ASK iAN * GETTING THERE…. .*
My taxi showed up. 333. A man from Yemen who had gone through hell to get himself and his family to the land of Sunshine. I told him i didn't dig how we were over there bombing the place under the radar of the media. He became quiet and i went back to drinking my beer outta my diet 7 Up can. Virgin airline was a breeze. My friend who lives in his car was right on time picking me up from the airport and we went into the city of Los Angeles shooting through the bad drivers until we reached the liquor store and got some cold ones...we stood outside watching the poor pass by...as we stood in a bush where somebody once slept or hid from the police...the kid should be a model...but he can't...doesn't know the right people, nor was he born into the know. We went to another shoppe to use the pisser...they wouldn't let me so my friend stole me some candy and we split. On another day he found me at the eye patch tavern and he took me to find my bag i had lost...it was no good, so we hit melrose to eat and drink at the last place i saw Michael Been crossing the street and waving to me. We ordered good food, cerveza and tequila from a black skull. We hit Wasteland looking for jeans...i had recently ripped a hole in my nuts and not being a fan of underwear, i needed jeans badly. We found no jeans but only a rumble fish v neck. Whomever had that shirt before me had the body odor of a gorilla in heat...and the febreeze they used to wash it wore off quick, so i was stuck in a shirt that smelled like a heavy duty gorilla tampon...which didn't mix too well with my biker stink booth with burned out Dr. Scholls inserts now reduced to confetti from walking. i don't even remember which day it was but i think it was the same day...we went to the Rainbow butt grill. Metal tits, butt rock spaz action, cool old timers, sizzle nutz, headbangers, vampires, audacious tit lickers and No Lemmy. We watched everyone in slow motion, i think i had a mini nervous breakdown and then my friend dropped me at the Roosevelt Hotel where i was told that since i wasn't a rich rap star i would have to split...so i walked out with the whores and tried to hail a cab, but because i wasnt going to beverly hills or the hollywood hills i was considered less than a plastic bag. One nice fella offered to help as a rapper screamed he had forgotten where he parked his benz...we flew the fuck out of there...every place was booked...no vacancy...was the Olympics in town again? We finally found a place quite ghastly...and since i don't speak bullshit or snake, the driver had to translate...the price was culprit...i got a room. A non smoking room. They didn't want my cigarettes fucking up the feng shui of the bed with the dried cum pillows, whiskey stained curtains, a bog from 1929 and a window view delightful for somebody who jacks off to street urchins and bums. The next day i had to pay a key deposit to get my i.d. back...instead of getting my deposit back for returning the key. Fancy that new sly trickery. Then i got burned at the Walgreens trying to top up my phone card...Walgreens twice in a day is enough to put me in a fairly foul fuckun' mood...I went to drink a few pints of black at the local zen garden...black is cider with a dash of raspberry and while i am drinking my little drink under the sun with a silk cut....a fucked up bleeding crack head sits next to me and i try to calm him down with kindness, a soft voice and a sprankle of wisdomatiqes...i give him some silks and a glass of ice water and go inside after speaking to him for 15 minutes...he follows me inside wanting more soft talk...but is told he has to go....and he did...have to go...but only God knows where...poor soul. After that i saw a 17 year old black boy lying on the street high as fuck who then got up and grabbed his head and ran into traffic...he was wearing nice clothing...so what kind of designer drug was he On? The girl next to me with a camera that could have fed the entire block with it's price tag still had her lens cap on which pissed me off...People...a camera is a weapon of choice...maybe if we document a few things, we can ask some questions that need answers to like any decent journo...like what is fucking up all these kids? I left that scene only to give 5 bucks to a poor tiny little chap from the middle east who it was quite obvious was homeless and hurt and scared....he pulled out a tiny flash light and a little packaged screwdriver trying to offer them in thanx...then looked at them like he recognized the shapes but didn't know what they were...i left in sorrow and defeat...as somebody from the store told him to take his ass and hit the road, jack. Broken People all over the city....under the brights of designer clothing lights, owned and operated by designer people...and if You think it's Karma that rewards a retail employee at Marc Jacobs or punishes a 90 pound brown skinned weakling from a country far far and away...You my friend, don't know what the fuck yer on about. If there is such a thing as karma and god...they've both perhaps got dyslexia when it comes to reading souls. Not having my own weapon of choice...my laptop, cause it's a big fuck all oldie i don't wanna truck around...i only had my phone...the one where they are trying to jive me with the cash numbers based on their made up laws...it's the kinda phone where the people who are killing people for their phones today? Those Killers? They would steal my phone and before stabbing or shooting me...stop and feel bad because my phone is so sorry arsed that i do believe they would supply me with one of their stolen phones and maybe even drop a twenty dollar bill on me and wish me good luck...that is how silly my phone is. I see the broken people i see the designers i look for the flowers Killing the day as the day is killing me i get a hold of Babe Shadow...i can catch a ride on the bus! i just gotta meet him at 10pm at Bukowski's Hollywood home away from home and at 10pm i am there and Inside i feel fine...i drink with a black girl standing 6 foot two...i buy her a fruity drink and she shows me her children's names...one on each tit. i play her Terrence Trent D'arby's Sign Your Name Across My Heart...She adores it. Then on comes Crown of Thorns by Mother Love Bone...but i didn't play it...one of my favorite songs and a few minutes into the song...in walks Robert Levon Been holding my Lost bag! Let's Go he sings* That's not karma That's my brother. Outside we take a van to a place where tumbleweeds blow around at Midnight. On the bus...there is Leah and Pete and Ben and a Driver who knows a thing or two about Life... The bus drives into the night...there is olden time music from many dead and loverly women singers from the twilight past... We pull into one of those ghost highway truck stops...and go inside...we know what we need, but not what we are looking for and i love this late night light* On our way to San Francisco...so good to get out of the city of so called angels* Homlessness & Death are never too far away for any of us...then again...the same goes for Joy and Accomplishing Your dreams...and maybe just maybe...being Loved.