ivan

Trip: The Pleasant Plinth of Prineville Pissed Upon - Emergency Appendectomy Date: 4/20/2012 Trip Report: the following might need a little interpreting i confess - so sorry, i meet to give you a gift - i planned a trip to steen's w/ powderhound and it failed as spectacularly and grandly as an atlas-rocket exploding in riotous orange on the test stand! a long friday at work to be followed by a 1-day trip for the cool steen route on the other side of the dog-one plus whatever else we could manage - crazy mixup and i fucked up dinner w/ the family - found out my little brother was suddenly dying at my literal moment of departure from portland - bryan was kind enough to release me at the moment of truth - i came away w/ this little song-tale to cover the time, and hope, as he soloes hood, that is shall not cost him his hide the manuscript, scrawlt into the back of this beauty, was subsequently set upon and savaged by two ill tempered german sheperds, who like every member of that ghastly race, detest True Literature - i lashed the thing back together from its torn ashes, the dregs of which follow below never trust a junker! ___________________________________ the augors were poor since ever fuck a'fore a 4/20 friday before Prom - fear-cop emails for every federal employee? the full-flood of pheromone-fucked adolescence - a strong tide rip of feeling in their frenzied senioritis assemblies and half remembered days of "heathers" - The Big Fear of the Zietgiest crashing down Babylon's Shores papers - prime lecturing on the perils of cynicism to a checked-out populace - china contained in a nut-shell - a peering glimpse into the souls of modern slave-peddlers' children - jesus, you ARE a bunch of bitter bastards! promise of soothing recreational release to salve the soul - steen's serene prick ( round 2, after the snows and storms of yesteryear )! did you know the Red Baron tendered his resignation from the yawning hill of the here-upon-earth-types near exactly a century go this very day? heroes in half-assed golf-carts welded to balsa-fuck-wood kites. no wonder these men would, after the tumult of their decade, attempt to tame everest's top only to meet the same terrible fate. escape from easy employment - a plan adapted to changing purposes - sushi w/ children - a toast to times-going-by - fortune-cookie family abased to their good tastes (in bed) i missed the turn!!! i take the blame for it, but a few minutes opens a gap no i-phone can bridge across generations - a stranger's phone in shanghai-runes, a curious asterisk in my cellular-discourse of old you miss a date and what can you do? sit in the parking lot w/ burgundy and book for a minute or 2. i waited 30, then shook hands w/ hell, took the i205 round the portland-shell, to take time w/ the 'hund, in whose favor i dwell. gripped in the full-swell of a fable to tell, i sensed a night i might remember well, if i could but bend it to the will of a whispered spell. i made a mistake, it wasn't the first, borrowed a phone to inquire into the folks i'd left in the lurch - holy shit, was it Friday the 13th come late upon me as i lunched?!? emergency, emergency! all hands about that ship that seems to constantly be sinking! a brother in hospital, hurting, got-rot and writhing in the pain only a penitent man can support - desperate need interfering w/ my joyrides across merry ore-e-gone cold calculations - reptilian arithmetic a newborne babe upon the world, you've head this before! - sister-in-law w/ suckling a'breast, could i forsake my own flesh and ever-after deem meself a member of Adams' Club? jesus-god! sudden amid the clash of conscience! what if this was a few weeks hence, me amid Scheduled Insanity?!? that was sign and significance enough to turn my tiller True South, silverton-way, where weary miles could calm my Id city-center - tom waits whaling - then cop klaxons, sirens splitting the night w/ flashing, whirling lights - the treble-sin of the suburbanite-commuter - cut from my musings i was, on the setting sun and the signs i'd seen before in lands lamentably faded, seen now only through the cloud-murk of a century past. i arrive, feebled from bent-space, to the immediate Excising of the Offending Organ - a wife in calmly composed condition, just another day for the Children of the Lucky Chance - the 21st century, where only moral cowards can die of acute conditions. the medical men assured of remuneration - we rend the town a mile or two to raise the ancestral abode of the Sackville-Linthwaites, high on its proud hill puppies pissing themselves in their pleasure to be out'n'about in the mist-clad purple night amid the croak of cloud-cloistered frogs and frolicking barn cats, their eyeballs each a separate hue in the searching headlamp of a smoker's prodigal son - i walk them to the farm's gate - i know this place, this space of nocturnal-earth where every once in a while i've been Down by the Head, Sheets to the Wind, wooed by the chance of a sofa-bed! tale of chicken murderers - horror of their half-hacked-back-up remnants on the kitchen floor a grey sleep, gaunt before the mirror in the grim dawn, dogs howling to Get Out! postprandial ambulations - the shaping of a new course - my baby-whispering skills have always been shit! tunes in the hallway - white wine mixed w/ red and lemonade ice - sound waves wash us all - norweigian wood - yesterday - fire and rain and live dead always repeating - help me! swallows the same here as everywhere - what care can they have for death a day away when they flit and slip upon a wind of mist over stone, stem and silent sky? i look at them but only see i. w-h-y?

shit, i'd a been happy to pass on the wounded paperback i have - pat gave it to me, or maybe his girl after she'd had her way w/ it - ducktaped it back together while in zion, then this weekend wrote a lovely little peon to emergency appendectomies in the coverless back of it, only to have a pair of hellhounds lay into something vicious like - reckon it could still weather another satanist's possession

you'd like this book, if you ain't read it already - indeed, the modern hate-radio industry grew out of rabid religiously based radio stations in the early 20th century railing against all those things

why not just set up your own operation, a la hawkeye? when i was a lad we made "southern wine" w/ fruit juice n' yeast

seems more an example of crazy people creating a church then a church creating crazy people - i'll grant you there's a chicken n' egg argument to be made there - my main point at least on mcveigh was that he doesn't appear to have been raised in a psycho-religious context, going to public schools, for example, or sitting a pew twice a week to have fire n' brimstone rained down upon him.

ain't that the fucking truth - why the fuck....

anything worth doing, is worth drinking whilst doing

there is no spray, only zuul.

also a good reminder that crazies are almost always the product of religion. mcveigh's bio (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timothy_McVeigh) doesn't show him as being a church-grown crazy though - shiiiit, when you're from the south, you don't need much help at all to be pissed off all the goddamn time

...that muslim nations aren't the only places growing crazies.

have you been avoiding the census-man, spartacus?

i doubt you'll win any concessions there, joe - jesus, how many fools still believe the war you were a part of wasn't an ignoble defeat? ya'll can blame whatever/whoever you want, ultimately the fault lies on us all as it was done in all our names

it's only ever gay if you LOOK

yup, plus the rock-nasty band that's problematic on the spur in early summer is still w/n the freezing zone forecast.

shit...the cash is already there! good luck on getting the convictions. wall street types rarely commit the Greatest Crime of being po'po'po

let's see, how many cruise missiles could we have more sensibly obtained w/ that thare cash?

if you're going down the s side for the added views of the newton clark area cool, but if it's just to avoid descending the spur, don't sweat it - the exposure's all at the very beginning and if you just stay face into the slope (and especially if you have a 2nd tool) it's crazy fast n' fun

love that route next time bring more beer and spend a night just below tie-in!

not a good sign when your likely last major offensive is to "defend the approaches to the capital," is it?

well, to be a "bibler" just means to be a drunk, so gotta figure there's more than a few families running around w/ that particuliar appellation, and not necessarily by dint of dna

"Ignorant men don't know what good they hold in their hands until they've flung it away."

your mom? you weren't thinking you could manage an FA, were you?

yes that's what happens when you chase off the psychos...george bush's fucking wet-dream you fucking koch-suckers.

I look forward to doing fuck all and failing miserably with you this summer. I am excellent at both. that's b/c you never forget the plan B essentials

whenever i call my shot i strike out, so i'm planning therefore on doing fuck all and failing at everything i might set meself to from cali-forn-i-a to bretard columbia