Thursday, March 7, 2013

Why I like animals more than I like people...




Well… because they are loyal. They greet you when you come home. They don’t use abusive language. They don’t care about your looks, or what you do for a living. They don’t care about getting old. They don’t care about your race, or your gender, or what sex you’re attracted to… and they don’t care if you’re handicapped. They don’t care about the deficit, or the NASDAQ, or what brand of car or handbag you own.  They don’t care who is who.  They don’t care about money and hold no greed. They don’t give a shit about Freud. They don’t do drugs, nor are they alcoholics. They don’t pretend to be better than you, or pretend to be something they’re not… they act as is.  They don’t preach bullshit, nor do they practice hypocrisy. They don’t make unfeasible promises, or constant excuses. Their smiles are authentic. Their affection is authentic. They don’t flake. They are steadfast... and they love trees. They don’t care about politics, nor do they use weapons of mass destruction.  They don’t bitch about nonsense.  They don’t break the law.  They don’t turn on you.  They don’t lie, or cheat, or steal (well, sometimes they steal). They don't pollute the environment, or trash the ocean, or perform harmful tests on each other.  They don’t dwell on the past and act like victims, when in reality, they actually ARE the victims. They love the simplest of things; such as string, a cardboard box, or a ball… and of course, table scraps. They love watching birds. They are cognizant, and do not commit acts of war, murder, or rape.  They have no religion, and don’t care what you engage in. They are self-conscious, but hold no ego. They love sunshine. They are snuggly soft. They do not bring superfluous drama to your life; rather, they bring unadulterated, unconditional love… and pure heartfelt comedy. They have extraordinary personality.  They are innocent.  They can be jealous, but hold no malice. They often protect you, and in return, they rely on sanctuary. They have feelings. They are content. They are heart and soul.  They are what proper love should be. They are family. They are beautiful.

Are you a dog or a cat person?  Fuck You… I’m an animal person.

The end.

Thursday, February 7, 2013

My Tic Tac (1999 - 2013)

My view when I'd wake up.


My Tic Tac was adopted from the San Francisco SPCA in 1999, and has lived in five cities since. He loved vanilla ice cream, fresh water, and clam. He used to take shortcuts to get to the other side of where he was going, and scratched my furniture (and legs) getting there… and he often jumped on my chest. It hurt. I would scream, “TIC TAAAAAAAAAAAC!” He’d get scared, and run in place before he scrammed… just like a cartoon character. He continued to “shortcut” anyway. Sometimes he would relax in the empty bathtub. Whenever he got into mischief, and I caught him, we’d have a full Mexican stare down… sometimes we’d get in staring contests too. He always won. He had the cutest paws ever… and he used to lay on his back spread eagle, and just chill. He was the fluffiest. The dudes thought he was a cool cat… but Tic Tac didn’t feel the same about them. He was observant. He was a fat duck too. He used to smother the shit out of me, and would cock block the other cats from my love… and from the kitty litter. He was jealous of my iPhone. He was the most affectionate, loyal, lovable, soft, snuggly, eccentric, and peculiar cat I’ve ever known. He was human to me (though, I cannot say I’ve met a human who could provide such authentic, innocent, loyal, unconditional love as pets do). I wish everyone who came over could’ve seen the softer side of Tic Tac that I knew. He was traumatized, and as a result, Tic Tac was a total dick to anyone who crossed his path. Hence, the nickname, “Dick Tac.” My friend, Kevin, brought him steak once and tried to feed it to him, but Tic Tac python hissed and tried to sucker punch him with his claws. He only bonded with me, and that was special.  He used to get dry mouth when he was nervous, and he was a total mama’s boy. I was his mom. He always looked at me longingly, and greeted me with constant meows when I'd come home, and pucker his big whisker cheeks like the Cadbury Bunny... and he always made these affectionate breathing sounds when I'd embrace him.  When this stopped, I knew something was wrong.  When he got sick, our roles reversed and I smothered him. I became his nurturing full-time caretaker, and had to clean his paws and bung more than once daily. I gave him injections and pills; syringe fed him; carried him to the cat litter, and with me everywhere in the house. I bestowed upon him non-stop love and affection. I didn’t hang out and socialize, so I could be with Ticky. I didn't mind, and wanted to keep him for longer. I still haven’t adjusted, and think I’m going to see him when I wake up, or come home from work. My heart still feels empty without him… and that is no bueno. RIP, my sweet baby boy.  



That's all.

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Things I Love...



I love the ocean and birds… and summer solstice, and the Paris sky, and the smell of campfire, and flying squirrels, and the mandolin, and hot baths, and Shakespeare’s Sonnet XXIX, and angel food cake, and Klimt's Water Serpents, and Marc Chagall, and Jack White, and Chewbacca, and unicorns, and Hal Ashby, and fresh mango, and ripe nectarines, and hamster style, and weeping willows, and rainbows, and snax, and getting my back tickled, and Philip Glass, and acrobats, and Fonzie, and the Dalai Lama, and potato sacking, and doing cannonballs, and Cha-Ka, and Nam music, and puffy clouds, and pump-action rifles, and the full moon, and Blue Nude (both Matisse and Picasso's), and 60's & 70′s architecture (and music & films), and Magnum P.I., and Spock, and Henry Miller’s demeanor, and fresh basil, and playing Naked Twister, and Nutella Crêpes, and trying to speak German, and tuck n’ roll, and Led Zeppelin, and schweddy balls, and thunder & lightning storms, and Erik Satie’s Gymnopedie No.1, and the Boogie Nights soundtrack, and cooking, and baking too, and Harleys, and whistling Dixie, and Easy Rider, and le tuck tuck triple, and Navy SEALS, and Forrest Gump, and margaritas, and sunsets, and technology, and Graceland, and driving through the Utah Desert whilst listening to Simon & Garfunkel... and Creedence, and watching the sunrise in a vast cornfield, and Oahu’s North Shore, and my bed, and riding my bike, and calling my friends ‘fuckin bitch’ with a redneck voice, and my casa, and free balling, and taking valium before flying across the pond, and disco dancing, and midgets, and Für Elise, and Christmas, and honesty, and driving up the coast, and Herman Munster (& Hesse), and Suite: Judy Blue Eyes, and cran-grape juice, and the Louvre, and all beaches, and feather boas, and animals, and yoga, and traveling, and eating like Lucan, and Leo Carrillo State Beach, and red grapes, and catnip, and Thin Lizzy, and enlightenment, and Salvador Dali, and eBay, and raccoons, and the Florida Keys, and rainier cherries, and telling people I know Swahili, and shooting stars, and Keef, and Nick Cave, and Prague, and Badder Santa, and dirty bunny costumes, and climbing poles, and hiding in trees, and hiking, and New York Fashion Week, and the Heimlich Maneuver, and Aphrodite, and MoMA, and imitating Al Pacino, Mike Damone… and that sleazy German guy in “Hot Dog the Movie,” and being totally pumped, and 'Morning' by Maxfield Parrish, and Iggy Pop, and speaking in riddles, and singing in the car, and solitude, and caution & danger tape, and vampires, and beauty products, and dancing in the rain, and semi-automatic pistols, and dolphins, and the Grand Tetons, and the Redwoods, and the Rocky Mountains, and Roof Chicken, and taking photos, and composition, and mischief, and fresh baguettes, and Malibu, and Christopher Walken, and Nigel Tufnel, and Chris Isaak, and London, and nostalgia, and yodeling in the mountains, and conga drums, and teaching my nephew air drums, and New York City, and garlic, and crank calling, and Ben Orr, and Use Your Illusions I & II, and drinking coffee at 4am, and red heels, and shenanigans, and frothy espresso, and acting hinky, and knockout rum punch, and Jack Kerouac, and Sex and the City, and the violin, and pretending I know how to play the piano, and cats, and Achilles Last Stand, and lying in tall fields of grass, and Kris Kristofferson, and writing about nonsense, and Wuthering Heights, and karate, and Montana, and black underwear, and laughing so hard that coffee comes out of my nose and feathers come out of my ears, and Pink Floyd, and "Ruby Tuesday," and microdermabrasion, and fairies, and angels, and the way of Zen, and horse pills, and NOLA, and Chinese downhill, and not killing spiders, and making gold records, and Oscar Wilde, and wearing skirts, and stroopwafels, and Fellini, and Wayne & Garth, and Viggo, and going to ball games, and telling tall tales, and streaking, and Hemingway, and firemen, and 80’s Metal, and Thai food, and Neil Young, and dressing up for Halloween, and power tools, and making out, and doing "Supa-Star," and Holland Gouda, and wishing I was in Costa Rica or Fiji, and brunch, and Bloody Mary’s, and the Golden Rule, and the Bandit, and roadies, and being a vegetarian, and Terrence Malick’s visual masterpiece, “The Tree of Life,” and feeding the ducks, and skiing, and being a baller, and home surgery, and astrology, and solving crimes, and going to the movies, and jesters, and going to concerts, and mosaic tile, and doing the Kenickie in my underwear, and cafes, and pubs, and Trader Joe’s, and water, and Austria, and blood oranges, and dinner parties, and playing the slots, and trickery, and spontaneous acquiescence, and telling people to bounce, and "Blow-Up," and my special homemade sangria, and butterfly kisses, and skinny dipping, and Travis Bickle, and picnics, and red wine, and pasta, and googly eyes, and Joshua Tree, and smoothies, and pistol whipping, and loyalty, and cinnamon, and road trips, and sammiches from Europe, and poetry, and heroes, and water sports, and Crème Brulee, and gallivanting, and naps, and Marc Bolan, and Pachelbel’s Canon, and dry humping, and spooning, and forking too, and nerd glasses, and integrity, and Belgian pints, and chivalry, and sea donkeys, and having mad skillz, and America’s National Parks, and Elvis, and my Tic Tac, and… My Dad. And other things too…




"I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free."
~ Michelangelo



Wednesday, July 25, 2012

The Right to Bear Arms?



Sure, this is our Second Amendment right in America.  In the last few years though, the Supreme Court made some decisions regarding these rights… being that, the foundation is set for self-defense in the home.  This is your “natural right” being a citizen of the US of A, but should existing laws be stricter and change due to too many tragic shooting events?  Or should gun control laws be more lenient, as a means to self-defense in public?  As Sarah Palin so eloquently states, “Bad guys don’t follow laws.”  Thanks Sarah, for your intellect.  Totally different subject, but the equivalent goes for abortion laws.  Outlawing abortion will only escalate illegal abortions, because, “Bad girls don’t follow laws.”  Though, if our gun laws were in fact a little more lenient, then we could just shoot the nurses and doctors in the head, and/or blow up the clinics.  I’m sure that’s what Jesus would want anyway.  So yeah, I know it’s easy to acquire guns illegally, just as it is to score drugs… but should we be able to legally protect ourselves in public against gun-toting violent predators?  Sounds somewhat rational… but maybe we should leave this to the authorities, as America has changed dramatically since 1791.  Right?  (Mind you, I know the authorities aren't always up to par... but usually in tragic situations of the mass, they do their job).  Our world is over-populated with intelligent responsible citizens… as well as citizens who are dipshits.  These “dipshits” legally roaming the states carrying firearms scares the bejesus out of me for true... As it should you. I mean, c’mon, this isn’t the Wild West… there is this thing called law & order that we, as a society, have evolved into.  Or I would like to think we have.  (However, I don’t recommend proving this speculation in "certain parts" of the land of the free and home of the brave. Just sayin’).  But should intelligent responsible citizens with no criminal record be allowed to carry firearms legally?  No.  Hell no.  I’ve seen the best of people turn bat shit crazy from road rage alone (a major non-perk in Los Angeles).  The Trader Joe’s parking lot could turn into bloodshed… and I certainly wouldn’t want to be in the middle of a drunken bar brawl, or be around a hungry man who got the wrong order at the local Chick-fil-A, after his wife just left him for a hot Nascar driver.  I think going to a frat party on a college campus would be pretty cool, it the frat brothers were armed.  Isn't that an invitation for date rape? I guess I could bring my gun to the party though... to protect myself.  I’m not trying to make a joke of this… it’s true, it just takes one person, decent or not, to snap.  As for the controversy of being able to protect yourself in an unfortunate mass shooting incident… Well, guess what… I’m just thinking aloud here, but I really do believe fighting fire with fire would turn into utter mayhem, resulting in even more deaths and injuries… especially, perhaps, in a barely visible, dark theater filled with tear gas.  I can only imagine all the non-trained, wannabe heroes, pumped for action… just looking to save the world.  Yeah, color me stupid for believing this.  Overall, it really isn’t that difficult to go through the process of getting a gun permit and owning your very own shiny weapon or weapons plural.  I could just sum this up in one sentence:  guns are dangerous.  If you feel the need to go shooting, there are many facilities where you can do so safely… or maybe go to a desolated area and shoot up your leftover Coors cans (but please stay away from Bambi.  Please?)  If you want to play cop, maybe join the police force?  Oh, remember though, you have to pass the psychological exam first.  Maybe join the Marines?  Kill, kill, kill, etc. (I'm not ripping on the military... I applaud most of our men in the service, and consider them America's heroes).  If you just want to be a gun-toting, anti-government freedom fighter, or spread your holier than thou, hillbilly freak mentality… then join a militia… but please stay the hell out of my sight.  Here’s a thought, save your money you’d normally spend on ammo and use it to go to college. Though, I don’t think universities are with the times yet… as they don’t allow guns on campus.  Damn.


"Guns don't kill people, people kill people."  Okay, but the people doing the killing are using said guns to kill, right?  Not everyone is Chuck Norris or a trained Black-Op.  But I know, It’s our right and “American Freedom” to bear arms.  Give me a fucking break.

P.S.  I own a revolver.  It's safely put away in my home... I only use it for pistol-whipping.  I can’t imagine carrying it around town in my dashing holster or purse, like to the movies, or the mall… or grocery store and what not.  In my opinion, that is just savage.



The end.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

All I need from you is…

So, I was cruising around town one very hot summers day whilst listening to Led Zeppelin… as I often do. But, this one time… I was listening to Out On the Tiles, and it made me think… and then think some more. Analyzing Led Zeppelin lyrics has always been a great past time for me, but there really isn’t much to analyze with this song; it’s pretty straightforward and honest. “All I need from you is all your love. All you got to give to me is… All your love?” Sounds great, except the only thoughts that went through my head were… what I DON’T need from you. Yes, many thoughts… and I know this much… all I don’t need from you is… for you to pretend to be somebody you are not in an attempt to electrify or personify me. The truth will come out eventually, so you may as well get it over with… as no one is perfect. This will only put us both in a pickle, and lead to our demise. Also, please don’t try too hard to be funny by pulling foolhardy maneuvers or making asinine jokes. It’s like this: A) You are funny. B) You are not funny. Overkill. Next… please don’t come on to me real strong and act all emotional when we’re alone, then totally go Danny Zuko style in front of your friends. Really? How old are you? And please, when you come over, don’t park in front of a fire hydrant… nuff said. Also, please don’t break up with me for a safety girl, and then make sexual innuendos towards me when she’s in the next room. This means you are a flawed human being. I understand if you want to settle down with a breeder, but wouldn’t it make better sense to sexually innuendo her then? I hope you are a having a divine marriage. And please don’t moan and constantly bitch about all the wrongdoings life has endeared you… or bitch about your job because it is not what you dreamt. This will only make you sound like a pussy. Hard work pays and it is honorable... unless it’s illegal I guess. Please don’t bail out on me because “feelings” are now in the cards, and you don’t want a girlfriend… I know this is your prerogative, but don’t call me approximately one year later to rekindle. Guess what? I moved on. Please don’t try to be my friend, unless you mean it… true friends stand by you in time of need and don’t play childish games with each other. Look up “friend” in the dictionary… on second thought, I will do it for you: 1) A person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard. 2) A person who gives assistance; patron; supporter. 3) A person who is on good terms with another; a person who is not hostile. You get the gist. Also, please don’t try to make me jealous by flirting or hooking up with a skank, or skanks’ plural. You will squander, as I am NOT, nor will I ever be jealous of skanks. Straight up. Please don’t leave your underwear in my bed, or your watch on my dresser, or other “important” items in my home just as an excuse to see me again. Here’s a thought… you can see me again because you want to see me again. Just say it. Most likely if we had that great of a time to make you forget your junk… I too, will want to see you again; consequently, you won’t have to deal with the dreaded rejection. Also, if you don’t have a college degree, this doesn’t make you stupid; you are the one who makes you stupid. If you try too hard to act scholastic or intellectual, you are only acting like a douche bag. Be yourself… we know you are smart. Please don’t try to communicate with me via third party through social networking. If there is something you want to say to me, you know how to get hold of me. Don’t be a chump... or insult my intelligence. I sure hope your bro-mance enjoyed the enticing poem you posted though.Also… don’t booty text me at five in the morning. Just don’t. Self-explanatory. Also… please don’t follow me at the grocery store and casually whistle or make creepy sounds; there is not a chance in Hell this will work out.This will only give me unnecessary anxiety and pretty much ruin my day. Don’t treat me like a whore, and don’t treat me like your mother. I am not your mom. And a lady never need be treated like a whore, even if she is one. Finally… all I don’t need from you is… backseat driving. I WILL open the door and push you out of the car... I’ll stop first though. And that’s all I have to say about that. The end.

Monday, August 1, 2011

UNION STATION

This one time… I woke up covered in blankets reeking of sweat and black truffle oil. Darkness covering my open eyes, I immediately jumped up in a panic, breathing hard… and still smothered by the mothball-infested blankets. This must be a dream … or a nightmare, I thought. Why can’t I fight these blankets off me? I closed my eyes again and calmed down only to visualize my safe bedroom… I’ll go back to reality soon. I heard the sound of footprints, many footprints. Then a cell phone rang next to me, phew, my alarm clock! I can get up now and start my day… suddenly a train whistle gusted loudly. What? Panic mode again, I struggled to get the dust bowl blankets off me… for I couldn’t breathe! They were so heavy I needed help! I tried and tried to scream for help… but nothing except silent air came out of my tonsils. The footsteps paused, less one set I heard walking towards me, slowly creeping near, and then stopped. The blankets rustled, and I felt a slight chilled breeze coming through. Alas, the thickness unraveled my face. I was frozen with fear, but there was no one around, just me. I knew this was a dream and I’d wake up eventually. Just relax, or try to move… yes, that’ll help me wake up. Time passed… I finally gained the strength to move. I sat up, lost in a world filled with portal like arches above me… marble-like glass triangular circles all in one. Just wow? This is not my beautiful house. How did I get here? Where does this highway go? I stared into space, as I knew it was only a dream! The train whistled again. Hark! It was loud… I heard footprints rustling but could now not see a goddamn thing. I wanted out of this dream so I sucker punched myself… nothing. I’m done with this! I hopped up; I was now standing, barefoot on a rustic plank of dirty felt gritty floor. Straight ahead, there lie a large sign… but it was blurry. Everything was blurry! I’ll get to the bottom of this… I was now running to this sign, but never got closer… though the image became clearer. I’ll get there! My vision diminished more, everything around me was black… but I finally saw the sign, it read “Union Station.” Really? I had never been to Union Station, but have heard of its existence. The sign lit up! It flickered with the oddest sound of electromagnet waves of post war destruction. Perhaps I’m in Purgatory I thought, with the exception being… I’m not a Catholic. This was the stupidest dream I’ve ever had, and I needed out, stat! So I closed my eyes again and envisioned a beautiful beach on a tropical island oasis. I lie in the sun, and felt it caressing my face. A beautiful silhouette of a man figure appeared in front of me, behind him a crystal clear blue sky with pure white marshmallow clouds. He smiled the most evanescence smile I had ever seen… full of safety and warmth… and trust. It was just him and me. I was able to speak! "Meet me at the Union station," I said… and then, my alarm went off… and I woke up. 

The end.

Friday, June 24, 2011

HEAVEN

So, I was thinking about Heaven. How do I get there when I die? I always thought that if you do onto others as you'd have done to you, was the first step. Perhaps generosity, kindness and compassion (to all living beings) are other steps?

Wait there's more. The Ten Commandments... we've heard about them, Thou shalt not kill, steal and commit adultery, Honor thy father and mother (my personal fav), take the Lord's name in vain (sorry I was driving in traffic!), etc... It probably doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure these out! Another Commandment states "
Thou shalt have no other gods before me." Hmmm, what a pisser... now I cannot believe in the Buddha, Abraham, Confucius, Allah (God forbid!)... Or any of the other gazillion entities in this world? What to do. I really want to go to heaven when I die because I heard that Hell is bad bad bad.

Wait, I remember how to get to Heaven when I die. I need to be Saved! I was told this when I went to church with with my aunt five years ago on Easter Sunday. All or nothing, "they" said. Jesus' way or the highway. Cool, I think I will do it this Sunday. I can renounce Satan and evil with blessed water. Sweet. Does this mean I can now practice unethical procedures in business;
not practice what I preach; condemn abortion... then later that day discuss blowing up the Middle East and support the death penalty; put down vegetarians because the Bible claims that animals are for man to eat (even though theoretically plants were the choice before "dominion" on animals); have sex with a hooker; covet my neighbor; be a racist, and still make it to heaven? Yes! Because I will be Saved by the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit!

Uh oh. Does this mean I have to become a hypocrite? Does this mean I cannot be friends with Homosexuals... and do I have to vote Republican? Basically, what I'm asking... If I want to go to heaven when I die, do I have to act like an asshole to get there? Screw it... I'm going to the beach on Sunday! However, I will make sure I give some change or whatever I can spare to a starving, or perhaps drug addicted homeless person.


Do you realize... that everyone you know... someday... will die.
Note: I don't mean to offend anyone. I know there are some good non-judgemental Christians out there.

"Dangerous consequences will follow when politicians and rulers forget moral principles. Whether we believe in God or karma, ethics is the foundation of every religion."

-His Holiness the Dalai Lama