"Ocean of Water. Ocean of Blood," Anne Easter said to me as she removed the two needles still stuck in my belly. Amazement crossed my eyes when I saw I'd been stuck deeply- pig deeply - I always have my eyes closed when I am being treated - OR - It's on your belly drooling from a table - eyes half closed listening to the best of Tibetan throat singing getting jiggy with the stillness and wonder of healing. "I am relaxing, I am relaxing..... I watched Anne pull the needles out of my belly. "I am gonna need a 'Flying Dog' beer after I drink the prescribed hundred onces of water Ms. Easter ordered." The woman scraped the evil chi off my neck with a jade stone. I will never disclose the name of my friend Burnz Daily, but Ms. Anne Easter is legit - You got a muscle that wants to quit - She is a Mastress. I will give you her phone number. Please say I refferred you. She is a bitchin Goddess and one of the ONLY women to recognize my ability to Phunk Funk d'Funk - after Dumpsta Funk had me repping DC beats center stage on the apron of Ktaos Radio Solar Station's Stage - Which is hard (fer a lady) Cuz I am no Lady when sons of Neville lay down the bass better than the Mississippi River - One of the only women to recognize with awe. I mean - I awe myself. I don't know where I go sometimes when I dance. That night I was on fire. I Had family troubles close to the heart - and I did what the mighty band Dumptsa Phunk told me to do - "I put it in the Dumpsta". I called in the quarters, I entered trance, I know I felt the ancestral soul of my recently deceased first hardcore comedy writer - As my mind became present I observed my body trucking like a choochootrain - arms hauling like a hippie round a bonfire on five hits of acid with no intention of stopping - If you have seen such a thing - which - of course - I have only read about - Of course - Those who know don't say and those who say don't know - Ask me why I am writing you this - I reply (with full fly bass beats) "Coddleston Coddleston Coddleston Pie" . Anne said she'd seen me channel Janis Joplin on stage. All I knew is that I had called in the spirit of a Raven Grandmother whose soul - only while funking - focused on feeding the Earth with her worship. The Gonzo had gone - And taken the professional hostage.
"The Underbelly is the place we hold our compassion for ourselves," Anne informed me as she removed the needle from the "Ocean of Blood". I thirsted in that department worse than a sundancer on his tenth day..." As I caressed my My 'Underbelly' - I thought - "Dear God, she doesn't even know the name of my next movie - " Every movie to me is a spiritual journey. I see the ensemble of credits movie goers watch sprueling over the screen as a Sort of "Cabalah" - Tree of Life - Enterprise - Psychedelic USS Enterprise. All these minds - spheres of light - coming together to take each other on a journey of higher meaning - My first movie I produced is titled "Washington Interns Gone Bad." Watch it free in chapter form on Youtube. The movie I am currently producing is "Underbelly Blues." It is the dreamchild of Mr. Seamus Reed and Director Phil Messerer. I beat myself up over this production. Literally. When I took my Bodhisatva vows I placed myself in service to the artist. A.A. Bailey once wrote in her work 'A Treatise on White Magick', "The true Initiate proceeds no matter what the cost is to the lower self." Those words shook my soul. I proceeded. I ate crow. The ladder of success is climbed wrong by wrong. Sunday nights in the 70's, after the "Wonderful World of Disney" was off air, I'd take the few precious moments I had to slip out the front door, sit atop our steps and pray with the will of a child who has journeyed to Santa's lap that I would be initiated by the masters. Please .Please.Please. Then, I would say goodnight to the sky, go inside, get tucked into bed, and of course - Stay awake for another four hours praying we all not perish in a nuclear holacaust. If I wasn't worried bout nukes, I was listening to the illicit wisdom of rock and roll with the radio tucked under my covers like a guinea pig wrapped in a towel. "Please, Lord. Life is so neat! Let's not blow it up."
It all comes down to bad coffee. Like my beer - 'Flying Dawg', Guiness, or Gabe's Brew ( I am not telling you who Gabe is. You can't get his brew from the stow yet. He is a personal friend. His ale goes down like turkey on Thanksgiving - It just feeels so right. ), I care about coffee. A good coffee shop can empower you to work three days in a row without sleep and hallucinations. A good coffee can lend you that extra executive punch needed when you are in a pitch room of fat meety turkeys impressed with their opinions and ability to Estimate Prophets - We all know - There is only one 'Estimated Prophet'. - It was written by the Grateful Dead. I would skip over at least ten available coffee shops for the correct foam on my cappacino - Walk, Bike in LA sun and traffic with no shades, drive and park illegally - For Cafe Etc. Cappacino Foam. I learned I liked my cappacino dry.
I learned I liked my cappacino dry In Taos New Mexico in the hospitality of The Tazza Cafe - The Oldest Coffee Shop in Taos and purveyor of Mr. Mark Hoffman's Entheos - A journel of psychedelic spirituality - Look - let me brak my Gonzoidal Rant here. - Psychedelic therapy is an alternative to Psycholitic Therapy. That's all, Folks. Experience vs. Analysis and Observation. First vs. Third person. There is madness to both methods but psychedelic does not necessarily mean hopped up on peyote like a buffalo in group mindset (altho-). Ask any Tibetan Monk, but DO NOT squeeze the Shamen for the answers - Like Freud (The analitic side) they usually ask questions. I know this through my experience with Dr. Tim Leary before he passed - And I bet that Bright eyed Tim would like his Cappacino dry as well. Dry is espesso on the bottom - foam on top. Wet has milk and - in my young Barista's discerning eye - runs the risk of turning into a foamy latte - Which is great but I want my 'cino like a Bukowski poem - Punching me in the organ til I hear the music - The Phunkedelic music (A third therapy that has yet to be explored to it's proper depth) of the poet's pain. Waking me up like a good blues song lyric - "She's a cold Fridgedare Woman. She opened her mouth and a light came on." For me, a good cappacino is like falling through a cloud, smacking yourself awake on the hard dry Earth, and loving it enough to do it again. Then there is your "Kick in the Ass" which is how I fell in love with the Tazza Cafe passing through on my way to Elle Ay by way of Washington D.C. ( D.C. Stands for Duck and Cover). The Kick in the Ass is Espresso with Coffee. The Baristas at Tazza are mighty particular about their grind, their beans, and don't take no crap. No Crap coffee. No burnt coffee. No Cheap Coffee. They know a steamer from a grind. A Demi Tasse from a Demi Pleiadien. Aliens come to Tazza for their coffee. A wicked wise Blues Musician - Shamboo- Shows up every morning at seven for his Americano. Coffee is clockwork. It Ticks. We all have our ticks. Some of them aren't bloodsuckers. Some are kinks - and they were a great band. The Kinks were awesome. The Kinks understood what it is like to have the "Underbelly Blues". Proof -
The tax man's taken all my DOUGH,
And left me in my stately home,
BLazing on a sunny afternoon.
And I can't sail my yacht,
He's taken everything I've got,
All I've got's this sunny afternoon.
Save me, save me, save me from this squeeze.
I got a big fat mama trying to break me.
And I love to live so pleasantly,
Live this life of luxury,
BLazing on a sunny afternoon.
In the summertime
In the summertime
In the summertime
My girlfriend's run off with my car,
And gone back to her ma and pa,
Telling tales of drunkenness and cruelty.
Now I'm sitting here,
Sipping at my ice cool beer, (Flying Dog - No doubt)
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
Help me, help me, help me sail away,
Well give me two good reasons why I oughta stay.
'Cause I love to live so pleasantly,
Live this life of luxury,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
In the summertime
In the summertime
In the summertime
Ah, save me, save me, save me from this squeeze.
I got a big fat mama trying to break me.
And I love to live so pleasantly,
Live this life of luxury,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
In the summertime
In the summertime
In the summertime
That was when Philly wanted to shoot - In the Summertime. I had asked George Stranahan twice for a million dollars and twice he had said "YES". I learned a lot after my first 'Yes' . I learned you can't expect to put the paperwork in the hands of the more experienced and have them not try to take it away. I learned the depth of executive paperwork. I learned some lawyers are a million bucks an hour. I learned that men who want to fuck you, will guide you, but even they aren't handing you the keys to your kingdom and family's security without a little something wet - and we've established I am a dry cappacinist - Lawyer's ignored me. Lawyer's who vouched loyal whored me. Very difficult waters to tread. I have never had a yacht. My career has taken everything I got. Still I learned the verbage - and passed it written into Philly's email which sat unnoticed ( Because like me - Philly functions best in the artistic) for three weeks. Philly and I had equal experience with the executive branch of film producing - Just like the amount of experience the Kinks had with girls like Lola - Til the song was formed and it was a hit. I learned that when you go to a VIP function of Sacred Cow's "How Weed Won the West" you shouldn't eat six pot brownies thinking you are a pro at Gonzo - Go to bed on Friday Night - Wake up Tuesday with paperwork overdue - It must have happened before to at least a BeeGee or two - CUM ON!!! It is Seamus's first feature narrative effort - The guys busted a nut when George said Yes to me. I will always be grateful to the guys for giving me that opportunity to ask - But Phil must of felt I was a "Big Fat Mamma Tryin to Break me' - Because to do that kind of paperwork properly - Takes a while. ... As York Says in his scene with Norman - "We all make mistakes." I also learned you shouldn't turn your birthday into a business meeting because cocaine cowboys will try to covet you to their bedroom and not boredroom - We shot in the Winter. To be fair, I also placed the ads for actors, helped with costuming and fittings, got in touch with people who doubted Phil's Genius, Drove Phil and Seamus scouting for location, shot some TV shows for prop 19 (You need a medical prescripstion for weed if you are crazy enough to make movies) , Made some appearances on Johnny Dam's Newdissidentradio.com, was shocked and horrified a fan of my comedy took the Discovery Channel in Silver Spring Hostage, Handled a Washongton DC Smear Campaign backroom style, opened for for some rock bands at Buddhafest, worked out comedy set three to five times a night, helped the folks at Hollywood Outlaws launch their tv station whenever I could, and force fed my epileptic roommate sugar risking injury every time a seizure came on, assisted Gov. Gary Johnson and Senator Mike Gravel when they came to town,was robbed on Thanksgiving, Stalked, Had my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from surviving assault triggered while accused of being a fake persona on Facebook known as" Holly Wood", survived being jumped while taking money on an under the table job, and celebrated Christmas with me and Good Ole Flying Dog. But Phil wanted Summer hours of Daylight. Which we could have - if we shot in June of through August 2011 - But the appocolypse may come inspite of my anti-nuke prayers and Phil, like me, suffers anxiety. "Save me. Save Me. From this Squeeze."..... Like any Enterprise - You gotta get your Kinks out. And you need to get them out, as I have Learned, "IN THE SUMMERTIME!!!!"
The shoot comes. I am ragged. I have cared for everyone else's needs.The delight of shopping for my character's corset becomes a chore. My Character - Madame X- is a Jewish Mother Dominatrix. I loved the humor in the irony of taking care of everyone and disciplining no one - especially herself - As a method actress I was going places. And Phil kept saying they were good without me. Then Phil would call me up and ask for me to produce ten actors overnight. Or tell me to do one thing. I would do it. He would forget he told me. Or deny it. If phil wanted a raging Bitchery of a performance he was doing his best to needle me into it. I worked til I cried an "Ocean of Water". I was Tippy Hedrum. Phil was Alfred Hitchcock . He wanted me to blog when I didn't have time to Blog, and would call me enough times while I was blogging that I would stop blogging - Plus I was attempting to help my "son" get a leg up in the stand up game - Taking him to San Diego's Comedy Store, Booking him in the Belly Room of the comedy store, and attempting to jump on chump money during an Arizona gig that was off the chain in terms of Gonzoid misery - Fuck 'Fear and Loathing!' Now Larry Malloy is a man the guys brought on board and he lent beautiful experience, equipment, and wisdom to the scene - Inspiring me to battle my addiction to tobacco (Which reared its ugly head) once again - God bless him. And while I wanted to walk away, Collapse, give up , etc, Phil's vison and Seamus's care for his industry buddies inspired my loyalty. "The true Intitiate proceeds regardless of the cost to the lower self".
The night before I shot my scenes with Actor Zane Helberg, Phil called. He was in a panic. He needed boardroom actors - Would I call around - Seamus tells me we don't need them- I call around again - cancel them - I have four hours to sleep when my roommate takes six times the amount of Insulin she needs and explains to me it is the wrong insulin and poison control instructs us to immediately go to the emergency room. We go across town to the hospital that takes us po folk - Broken by the taxman - I put .49 cents in my gas tank. I get to Phil an hour earlier than he would like the call to be for me - I insisted knowing how long it would take to dress properly. Phil is broken and bleary eyed like the character played by Saxx Carr - Zeus - a madman lost at work in his laboratory. His wife,Marcia ( a spicy beauty with a Japanese Brasilian heritage) consumes the bathroom/dressing room taking her shower - She has done all the makeup and whatever else her husband needed - She earns her shower- No bitchery from this diva - Phil, Marcia, Much, and Seamus, turned Phil and Marcia's bedroom into my dungeon! But THEN ---- SOMETHING APPOCOLYPTIC OCCURRED!!
The one true thing I could count on Phil for was good coffee. Solid coffee. Better than starbuck coffee - which is nowhere near my standards but will do - Messerer turns to me - I am injurred, sleepless, about to dup six inch boots - HE OFFERS ME INSTANT COFFEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What?!?!?!? AFTER ALL THESE MONTHS? INSTANT FUCKING COFFEE!?!?!?!? John Lennon got the song wrong. It should be "Instant Coffee's gonna get ya! Gonna knock you right on your feet." I choke on my shock. Nightmare. Not true. I am not in this Hell. This is not my life. This is not my acting career, and THIS IS NOWHERE NEAR A DRY CAPPA-FUCKING-CINO BIYOTCH!!!!!!... I check myself. Check my humility - I am being tested - But ZEN - !!!! THE DOP (Director of Photography) shows up, and Philly - my buddy - Follows behind him like a puppy dog - " Good morning Larry, May I make you some Espresso?( Birds chirp in the air - I hear Snow White sigh) What?!?!!?!??!?!? MOTHER FUCKING WHAT?!?!?!? AFTER I PLACED MY NAKED PHOTO IN FRONT OF THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT IN THE FIRST SCENE OF "UNDERBELLY BLUES"???? I saw stars. I went somewhere crusty and filled with hatred. Instant coffee is Satan's Urine. I did not have the gas money to get home from this shoot. I was broke. Broke like every character in our movie - jonesing- jonesing- spiritually, addictively, desperately Jonesing to - Like the Kinks sing - "Live that life of Luxury."I just wanted a good cup of of coffee. I gave Phil what he wanted. Larry said it was award worthy. who knows. Everyone says it's funny. I cannot gauge my work. I improvised twice for twenty five minutes of high raging bitchery - "The Unbearable Lightness of Being Madame X". The only Compassion for myself, my challenges, my failings were to be found in that one good cup of coffeee. Phil and I have made up. I am in recovery now with the folks at Tazza Cafe. I have Gabe's beer to drink, Dry cappacino's, and Flying Dog Brew - Which I will always be true to - No matter the cost to the lower self.
Which brings me to my conclusion. Alice Bailey was wrong - The aspirant should proceed - yes - but not without compassion for the cost on the lower self. ... Our ego's , our hungers, our cuts, and our bruises - Our UNDERBELLIES! - The places we are soft and vulnerable and strive to hide. Our fear of losing control of our visions, dreams, successes... Our abused child,Our Janitor, Our bereaved mother, our stripper, our freak, our meth addict, Our pink slipped executive, our transgender, Our driver, our pimp, our faux Ganxsta - Our well-respected man about town who's doing the best he can - So conservatively and yes - "Ocean of Blood" - Our mother fucking cold killing mercenary who takes no pity. Always make time for good Coffee. Always make time for Good Beer. Always make time to Laze on a Sunny Afternoon. It is the only way to Treat - The "UNDERBELLY BLUES"
Amen. Awomen. And a couple of Flying Dog Beers with Some Strannahan Whiskey.
Bad coffee will make you buy nukes.
P.S. Adam Kokesh - Founder of Iraq Veterans Against the War - was recently bodyslammed and choked for dancing beneath the statue of Thomas Jefferson in Washington DC. IF I can't dance, it's not my evolution - So sayeth the OCEAN OF ROCK AND ROLL. Phunkedelic therapy. Mutate or get out.
double d list
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Women's Intuition and Dennis Hopper.
So Yes - I began living in my car in February. I delayed a deadline for two printed articles regarding the Extravaganja with Zane Helberg and Lucas Dick at the Request of or rather repeated insistence of Sugar Factory Films Phil Messerer - I lost a payment of 1500 $. The articles may yet be printed but my money is no longer retrievable. I lost my Feb. Rent. Further - I lost the ability to care for my roommate ( Who suffers extreme health issues) because I ran the risk of my head and neck and arm going numb and maybe - docs warned - I would not be able to repair the damage after rescuing her from a diabetic seizure. Time to go. I lived very well in my car in Hollywood years before when a development office had insisted that I become a partner's live-in girlfriend while my contract was being drawn. I swear - If I could only suck cock for financial gain, I would be bankrolling Messerer's vision - I love that visionary Buddha even if he is a bit like Alfred Hitchcock in his director's tactics. The articles weren't the only thing gone wrong. Money was owed to me from several clients/peeps - Times are hard - trickle down , Reagan. Trickle Down. Thanks for the memories.
I'd been looking for cheaper circumstances with a roof included but three apartments in LA were swiped beneath my feat due to new transients "Actressing" with disposable cash outbidding me. I convinced some people to pay for temporary shelter while I fixed their wanking action scripts - but still - My resume is a list of accomplished short term contracts - A steady employer looks at me and responds "This ain't no Disco" to me and laughs me out their door. I am at an inbetween zone where I don't quite cover myself yet with clients and projects, and steady jobs blow me off like the Homecoming queen blows the class nerd with a pocket protector who asks her out - The set up comes - But he is left alone waiting for his princess while she and her friends giggle and gossip about his complete perceived incompetance. I will have my revenge on day - Just like the nerds - Perhaps it already came.
I took a drive with the guinea pigs to clear our minds. Down Sunsets winding Blvd., to PCH - Up the coast to a church in Malibu the g-pigs really groove on due to the kind of grass they got growing in the back yard. Within a week, available properties had more than doubled. LA economy is in a panic. I am in several panics and took the time to unleash and unwind them watching my g-piggies graze, leap, hop, and snuggle. Beautiful creatures. But there was one panic I could not let go of - "You need to leave this town now - " my mind kept saying with a high frequency panic that seemed to enter my brain like a HARRP mind control victim explains being infiltrated and wreck my friggin heartbeat. I hopped on the phone.
"You gotta pay me, " I said to some clients who owed me money. "It is not my fault you didn't listen when I said get trip lights. I am sorry you were hit. I am hit harder and I need to leave town - Find SOMETHING for me, man."
"What's your hurry? You sound as hyped as Berns Daly when he needs to place a bet in Mexico - "
"I dunno. I can't shake a panic. It doesn't belong to me - I gotta rip out of this town. I have been invited to Taos. I feel a high panic dude - Like an earthquake is coming. Maybe it won't hit here, but I want to leave now - Every housing option I have looked, every steady job - douched like 'Santorum' ( Santorum is a term invented by Dan Savage, columnist for the syndicated 'Savage Love'. It is fecal matter and spunk that leaks from the anal passage. Savage named it 'Santorum' in honor of 2012 presidential candidate Rick Santorum - then the youngest Senator to be elected to a seat. A pretty AP reporter taped him off record saying homosexuality was like man on dog or man on child. Savage - as well as other's - Went wild, throwing ugly on that ape like Glenn Beck chimps the left ( Which I think should be renamed the Correct since we all know Beck is absolutely right...) Every other paranoid concern I can quash - Earthquake - I know I sound crazy, some say I am - But I woke up in my clothes again this morning and on my lips were the words natural disaster. You technically owe me two grand for the months I put in - I will settle for five hundred. I gotta ramble like Led Zepplin."
"You are fucking crazy, but if you let go of the rest I owe you drive by the house or I'll wire it to your account."
"Wire it. I got work in Taos. I owe some people money. You are not the only person who has forgone payment. I don't have the gas to get out to your new digs."
And so it was wired. And so I left town. And so I made it to Taos a day before the Earthquake hit Japan. A Tsunami warning was issued for LA. My facebook is fluttered with status reports from residents in Hollywood freaked about the radiation fallout from the reactor meltdowns. I slept in my friends drive til she came home. Mave ( short for Maverick) opened her door to me saying even after knowing I worked as a professional psychic, she could not handle me picking up on an Earthquake. As the damage reports rolled in, my grief, empathy, and concern for fallen temples, dojos, and missing fucking friends sent me to the local Ashram for prayers of peace. I have a natural Disdain for yoga. I am too punk rock. But Ram Das wrote "Be Here Now" in the mountains of Taos and I was told I could just hang out, say my prayers alone as an anarchist is want to do, and join folks in the meal presented after ceremonies.
I have always been intuitive and shamanic. The craft of acting comes naturally to me. My Mother says I would spook her by answering her questions before she asked them when I was three or four. I have clarevoiyant dreams. When I worked as a professional psychic, I would consult celebrities on agent issues and land owners on building aquisitions. I worked on a bank robbery. I pin pointed a fugitive caught by America's Most Wanted. I approach my acting and my stand up as a shaman. I look at the comics I hold great and I perceive them as grabbing dark karmic energy and eating it, digesting it for people, and shitting it out as Ambergis - I look at the job of actors as channeling catharsis by picking on a particular Chi - Energy - Ki - Spirit - and attaching to it. "The Actor as Shaman" influenced me tremendously when I read it in art school at the age of 14. A PHD psychologist went to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts in London and looked actors out of body experiences during relaxation exercises, and intuitive perceptions about historical figures. She found many of the actors described the roof of the school accurately, although they'd never been there. And one actor's story of playing a historical figure really stuck with me. This actor cat decided his character needed a cracked left lense in his glasses. Turned out the figure he was portraying had a cracked left lense in his glasses. Coincidence? Check with Ripley. I care not if you buy into it. But I do care that I am in Taos while other are worried about fall out radiation. Hahahaha - A sick and bitter revenge on the employers who laughed in my face and said I would never commit to their job offers. They would laugh extra hard when I pointed out that I worked steadily a psychic for a one nine hundred number - Have fun eating natural iodized kelp and checking for lumps.
My injuries were on fire by the time Mave took me to the Ashram so she sat me at a table with a comfortable chair even though we were seperated. Mave knows I make easy friends. My left side numb aside from shooting pains and the side of my left mouth being pulled down distortedly, I was in no mood to make friends. I just needed to congragate with compassionate people who were intent on sending their prayers filled with Chi, Ki, Spirit, energy - To Japan. I sat across from a native woman dressed in vibrant woven reds, decorated with silver earings her sister made, and captivating social silence. She didn't need to speak with me. I didn't need to speak with her. This made us unspoken friends.
"I cannot get rid of this panic I have," She said to her friend. " I don't know what it is - Do you know taos weather report?" It is easy to slip out of the loop in Taos. Many people live "Off the Grid" here. "Do you know?" she turned to me inquisitively.
"No. I don't. The only news I am paying attention to is the disaster in the Pacific."
She says, " You mean Japan".
"No. The Pacific. Nuclear reactors have exploded and volcanoes in Japan, Indonesia and Russia have reportedly gone off. The Tsunami hit Russian lands, Hawwaii's big Island and the West coast was on Tsunami watch with waves rough enough to suck under hardcore surfers in some pockets. It is a global disaster."
"Maybe that's what I feel," she spoke slowly and her aura was mighty and she bore grandmotherly wisdom. " I cannot shake the panic. It is like a high vibration outside of me."
"I understand," was my response. Then I told her of my arrival in Taos and the theory by which I fled LA.
"What work do you do in LA?"
Never missing an opportunity to promote Seamus Reed and Phil Messerer's movie, I explained I had just wrapped my job as an actor in my second feature movie and my hope in Taos was to catch up on my production work in Taos, including this blog that Phillip bequeathed to me. I explained That I was intuitive and that I approach acting as shamanic in its nature.
"My brother-in-law was an actor. You may know him - " Her voice went to a whisper. "Dennis Hopper."
I was already brittle with tears and held together by spiritual scotch tape. Japan had my heart. I broke at the name Dennis Hopper. I broke with quiet whispering tears of respect. DENNIS. DENNIS!!! DENNNIS!!!! I love Dennis Hopper and all his works. I loved him through all his stages in life. I knew his work outside of acting. I knew his painting. I knew and believed the same as he that artists should not be pigeoned holed to ACTOR - DIRECTOR - POET - PAINTER - solely. Art is a way of life. An artist lives life as art. Sees life as art. Sees people as art. I looked to Hopper's work in the beginning stages of creating my character in Jay Buckley's "Washington Interns Gone Bad" in "Blue Velvet". I cried like a child at the way he passed, the cancer he suffered, our world's loss of a man greater than his being. Some people pay a high price for fighting darkness. I viewed Dennis as a warrior of light - eating darkness inside himself and the darkness of the world - To this day - I will still argue his villainous performance made Costner's "Water World" - King of the "Smokers".... Even if you don't subscribe to my insights - You must agree - He is a bad Mamma Jamma who life and work was cut short. It was no coincidence I sat across the table discussing Shamanism with his Native sister-in-law. Dennis actually appeared to me in Mirror while shooting "Washington Interns Gone Bad". I will tell you as I told her the experience - Plus some extra 'Inside the Shaman's Studio' info.
"Washington Interns Gone Bad" was a micro budget comedy designed to look at and lampoon the corruption inherent in My hometown - Washington DC. I played a corrupt chief of staff who takes an optimistic intern under wing and teaches/coerces her to lie, cheat, do coke, and kill in the name of good ole patriotism. I looked at Hopper's mania in "Blue Velvet" as inspiration beginning the formation of my character. Next I exploited every fault I have ever posessed or did posess that was corrupt. I ate corrupt food. I drank corruptly. Still dealing with the fall out of "Spooks" infiltrating my life from organizing the innaugural protest of 2000, I drew on them - The "Spooks" - Hoping to extend my Ki to connect with the dark Mordor Ki that lurked in Capitol Hill. Among the specific names I looked to for connection, was that oaf who was connected to Chandra Levy's dissipearance. That is another tale for another time. My Character was explosive, turgid, crusty, and filled with self loathing and Self worship. Reviews of our little film said I rocked the movie as "Hilariously evil, making up for most of this movies faults' (according to a San Fran review)
I had told the director I wanted a bathroom scene shot of my character prepping for work. She slept with her cellphone taped to her body. She wore truffely nighties trimmed with tiny goose feathers repping her lust for luxury. In her bathroom she drank a pot of coffee, Mixed a Vodka Martini on the back of her toilet and Snorted lines of cocaine. I was looking in the mirror of the bathroom examining myself ( Japan holds the mirror as a sacred tool to the actor - sacred tool is the emphasis here), my reflection... And then it was time to snort lines. We were working with Stunt Cocaine and my directions were to pretend to snort them. I was lost in my character. I was posessed. I went down with straw in hand to the tiny vanity mirror next to the sink to do the cocaine. Upon gazing in that mirror, I did not see myself. My eyes were bright blue - Eagle-crazed blue. My chin bore whiskers. It was Dennis Hopper. Dennis hopper was looking at me plain as you are reading this blog through the vanity mirror. I snorted everything on the mirror. I snapped to when Buckley yelled cut.
"What the fuck! What did you snort? I told you not to snort it! Anne - What did you use for the cocaine? The stunt coke got wet - "
"Am I gonna die?" I asked "I saw Dennis Hopper. Dennis Hopper looked at me through the vanity mirror with the coke on it. I connected with his spirit."
"Whatever," said Buckley. "We need to watch you for a bit. I have no idea what is up your nose."
My tale was no surprise to the wise woman across the table from me. "Dennis worked the same way" she said. "You know he is burried here. Humbly. In a pine box. I held my grief together during the funeral. Since I married into the family, Essentially an outsider, he always took care to demonstrate an air of protection. I refrained from tears until the moment they were laying him in the ground. Then, when my tears began to rain, plain as day - I saw him shoot out of the pine box riding the easy rider motorcycle. He tipped his head to me as he rode into the blue sky that day asurring me he was free. I saw him. I saw him on that bike as though looking at a movie. I am not surprised he came to you. I am not surprised your spirits are connected. Everything is connected. That is why we are able to effect change. My tears turned into a smile. I loved him so much, but he loved me more. He never let anyone treat me secondarily because of my native heritage." I told her it took me 35 years to discover my American Heritage. "Everything happens for a reason. A shaman walks between the seen and the unseen world. You know this. My brother- in - law brought us together. That is certain."
After the Ashram, Mave drove me to the Gorge where "Natural Born Killers" was shot. As we turned to park, a Motorcycle chopper baring a man with a leather fringed jacket passed us. We had not seen him in our rearview mirrors. The cycle the color of Hopper's. I think Jimmi Hendrix is right. Six is nine and I don't mind. When death comes, I pray we all bust into spirit world with the speed of the rebel angel known as Dennis Hopper. I pray we all go to the other side with a calm steady motor. Borne to be wild.
In closing of this chapter, which interupts the continuity of this blog - forgoing the tales of being on set during "Underbelly Blues" - I hope you leave - even if you are not a believer - I myself the greatest punk rock skeptic - I hope you leave your computer - looking for signs of connections we share with everything, and like the Beatles preached - You begin to believe - "We can work it out." Long live Wise women. Long Live Dennis Hopper and the spirit of "Easy Rider". Long live the memory of those lost in the quake, tsunami, meltdown, and volcanoe in Japan and other regions of the pacific. Myself - I believe we all have a ticket to ride. "Buckle up" Said Betty Davis. "It's going to be a bumpy ride."
Better stock up on Flying Dog.
What? Did you think I would forget to shamelessly plug my favorite beer? Bankroller of my second feature I helped produce? I bet you think the nuclear reactors in Japan are under control too. Look for Godzilla and Mothra. They are lurking somewhere......
I'd been looking for cheaper circumstances with a roof included but three apartments in LA were swiped beneath my feat due to new transients "Actressing" with disposable cash outbidding me. I convinced some people to pay for temporary shelter while I fixed their wanking action scripts - but still - My resume is a list of accomplished short term contracts - A steady employer looks at me and responds "This ain't no Disco" to me and laughs me out their door. I am at an inbetween zone where I don't quite cover myself yet with clients and projects, and steady jobs blow me off like the Homecoming queen blows the class nerd with a pocket protector who asks her out - The set up comes - But he is left alone waiting for his princess while she and her friends giggle and gossip about his complete perceived incompetance. I will have my revenge on day - Just like the nerds - Perhaps it already came.
I took a drive with the guinea pigs to clear our minds. Down Sunsets winding Blvd., to PCH - Up the coast to a church in Malibu the g-pigs really groove on due to the kind of grass they got growing in the back yard. Within a week, available properties had more than doubled. LA economy is in a panic. I am in several panics and took the time to unleash and unwind them watching my g-piggies graze, leap, hop, and snuggle. Beautiful creatures. But there was one panic I could not let go of - "You need to leave this town now - " my mind kept saying with a high frequency panic that seemed to enter my brain like a HARRP mind control victim explains being infiltrated and wreck my friggin heartbeat. I hopped on the phone.
"You gotta pay me, " I said to some clients who owed me money. "It is not my fault you didn't listen when I said get trip lights. I am sorry you were hit. I am hit harder and I need to leave town - Find SOMETHING for me, man."
"What's your hurry? You sound as hyped as Berns Daly when he needs to place a bet in Mexico - "
"I dunno. I can't shake a panic. It doesn't belong to me - I gotta rip out of this town. I have been invited to Taos. I feel a high panic dude - Like an earthquake is coming. Maybe it won't hit here, but I want to leave now - Every housing option I have looked, every steady job - douched like 'Santorum' ( Santorum is a term invented by Dan Savage, columnist for the syndicated 'Savage Love'. It is fecal matter and spunk that leaks from the anal passage. Savage named it 'Santorum' in honor of 2012 presidential candidate Rick Santorum - then the youngest Senator to be elected to a seat. A pretty AP reporter taped him off record saying homosexuality was like man on dog or man on child. Savage - as well as other's - Went wild, throwing ugly on that ape like Glenn Beck chimps the left ( Which I think should be renamed the Correct since we all know Beck is absolutely right...) Every other paranoid concern I can quash - Earthquake - I know I sound crazy, some say I am - But I woke up in my clothes again this morning and on my lips were the words natural disaster. You technically owe me two grand for the months I put in - I will settle for five hundred. I gotta ramble like Led Zepplin."
"You are fucking crazy, but if you let go of the rest I owe you drive by the house or I'll wire it to your account."
"Wire it. I got work in Taos. I owe some people money. You are not the only person who has forgone payment. I don't have the gas to get out to your new digs."
And so it was wired. And so I left town. And so I made it to Taos a day before the Earthquake hit Japan. A Tsunami warning was issued for LA. My facebook is fluttered with status reports from residents in Hollywood freaked about the radiation fallout from the reactor meltdowns. I slept in my friends drive til she came home. Mave ( short for Maverick) opened her door to me saying even after knowing I worked as a professional psychic, she could not handle me picking up on an Earthquake. As the damage reports rolled in, my grief, empathy, and concern for fallen temples, dojos, and missing fucking friends sent me to the local Ashram for prayers of peace. I have a natural Disdain for yoga. I am too punk rock. But Ram Das wrote "Be Here Now" in the mountains of Taos and I was told I could just hang out, say my prayers alone as an anarchist is want to do, and join folks in the meal presented after ceremonies.
I have always been intuitive and shamanic. The craft of acting comes naturally to me. My Mother says I would spook her by answering her questions before she asked them when I was three or four. I have clarevoiyant dreams. When I worked as a professional psychic, I would consult celebrities on agent issues and land owners on building aquisitions. I worked on a bank robbery. I pin pointed a fugitive caught by America's Most Wanted. I approach my acting and my stand up as a shaman. I look at the comics I hold great and I perceive them as grabbing dark karmic energy and eating it, digesting it for people, and shitting it out as Ambergis - I look at the job of actors as channeling catharsis by picking on a particular Chi - Energy - Ki - Spirit - and attaching to it. "The Actor as Shaman" influenced me tremendously when I read it in art school at the age of 14. A PHD psychologist went to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts in London and looked actors out of body experiences during relaxation exercises, and intuitive perceptions about historical figures. She found many of the actors described the roof of the school accurately, although they'd never been there. And one actor's story of playing a historical figure really stuck with me. This actor cat decided his character needed a cracked left lense in his glasses. Turned out the figure he was portraying had a cracked left lense in his glasses. Coincidence? Check with Ripley. I care not if you buy into it. But I do care that I am in Taos while other are worried about fall out radiation. Hahahaha - A sick and bitter revenge on the employers who laughed in my face and said I would never commit to their job offers. They would laugh extra hard when I pointed out that I worked steadily a psychic for a one nine hundred number - Have fun eating natural iodized kelp and checking for lumps.
My injuries were on fire by the time Mave took me to the Ashram so she sat me at a table with a comfortable chair even though we were seperated. Mave knows I make easy friends. My left side numb aside from shooting pains and the side of my left mouth being pulled down distortedly, I was in no mood to make friends. I just needed to congragate with compassionate people who were intent on sending their prayers filled with Chi, Ki, Spirit, energy - To Japan. I sat across from a native woman dressed in vibrant woven reds, decorated with silver earings her sister made, and captivating social silence. She didn't need to speak with me. I didn't need to speak with her. This made us unspoken friends.
"I cannot get rid of this panic I have," She said to her friend. " I don't know what it is - Do you know taos weather report?" It is easy to slip out of the loop in Taos. Many people live "Off the Grid" here. "Do you know?" she turned to me inquisitively.
"No. I don't. The only news I am paying attention to is the disaster in the Pacific."
She says, " You mean Japan".
"No. The Pacific. Nuclear reactors have exploded and volcanoes in Japan, Indonesia and Russia have reportedly gone off. The Tsunami hit Russian lands, Hawwaii's big Island and the West coast was on Tsunami watch with waves rough enough to suck under hardcore surfers in some pockets. It is a global disaster."
"Maybe that's what I feel," she spoke slowly and her aura was mighty and she bore grandmotherly wisdom. " I cannot shake the panic. It is like a high vibration outside of me."
"I understand," was my response. Then I told her of my arrival in Taos and the theory by which I fled LA.
"What work do you do in LA?"
Never missing an opportunity to promote Seamus Reed and Phil Messerer's movie, I explained I had just wrapped my job as an actor in my second feature movie and my hope in Taos was to catch up on my production work in Taos, including this blog that Phillip bequeathed to me. I explained That I was intuitive and that I approach acting as shamanic in its nature.
"My brother-in-law was an actor. You may know him - " Her voice went to a whisper. "Dennis Hopper."
I was already brittle with tears and held together by spiritual scotch tape. Japan had my heart. I broke at the name Dennis Hopper. I broke with quiet whispering tears of respect. DENNIS. DENNIS!!! DENNNIS!!!! I love Dennis Hopper and all his works. I loved him through all his stages in life. I knew his work outside of acting. I knew his painting. I knew and believed the same as he that artists should not be pigeoned holed to ACTOR - DIRECTOR - POET - PAINTER - solely. Art is a way of life. An artist lives life as art. Sees life as art. Sees people as art. I looked to Hopper's work in the beginning stages of creating my character in Jay Buckley's "Washington Interns Gone Bad" in "Blue Velvet". I cried like a child at the way he passed, the cancer he suffered, our world's loss of a man greater than his being. Some people pay a high price for fighting darkness. I viewed Dennis as a warrior of light - eating darkness inside himself and the darkness of the world - To this day - I will still argue his villainous performance made Costner's "Water World" - King of the "Smokers".... Even if you don't subscribe to my insights - You must agree - He is a bad Mamma Jamma who life and work was cut short. It was no coincidence I sat across the table discussing Shamanism with his Native sister-in-law. Dennis actually appeared to me in Mirror while shooting "Washington Interns Gone Bad". I will tell you as I told her the experience - Plus some extra 'Inside the Shaman's Studio' info.
"Washington Interns Gone Bad" was a micro budget comedy designed to look at and lampoon the corruption inherent in My hometown - Washington DC. I played a corrupt chief of staff who takes an optimistic intern under wing and teaches/coerces her to lie, cheat, do coke, and kill in the name of good ole patriotism. I looked at Hopper's mania in "Blue Velvet" as inspiration beginning the formation of my character. Next I exploited every fault I have ever posessed or did posess that was corrupt. I ate corrupt food. I drank corruptly. Still dealing with the fall out of "Spooks" infiltrating my life from organizing the innaugural protest of 2000, I drew on them - The "Spooks" - Hoping to extend my Ki to connect with the dark Mordor Ki that lurked in Capitol Hill. Among the specific names I looked to for connection, was that oaf who was connected to Chandra Levy's dissipearance. That is another tale for another time. My Character was explosive, turgid, crusty, and filled with self loathing and Self worship. Reviews of our little film said I rocked the movie as "Hilariously evil, making up for most of this movies faults' (according to a San Fran review)
I had told the director I wanted a bathroom scene shot of my character prepping for work. She slept with her cellphone taped to her body. She wore truffely nighties trimmed with tiny goose feathers repping her lust for luxury. In her bathroom she drank a pot of coffee, Mixed a Vodka Martini on the back of her toilet and Snorted lines of cocaine. I was looking in the mirror of the bathroom examining myself ( Japan holds the mirror as a sacred tool to the actor - sacred tool is the emphasis here), my reflection... And then it was time to snort lines. We were working with Stunt Cocaine and my directions were to pretend to snort them. I was lost in my character. I was posessed. I went down with straw in hand to the tiny vanity mirror next to the sink to do the cocaine. Upon gazing in that mirror, I did not see myself. My eyes were bright blue - Eagle-crazed blue. My chin bore whiskers. It was Dennis Hopper. Dennis hopper was looking at me plain as you are reading this blog through the vanity mirror. I snorted everything on the mirror. I snapped to when Buckley yelled cut.
"What the fuck! What did you snort? I told you not to snort it! Anne - What did you use for the cocaine? The stunt coke got wet - "
"Am I gonna die?" I asked "I saw Dennis Hopper. Dennis Hopper looked at me through the vanity mirror with the coke on it. I connected with his spirit."
"Whatever," said Buckley. "We need to watch you for a bit. I have no idea what is up your nose."
My tale was no surprise to the wise woman across the table from me. "Dennis worked the same way" she said. "You know he is burried here. Humbly. In a pine box. I held my grief together during the funeral. Since I married into the family, Essentially an outsider, he always took care to demonstrate an air of protection. I refrained from tears until the moment they were laying him in the ground. Then, when my tears began to rain, plain as day - I saw him shoot out of the pine box riding the easy rider motorcycle. He tipped his head to me as he rode into the blue sky that day asurring me he was free. I saw him. I saw him on that bike as though looking at a movie. I am not surprised he came to you. I am not surprised your spirits are connected. Everything is connected. That is why we are able to effect change. My tears turned into a smile. I loved him so much, but he loved me more. He never let anyone treat me secondarily because of my native heritage." I told her it took me 35 years to discover my American Heritage. "Everything happens for a reason. A shaman walks between the seen and the unseen world. You know this. My brother- in - law brought us together. That is certain."
After the Ashram, Mave drove me to the Gorge where "Natural Born Killers" was shot. As we turned to park, a Motorcycle chopper baring a man with a leather fringed jacket passed us. We had not seen him in our rearview mirrors. The cycle the color of Hopper's. I think Jimmi Hendrix is right. Six is nine and I don't mind. When death comes, I pray we all bust into spirit world with the speed of the rebel angel known as Dennis Hopper. I pray we all go to the other side with a calm steady motor. Borne to be wild.
In closing of this chapter, which interupts the continuity of this blog - forgoing the tales of being on set during "Underbelly Blues" - I hope you leave - even if you are not a believer - I myself the greatest punk rock skeptic - I hope you leave your computer - looking for signs of connections we share with everything, and like the Beatles preached - You begin to believe - "We can work it out." Long live Wise women. Long Live Dennis Hopper and the spirit of "Easy Rider". Long live the memory of those lost in the quake, tsunami, meltdown, and volcanoe in Japan and other regions of the pacific. Myself - I believe we all have a ticket to ride. "Buckle up" Said Betty Davis. "It's going to be a bumpy ride."
Better stock up on Flying Dog.
What? Did you think I would forget to shamelessly plug my favorite beer? Bankroller of my second feature I helped produce? I bet you think the nuclear reactors in Japan are under control too. Look for Godzilla and Mothra. They are lurking somewhere......
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Tits to Wits/ Pedal to Metal/ Roadtrippin!!!!
Helberg was already outside his apartment in what I call the "Frying Pan of Hollywood". Stuck in the middle of the griddle where the fossil fuels baste you like freedom fries in a French Whore's home, the actor was in repose - coffeee (Yes, with three eee's )and cigarette - A Sinead O ' Connor cover of some lost timeless song - A Jarmushian recipe for those in the know to relax - Can't feel too healthy in the "Frying Pan" - You'll feel out of place like a Guinea Pig in Griffith Park just before the coyotes come out - Invincible, But someone will see those extra hit points and make a meal out of you....Transients in L.A. hunt much like Coyote - In posse. I have heard that some burn candles and make offerings when "Entourage" airs - Studying its writing like the Talmud. Helberg is golden. He is ready. He hops in the car with a smile and altitude that reminds me two more phone calls and I too will grin like that. Chillin with Helberg may be at times chillin with the Cheshire cat - If in fact I actually chilled with that cat - It was a very relaxing night with some tea - I saw eyeballs in the corner and a grin - They made me smile - Signature Cheshire visitation but then - The circles I travel in are very self amusing and I know a lot of jazz musicians.
"Call Cairos! That is your job today. Call Cairos!!" I say with the stress and command of an investment broker to Director of "Underbelly Blues" Phil Messerer. "He returns to Vegas today and he is expecting you to make an appointment to scout his pad." I hang the Iphone up with the memory of being able to slam a phone in the days of dial up. Zane looks at me as though he has not seen this tension, and he is right - He has not - I have the need for speed and a trip out of town. Tits to wits. Pedal to metal. A road trip with Burns Daly was just what the doctor ordered.
We pull up to an abandoned warehouse that clearly is being turned into something - evidence of a garden - Standard classic skillful squatting. Daly bangs on the trunk surprising us - entering as usual from our blindspot. Helberg spies the gigantic Scottsman (Scotts/English) and automatically offers up the Shotgun. "No Need", Says Burns. "Pop the trunk, E and let's get Lucas Dick." I follows Daly's instruction as I have learned to do without question and motor to Dick's Pad.
Lucas was waiting outside for us as a funeral wake was getting started. He jumped in the unlocked door as it was moving with three taco's from tacobell ( Not a Taco Bell endorsement, just a demonstration of our economic standing) offering them to any who hungered in the car - "Good Gravy - The Car is Moving,!" I chortle impressed at his grace. Lucas Dick replies "All good. I been to this rodeo before - Let's roll." With that we were off for San Diego. I made the 101 and girly - wanting to impress the boys - I tore out as thought it were a clear route 40 to New Mexico on a golden night of no traffic. But there was slowing, traffic, and the guys were not all that impressed. I blamed it on my road lust for undisturbed drives. Boys suffer testosterone. Girls suffer breastosterone. Tits to the wits. Pedal to the metal.
When traffic patterns began to move as swift as silver fish surfing Maui, Burns wanted to pull over - A. He had a blunt rolled. B. He wanted to make adjustments. C. We needed gassing up. Helberg bolted to smoke a cancer stick. Lucas - a free soul - wandered toward a field probably to listen to the wind and jam more on his Pandora hip hop station - Always feeding his soul with tales of indestructibility and calm. I don't know what Mr. Dick's heritage is but the native Indian and Irish Shaman in me spies the wind whispering to him often. I risked using the lavatory which I am pleased to report was run by hospitable Pakistani's who were proud of the oasis they had made of the miraculous running water we have in the USA - Flowers, Incense, affirmations - Amazing.
Returning I see Helberg's taken a stance of awe grabbing his hair unaware or indifferent to his burning Cancer stubbin. Lucas is facing the field with his arms extended like Kevin Costner diagnosing the weather from the corn blowing, collecting the corn and wind power feeding it into his storage banks for the coming show tonight, Oblivious to Burns "Adjustments". I followed Zane's focus to see what mischief Burns was brewing.
There was Burns. On top of my car's hood like a winged gremilin on the exterior of an airplane on a stormy night in the Twilight Zone armed with a blowtorch. That's right. Blowtorch. No one seems to notice beyond Helberg who is now didging and dodging around incredulous of the lack of authority reigning down on Burns. I myself was mesmerized by the Blowtorch which had a vintage quality to it - looking like it was welded and formed by a shop student in Guatemala with shoddy American vacuum cleaner parts. A closer look as I managed to avoid shock revealed a lighter magnetized into a flame as effective as a blowtorch -- I am unqualified to go into the mechanics but man - Was it effective! "This is what I made to piece together the Chopper I took from Tijuana to LA this last time. I should have pulled the car away from the pump before I did this... (Zane has broken into white balls of sweat) I just figured we could use a convertable for the journey." And Daly is off the hood and entering my car without one glance from an onlooker. Kicking the hood out from within the car, Daly Looks a bit like a Kangeroo in a WB cartoon.Hong Kong Foey. Fred Flintstone losing his temper. Two Hockey Players loosed to duke it out in a 2004 cherry red malibu. Top comes off without a hitch after about twenty minutes. Zane is watching in unfamiliar shock. Dick is still mediatating with the birds. After the top turned over and ploppled to floor, Berns daintily stepped out of the car, checked to make certain all seatbelts worked, brushed the debree off his pants, and as he walked around the car mumbled " A beer will taste good when we get off the road, eh?" Zane nodded needing to be shepherded through this shocking part of his career as a "Roaddog" of comedy. "No worries, Helberg," Daily smiled seeing the green in this seasoned comic. "E had four cases of Flying Dog delivered to the condo. We'll be watching waves and toasting one another's talents by sun down. My turn to drive." I toss Burns the keys probably the only person who knows it is better to trust him than to fight against his current. "What's the corn Shaman's name again?" "Dick," I reply. "DICK!" bellows Burns. "TRAINS LEAVING!" Dick turns and runs to the altered vehicle with not one ruffled feather. He buckled in with the rest of us. Then he whips from his backpack like someone who studied the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy - not the Adam's books - The GUIDE - a thin terry towel the size of which a basketball player could easily towel dry and ties it into a hammocked head rest shielding him from the sun and the wind. Helberg admires Dick's work with a Fonzie felt "Nice" letting the trail like air from a tire. "I told you all when we started - I been to this rodeo before - Phat changes Burnz- Let's roll" Amazed - I put on Lenny Kravitz and sing at the top of my lungs. I have not been driven round in a long bit, and to have a convertable ride - brilliant. Knowing that there are four cases of Flying Dog Beer at The Comedy Store Condo waiting for us as the waves roll in and out on the beach - I smile with the sun warming my closed eyelids as I praise those who guided me on this gonzo path to those who have gone before. "Hunter would be proud." I yell "TITS TO THE WITS, BURNZ!! PEDAL TO THE METAL!!!! WELCOME TO THE REBEL YELL HELBERG!!!!"
We made it. Zane White knuckled his seatbelt and back pack and had a powerful thirst by the time we picked up the condo's keys and popped our first Flying Dog Beer. Walking from the parking garage to the balcony he had told Daly his families stories, confessions of immature discretions ( As "w" presidentially credentialed the behavior), and goals of great apptitude and compassion. You gotta love a man who loves his family. Greatful to be alive, greatful to have the gig, greatful for Flying Dog, Zane's second move was to call his mom in Arizona. Fresh from the wilds of Montana, Dick fell asleep as though this rodeo bored him. Daly and I quashed beers knowing he would be returning to Scottland for 8 shakes of a full jar of weed. Daly and I worked often together. This was the first time he trusted me with my opinion of talent. I picked Zane Helberg and Lucas Dick knowing their talent would make me look good. They are perfectionists in every aspect of their lives as far as I could tell. My dream of being a producer and cutting people slack and paychecks were coming true... Craft Dreams, Craft brew, Craft Comedy. I managed to watch the entire sunset and turned off my phone for the show ahead.
The show itself was a rodeo that even Lucas Dick could not conceal awe. Twas Fantastic! Jeffery Peterson - the 420 comic drove into town - Headlining movie diva comic Leslie Jones made an appearance with Erik Marino and singer Becca Fischer entouraging. Med Mike to stage time. Phil Mazo drove in separately from H- wood and was reunited with a beauty from his highschool dayz who was so cool her glass bowl had NEW York Giants logo blown into it ( And she CARED like a man for that football team. She was awesome. I invited her back to the condo with all of us) Americans for Safe Access San Diego Chapter took home 900 bucks they didn't have before that night. Everyone went home happy. I signed a lot of autographs. We retired to the condo.
We retired to the condo where we drank Flying Dog Beer and played poker. Helberg and Dick took the crowd by their heart and I was so high on success I could not play poker - I could only lean to my right and giggle as I dropped cards. I retired first, blowing up my king size airbed and sleeping out on the balcony underneath the stars and moon listening to the waves do their thang...Burnz was happy, Phil and his squeeze were reunited, Zane in accord with Lucas won and lost numerous hands in the chosen game at hand. Breakfast couldn't be beat like Alice's Restaurant on Thanksgiving and the ride home was easy and breezy except I was to report to Messerer at Sugar Factory films. Set day for Zane and I was close at hand. The director wanted to chat with me about costume and character -
What did you think I was going to tell you Helberg and Dick's jokes? Maybe toss one or two to the hungry readers? Perhaps you expecting a critique of the show? Henry Winkler once told me regarding the pursuit of a successful career - It is not what you achieve that matters. It is the journey that is most important. Regaling this tale you it all sounds tall - Tall as the Gonzo days of Hunter S., Abbie Hoffman, and the misguided Weathermen. Sure - I grant you - this tale is tall - Taller than most sentimental yippic adventures. But not as tall as the comedy I witnessed executed by young masters like Lucas Dick, Zane Helberg, Leslie Jones, Jeffery Peterson, Phil Mazo, Burns Daly. ..... And yes - I had a great set too.... And I do speak solely of my breastosterone. The peace created between the sunset, the waves, supporting fellow talent while crushing Flying Dog Beer was enough to last me to set day. "Underbelly Blues" beckoned with whatever task needed tasking. My dog and I would not be going for a spin around the moon again until we wrapped. Did you know Frank Sinatra originally sang "Fly me to the Moon" to his dog - Alfred? If you believe that, I suppose you'll also believe that PBR really does have a blue ribbon. I really have a convertable... Anything is plausible. Few things are well crafted. Flying Dog Beer is crafted. Flying dog beer is crafted almost as well as the comedy I witnessed that show. Pay attention to where Zane Helberg and Lucas Dick go - the answer is places. :)
Until Zen, Folks.
"Call Cairos! That is your job today. Call Cairos!!" I say with the stress and command of an investment broker to Director of "Underbelly Blues" Phil Messerer. "He returns to Vegas today and he is expecting you to make an appointment to scout his pad." I hang the Iphone up with the memory of being able to slam a phone in the days of dial up. Zane looks at me as though he has not seen this tension, and he is right - He has not - I have the need for speed and a trip out of town. Tits to wits. Pedal to metal. A road trip with Burns Daly was just what the doctor ordered.
We pull up to an abandoned warehouse that clearly is being turned into something - evidence of a garden - Standard classic skillful squatting. Daly bangs on the trunk surprising us - entering as usual from our blindspot. Helberg spies the gigantic Scottsman (Scotts/English) and automatically offers up the Shotgun. "No Need", Says Burns. "Pop the trunk, E and let's get Lucas Dick." I follows Daly's instruction as I have learned to do without question and motor to Dick's Pad.
Lucas was waiting outside for us as a funeral wake was getting started. He jumped in the unlocked door as it was moving with three taco's from tacobell ( Not a Taco Bell endorsement, just a demonstration of our economic standing) offering them to any who hungered in the car - "Good Gravy - The Car is Moving,!" I chortle impressed at his grace. Lucas Dick replies "All good. I been to this rodeo before - Let's roll." With that we were off for San Diego. I made the 101 and girly - wanting to impress the boys - I tore out as thought it were a clear route 40 to New Mexico on a golden night of no traffic. But there was slowing, traffic, and the guys were not all that impressed. I blamed it on my road lust for undisturbed drives. Boys suffer testosterone. Girls suffer breastosterone. Tits to the wits. Pedal to the metal.
When traffic patterns began to move as swift as silver fish surfing Maui, Burns wanted to pull over - A. He had a blunt rolled. B. He wanted to make adjustments. C. We needed gassing up. Helberg bolted to smoke a cancer stick. Lucas - a free soul - wandered toward a field probably to listen to the wind and jam more on his Pandora hip hop station - Always feeding his soul with tales of indestructibility and calm. I don't know what Mr. Dick's heritage is but the native Indian and Irish Shaman in me spies the wind whispering to him often. I risked using the lavatory which I am pleased to report was run by hospitable Pakistani's who were proud of the oasis they had made of the miraculous running water we have in the USA - Flowers, Incense, affirmations - Amazing.
Returning I see Helberg's taken a stance of awe grabbing his hair unaware or indifferent to his burning Cancer stubbin. Lucas is facing the field with his arms extended like Kevin Costner diagnosing the weather from the corn blowing, collecting the corn and wind power feeding it into his storage banks for the coming show tonight, Oblivious to Burns "Adjustments". I followed Zane's focus to see what mischief Burns was brewing.
There was Burns. On top of my car's hood like a winged gremilin on the exterior of an airplane on a stormy night in the Twilight Zone armed with a blowtorch. That's right. Blowtorch. No one seems to notice beyond Helberg who is now didging and dodging around incredulous of the lack of authority reigning down on Burns. I myself was mesmerized by the Blowtorch which had a vintage quality to it - looking like it was welded and formed by a shop student in Guatemala with shoddy American vacuum cleaner parts. A closer look as I managed to avoid shock revealed a lighter magnetized into a flame as effective as a blowtorch -- I am unqualified to go into the mechanics but man - Was it effective! "This is what I made to piece together the Chopper I took from Tijuana to LA this last time. I should have pulled the car away from the pump before I did this... (Zane has broken into white balls of sweat) I just figured we could use a convertable for the journey." And Daly is off the hood and entering my car without one glance from an onlooker. Kicking the hood out from within the car, Daly Looks a bit like a Kangeroo in a WB cartoon.Hong Kong Foey. Fred Flintstone losing his temper. Two Hockey Players loosed to duke it out in a 2004 cherry red malibu. Top comes off without a hitch after about twenty minutes. Zane is watching in unfamiliar shock. Dick is still mediatating with the birds. After the top turned over and ploppled to floor, Berns daintily stepped out of the car, checked to make certain all seatbelts worked, brushed the debree off his pants, and as he walked around the car mumbled " A beer will taste good when we get off the road, eh?" Zane nodded needing to be shepherded through this shocking part of his career as a "Roaddog" of comedy. "No worries, Helberg," Daily smiled seeing the green in this seasoned comic. "E had four cases of Flying Dog delivered to the condo. We'll be watching waves and toasting one another's talents by sun down. My turn to drive." I toss Burns the keys probably the only person who knows it is better to trust him than to fight against his current. "What's the corn Shaman's name again?" "Dick," I reply. "DICK!" bellows Burns. "TRAINS LEAVING!" Dick turns and runs to the altered vehicle with not one ruffled feather. He buckled in with the rest of us. Then he whips from his backpack like someone who studied the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy - not the Adam's books - The GUIDE - a thin terry towel the size of which a basketball player could easily towel dry and ties it into a hammocked head rest shielding him from the sun and the wind. Helberg admires Dick's work with a Fonzie felt "Nice" letting the trail like air from a tire. "I told you all when we started - I been to this rodeo before - Phat changes Burnz- Let's roll" Amazed - I put on Lenny Kravitz and sing at the top of my lungs. I have not been driven round in a long bit, and to have a convertable ride - brilliant. Knowing that there are four cases of Flying Dog Beer at The Comedy Store Condo waiting for us as the waves roll in and out on the beach - I smile with the sun warming my closed eyelids as I praise those who guided me on this gonzo path to those who have gone before. "Hunter would be proud." I yell "TITS TO THE WITS, BURNZ!! PEDAL TO THE METAL!!!! WELCOME TO THE REBEL YELL HELBERG!!!!"
We made it. Zane White knuckled his seatbelt and back pack and had a powerful thirst by the time we picked up the condo's keys and popped our first Flying Dog Beer. Walking from the parking garage to the balcony he had told Daly his families stories, confessions of immature discretions ( As "w" presidentially credentialed the behavior), and goals of great apptitude and compassion. You gotta love a man who loves his family. Greatful to be alive, greatful to have the gig, greatful for Flying Dog, Zane's second move was to call his mom in Arizona. Fresh from the wilds of Montana, Dick fell asleep as though this rodeo bored him. Daly and I quashed beers knowing he would be returning to Scottland for 8 shakes of a full jar of weed. Daly and I worked often together. This was the first time he trusted me with my opinion of talent. I picked Zane Helberg and Lucas Dick knowing their talent would make me look good. They are perfectionists in every aspect of their lives as far as I could tell. My dream of being a producer and cutting people slack and paychecks were coming true... Craft Dreams, Craft brew, Craft Comedy. I managed to watch the entire sunset and turned off my phone for the show ahead.
The show itself was a rodeo that even Lucas Dick could not conceal awe. Twas Fantastic! Jeffery Peterson - the 420 comic drove into town - Headlining movie diva comic Leslie Jones made an appearance with Erik Marino and singer Becca Fischer entouraging. Med Mike to stage time. Phil Mazo drove in separately from H- wood and was reunited with a beauty from his highschool dayz who was so cool her glass bowl had NEW York Giants logo blown into it ( And she CARED like a man for that football team. She was awesome. I invited her back to the condo with all of us) Americans for Safe Access San Diego Chapter took home 900 bucks they didn't have before that night. Everyone went home happy. I signed a lot of autographs. We retired to the condo.
We retired to the condo where we drank Flying Dog Beer and played poker. Helberg and Dick took the crowd by their heart and I was so high on success I could not play poker - I could only lean to my right and giggle as I dropped cards. I retired first, blowing up my king size airbed and sleeping out on the balcony underneath the stars and moon listening to the waves do their thang...Burnz was happy, Phil and his squeeze were reunited, Zane in accord with Lucas won and lost numerous hands in the chosen game at hand. Breakfast couldn't be beat like Alice's Restaurant on Thanksgiving and the ride home was easy and breezy except I was to report to Messerer at Sugar Factory films. Set day for Zane and I was close at hand. The director wanted to chat with me about costume and character -
What did you think I was going to tell you Helberg and Dick's jokes? Maybe toss one or two to the hungry readers? Perhaps you expecting a critique of the show? Henry Winkler once told me regarding the pursuit of a successful career - It is not what you achieve that matters. It is the journey that is most important. Regaling this tale you it all sounds tall - Tall as the Gonzo days of Hunter S., Abbie Hoffman, and the misguided Weathermen. Sure - I grant you - this tale is tall - Taller than most sentimental yippic adventures. But not as tall as the comedy I witnessed executed by young masters like Lucas Dick, Zane Helberg, Leslie Jones, Jeffery Peterson, Phil Mazo, Burns Daly. ..... And yes - I had a great set too.... And I do speak solely of my breastosterone. The peace created between the sunset, the waves, supporting fellow talent while crushing Flying Dog Beer was enough to last me to set day. "Underbelly Blues" beckoned with whatever task needed tasking. My dog and I would not be going for a spin around the moon again until we wrapped. Did you know Frank Sinatra originally sang "Fly me to the Moon" to his dog - Alfred? If you believe that, I suppose you'll also believe that PBR really does have a blue ribbon. I really have a convertable... Anything is plausible. Few things are well crafted. Flying Dog Beer is crafted. Flying dog beer is crafted almost as well as the comedy I witnessed that show. Pay attention to where Zane Helberg and Lucas Dick go - the answer is places. :)
Until Zen, Folks.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Willow tit Willow
Willow is the name of the Sativa I was purchasing at the dispensary with the John candy look alike on security detail-19.27 % thc - rated a ten on the kills pain scale - When "Burns Daly" called. My tit is the only thing that doesn't hurt. I am so emotionally exhausted if I met a Dickie bird on the road I wouldn't bother to ask why he sat there singing at all - let alone lyrics pertaining to my malady. If I met two gorgeous model/surfers named Gilbert and Sullivan and one played the harp/ the other guitar and they insisted I was just their American Fantasy - Come - "We are living on Royalties" - I couldn't muster the moxie. I am spent. I am spent like the dream of a young bard. Spent like the foam making its last hurrah in my empty glass of Flying Dog.
"What News?" Burns Daly had left the country after his last appearance at the La Jolla Extravaganja and I thought I smelled tequila through the cellphone and the tailpipe of a cheap motorcycle fresh with Tijuanna sand. "Are you wrapped? Is it a party?" i could hear the party occurring in the background wear Burns was calling from reggae and beer toasting. - Daly's at the races again.
"Wrapped like a fortune cookie that has yet to be opened, Daly. I have no idea how it went. They asked me how I felt, I didn't know - I went somewhere. Transcendant. I don't know what I said beyond arched platforms to jump off of - The character - The character expended me. I exercised a demon. I threw out half my wardrobe. Anything my ex ever bought me. I am roaming Venice asking the sun to bake me and Smoking 'Willow' - The strain not the midget"
"I heard it was award worthy. Even I am plugged in." I heard gunshots and hoots in the background. "Oh, mandango - I won again."
"All I can hope Burns is that I can stand to watch it. Everyone reacted as though I exceeded expectation. It is really up to the audience. It took me six months at least to build that character - I gotta detach -" FLYING DOG TASTES LIKE MOTHER'S MILK WHEN THE WAVES LAP AT THE SHORE LIKE GUITAR LIKE GUITAR LICKS.
"If it was anything like the show you , Dick , and Hellberg pulled off at the extravaganja - people will want to go to church later. Just sayin. Sunset was pretty toasty too. Love Pacific Beach. "
"Really?"
"Lady, you are deeper than Bat Country. The company you run with got rock and roll for a soul. You tell your man Helberg, next round on me. It was a good journey for the soul. Enjoy the rest of "Underbelly Blues" like a good motorcycle on a private road or flying Dog.
"What News?" Burns Daly had left the country after his last appearance at the La Jolla Extravaganja and I thought I smelled tequila through the cellphone and the tailpipe of a cheap motorcycle fresh with Tijuanna sand. "Are you wrapped? Is it a party?" i could hear the party occurring in the background wear Burns was calling from reggae and beer toasting. - Daly's at the races again.
"Wrapped like a fortune cookie that has yet to be opened, Daly. I have no idea how it went. They asked me how I felt, I didn't know - I went somewhere. Transcendant. I don't know what I said beyond arched platforms to jump off of - The character - The character expended me. I exercised a demon. I threw out half my wardrobe. Anything my ex ever bought me. I am roaming Venice asking the sun to bake me and Smoking 'Willow' - The strain not the midget"
"I heard it was award worthy. Even I am plugged in." I heard gunshots and hoots in the background. "Oh, mandango - I won again."
"All I can hope Burns is that I can stand to watch it. Everyone reacted as though I exceeded expectation. It is really up to the audience. It took me six months at least to build that character - I gotta detach -" FLYING DOG TASTES LIKE MOTHER'S MILK WHEN THE WAVES LAP AT THE SHORE LIKE GUITAR LIKE GUITAR LICKS.
"If it was anything like the show you , Dick , and Hellberg pulled off at the extravaganja - people will want to go to church later. Just sayin. Sunset was pretty toasty too. Love Pacific Beach. "
"Really?"
"Lady, you are deeper than Bat Country. The company you run with got rock and roll for a soul. You tell your man Helberg, next round on me. It was a good journey for the soul. Enjoy the rest of "Underbelly Blues" like a good motorcycle on a private road or flying Dog.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
"Under Cleavage" and the "Underbelly Blues."
I was watching Sacred Cow's documentary "How weed won the West" (available at http://www.sacredcow.com). I had not seen the final cut since Fearless Phil Messerer (Director of "Underbelly Blues" go to http://www.underbellyblues.com) employed his skills as an editor. Messerer edits like Eddie Scissorhands sculpts bushes and ice. If you listen carefully, his fingers moving like lightening, you can hear the singing of metal.
Watching the interview with female wrestler with Shelly Martinez, I realize Shelly is a fighting ball of Shakti when engaged in her art. You "could plant two young trees in the holes she'd leave". Shelly suffered a back injury from her wrestling days that rendered her on pain meds. The pills she was popping, sedated her and triggered memories of childhood trauma - She switched to medicating herself with cannibis because, A. it's not addictive, B. weed doesn't shrink your mind into a shadow vice grip holding you hostage between ghosts of the past and imaginary fiends (.Speaking for myself and Shelly,that is...And then there are ghosts that no amount of drugs will kill.. my heart goes out to vets who served in Fallujah). Trae and Kevin Booth - The brains behind Sacred Cow Productions - feature Shelly walking down a spiral stair case with a cut off top exposing what I now term as "uncercleavage" - a brazen show of Shelly's ' cannons' from the underside -When I got the call. "Giffords was shot in the head. Someone went 'Baghdad' in Tucsan. Turn on the news."
"Turn on the news" hits me like someone shooting the breeze with an elephant gun. Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords shot in the head. A Federal Judge dead. A nine year old girl dead. All because a looney tuned killer was rejected by the army and still able to get his Fu-manchu - rian-candidate hands on a glok. Shock jock horror at it's finest. "Rally round the family with a pocket full of shells." Glen Beck's jargon spewing from their mouths like frogs and snakes coming out of the mouth of a cursed princess. Hoist the flag. Wrap ye trigger happy body in lady liberty's toga as ye shoot machine gun rounds into the sky. People wonder at the mass bird deaths - winged whistler's falling from the sky - No doubt the victims of bullet happy teabaggers rallying in the name of freedom fries armed with "magic bullets"(the very same that hit JFK)... Mel Gibson's father must be so proud..."sugarnuts". Gabrielle Giffords is a sickening loss. The Federal Judge also tragic. That nine year old girl though - dead before she even learned the names of our executive branches - enrages my sense of compassion and makes me question my decision to walk unarmed on this Earth. For all the rights and laws allowing Arizonians to carry arms - where was the vigilante sureshot - The old prospecter/farmer with his lightening quick reflexes made certain from shooting cactus on his acre lot? If Hunter S. were alive in Tucson I am certain he would take his gun to grocery shop. And if any adult can by a gun - Let's arm children too - If we all kill ourselves, chalk it up to a chapter in Darwinian lesson books. I support the right to bare arms. I do not support the right for yanky fucking doodle rallies that climax with machine gun rounds. I also do not support the journalist who continue to highlight Loughner's occasional pot smoking. Apparently he did not smoke enough. Hey - Rather than tell us he smoked pot, tell us where he got the gun. Some think he got the idea from Sarah Palin's bullseye list. Sarah listed Gabrielle Giffords as a "target" for her campaign complete with a crosshair over her state.
And here I am, staring at the six pack of Flying Dog Porter stored over my work desk. I am fasting. My head and neck injury have slowed down my intention to whip myself into shape for my potrayal as Madame X in Phil Messerer and Seamus Reed's "Underbelly Blues" - A Jewish mother dominatrix. I am inventing a whole history for her - Complete with Flamenco dancing and a passion for Carmen Miranda musical numbers. She used to bring her son Norman to the dungeon with her - he loved it when the ladies would dress him in frilly petticoats. He would sing Carmen Miranda til one day the ladies sewed his mouth shut. That was the end of his trips to the dungeon. Madame X bought him tango lessons which he was never very good at, and before her husband died, they attended every Vegas junior league poker game that Norman ever played. It was tragic, losing her husband Norman. He was a nationally recognized swordsman. How he fell on his own sword is a mystery. Madame X thinks it was murder. She has not been the same since. It is murder staring at my Flying Dog Beer Porter since I began my fast - Murder, but motivation. I would have a whole case sent to Congresswoman Giffords room if it would help her recover speedily. The underbelly of Arizona is filled blues. Clearly there is a great cry for Flying Dog Beer in Arizona - f ck their tea.
And here I am, staring at the six pack of Flying Dog Porter stored over my work desk. I am fasting. My head and neck injury have slowed down my intention to whip myself into shape for my potrayal as Madame X in Phil Messerer and Seamus Reed's "Underbelly Blues" - A Jewish mother dominatrix. I am inventing a whole history for her - Complete with Flamenco dancing and a passion for Carmen Miranda musical numbers. She used to bring her son Norman to the dungeon with her - he loved it when the ladies would dress him in frilly petticoats. He would sing Carmen Miranda til one day the ladies sewed his mouth shut. That was the end of his trips to the dungeon. Madame X bought him tango lessons which he was never very good at, and before her husband died, they attended every Vegas junior league poker game that Norman ever played. It was tragic, losing her husband Norman. He was a nationally recognized swordsman. How he fell on his own sword is a mystery. Madame X thinks it was murder. She has not been the same since. It is murder staring at my Flying Dog Beer Porter since I began my fast - Murder, but motivation. I would have a whole case sent to Congresswoman Giffords room if it would help her recover speedily. The underbelly of Arizona is filled blues. Clearly there is a great cry for Flying Dog Beer in Arizona - f ck their tea.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Titillating Cuisine
The Breast of networking begins with really good food - Exquisite - to be truthful. The kind of food that makes your mouth water like a babe suckling - awakening taste buds, opening senses, feeding you vitamins sustanance - It's heathful impact immediate - Like a good orgasm.
A posse of big breasted babes has invaded tinsel town repping Washington D.C. - All founders of the Guerilla Poet Insurgency - A group of Hip Hop artists, gangsta poets, and mad inspired artivists born in protest of our.. Shall we say... "Little scuffle in Iraq" - rallied me with a text I found around 9:19 this morning. I awoke at seven am with the overzealous awareness of an executive late for the million dollar meeting and the crux of the deal lay on them as though Atlas needed a day at the spa putting them in charge of holding up the world. Boulderdash And sticky wickets. Tempted to grab a Flying Dog from the six pack Philly gave me. Zane Helberg, the comic actor playing my son, is appearing in Russ Gutin and Noel Elgraby's Belly Room Show tucked on the second floor of The World Famous Comedy Store on Sunset Blvd. How would I handle the entire day before me to catch his 9 pm show and join his comic line-up at the T-bar - A hookah lounge on Sunset strip open til the wee hours - The gonzoidal blokes rippin the jokes in Helberg's circles are brimming and swimming in hip hop harmonious humor - Lucas Dick, Max Silverstein, King Anye, Paul Palmeri, Kevin Rudy, And as of late reppin "The fairer sex" - Amy Hawethorne, Amy Cheapo, Christine Medrano, and ever the picture of Noir pinache mixed with Phili fighting style - Eleanor Kerrigan. ... Not enough name dropping in journalism these days - ... Not enough Beer drinking early in the morning - I miss Berlin.
Brunch. Operatic cuisine. I boast not. Prayers and hours spent at my desk, in my home, longing for the sort of group meals that washingtonians relish and excell manifesting - Leila and Faddi's home. Leila and Faddi have moved here from my DC circles. "Pheonix" and "Wonder Bra" visiting Washingtonians, fed me copious amounts of medicinal marijuana as we parlayed Coachella, Cashing in on the natural born talents of Guinea Pigs, LA Guerilla Poet Insurgency, and "Wonder Bra's" new Invention - "The Boob Helmet". White Wine and orange Juice with the Lebanese bread and Egg/zesty salad and Flying Dog Beer with the sausage. I let the ladies sample them all and gave another six pack to the chef - Faddi - A handsome manhunk - tall , steamy, spicy, calm - married to Leila whose fashion glands set trends. Lucky, lucky, Leila - A man who cooks will see up to 10 times the amount of breasts a fella without those skills will - Must have been hellish to cook for wild amply endowed women discussing and demonstrating "The Boob Helmet" I would tell you what that is, but then "Wonder Bra" would have to kill me.
When I told the ladies Flying Dog Beer was behind our movie - We all got a little wet between the legs - "Pheonix" preaches "omni-sexuality" . The right piece of furniture or business deal can make you wet - And there is nothing more relaxing, arousing, and down righteously Tittilating than discussing international business, Gonzo politics while pouring a porter down your throat driving the zing of cilantro with feta further into the taste canals. Praise "BYOB"
The brainy big breasted p*ssy posse went to aquire film equipment, and attend the sunset on venice. My days living there were often spent toasting my neighbors as we applauded many sunsets over the ocean - You just can't craft moving pictures like that. You can only capture them. You can craft stories like you brew craft beer, however. Reluctantly - I took leave to attend to the movie Business of Messerer's Movie "Underbelly Blues", Dress for Helberg's event, and find my focus for the stand up set am doing tonight.
A posse of big breasted babes has invaded tinsel town repping Washington D.C. - All founders of the Guerilla Poet Insurgency - A group of Hip Hop artists, gangsta poets, and mad inspired artivists born in protest of our.. Shall we say... "Little scuffle in Iraq" - rallied me with a text I found around 9:19 this morning. I awoke at seven am with the overzealous awareness of an executive late for the million dollar meeting and the crux of the deal lay on them as though Atlas needed a day at the spa putting them in charge of holding up the world. Boulderdash And sticky wickets. Tempted to grab a Flying Dog from the six pack Philly gave me. Zane Helberg, the comic actor playing my son, is appearing in Russ Gutin and Noel Elgraby's Belly Room Show tucked on the second floor of The World Famous Comedy Store on Sunset Blvd. How would I handle the entire day before me to catch his 9 pm show and join his comic line-up at the T-bar - A hookah lounge on Sunset strip open til the wee hours - The gonzoidal blokes rippin the jokes in Helberg's circles are brimming and swimming in hip hop harmonious humor - Lucas Dick, Max Silverstein, King Anye, Paul Palmeri, Kevin Rudy, And as of late reppin "The fairer sex" - Amy Hawethorne, Amy Cheapo, Christine Medrano, and ever the picture of Noir pinache mixed with Phili fighting style - Eleanor Kerrigan. ... Not enough name dropping in journalism these days - ... Not enough Beer drinking early in the morning - I miss Berlin.
Brunch. Operatic cuisine. I boast not. Prayers and hours spent at my desk, in my home, longing for the sort of group meals that washingtonians relish and excell manifesting - Leila and Faddi's home. Leila and Faddi have moved here from my DC circles. "Pheonix" and "Wonder Bra" visiting Washingtonians, fed me copious amounts of medicinal marijuana as we parlayed Coachella, Cashing in on the natural born talents of Guinea Pigs, LA Guerilla Poet Insurgency, and "Wonder Bra's" new Invention - "The Boob Helmet". White Wine and orange Juice with the Lebanese bread and Egg/zesty salad and Flying Dog Beer with the sausage. I let the ladies sample them all and gave another six pack to the chef - Faddi - A handsome manhunk - tall , steamy, spicy, calm - married to Leila whose fashion glands set trends. Lucky, lucky, Leila - A man who cooks will see up to 10 times the amount of breasts a fella without those skills will - Must have been hellish to cook for wild amply endowed women discussing and demonstrating "The Boob Helmet" I would tell you what that is, but then "Wonder Bra" would have to kill me.
When I told the ladies Flying Dog Beer was behind our movie - We all got a little wet between the legs - "Pheonix" preaches "omni-sexuality" . The right piece of furniture or business deal can make you wet - And there is nothing more relaxing, arousing, and down righteously Tittilating than discussing international business, Gonzo politics while pouring a porter down your throat driving the zing of cilantro with feta further into the taste canals. Praise "BYOB"
The brainy big breasted p*ssy posse went to aquire film equipment, and attend the sunset on venice. My days living there were often spent toasting my neighbors as we applauded many sunsets over the ocean - You just can't craft moving pictures like that. You can only capture them. You can craft stories like you brew craft beer, however. Reluctantly - I took leave to attend to the movie Business of Messerer's Movie "Underbelly Blues", Dress for Helberg's event, and find my focus for the stand up set am doing tonight.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
The Breast of Times.
It was the breast of times. It was the worst of times. Haggard, overworked, underpaid, and underlay'd, I wrestled while parking my car in Producer/Director Phil Messerer's gated lot, dressed in a cervical collar - My left arm numb and ripping with pain. An imbalanced buffoon had moved me into position while wrecklessly out of control video -taping for his show on Halloween (Samhein to Celts and Neo-pagan-hippie-Shaman-Americans who are generally in search of meaning deeper than the Catholicism and holier than football), and managing the pain successfully at first, it had degenerated into a gimpy state that made me feel a bit Quasimodo in stature. Put a pencil in my left hand and call me Bob Dole. Praise "Bob". I had just rehabilitated myself to the point where I could wear heels again. That took me two years. Boys rarely know how to handle their toys, and when confronted with a woman with Capital Hills, something inside them screams "BARBIE DOLL" and they - like a bull in a China shop - feel they may handle you like a peice of plastic - indestructible, built for rough housing, always reacting to abuse with the same editorial blue eyed stare and Mona Lisa smile of approval that Barbie always sports - Even when a four year old gives her a haircut -
"You looked wrecked," said Madman Messerer as he observed the bumbling tact with which I moved resulting from limited arm and neck torque. "Here - Have a 'Flying Dog'." My eyes popped with delight and like a Pavlovian Dog my mouth watered - Good ole Philly coming through unaware he had just offered me my favorite beer as remedy for a lack of slack. As I heard the air escape from the popped top, and watch the craft brew pour into my designated frosted production stein, I suddenly heard the ripping licks of all the Maryland musicians I have the privelidge of running and jamming with when I am in Maryland - Home to Flying Dog Brewery, my folks, and some of the best unsung Blues and Beyond musicains every to learn a single lick of bluegrass - Amen. Awomen. A couple beers too, because I believe as the ancient Chinese and Druids held true - Alcohol is a gateway to the spirit world - Hence the term "spirits" for liquor in our language. Yea, verily, even the great Padmesambavha, who conquered the demons of India and brought Buddhism to Tibet stopped in the mountains for a three day drinking binge that the late great Hunter S. would be proud of - And I - "Gone with the Gonzo" am no exception. I too, a prophet for a profit, believe in the healing powers of a gooood craft brew. "Did Seamus tell you this be my favorite beer?" I asked Messerer.
"Flying Dog is number one on all our lists now," said Messerer. "They just bankrolled our movie."
I had just finished reading George Strahnahan's book "Phlogs", founder of Flying Dog Brewery. Ralph Steadman, the illustrator for Hunter himself, does the art for Flying Dog. There is Guiness and the is Flying Dog. There is not much in between except maybe some good 12 year old single malt scotch or something better -
The news Messerer dropped on me like a New Year's ball - I must confess - Wetted me a bit - "A touch, a touch, I do confess" - Between the legs. We were set to make our movie after all.
"I need you to concentrate on your character," Phil told me. "Start wearing whips on your hips and learning Yiddish. Bone up on Son/lover myths as it applies to those tales in Hebrew traditions and beyond. You are a great talent, Liz. We don't want to lose you to some bumble stumped injury. We are gonna cut back on your stress load. Drink up," he ordered clanking his stein into mine. "We are going to be infamous."
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