Nurse Freeky and I spent some time at the Meetrack this weekend, pouring cheap, shitty whiskey over the dregs of Lorazapam that hadn't quite metabolized. That's how we get things done, she and I...That's how things are managed downtown.
Sure, it isn't going to help anything, but we're not in the world-saving business. No, we'll leave that to people who think that because we have power, we have wisdom. We'll leave it to the Calvinists and the politicians and the teabaggers and the Obama fans...Those people who think that they can actually clamp down on 301 million people, and get the results they want. They're obviously fools, and doomed fools at that.
We don't get bothered by them much, at least not after Robert the Republican got his ass stomped in the side parking lot by geriatric bikers a week or so ago, for the crime of talking politics in the Meetrack with a straight face. It was bad noise, and it was dealt with the old-timey way, because the denizens of that dive are old-fashioned people. I doubt we'll see Robert again.
Instead, we were all treated to Erin and Leah, two attractive grad students, doing the nasty on the ping pong table...While everyone else stood around debating the merits of various chili recipes, sipping on the horrible well drinks which is all that is served by the staff.
Only 6 city blocks away, hipsters sit in faux-hippie head shops, smoking hookahs and drinking Turkish coffee, lamenting how "ironic" Tucson has become...Knowing that as long as they stay on 4th Avenue, they are safe from the retribution they deserve. They dress like Buddy Holly mixed with Bazooka Joe, and they talk in laconic voices, but speak only gibberish. It's a shame and a disgrace, you know, there's never a drunken, mean cop nearby to club their non-prescription glasses around to the other side of their head. They are the new scum, as Warren Ellis would put it, and they know to stay the fuck away from Drachmann Street, where we prefer the old scum.
At the Southern end of that leg of 4th Avenue is where the legal district begins, and my interest fades. They are Important People there, with Important Eyebrows, and they make daily decisions that affect everyone in The City, from the trial and sentencing of criminals, to the debate over which of Pearson's crazy laws they will or will not enforce. But you and I know The Truth, right? Nothing they do makes any difference. Criminals will still run free, perverts will still get their monkey on in semi-public places, and everyone ignores everything else the legal district does anyway.
It seems to me that the only people who have their heads straight in this burg are Erin and Leah, who have the sense to drunkenly fuck wherever the mood takes them, even if it means that a ping pong game gets interrupted. This is not a century for half-measures, you see, and you pretty much HAVE to get your monkey on wherever and whenever you can, before the boom comes down.
And that's the meaning of all this gibberish, I think. Have fun. Scratch what itches. Do those things you've been WANTING to do, because a time will come when you CAN'T, and then you'll wish to God that you HAD. When the rock hits you, holler...Because when you're dead, you'll shut up like hell.
Have I made myself clear?
I said...
HAVE I MADE MYSELF CLEAR?
Okay for now,
Dok
Fuck yeah! I am really digging on these. There's not just the "yes, the world is trashed beyond repair", there's also, "so get out there and get your monkey on!"
Quote from: Doktor Alphapance on August 30, 2010, 06:27:41 PM
Fuck yeah! I am really digging on these. There's not just the "yes, the world is trashed beyond repair", there's also, "so get out there and get your monkey on!"
Well, yeah. There's no point just bitching about things. We need answers. We need a
plan of action. There isn't TIME to act like those hipsters (minus the fucked up clothing and purposefully shitty bicycles), whinging and moaning about how bad things are. It's time to DO stuff, whether that be hiding out in Whiskey bars full of degenerates, or dropping a spank on monkeys that really have it coming.
It doesn't really matter what you do, just so long as you do it.
Dok, you and me, we know the score. Time was that I didn't, but I trusted your judgement anyway. Now here we are, the last little remnants of Johnny Cash avoiding the waves of Patchouli scented filth by lodging ourselves in gobbets of filthier things. There should never be any other way, for people like us. This isn't a century for us to do otherwise.
Central filth is our home, or close enough as anything could be. It is the stage to our opera of weird, crazy, twisted. Aaron and Leah, they know the score too. The world might be a better place (certainly more interesting) if they weren't caught up in being worried about how hip they are, or how ironic they seem.
Quote from: Mistress Freeky, HRN on August 30, 2010, 10:41:16 PM
Dok, you and me, we know the score. Time was that I didn't, but I trusted your judgement anyway. Now here we are, the last little remnants of Johnny Cash avoiding the waves of Patchouli scented filth by lodging ourselves in gobbets of filthier things. There should never be any other way, for people like us. This isn't a century for us to do otherwise.
Central filth is our home, or close enough as anything could be. It is the stage to our opera of weird, crazy, twisted. Aaron and Leah, they know the score too. The world might be a better place (certainly more interesting) if they weren't caught up in being worried about how hip they are, or how ironic they seem.
Aaron and Leah? I didn't catch a hip vibe from them. Just an enormously inebriated vibe.
Or were you talking about everyone outside of Central Filth?
Quote from: Doktor Howl on August 30, 2010, 10:48:03 PM
Quote from: Mistress Freeky, HRN on August 30, 2010, 10:41:16 PM
Dok, you and me, we know the score. Time was that I didn't, but I trusted your judgement anyway. Now here we are, the last little remnants of Johnny Cash avoiding the waves of Patchouli scented filth by lodging ourselves in gobbets of filthier things. There should never be any other way, for people like us. This isn't a century for us to do otherwise.
Central filth is our home, or close enough as anything could be. It is the stage to our opera of weird, crazy, twisted. Aaron and Leah, they know the score too. The world might be a better place (certainly more interesting) if they weren't caught up in being worried about how hip they are, or how ironic they seem.
Aaron and Leah? I didn't catch a hip vibe from them. Just an enormously inebriated vibe.
Or were you talking about everyone outside of Central Filth?
Everyone outside of central filth.
Quote from: Mistress Freeky, HRN on August 30, 2010, 10:51:05 PM
Quote from: Doktor Howl on August 30, 2010, 10:48:03 PM
Quote from: Mistress Freeky, HRN on August 30, 2010, 10:41:16 PM
Dok, you and me, we know the score. Time was that I didn't, but I trusted your judgement anyway. Now here we are, the last little remnants of Johnny Cash avoiding the waves of Patchouli scented filth by lodging ourselves in gobbets of filthier things. There should never be any other way, for people like us. This isn't a century for us to do otherwise.
Central filth is our home, or close enough as anything could be. It is the stage to our opera of weird, crazy, twisted. Aaron and Leah, they know the score too. The world might be a better place (certainly more interesting) if they weren't caught up in being worried about how hip they are, or how ironic they seem.
Aaron and Leah? I didn't catch a hip vibe from them. Just an enormously inebriated vibe.
Or were you talking about everyone outside of Central Filth?
Everyone outside of central filth.
Ah. At least 4th ave and the legal district, anyway.
Quote from: Doktor Howl on August 30, 2010, 11:51:56 PM
Quote from: Mistress Freeky, HRN on August 30, 2010, 10:51:05 PM
Quote from: Doktor Howl on August 30, 2010, 10:48:03 PM
Quote from: Mistress Freeky, HRN on August 30, 2010, 10:41:16 PM
Dok, you and me, we know the score. Time was that I didn't, but I trusted your judgement anyway. Now here we are, the last little remnants of Johnny Cash avoiding the waves of Patchouli scented filth by lodging ourselves in gobbets of filthier things. There should never be any other way, for people like us. This isn't a century for us to do otherwise.
Central filth is our home, or close enough as anything could be. It is the stage to our opera of weird, crazy, twisted. Aaron and Leah, they know the score too. The world might be a better place (certainly more interesting) if they weren't caught up in being worried about how hip they are, or how ironic they seem.
Aaron and Leah? I didn't catch a hip vibe from them. Just an enormously inebriated vibe.
Or were you talking about everyone outside of Central Filth?
Everyone outside of central filth.
Ah. At least 4th ave and the legal district, anyway.
Yes.
There's a trick to getting the most out of the Holy City experience. Now you can obviously have fun without a mind of bad wiring, but it just isn't the same if your head is twisted so sideways that the next morning, you're not entirey sure what happened. This state can happen without the need for pills or even alcohol. It seems to be a naturally occuring state for those who are in a receptive mood.
Whenever I'm there, in the mood for the city to have it's way with me, everything looks so... Well, it's hard to explain. I can see a thing, and I know that it's a neon motel sign, but later the memory is just a series of confused blue-and-pink lines on a blackened sky. Every noise seems louder, presses harder on my head and body. Music can be an aphrodisiac. I know in my head that my city is has a dark, cruel heart, and I love and lust for her all the more. It is a hateful and filthy sort of love, but a love even so.
When the Good Doktor and I prowl in the dark, exploring the city's recesses for glimpses of the Weird and Horror, I can feel the change of mind take me over, and I am reborn again among my own kind; the drunks, the perverts, the old bastard bikers, the rest who know The Score. The streets are ours as the stage is to the ballet - we carry out our dramas and affairs with the city, and in return we are let to live another day, stories garnered from the wandering.
Well done Dok. These remind me a lot of the MSY's, but with a slightly more common sense insanity to them.
The City (or ANY city, come to think of it.) will slow down for no person. Their relentless currents will suck in anyone until they're smashed along the rocks at the bottom, or dragged out riptide - like beyond the possibility of rescue.
I'm sure more than one lawyer or businessman has felt that way, sitting in their office. They look out over the view, over the desk, the work, and the late Friday glass of expensive scotch, thinking they have it all, trying to keep away that gnawing sense that it's sucked them away from what they'd REALLY like to be doing. The trappings, the expectation, the image... TRAP. No way they can throw it off to hit a strange club and dance in woman's lingere for a night.
Your way, that's taking the side door out of the panic rush to the front during a fire. You never fail to remind that it's useless if you can't get out of it and still do what matters.
I live in a SAFE city. Where no one is real.
:mittens:
I'm thinking of showing this to a cousin of mine. He's a really nice guy, but he's also incredibly passive, and I think he's very, very close to being one of them.
Coming in loud and clear Dok!! :mittens:
Just give me a bit of time to get properly armed and I will head back out into my city. :wink:
Quote from: Mistress Freeky, HRN on August 31, 2010, 05:49:51 AM
There's a trick to getting the most out of the Holy City experience. Now you can obviously have fun without a mind of bad wiring, but it just isn't the same if your head is twisted so sideways that the next morning, you're not entirey sure what happened. This state can happen without the need for pills or even alcohol. It seems to be a naturally occuring state for those who are in a receptive mood.
Whenever I'm there, in the mood for the city to have it's way with me, everything looks so... Well, it's hard to explain. I can see a thing, and I know that it's a neon motel sign, but later the memory is just a series of confused blue-and-pink lines on a blackened sky. Every noise seems louder, presses harder on my head and body. Music can be an aphrodisiac. I know in my head that my city is has a dark, cruel heart, and I love and lust for her all the more. It is a hateful and filthy sort of love, but a love even so.
When the Good Doktor and I prowl in the dark, exploring the city's recesses for glimpses of the Weird and Horror, I can feel the change of mind take me over, and I am reborn again among my own kind; the drunks, the perverts, the old bastard bikers, the rest who know The Score. The streets are ours as the stage is to the ballet - we carry out our dramas and affairs with the city, and in return we are let to live another day, stories garnered from the wandering.
The thing to remember is that The City is a living thing. Everything that matters happens on its streets, in its whiskey bars, and in the back alleys and bodegas. That's where life is. Where life ISN'T, is - as Charley says - where things are SAFE and SANITARY and FUN FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY.
Lenny Bruce tried to tell us that, so they had him beaten and arrested. He was thrown in jail multiple times for telling the
wrong jokes with
a straight face. They beat him and beat him and he wouldn't shut up, he'd just keep screeching out "jokes" and telling them to kill him, so one day they did.
Just like they'll do to us, one fine day. Oh, yes. We can't be allowed to run loose for long, telling Good Citizens™ about all the dirtywrong badfun we've found, because - unlike Republican Robert - all too many of them would see what's up, and more than a few of them would
like it. And the collection plates at the First Self-Righteous Church of Oro Valley would be a little lighter, and 4th Avenue would start to clog up with perverts again, and that just won't do.
Back in the day, back when he knew the score, Elton John wrote a song called
Burn Down the Mission. I suggest all of you who haven't heard it should run it up on Youtube or download it. It kind of explains things in a way that I can't articulate.
Quote from: Charley Brown on August 31, 2010, 09:31:40 PM
I live in a SAFE city. Where no one is real.
Safe is the enemy of Fun. That fun is out there, when you train yourself to look for it. The Safety Nazis can't make it go away, they can only distract you from it...Even if that distraction is just your rage at them interfering. Ignore them. They don't matter.
Go find the fun.
Quote from: Richter on August 31, 2010, 03:14:30 PM
Well done Dok. These remind me a lot of the MSY's, but with a slightly more common sense insanity to them.
MSY was mostly a narrative. These are mostly illustrations...Examples.
Quote from: Richter on August 31, 2010, 03:14:30 PMI'm sure more than one lawyer or businessman has felt that way, sitting in their office. They look out over the view, over the desk, the work, and the late Friday glass of expensive scotch, thinking they have it all, trying to keep away that gnawing sense that it's sucked them away from what they'd REALLY like to be doing. The trappings, the expectation, the image... TRAP. No way they can throw it off to hit a strange club and dance in woman's lingere for a night.
They can, though, and a surprising number of them do. There's a club here called Desert Dominion, down in the Maze. It's pretty exclusive...You have to be a rich bastard from the foothills, or some young attractive thing for the rich people to "play" with. Freeky and I know such a person, though I think she retreated from the scene.
Quote from: Richter on August 31, 2010, 03:14:30 PM
Your way, that's taking the side door out of the panic rush to the front during a fire. You never fail to remind that it's useless if you can't get out of it and still do what matters.
There's only one thing that matters.
Quote from: Doktor Howl on September 01, 2010, 06:27:53 PM
Quote from: Charley Brown on August 31, 2010, 09:31:40 PM
I live in a SAFE city. Where no one is real.
Safe is the enemy of Fun. That fun is out there, when you train yourself to look for it. The Safety Nazis can't make it go away, they can only distract you from it...Even if that distraction is just your rage at them interfering. Ignore them. They don't matter.
Go find the fun.
Conservative Kansas college town. All the fun is hiding, deep. Even Aggieville is Sanitary™. Junction City, 12 miles away is a
Fun town.
Quote from: Doktor Howl on September 01, 2010, 06:30:52 PM
Quote from: Richter on August 31, 2010, 03:14:30 PMI'm sure more than one lawyer or businessman has felt that way, sitting in their office. They look out over the view, over the desk, the work, and the late Friday glass of expensive scotch, thinking they have it all, trying to keep away that gnawing sense that it's sucked them away from what they'd REALLY like to be doing. The trappings, the expectation, the image... TRAP. No way they can throw it off to hit a strange club and dance in woman's lingere for a night.
They can, though, and a surprising number of them do. There's a club here called Desert Dominion, down in the Maze. It's pretty exclusive...You have to be a rich bastard from the foothills, or some young attractive thing for the rich people to "play" with. Freeky and I know such a person, though I think she retreated from the scene.
Torchie? Yeah. Rich doctor guy having a dirty little secret in a 20-something stripper who's crazier than, well, a pretty crazy person, and gives her huge sums of money just to hang out with him.