I dream of the Pink Pube

Every night I have the same dream…with variations, of course. My head’s full of used parts with taped wires buzzing a lot of bizarre shit but at least it’s not boring. It’s the same damned dream with variations! In one of these dreams I’m living in the pink pubical. That’s what they called the cottage. The Pleasure Point gang, possibly Wild Nick or one of the less colorful figures, came up with the name. Could be it was Randy Egan.

He painted the cottage pink. Because he had nothing better to do.

All of them Punks fresh out of High School. Hanging around with nothing to do. Surfing. Getting High. Making trouble. I was in the Navy, but I got weekends off. I’d hang at the Pink Pube…because I was stupid back then. More stupid than today? Maybe…

A pubical is a cubical with pubic hairs in abundance, mixed with the floor dust, etcetera, indicating a level of squalor beyond that of your normal hovel. We were all men, punks actually, but women, a certain type of Chick, the kind that swung wild, female versions of ourselves, came and went like bats to a cave. That is, until they came to their senses. Drunken sprees produced busted furniture until there was no furniture. Until there were no walls. Until part of the roof collapsed. At this point everybody left. The cabin was condemned.

Thus faded the Pink Pubical into my dreams…

I went A.W.O.L…but that is a different story with vista’s of wildness and criminality beyond the point of this blog post…I’ve got plenty to say on the subject. Maybe a novel or an epic poem in blank verse. I’m thinking the latter because that would make the narrative even less readable.

What’s important is I dream of hovels. And evictions. Followed by a period of wandering.

I’m wandering in a strange city

It’s always a city. I’m not a pastoral dude. My dense woods are empty boulevards with oppressive buildings bearing down on the few cars racing to escape the zombie apocalypse.

Listen, it’s not that bad!

I’m not describing a nightmare here. I’m just a dude wandering through a grim urban landscape. I never run into Zombies. I know they’re out there. I’m ignoring them. Zombies are not my biggest problem. Figuring out where I am and why I need to get to a place seems more important to me. Often a Dog accompanies me. The dog concerns me. The dog’s welfare takes up my dream thinking. We need to get to a place where we need to be. But we don’t know where or why.

Then I wake up.

I lay there, in the night, often around four a.m., Scruffy nudging the dock, or rain lashing the ports, I lay there thinking of the dream. Last night it was The Golden Gate park, pastoral yes, but city pastoral, and the dog was a German Shepard. I was stepping onto Stanyon Street when I woke up. Where was I going? Who knows. I’m not in charge of shit. But I am the captain of my soul.

First things first

I start right off the bat, man. Let Freud worry about dreams. I’m stuck with my life and I gotta make positive moves. I get out of bed and look myself in the mirror. You gotta do that. Look yourself in the mirror. Every fucking morning do this: look your self in the mirror…

Look yourself in the mirror and say,

“You’re beautiful, man. Don’t ever change.”

And remember:

Rock and Roll is here to stay…it will never die!

Then go forth spreading love

Or kick ass and take names, whichever you prefer.

I like to check out my bird

See how he’s doing first thing in the morning.

He’ll be on the dock.

Peeping.

Checking me out.

His Parents dumped him.

Now he’s on his own, kicking it on the dock, trying to make in here in this cruel-ass world.

He still bugs the shit out of his mom and pop

peeping at them

following them around

Hoping they’ll feed his ass like they did when he was a baby.

They fed him when he had to be fed or he’d die.

This was their mission in life.

Once they saw he was ready, they cut him loose.

He can fend for himself now.

He just don’t know it yet.

So he follows his parents around, peeping.

Pestering them to no end…

Seagulls are viscous little bastards. You don’t want to fuck with them. They’ll tear your eyeballs out. You don’t believe me watch that Hitchcock Movie. But with their own kid, they’re almost tolerant. They try to be nice by simply ignoring him.

After a while they get fed up and ditch him.

They simply fly away. Leaving him alone on the dock.

He could fly after them. He can fly. He’s just too stupid to fly after them. He’s still trying to figure shit out…

You might think this is cruel behavior on the part of his parents…leaving him alone to fend for himself.

It’s not. Bird’s gotta learn. That’s all there is to it.

No suck-ass human sentiment involved here…

You find a lot less Bullshit in the animal world.

I’m not living in the Animal world. I’m stuck in the suck-ass world of humans.

I toss him a few crackers.

That way he’ll tone down the peeping.

This is why he hangs around me.

He figures I’m his big daddy….

I’m not his Big Daddy.

I am a Big Daddy, now I got this goatee.

I’m just not his Big Daddy.

I head out into the world

Hit the gym.

Hit my shift.

Set up my booze sample table. A four hour shift where I trade banter with closeted drunks. Sit on my ass when the manager aint looking my way. Read my phone. Nibble pilfered snacks. Etcetera…

If I got no shift, I hang at the office.

Hang with the Ghoul and other Office Deadbeats.

Work on this Blog

which is about as pointless as digging a hole in the Giza Pyramid with a tablespoon.

Nobody reads the shit I write.

Why do I keep at it?

Read on and I’ll explain why.

Sometimes I take care of business

I say business I mean shit I need to do.

Achiever shit.

Not High Achiever shit.

High Achiever Shit is reserved for Big Shots like these guys:

The X guy. A wonderful human being…

The former Prez. A paragon of virtue

Our future Prez….if we’re lucky?

A former High Achiever. Check out his Tour Of Europe 1936-40…

If you don’t recognize this guy you haven’t been watching Fox News.

There’s thousands, perhaps millions of these people, on every level, from the asshole Safeway Manager likes to push his weight around, to this guy:

Sam Altman. He’s gonna make your life simple as peeling potatoes. I don’t peel potatoes. I like the skins.

All Your High Achievers have one quality in common:

They will trade you for Achievements in the blink of an eye.

You may exist in the wake their Achievements, you may observe them–or you present an obstacle.

You get in the way, you’re gone, baby.

Achieving is the main deal for them.

They’re not even Sociopaths. They have emotions. They feel your pain. They just need to get past dumping you and they’ll get over it. Positive Affirmation Therapy helps. Labeling you a Loser justifies their behavior…

No, I’m talking about simple achievements

Like Rubberizing my boat decks. Buying second hand batteries so I can get my electricity and plumbing up and running. Fanangaling Boat Insurance. Working a little scam to preserve my Food Stamps Account. Small achievements but important ones. My long term goals (long term for me is early next year) are simple.

Lately I’m gearing up for the big changes looming on the horizon.

Say my health holds for a while. IF…I say if…if I don’t croak first or face some disaster leaves me a cripple in a home like my old buddy Rodger, I plan to sell Scruffy, find myself a smaller boat with step around room and a comfortable V-berth, buy a mini-van I can live in part time. That’s right. I’m looking forward to living on the street. I’m not looking to e-x-p-a-n-d my presence. I’m thinking more of contracting my footprint.

You gotta know who you are

A vibe’s meaning is all about your emotional state, and it can refer to the energy you project as an individual. The definition of vibe comes from the word “vibrations,” which convey the sense of a place, object, or person.Feb 28, 2022

Fifth and Root

I plan to live off the grid. Quit my booze sample gig or reduce it to one or two days a week. Spend all my time WRITING SHIT I WANNA WRITE ABOUT.

Could be somebody is reading this and forms a negative opinion of me.

That’s okay.

There’s “normal” people out there consider me a loser. A wash-out. Over the hill. A dude on the look-out for a chisel. A tax-dodger. A guy wants to sponge off the system. Some of this is true.

I don’t care.

I’m an Artist. That’s right. I’m the real deal.

Right now I’m blogging this shit and I like it.

I’m gonna keep on doing it. Just like I’m doing it.

And sooner or later I’ll get someplace I need to be.

Or not…

But like our former prez used to say. Not Trumpy. The other one. Bushy. Good ole Dubya. He was a good one. His nastyness seems quaint today. He said, STAY THE COURSE.

Which is what I’m doing.

The growth of Bullshit

It took me seventy years to figure out that human society here in the good old U.S.A. is formed and thrives on the bedrock of BULLSHIT. Almost everybody buys in to the crap they see on the tube and read in the papers and magazines. And now with the Internet and smartphones it’s grown into the greatest pile of nonsense billowing piles of steaming bullshit the earth’s long catalogue of civilizations have ever seen.

Somehow, people like this guy is allowed to thrive:

They nabbed his ass finally and brought him down. But there’s others out there. Plenty. More of them every day. It’s not the Zombies we need to worry about. It’s these guys…

And these guys are not just the oddballs. Many of them are establishment figures.

The Fed Chair

The Bullshit they spew is mind boggling. Here is just one example of a sneaky weasel designed to keep all of us duped:

The CORE INFLATION RATE

All the news you hear lately about inflation coming down? That’s the CORE inflation rate.

Politicians are bullshitting you.

Core inflation is the change in the costs of goods and services but does not include those from the food and energy sectors. Food and energy prices are exempt from this calculation because their prices can be too volatile or fluctuate wildly.

Investopedia

Food and Energy…no big deal, I guess. But I’m not buying a Ferrari.

Everybody looks up to somebody

I’m no different.

But you gotta be careful who you look up to.

IF…if you choose, like I do…if you choose to be Captain Of Your Own Soul…you need to be careful who and what you choose to admire.

My rule is simple:

I don’t look up to Bullshit Spewers.

I look up to real people.

My Peeper, for example. He’d a real dude operating in a real world.

And this lady. A Bad Ass if there ever was a Bad Ass:

Dorothy Podber (September 15, 1932 – February 9, 2008) was an American performance artist.

Born in the Bronx to a mother who had tried repeatedly to abort her, and to a father who worked for the Jewish mobster Dutch Schultz, Podber was later remembered as a disruptive influence by classmates from West Walton High School.^[1]

A wild child of the New York City art scene in the 1950s and 1960s, she helped to run the Nonagon Gallery, which showed the work of a young Yoko Ono and was known for jazz concerts by such performers as Charles Mingus. However, her greatest fame—and notoriety—came from her work as a muse and collaborator with more prominent artists. On one occasion in 1964 she visited The Factory, Andy Warhol‘s studio, and put a bullet through a stack of his silk-screen paintings of Marilyn Monroe, after which she was banned from the studio. These four paintings were thereafter called The Shot Marilyns, and two are among the most expensive paintings ever sold.

Podber revelled in her bad-girl reputation. In an interview in 2006, she said:

I’ve been bad all my life. Playing dirty tricks on people is my specialty.^[2]

Wikipedia

I got plenty of others I admire

Good old Jesus

He stayed the course.

And this woman:

Peace Pilgrim (July 18, 1908 – July 7, 1981), born Mildred Lisette Norman, was an American spiritual teacher, mystic, pacifist, vegetarian activist and peace activist.^[1][2] In 1952, she became the first woman to walk the entire length of the Appalachian Trail in one season.^[3] Starting on January 1, 1953, in Pasadena, California, she adopted the name “Peace Pilgrim” and walked across the United States for 28 years, speaking with others about peace. She was on her seventh cross-country journey when she died.^[4]

wikipedia

And this guy:

Warren Buffet. No Bullshit with this guy. His gig is making money. I got nothing against making money. As long as you aint Bullshitting people.

And I admire this crew:

samurai dressed as cowboys. No Bullshit. Somebody’s gotta help those villagers. I watched this movie again last night. I’ve only seen it thirty times. Why do I keep watching it? Because the remake is bullshit. Because most new movies are Bullshit. But this movie is the real deal. Just like my Blog Posts. This is why I blog! Not because anybody reads them. Because I’m a fucking Samurai.

A Samurai Blogger!

You wanna focus on your true gig.

It takes a little work. Priming your Vibe. Cranking over the Rover. Clearing out the crap…the mountains of it…meant to bury your ass….remember. You’re the captain of your own soul. You know what needs to be done.

Stop whining.

Groove on the real deal.

Like these guys