Choke to Tapping the Source is Stranger then Fiction

Listening to: Mrs. Potter - Counting Crows

I’m up to two books a week. Choke (Chuck Palahniuk), Tapping the Source (Kem Nunn - Best surfing novel ever and finalist for the National Book Award) and Stranger than fiction (Palahniuk) are merely the past three.

Nobody knows how to feed an addiction like a creative. At least this is a healthy addiction, the reading and all. But the subject matter of all three offers a strong sense of the “transgressive novel.”

Catharsis through anti-social behavior. Close to what Kierkegaard defines as: the moment we are forbidden to do something, we will do it.

“According to Kierkegaard, the person who allows the law to control his life, who says the possible isn’t possible because it is illegal, is leading an inauthentic life.” – Palahniuk

And as Amy Hempel would say, “As soon as I knew that I would be all right, I was sure that I was dead and didn't know it. I moved through the days like a severed head that finishes a sentence. I waited for the moment that would snap me out of my seeming life.”

I am waiting for that moment. I thought it happened almost 2 years ago to the day. But it was a false alarm. Fire alarms don’t mean fires anymore. Just like car alarms don’t mean cars are being stolen anymore.

BTW: Choke is being made into a movie set for release next year (not starring me), and Tapping the Source was what the classic Keanu/Swayze vehicle "Point Break" was (loosely) based on (should have been starring me). Point Break II is in discussion. Be an informed member of your culture.

Ms. Bacchus and Me in SoHo not so long ago

Turns out the woman who turned my experiences at the SoHo Grand from a pall of mourning to a cloud of celebration is on the cover of Spin this month. I was wondering, earlier this spring, how it was so easy to get an English chick with tattoos up to midtown just to go to a Benihanna. Turns out she was a sucker for Sake Shooters. I wonder what CG will do to make it to the cover of Spin? She’s married, with a “traveling” career (traveling as if it were something to be admired and bragged about and not a command by her corporate overlords in an effort to doom her to fail, fuck clients for profit, or screw up. Or maybe it's a way for co-workers to get her out of their way), husband and kids. Chalk up another free robe for me. Amy Winehouse’s boobs rest on the upper third of her rib cage. But point off. And I didn't have to sleep in a doorway on 22nd St.

Floor-gasm

This is me blacking out. This is a dizziness that defies definition. This makes the Disney Teacup ride seem tepid.

See also: Timid. See also: Terror. See also: Trippy.

This is extraordinary. This is bordering on euphoric.

This is me wondering about how my blood tests came out. This is me wondering about drugs I took in the 90’s. This is me wondering about positive and negative influencers in my life. This is me wondering about books read, words said, women’s beds, relatives dead, getting head, not getting wed. Zed’s dead, baby. Zed’s dead. The feeling right before the blackout is almost—notice I said almost—like the moment just before your body gives in to a prolonged orgasmic spasm. This is me calling the doc to find out how my bloodwork came out. This is the answer: normal. This is me in amazement. This is me while reading Chuck Palahniuk. Only applied to my own synopsis.

After all I’ve put myself through, after all I’ve endured, doc says I’m as healthy as a horse. Body-wise. Mind-wise, well, we all know—wink, wink—that’s a different story. Self-diagnosis? My toleration for fools is dropping dramatically, as if it had some kind of metaphoric adrenal gland deficiency. I am losing patience with the stupidity of the world. But—wink, wink—we all know that I’m here to save, pave, wave and rave. Not to cave. I distrust shrinks. I read the works of Thomas Szasz. Don’t trust my judgment? Go to your nearest library. Ask for his book The Untamed Tongue. Don’t tell them your name or you will be put on a list. Or, better yet, try your nearest B&N or Borders. Read it in the store, or buy it (pay cash, don’t use your database-generating “discount” card.) This is me telling you that there is a point to all of this.

Revolt in Monmouth County

First of all, anti-intuitively, Monmouth County ocean fun is created for people who cant survive in the ocean. Let alone, swimmers, surfers and body boarders.

If you display any ability of swim talent, you're whistled out for swimming. Welcome to America.

Shrewsbury Township, on one of two All-Star RV surf ships equipped with X-Boxes, ear-splitting stereos, porno stars and 70-feet of typical limo-like luxury doing 110 MPH through the infamous Exit 116 trooper barracks 65 MPH speed zone on the parkway. Did I mention the bunks and the big circular bed which was the reason why we hoarded Linen’s N Things and Bed, Bath and Beyond coupons for sheets and mattress pads because it got boring fucking women in fresh wet spots. (Though, I know for a fact that a lot of women get off on it...) My technique was lots of towels.

Time warp.

Then, suddenly, dark side of the moon ninja surfing. Wiped out a lot, but still got away with it. Then parked in front of the White St. Bagel place with the engines idling. Just for balls sake. Cops are either lazy or dumb. Our vans were parked. We changed in the dim moonlight, bright streetlight. If a cop (especially a certain one in that very town) showed up he’d be all over us, calling for back up and frisking nearly nude surfers. (Almost a homoerotic cop moment… handcuffs, kneading of butts and dicks, them fingering the dude under the guise of looking for “hidden” narcotics. Then said cop goes home to his wife. Why is there an abnormally erotic fingering thing among cops? Cop wives smell those stinky fingers every night, then sleep with the anonymous human male anus scent digitally inserted into their precious orifices for those traditionally cross-contaminary cop innocent excuses.

Good thing I crashed at my place, a mile up the road.

Sleigh bed in summer months

w w

A lot of people think they know the world through a passport, a minivan and the forever, never, severed dream of a white picket fence.

Let’s make this short and sweet.

Nope.

Might as well be living in your mom’s basement. Not after this week. Life is harsh. Life requires judgment on the alter while the service goes on, lest it become a bleak ceremony. Life requires less than payments and NO cheap, flashy metal folded/crinkled into bullshit badges of "honor" that allow certain to travel with 6 packs (of beer, not abs) while claiming heroism of 9/11. LOL Were you an iron worker, food server or traffic cop-- at your very best and proudest moment? Dork in shoes? Maybe in a windsome moment, whisking a fleet of kids across Rt. 35. Wow. Slay us with your tales of imminent terror.

Since when did honor mean looking up random plates, risking the killing of one's own career, and the vanishment of all offpring college fund, not to mention pention? (Since the detective told me, that's when. I still have lot's 'o time to prosecute.)

Life requires passion. Life requires union of bed and head. Life requires telling Maggie NO when even all other instincts, including the "one" that says yes, says fly back to LaGuardia. Why? because life requires keeping one's genetals somewhat pure. Life requires a lifelong lover.

Life also sometimes requires getting used to Arizona heat when the sun sets and the moon rises and the stars circle and the cactus blooms.

Fertilizer

Why haven't I spawned yet? Because if I had when I was supposed to, it would have been Ozzy mixed with Ferris. The key to this chapter, is making this one count. In a good way. For a growing family.

Black out of order

Something weird is happening to me. I keep dropping dead in the middle of the day. And night. Then waking up. WTF?

E=PK squared

Suddenly, I get a fone call from Sonoma, CA. I have to break the space/time continuim to be there tomorrow and back here today. Maggie needs a date at French Laundry.

Science says most men have made love with 7 women

LOL. At once or in total? Does sophmore year in college count? I'm gonna fry for this one...

Fireworks above.

A retake on recent events is well overdue.

Frozen placenta

If you haven't noticed, my old blog is barely on life support. I birthed a new one tonight, but with a title from an old story I wrote in college. Figured continuity is cool. Except for girlfriends. The blog will evolve from its primitive state.

Independence Day

First concert I ever saw - Bruce - The River Tour. If you don't know the disc you're either old at heart or fat at ass.

Well papa go to bed now its getting late
Nothing we can say is gonna change anything now
Ill be leaving in the morning from st. marys gate
We wouldnt change this thing even if we could somehow
`cause the darkness of this house has got the best of us
Theres a darkness in this town thats got us too
But they cant touch me now and you cant touch me now
They aint gonna do to me what I watched them do to you

So say goodbye its independence day
Its independence day all down the line
Just say goodbye its independence day
Its independence day this time

Now I dont know what it always was with us
We chose the words and yeah we drew the lines
There was just no way this house could hold the two of us
I guess that we were just too much of the same kind

Well say goodbye its independence day
All boys must run away come independence day
So say goodbye its independence day
All men must make their way come independence day

Now the rooms are all empty down at frankies joint
And the highway shes deserted down to breakers point
Theres a lot of people leaving town now
Leaving their friends their homes
At night they walk that dark and dusty highway all alone

Well papa go to bed now its getting late
Nothing we can say can change anything now
Because theres just different people coming down here now
And they see things in different ways
And soon everything weve known will just be swept away

So say goodbye its independence day
Papa now I know the things you wanted that you could not say
But wont you just say goodbye its independence day
I swear I never meant to take those things away

4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)

Look it up CG, it's a real song. I liked your alias for a reason....


Sandy the fireworks are hailin' over Little Eden tonight
Forcin' a light into all those stoned-out faces left stranded on this Fourth of
July
Down in town the circuit's full with switchblade lovers so fast so shiny so
sharp
And the wizards play down on Pinball Way on the boardwalk way past dark
And the boys from the casino dance with their shirts open like Latin lovers
along the shore
Chasin' all them silly New York girls

Sandy the aurora is risin' behind us
The pier lights our carnival life forever
Love me tonight for I may never see you again
Hey Sandy girl

Now the greasers they tramp the streets or get busted for trying to sleep on the
beach all night
Them boys in their spiked high heels ah Sandy their skins are so white
And me I just got tired of hangin' in them dusty arcades bangin' them pleasure
machines
Chasin' the factory girls underneath the boardwalk where they promise to unsnap
their jeans
And you know that tilt-a-whirl down on the south beach drag
I got on it last night and my shirt got caught
And that Joey kept me spinnin' I didn't think I'd ever get off

Oh Sandy the aurora is risin' behind us
The pier lights our carnival life on the water
Runnin' down the beach at night with my boss's daughter
Well he ain't my boss no more Sandy

Sandy, the angels have lost our desire for us
I spoke to 'em just last night and they said they won't set themselves on fire
for us anymore
Every summer when the weather gets hot they ride that road down from heaven on
their Harleys they come and they go
And you can see 'em dressed like stars in all the cheap little seashore bars
parked making love with their babies out on the Kokomo
Well the cops finally busted Madame Marie for tellin' fortunes better than they
do
This boardwalk life for me is through
You know you ought to quit this scene too

Sandy the aurora's rising behind us, the pier lights our carnival life forever

Fireworks below

I love this time of year. I love this song. It's by a band called X and it was recorded (c) 1987.


She's waitin' for me 
when I get home from work
oh, but things ain't just the same

She turns out the light 
and cries in the dark 

won't answer when I call her name



On the stairs I smoke a 
cigarette alone 

Mexican kids are shootin' 
fireworks below


Hey baby, it's the Fourth of July
Hey baby, it's the Fourth of July 



She gives me her cheek 
when I want her lips 

but I don't have the strength to go


On the lost side of town 
in a dark apartment 

we gave up trying so long ago



On the stairs I smoke a 
cigarette alone 

Mexican kids are shootin' 
fireworks below


Hey baby, it's the Fourth of July 

Hey baby, it's the Fourth of July



What ever happened
I
apologize 

so dry your tears and baby 
walk outside,
it's the Fourth of July 



On the stairs I smoke a 
cigarette alone 


Mexican kids are shootin' 
fireworks below 


Hey baby, it's the Fourth of July

Hey baby, Baby take a walk outside