The hard thing about me is I forget everything. Birthdays, doctor’s appointments, names and faces.
“there was a large scale layoff in the 80′s,” I tell my girl.
I’m talking about how the drugs killed my brain.
The good thing is, brain damage shields one from the loss.
At the scrap metal pier where we cash in I was running my tongue over my teeth, loosening the poppy seed bagel. A white ford f150 pulled up and an old man starts unloading the bed.
He’s got one leg where the knee never unfolds, he just leans to the right to throw the bent left leg up and with a flick of his pelvis the foot falls in front and he can walk.
He knows the scale master and the fork truck driver by name.
“I give the money to my wife so she save it up and buy Christmas presents for the kids. Women love that.”
I went back to my truck and kept pulling out the barrels. Number 2 wire, dirty aluminum, irony brass. It all gets sorted.
“she says,’I know you like them younger women.’ I say, I aint gonna lie. But I keep you around for what you have done.”
Sometimes a guy will put his pit bull on the big scale to see how much she weighs. I had my barrels all lined up. The old man with his crooked leg and happy voice dragged a tub of brake rotars over to a 6 yard dumpster and heaved them in.
He didn’t have a chance in hell to ever find a woman who’d love him better.
I got sick of blogging. I run around the city doing illegal things I don’t want to talk about – stealing bales of cardboard from behind Safeway, tagging police cruisers, smoking Camels in Marlborough country…I can’t be talking about these things. Do I need the city to know I’m running a ring of illegal lemonade stands where a code word gets streetwise 5th graders to pour a few sloppy ounces of vodka in the mix?
How can a guy like me blog? The thing to do, the only thing I can think of, is to start talking about other people.
How about the schizophrenic guy at the coffee shop who stares everyone down trying to figure out if they work for the government or not? Who ever invites him to a party? But we all see him everytime we stop for coffee.
So I hired him. Who else will? He looks dangerous. He smokes and stares. What a combination of bad habits.
“does it make you nervous buildings are so close together here? And that they’re so tall? Cops could be in any one of them and you’d never escape.”
Thats the guy I hired because no one else will. I brought him to my house and gave him a magnet and a knife.
“anything the magnet sticks to throw in this pile. Put the rest over here. Take any electric cord and cut it off. Now go.”
He did fine. But what if he snaps someday and comes to my house to kill me. He knows me now. He may decide I’m part of the government. That I’m watching him.
Glenn the educated carpenter tells me I should drop hints about a neighbor. How they watch me with binoculars. How they put wires into my house.
“just pick someone, anyone, that he can gun down first so you have a chance.”
Here’s some toothpaste from Singapore. Use to be called “Darkie” but someone tipped off the toothpaste titans that darkie isn’t an appropriate name for a brand with a black man on it. The world’s too small for that.
Marijuana used to be grown outdoors mostly, until the government started sending helicopters up to spot farms. So weed moved indoors. The “endo” we heard Snoop rap about is how he pronounced “indoor”. The shit.
Our government is trying to stop people from getting high, but people love to get high, and the government is making matters worse. Indoor weed is much stronger than the stuff grown outdoors. With timers and automatic watering and fertilizers, pot can knock you out.
Here’s a quick look at what’s happening. The female marijuana plant produces buds with THC that gets us high. A pot farmer removes the males from the grow room to prevent the females from producing seeds, which reduce the potency. Now the farmer begins cloning the females, so there is no further need for males. To clone you simply cut a branch off the “mother”, put it in water, and a new plant will grow from that.
These females are looking for the male pollen in the air, and each generation feels the collective pressure building, and the buds become stickier and stickier in an effort to catch the male’s sperm floating in the air. However, in an illegal airtight basement there is no way for the male’s pollen to drift by.
It is the lack of sex, then, that makes the plant so sticky – if I’m to believe what I heard in a bar. A little research suggests the resin is a way to keep the plant from drying out in hot weather. Is there anyone out there with a definitive answer? I’d certainly rather believe it’s horniness that’s getting everyone high.
The Flagpoles broke up but Collin has risen from the ashes and fronts a new band, “Collin Ludlow Mattson and the Folks”. He stands onstage in a suitcoat with his long hair feathering back as he stares straight into the distance singing treble yelps into the microphone. Half way through the set he starts to dancing like he needs to pee – his body is in a different rhythm than his guitar or the drum’s beat. It’s all part of the show, watching Collin’s body move. I wouldn’t even call it contrapuntal, it’s just a natural stone groove unrelated to anything the rest of us understand.
The man looked good up there tonight, and sounded good as well. Glad he’s back at it.
Getting this junkman business going has taken a lot of time away from blogging and I’d like to apologize to those of you who expect consistent updates. Truth is, most nights I go to a bar after work and that’s been more important than paying taxes, sending invoices, and writing. So this being my birthday month, and me being almost 40, it’s time to take a break from the booze again. Happens every few years. I’d like to see what 90 days without getting loaded will be like.
Tonite, with nothing else to say, I’m going to paint a picture of a house key that looks as little like a house key as possible.
After a trip to Los Angeles that was supposed to be a trip to Montanna, we’re back in SF. First thing I see is a guy with a jog stroller he’s converted to a tour bus for his keyboard.
A taco truck converted to a welding shop permanently parked in a parking lot also made keys.
Dante created a great yard sale poster a while back, but this one in Los Angeles is a contender for best yard sale sign ever. Too bad they only had baby stuff and appliances.
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