so what do i do? i wish i was as cool about the rain as ike the dog i'm watching is but i'm not. ive played ball with him a couple of times all ready but he is relentless and sloppy which normally i wouldnt mind but the combination of cold slobbery and wet isnt that appealing to me. what is appealing to me? cheese. cheese and playing that sweet guitar in the other room. i slept with it last night. i woulda hugged it but i was hugging a copy of 'something under the bed is drooling '(a calvin and hobbes collection) instead. sound pathetic? its not. me and my windbreaker and my false beard are enjoying life considerably today. lots of other lonely nuts to talk to on the phone-books on intimacy and then ofcourse theres the odyssey which ive yet to read but keeps screaming at me to. maybe tonight.
there once was a clown named Klunko and boy what a nut he was . he had klunky boots and a klunky girlfriend clown named oddly enough Klunkette. together they klunked around town playing all sorts of klunky games. they played klunky soccer and did klunky crossword puzzles. they loved to watch klunky seinfeld and their favorite movie was 'escape from klunky ny'. they thought it was all pretty klunky. then one day klunko got even too klunky for klunkette and she got scared and told klunko she couldnt play with him anymore that day. that made dopey old klunko pretty sad but being the adult childclown of an alcoholic he didnt know how to respond so he just got angry spat on a cat and ran down the street. he didnt really spit on a cat but he wished he had. what he really did was throw his apple on the ground , growl and then run down the street.
Klunkette was just trying to protect herself because she like klunko grew up in a pretty unklunky house and people getting angry made her feel unsafe. so for two klunky (not the good kind of) days klunko roamed the streets of burbank, ca (a cesspool) wishing he could talk to klunkette and say he was sorry.
but klunkette was pretty sad and scared herself and turned off her phone and cried and jumped on her trampoline and ate licorice. stupid old klunko didnt know what to do. he was like some clown in a bad movie. he was worried about klunkette because he knew she was having a rough time already and his getting all vietnam in front of her was probably very bad. he figured this was gonna be the last straw for him. he was nervous so he bought a wig so he'd have some hair to pull out because you see boys and girls klunko the amazingly tragic clown is not only klunky but he is also bald . so with no hair left on his head or his wig klunko made the biggest klunk of his life and text messaged klunkette saying that he was moving to texas and never coming back. what a dope! it had always been their dream to live in texas together where klunkette could have her own cooking show and klunko could warm up the crowd there with the klunky songs he'd written just as soon as he got a guitar and learned how to play it but now texas just seemed like a crummy place where a clown could go hide and cry his klunky tears in private.
now when i say this was a klunky idea i mean this was a shitty idea because boy oh boy did it piss off klunkette. rightfully so i might add. so she read him the riot act and told him they were threw. which she had every right to do. klunko shoulda just taken a big fat chill pill from the very beginning and shut the fuck up. atleast if he listened to his brothers in clownanon thats what he woulda done but he didnt. he drank too much coffee and he blew it. so now klunko is gonna go to fucking texas even though he doesnt want to and make the best of it. maybe he'll join the goddamn moonies- afterall hes got the hairdo for it. he wishes everysecond of everyday he didnt send that stupid text and freak klunkette out but atleast just for today klunkette is cool enough to be back to talking to him on a limited basis and hes glad shes taking lots of good care of herself and that she has lots of klunky friends who love her lots. he loves her lots too, more than everyone else put together and more than anyone could ever imagine because she is without a doubt the single sweetest and most beautiful clown in the whole wide world. ultimately he wishes that this whole mess would turn out to be just some klunky dream and that they could go back to holding hands and eating salads and sleeping clown by clown in that beautiful clown sized bed. he's gonna go pray now.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
College Reunion
I cried like a baby the day Jim Henson died. I cried like a baby the day my
grandmother died. I cried like a man the day her package arrived. I wanted
to cry like a baby.
-Klunko the Amazingly Tragic Clown
I wrote a play once called 'The Adventures of Cheeseman'. It was about my college roomate. He loved cheese more than any man alive. He'd always be pulling hunks of it out from out of his pockets. Wedges of brie and gouda and cheddar he had stolen earlier that day. He loved to shoplift. Books, records, shoes, cheese- it made no difference. He was the first real alcoholic I ever met. He had morning shakes when he was 19. He was nuts and had the worst case of dry skin you've ever seen in your life. You'd have to shake piles of it off the phone whenever he was done using it. And he'd lie all the time-about anything. Sometimes he'd try and get you to lie along with him. That really bugged me. I had my own problems. He stole some drawings i made once. That really hurt me. After college i sold him a t-shirt I'd made which he stiffed me for. I showed up to his office with some peaches I had picked and he refused to see me-in fact he slipped out the back door and left me hanging,waiting for him for hours. I threw the peaches down a flight of stairs and screamed and cursed all the way home. The next day he granted me court and condescendingly reminded me that this was the 'real' world now and that we weren't in college anymore and that I needed to grow up. I couldn't comprehend his words. I told him he was a dick and that his new play sucked. His whole office stood and watched us fight. It was pretty stupid. I ran into him a few years later down around Washington Square Park. He saw me and turned. I yelled at him. I told him you can't just see someone and then just pretend they weren't there. He turned around and walked back towards me. I wadded up a napkin I had in my pocket and hit him in the face with it. He told me that that upset him. I told him I didnt blame him for being upset. I also reminded him about those drawings he had stolen from me. All in all it was a pretty shitty reunion.
grandmother died. I cried like a man the day her package arrived. I wanted
to cry like a baby.
-Klunko the Amazingly Tragic Clown
I wrote a play once called 'The Adventures of Cheeseman'. It was about my college roomate. He loved cheese more than any man alive. He'd always be pulling hunks of it out from out of his pockets. Wedges of brie and gouda and cheddar he had stolen earlier that day. He loved to shoplift. Books, records, shoes, cheese- it made no difference. He was the first real alcoholic I ever met. He had morning shakes when he was 19. He was nuts and had the worst case of dry skin you've ever seen in your life. You'd have to shake piles of it off the phone whenever he was done using it. And he'd lie all the time-about anything. Sometimes he'd try and get you to lie along with him. That really bugged me. I had my own problems. He stole some drawings i made once. That really hurt me. After college i sold him a t-shirt I'd made which he stiffed me for. I showed up to his office with some peaches I had picked and he refused to see me-in fact he slipped out the back door and left me hanging,waiting for him for hours. I threw the peaches down a flight of stairs and screamed and cursed all the way home. The next day he granted me court and condescendingly reminded me that this was the 'real' world now and that we weren't in college anymore and that I needed to grow up. I couldn't comprehend his words. I told him he was a dick and that his new play sucked. His whole office stood and watched us fight. It was pretty stupid. I ran into him a few years later down around Washington Square Park. He saw me and turned. I yelled at him. I told him you can't just see someone and then just pretend they weren't there. He turned around and walked back towards me. I wadded up a napkin I had in my pocket and hit him in the face with it. He told me that that upset him. I told him I didnt blame him for being upset. I also reminded him about those drawings he had stolen from me. All in all it was a pretty shitty reunion.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
The night John Lennon Died
Can germs enter through your eyes? That's a good question. A guy was coughing in front of me earlier today and I covered my nose and my mouth but still I didnt feel safe.
On the night John Lennon died I was not watching Monday Night Football. I have never once watched Monday Night Football. I've never really had any interest in professional sports other than maybe in bowling. I love bowling I've always loved bowling. I've often felt that bowling is what connects us all as Americans. It doesnt matter where you come from in this nutty country of ours bowling is a part of you and its a part of your life. I know a retarded guy whos bowled three perfect games over the course of his life. I've never bowled over 165. He also manages to keep his job at the supermarket bagging peoples groceries. He's that guy. Me, I cant even hold a job selling cupcakes. "you dont really seem to get it", I was told. I've been outta work for over a year. Whatever.
On Sundays sometimes when I was a kid they'd show bowling on The Wide World of Sports. What a treat it was watching left-handed Mark Rothman time after time destroy almost everyone who opposed him. He was incredible. He was the greatest bowler in the world. Being left-handed myself I took great pride in this. I love being left-handed even more than I love bowling. Everyday I point out to left-handers and to non-left handers that the only subculture I've ever felt any allegiance to is to left-handedness. When I was 8 and i first heard the words 'The Super Bowl' I really thought that it had to do with bowling. I wasnt exactly sure what specifically but I did care cause when you're 8 and you hear something about something that you love and its preceded by the word 'super' its hard to not get excited. Well, I was excited alright. I loved bowling. It sounded so great. In fact it probably sounded like the greatest thing ever. I kept trying to imagine what would be added to it to make it 'super'. I mean it already was 'super' as far as I was concerned. I dont know why but images of gorillas kept popping into my head. Like maybe what was gonna happen was it was gonna be this incredible head to head between the worlds best human bowlers and the worlds best gorilla bowlers. I had no idea if there were any gorillas out there who actually bowled but I didnt give a shit. I mean why would I? So I counted the days down until Super Bowl Sunday. I couldnt imagine why no one else at home was as excited as I was but I didnt wanna ruin the surprise for them. This was gonna be the greatest thing ever and it was gonna bring us all together as a family. I was certain of this. I remember quite clearly the feeling of feeling let down and stupid when I learned that 'The Super Bowl' had nothing whatsoever to do with bowling or with gorillas. It's never left me. Oh well...
What was I doing the night John Lennon died? I was listening to a special on The Doors my new favorite band on my favorite radio stion WPLJ 95.5 on you FM dial. It altered me spiritually. It planted the seeds for the pointless life I've led. I'm older than Lennon or Jim Morrison or Jack Kerouac or Neal Cassady ever made it to. So what? I finished writing a book this week. I hope somebody will wanna buy it. Its pretty good and its pretty kind and I'm pretty broke. I'll be in Shelburn, Massachussettes silently meditating for 11days starting april 11th. I could really use it. I'm 46 years old and i"ve live in Los Angeles for almost 17yrs and I'm ready to go home. I wish I knew where that was. My girlfriend broke up with me last week and it really saddened me. We didnt date long but I swear I've never cared for anyone half as much as I cared about her. She is beautiful and a lot of laughs and sometimes we'd meditate together or play soccer together over by th museum. I loved holding her hand yeah! yeah! yeah! and going for walks and stopping and looking at stuff together and sitting on stoops and on benches and lawn chairs that just materialized outta nowhere she was a great friend and I loved makin her laugh and making her cum and watching her trip over her silly girl feet and I loved the sound of her voice and the words she spoke and the words she wrote and I loved waking up with her and falling asleep with her and looking over at her at 2 and again at 3 and four in the morning and telling her I loved her. I miss her. i really do. Break ups always sadden me. Some make me angry. This one justs makes me sad. The night before it happened we went for a walk to do a crossword puzzle over at Starbucks and it was pretty magical. going to starbucks with her to do crosswords was always magical. even if i was in the shittiest mood ever. i loved being with her. What has all this got to do with John Lennon or the night he died? nothing. Absolutely nothing. I'm just bummed out and needed something to do. Now i'm gonna go walk a dog named Grizzly.
On the night John Lennon died I was not watching Monday Night Football. I have never once watched Monday Night Football. I've never really had any interest in professional sports other than maybe in bowling. I love bowling I've always loved bowling. I've often felt that bowling is what connects us all as Americans. It doesnt matter where you come from in this nutty country of ours bowling is a part of you and its a part of your life. I know a retarded guy whos bowled three perfect games over the course of his life. I've never bowled over 165. He also manages to keep his job at the supermarket bagging peoples groceries. He's that guy. Me, I cant even hold a job selling cupcakes. "you dont really seem to get it", I was told. I've been outta work for over a year. Whatever.
On Sundays sometimes when I was a kid they'd show bowling on The Wide World of Sports. What a treat it was watching left-handed Mark Rothman time after time destroy almost everyone who opposed him. He was incredible. He was the greatest bowler in the world. Being left-handed myself I took great pride in this. I love being left-handed even more than I love bowling. Everyday I point out to left-handers and to non-left handers that the only subculture I've ever felt any allegiance to is to left-handedness. When I was 8 and i first heard the words 'The Super Bowl' I really thought that it had to do with bowling. I wasnt exactly sure what specifically but I did care cause when you're 8 and you hear something about something that you love and its preceded by the word 'super' its hard to not get excited. Well, I was excited alright. I loved bowling. It sounded so great. In fact it probably sounded like the greatest thing ever. I kept trying to imagine what would be added to it to make it 'super'. I mean it already was 'super' as far as I was concerned. I dont know why but images of gorillas kept popping into my head. Like maybe what was gonna happen was it was gonna be this incredible head to head between the worlds best human bowlers and the worlds best gorilla bowlers. I had no idea if there were any gorillas out there who actually bowled but I didnt give a shit. I mean why would I? So I counted the days down until Super Bowl Sunday. I couldnt imagine why no one else at home was as excited as I was but I didnt wanna ruin the surprise for them. This was gonna be the greatest thing ever and it was gonna bring us all together as a family. I was certain of this. I remember quite clearly the feeling of feeling let down and stupid when I learned that 'The Super Bowl' had nothing whatsoever to do with bowling or with gorillas. It's never left me. Oh well...
What was I doing the night John Lennon died? I was listening to a special on The Doors my new favorite band on my favorite radio stion WPLJ 95.5 on you FM dial. It altered me spiritually. It planted the seeds for the pointless life I've led. I'm older than Lennon or Jim Morrison or Jack Kerouac or Neal Cassady ever made it to. So what? I finished writing a book this week. I hope somebody will wanna buy it. Its pretty good and its pretty kind and I'm pretty broke. I'll be in Shelburn, Massachussettes silently meditating for 11days starting april 11th. I could really use it. I'm 46 years old and i"ve live in Los Angeles for almost 17yrs and I'm ready to go home. I wish I knew where that was. My girlfriend broke up with me last week and it really saddened me. We didnt date long but I swear I've never cared for anyone half as much as I cared about her. She is beautiful and a lot of laughs and sometimes we'd meditate together or play soccer together over by th museum. I loved holding her hand yeah! yeah! yeah! and going for walks and stopping and looking at stuff together and sitting on stoops and on benches and lawn chairs that just materialized outta nowhere she was a great friend and I loved makin her laugh and making her cum and watching her trip over her silly girl feet and I loved the sound of her voice and the words she spoke and the words she wrote and I loved waking up with her and falling asleep with her and looking over at her at 2 and again at 3 and four in the morning and telling her I loved her. I miss her. i really do. Break ups always sadden me. Some make me angry. This one justs makes me sad. The night before it happened we went for a walk to do a crossword puzzle over at Starbucks and it was pretty magical. going to starbucks with her to do crosswords was always magical. even if i was in the shittiest mood ever. i loved being with her. What has all this got to do with John Lennon or the night he died? nothing. Absolutely nothing. I'm just bummed out and needed something to do. Now i'm gonna go walk a dog named Grizzly.
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