[oh rig an all]
Blacken the Sad
-sad saddle
thus:
add dullen-dullen
sullen, sad,
addled in dull
addlin' sad sad saddle
ugh in.

Let me pause for tradition, get back to form--proppa form. The Cop Chronology is thus:
+4
+20
+3 (for which I paid $40 because I didn't have change and the guy was necio-ing)
+4
+4
---------
Gran T-totaler: 35
(They do tell you to act your age, now.)

I sat here in my nice hotel (for interweb) mired blissfully in technical administrati. 'Round 3:30A I was ready to try my luck again. And wouldn't you know...

Man on the street, with a lady, had them get in the rental, she looked out, said, "Hey, you know him? Do you know this man?" Sure, I get it, thanks, but I'm full-bore no-can-stop comewhatmay. I complained later when I saw the amount. We nego'd and she said she could do better. He got he went I asked her to stay. She did. Nice woman.

Came back to hotel after another cop for lack of another ambiente. I fuddled with this damn machine. This, that. Suddenly, a Girls Gone Wild infomercial comes on and I get very suddenly horny. (Didn't cross before.) Suggest we get some clothes off and she's nonchalently game. So we do some fucking. She moves that little ass tip-toppy. Maybe even seeturvy. Of course then, in the way way afterglow, she hits me up for payment. Fine. But that's the Cubana way and a little sneaky. She did seem, in a moment of lower member encounter, genuinely taken by some size, and when I dropped her off, her last comment was "Don't let a lady tell you you got a Vienna sausage, now."

Before that we swung by her son's house...to cop one last time.

"Hey! Surprise!"
"Oh, my land's sakes alive! What on God's green earth brought you here?"
"Old friends..."
"Look at you, you haven't changed a bit!"

So smoothly the day's desperate dream came to pass. And I have a funka-stem-ica to show for it.

Auhhmm, that flavor!

Flambe-ish, s'pose. Better than smoked salmon, chipotle, and/or mesquite flavor barbeque sauce; better than hickory dickory dock.

I defy all of France's chefs to top that waltz on the tongue, that tapdance down the throat.

Even Boy Ardee himself can't match.

[I watched Iron Chef in 1993. I'm on Chemical Chef now.]

FOR: Romance.

MEMBER SINCE: May 2005

AGE: 35

GENDER: Male

LOCATION: New York, NY, USA

HOMETOWN: Phoenix

FAVORITE BANDS: Neutral Milk Hotel

FAVORITE BOOKS: Stories In The Worst Way

FAVORITE ARTISTS: Goya

VICES: crack

CURRENT CRUSH: PJ Harvey

MAKES ME HAPPY: generosity

MAKES ME SAD: US myopia

GETS ME HOT: Smiles, interest, enthusiasm, confidence

I LOST MY VIRGINITY: To a lesbian who had decided it was time she tried sex with a man.

[[[In-us-k-ream]]] (@ special cr y y co

a pe rio d the re)

2:35AM, Monday 22 August 2005
"You gonna come by in the morning before you take off?"

"Naw, I think that'll do it."

- -

Now I'll have to do it.

[Of course I need my RDA.]

Call R., "Yo! What's up my nigger! I was going to call you see if you arrived safely, dog."

Pull-ups-on-the-traffic-signal runs to me. Takes me to the cleaners.

'n still I need the Corningwares, the Pyrex.

Down the block, Sp. kitty-corners to me with arm raised to sum-up the facts that I'm on the block and he didn't get a call. Premptin' a talk about the loyalty of men, and a friend too truly good to leave stabbed, I ry-itr8 the precons my side, esp/namely the existence of my boy and an arainjmint wit same, crinjing(jing) at the necesity of a clear, tough-breaks reminder (/slight exaggeration): I had & have "boy;" I come to you when he ain't around.

"Who?"

"R." ... "I don't know if he gave me a bullshit name at first."

"He got mad hair on his face."

"Yeah, yeah."

"I got the same shit."

But I already had ...

"I understand...first..."

Rest of the moneychangers slobbering on the corner. Latest hooker calls, "Hey, can we get this out of the street?"

Everybody wants a peace.

So, I'm sure you'll all understand and know what I'm talking about and believe me when I say that I wasn't meant to leave the crack fold today. It wasn't my day to go, to make that long and ardous journey, and Mother universe in her expansive benevolence--and/or the Holy Trinity in their forward-thinking (albeit trippy)TO/CC/BCC format, or, perhaps, Mu/ohammad the great Bedouin popularizer of post-bath wear and beyond, or, however you choose to define my higher-voltage power--had the wisdom to see that and put forth an intercessionary hand in my path. Had I actually seen said hand--and provided I wasn't too freaked out--My God! I hope! I only hope I would have had some vitamin E lotion on-hand to offer!

As it turned out, the hand worked in mysterious ways, causing the month to be mid-August (who knew?), the high-high (and for some of us even higher) travel season in which last minute phone queries after an economy rental are turned away time after time again with one of two late-mid August autoanswers:

- "We have nothing availble"

or

- "Uhmm, let me see here--it gets so busy the computer gets bogged down...."

Oh, I hate that.

"Actually, I love it. We're all working so much overtime, you have no idea. It's nice to just stop a minute, and not have fourteen customers yelling at me for an upgrade, God. Just not have to think. Like a mini-break. I haven't gotten a full eight hours of sleep since Tuesday!"

What day is it today?

"Friday."

The second?...Friday?...uhhv...the week?...

"Oh! Okay, here it is. Okay: without the extra insurance, and assuming you drop it off by 2PM with a full tank and that the inspector doesn't mind any nicks, dings, or dents, of course--the standard stuff; you've heard it all before--that would run you just a litle over $1600 dollars before taxes and surcharges. You going to go with the full coverage? Just in case."†

†Alright, alright, I'll admit the conversation did not occur outside of the (loose) bounds of my head or this electric publication, but the gist of it holds the truth of my life in those car-searching moments, and the $1600 price tag is in no way a fabrication. At least not fabricated by this fabricante.

So. Bus was off the list early on, being among the nation's worst possible venues for withdrawals. TrapperKoopered next to a stinkrag with a puking predilection and the conversational drive of...say...an egoist on either coke or crack! Horrors! The Twenty-Hour Torture.

Conversely, one--a one like this one me, anyway--can go well beyond a bland rationalization supporting the monetary throw down to borrow a motorized vehicle, and find in the open road--and one's hitting of it (especially out of a clostyferbotic big city), and the very volition and control that weak-ass drivetrain under your far weaker ass both gives and requires of you, but never without the promise of a trade wind to tickles your eyelashes and hushabye your sting. The tired, nonsensical Eagles song on the radio is pure gravy, and it gives you four happier minutes than you ever remember hearing strung together. Even the exit-eager fast food familiars are generous; you finally have something to which you can honest-and-truly feel far superior.

You see? Exactly. Part of the curative concoction.

But a window seat on a jumbo jet bound for bayou will do, too, dude. So, long story short, I rustled-up a fairly fair last-minute fare, and I'm oftenout high noon tomarra. Break a leg!, I tell myself.

I intend to do it today.

Wish me luck. Or wish me strength.

If the tags (Say! You know how 'taxonomies' in the hands of laypersons became 'folksonomies'? What about tags? ... Ahem ...) yes, I mean, if the cloud is to be trusted, us crackheads walk alone across the landscape of our grapples with the chalk chips. Compare:
1 person wants to do this…
get off the crack
to
SMOKING CRACK IS GOOD FOR YOU
YES I WOULD LIKE TO HAVE MORE MONEY SO I CAN DO NOTHING OTHER THAN SMOKE CRACK NAD MASTURBATE 7 DAYS A WEEK.

Everybody's got their goals, I guess, uemhm. Right now I just want to get a shower under my belt (perhaps better me under the shower without my belt but...you know). I may grab one more 8-ball for the road. Hard to resist while it's here, resistible. Once I'm out and don't have that decision to make for a little while...you know. Just let me hit the road here in a little bit. (While you wait and watch with bated breath, here's these--the whole list (as of today) of goals involving (a) crack (however you choose to define that). Enjoy me.

Search results
"crack"
Goals matching "crack"

1. stop cracking my knuckles 9 people
2. smoke crack 6 people
3. crack an egg with one hand 2 people
4. quit smoking crack 1 person
5. smoke more crack 1 person
6. crack cat 1 person
7. stop cracking my neck 1 person
8. get my back cracked 1 person
9. get off the crack 1 person
10. stop cracking my nuckles 1 person
11. kick my crack habit 1 person
12. quick cracking my knuckles 1 person
13. deal crack 1 person
14. stop cracking my joints!! 1 person
15. absolutely crack up every day 1 person
16. be able to crack an egg neatly 1 person
17. stop cracking me neck so damn much 1 person
18. crack a walnut between my butt cheeks 1 person
19. Crack the CATs 1 person
20. Get cracking with genealogical research 1 person
21. learn to crack an egg with one hand 1 person
22. smoke crack with jack kerouac 1 person
23. smoke crack and worship satan 1 person
24. be able to crack an egg with one hand 0 people
25. have my crack and sack waxed 0 people
26. get rich, even if i have to slang fake crack 1 person
27. Crack microsoft windows and make it desappear from the know universe (its ok if it keeps on bugging in the unknown universe!) 1 person
28. stop: picking my nose, biting my nails, farting, burping, cracking my knuckles, being gross in general 1 person
29. open a combination crack-cocaine/diet/liposuction/soap establishment(why has nobody thought of this before?!?) 1 person
30. finish reading books 2-5 of Harry Potter so that I can crack open this beautiful first edition of book 6 1 person
31. grind a roll of Smarties into a fine dust, which I will then snort to obtain a colorific high unlike any ever seen by those pitiful crack users 1 person
32. move forward into the future because "lost" is like crack. without it for 3 months i might do something crazy 1 person
33. transform the low-rent housing project down the road into a high-tech crack factory a la Nino Brown in New Jack City 0 people
34. eat lobster: crack it open yourself style and make a mess 0 people

"Every junkie's like the setting sun," sayeth Neil Young, Book of Canada Horse, II:3-4.

After all that commotion and freaking out--and posting it all so that I didn't get my shit together to rent a car before closing--I'm here tonight and getting off |God and a good GPS system willing| earliny in the more-more-more-ning. And I will at that point: will want more, more, more, and will get my funkskank assbooty out of here come hell or Vitamin Water.

So I phoned and rang my feller #823 of Odd Fellows Local #215-c002 and him come out of the hood to a place where the sticker price on the baseline model and that on the fully-loaded model is so a jumpin price that nobody can go without the load, especially when you consider the flagstone's aging propensity to tilt toward the sun. But don't worry, he was and is bling enough to handle it. He was excited to go to his blockparty.

Way home ran into a good friend who is ostensibly part of the operative>operational world, the one I've been holed-up, bunkered-down, and hiding-out from. I was afraid I'd get caught.

"Still in town?"

"Just got back."

"Should come to this thing."

"Think I'll turn in early tonight. Big day tomorrow."

I'd say a good 97+% of my days are a good bit (97+%?) bigger than the average bear's.

More importantly, I really hate lying like that. Really, I do. Crack can usher in it's good pals depravity and moral bankruptcy, sure. But, man, I just like to get high. I don't like to lie. (To their "Hugs Not Drugs" slowgun I say "Highs Not Lies!" Viva la revolucion.

But the crack's here (thoh Macksinquaye forgot a glass again, perhaps owing to my forgottion to remind him) and it's good. Delicious. Good home cooking, this batch. My compliments to the chef, or Aunt Bernie or Grandma Jackson, of whoever.

So, sorry self for the head-fake, sorry 'bout the blogsploitation of the blog citizens of this big, green world of grea(tness). I've got a teardrop of dirty electric pum throttling the backs of my corny-a's. The lids above have taken on a thickness that could be considered advantageous should the beholder be in maintenance of a classic Bogart aesthetic. Blahg blahg, you get the picture of imperfection glowing about my life, but lord the tranquility the rock my savior will bring, the peace, the comfort...it permeates my soul. (And occasionally makes me hot for St. Therese of Lisieux, Jesus' little paintbrush of love.)

Tomorrow's the day. I promise. No, really. I mean it this time. I do. I do. I do to you, too. Forever and ever, Amen Brother.

[an hour did pass]

"If you're going to do your lifelong goal of climbing El Cap...I'm going to have to fuck my nephew-in-law."
:said she

[[Maan, some wackass shit come out mi boca raton...well, regardless of the state of my personal temple nation, but (again: the obvious::) souped-upped-ly when I'm stretched on this c-rack, and I'm kind of fearing that blessed(, annoying) gift from g/God will leave me with the bath water. Baby come back to me; whatever will be will be. O, the tautology!]]

[If you've never pleasured at the pingueant spice aromatics of a fine Australian synj'd pupelt, a lifejoy and a lovetoy--yes, oriental pupelt behaves aphrodisiaxicadically no matter your preferred preparation--have been denied you too long. The Majik Of An Ozpel™®© (as the locals fondly labiate it) emanates well beyond the tanninique nose whose approached anticipates rugged walnut and warm black pepper notes balanced across the palate with hints of the winter garden vegetables so famous above the Northwest coves and brought to a smooth and satisfying finish brought on by deep, wild cherry and white-petal Mexican vanilla bouquets made exclusively for Ozpel Associates LTD by Coca-Cola Queensland Brands. Take an Ozpelt with you and enjoy world-class luxury wherever you are!]

Do not try this at home.

Do not try it anywhere.

^{"I'm going off the rails..."}

Hell, it could be Satan on the row, front and center, feet propped up4a good ol' time, and you'd be embarrassed before him, thinking how bad a person you are, how unworthy of his presence (quite poss'bly true regarless your current sin status).

But--if you're like me--you will never quite find it inappropriate (or such thatly enough), never lack the heart, nevermuch be able to keep a lidonit when it comes to the application of humor, preferably the direct, un touchedly irreverant, and self-effacing kind. I'm hammin it a bit. To get by and to entertainishly maybe---maybenot,maybe,may. It is Hamma Time, right now, after all, if ever therewere or will.be such said time aloud. [shrugshurg] The Reader's Digest says that laughter is the bessie medicine!*

^{* Maybe they just ain't never smoked crack, could be.**}

^{**Oh, relax. I'm given it as hot.}