

Holes in my socks
Holes in my fur
Holes weave like She can, but not like Her 

Holes help the rats and
they even help the bats
Holes won't discriminate; don't need to be flat 

Holes near the lake
Holes by the pond
Holes cover the trees that stretch out beyond

Holes in my toothbrush
Holes in my comb
Holes in the construction site behind my home

Holes are wide and
Holes are much wider
Holes can sink a ship even though they're lighter

Holes can dream
Holes can sing
Holes can deliver what's never been

Holes will be holes and
holes will be Holes
Holes can be anything but they'll never be whole

Holes are expensive
Holes are not free
Holes bring to dinner what the judge can't see

Holes can jump
Holes can play dead
Holes don't help the cold 'round my bed

Holes are hard workers
Holes are for hire
Holes can fulfill your every desire

Holes gamble your money
Holes win it back
They'll steal yr woman when you turn your back

Holes can have eyes and
Holes can have ears
Holes can create the evidence; put you away for years

Holes read novels
Holes read journals
Holes make the stuff that the priests call eternal

Holes in my hair
even Holes in my chair
there's Holes in my family, they're everywhere!

-Terrapin Jess