Keep Hipsters out of Highland Park

Description:
This group does not condone violence, hatred, or acts of space violation against any race, ethnicity, or sexual orientation. 

This is merely an observation.

Ruining the neighborhood. Your bikes crowd the sidewalk, you invade the good bars, and in turn they raise their prices, and people who have lived here 20 years cannot get a decent drink anymore. The line at the taco truck is now twice as long, because you heard from some Occidental kid that they had the "wickedest pollo taco in Highland Park bro", and while we wait patiently for you to get the fuck out of the way, we have to listen to you and your emaciated girlfriend talk about your shitty taste in music and how not having a tv is a social statement about mass media. Yammering on about how awesome New York is and how Los Angeles doesn't even touch how "hip" the east coast is. Go back to New York, no one wants you here. Or better, move back to the Midwest where you came from, or better yet, i hope you choke on your own snide comments. 
You crowd the streets with your stupid midnight bike riding, and when a kid who's lived here his whole life pulls a gun on one of your guys, that should be telling you something, yes, please leave, don't come back, take your fixed gear bike and ride back to Silverlake, or, if you're over 28 and still have a neck beard, get a dog and try and have a kid with your 90lbs girlfriend and move to Eagle Rock, where you're more than welcome to take over the houses and drive prices up. 
Hipsters, i personally have nothing against you, actually, wait... yes i do, i fucking hate you kids. You destroy everything you find... restaurants, bars, parks, music, movie theaters and thrift stores. Critical mass takes over and the people who actually lived here, people who help setup the community, people who have roots in this small neighborhood are cheated. Cheated out of their money, cheated out of their good time, and cheated out of their neighborhood. 

Why?

Because you fucking hipsters are too lazy to find anything, so you latch onto whatever you can in order to be substantial.

That makes for an uncomfortable place to live, and we have every right to hate you. We lived here throughout the gang infested 90's, we live here now, and we will live here long after you're gone and move onto the next community to suck the soul out of

On the Wagon

he asked me to stop for seven
days
straight.
i was on the wagon now
being a responsible adult and friendly smile
waving elbow deep in dextrose.
the second day was the hardest to cope with
stomach burning and cravings
awful cravings
for a pint
i smoked ten cigarettes that day
which doesn't help the cause of being on the wagon
replacing one drug with another.
redundant
and
stupid.
to bury this baby
i drove to the market at 1:30am
to think about buying some non alcoholic beer
i needs suds in me
some goddamn carbonation.
car came to a halt and i sat
there
as
Tom Gabel
sang to me
and said
"you look like i need a drink."
i agreed
relentlessly..
i devised a plan
and drove home.
i set a beer bottle down on the coffee table
and laid there watching mindless television
lights flickering off ceiling and against
blind shuttered windows
i wrote her name
on a post it
and placed it over the bottle
and said to myself
that if i could stay away from her
that damn woman
if i could keep my damn brain straight
and keep moving forward
away from  her general direction
than i could stay away from this bottle
for as long as i want
the craving went away then
because i thought of all the
bad women
drunk driving
car accidents
being broke
father beating his children
mother manipulating her sons
90 hour work weeks
falling asleep at the wheel
exhaustion
insomnia
and all of the pathetic people
who inhabit this planet
put the itching into scratching
and i felt relief
i stood up and stretched
wiped the drool from my mouth
with a pass of my hand
said,
"i'm too fucking smart for this"
and put the bottle back in it's bed
and i put myself
back
in
my bed
to do it all over again
tomorrow.

What can i say? It's perfectly in tune. 

103 degrees

she cut my toenails the night before,
and in the morning she said, " I think I'll
just lay here all day."
which meant she wasn't going to work.
she was at my apartment -- which meant another
day and another night.
she was a good person
but she had just told me that she wanted to
have a child, wanted marriage, and
it was 103 degrees outside.
when I thought of another child and
another marriage
I really began to feel bad.
I had resigned myself to dying alone
in a small room--
now she was trying to reshape my master plan.
besides she always slammed my car door too loud
and ate with her head too close to the table.
this day we had gone to the post office, a department
store and then to a sandwich place for lunch.
I already felt married. driving back in I almost
ran into a Cadillac. 

"let's get drunk," I said.
"no, no," she answered, "it's too early."
and then she slammed the car door.
it was still 103 degrees.
when I opened my mail I found my auto insurance
company wanted $76 more.
suddenly she ran into the room and screamed, "LOOK, I'M
TURING RED! ALL BLOTCHY! WHAT'LL I DO!"
"take a bath," I told her.
I dialed the insurance company long distance and
demanded to know why.
she began screaming and moaning from the
bathtub and I couldn't hear and said, "just a
moment, please!"
I covered the phone and screamed at her in the bathtub:
"LOOK! I'M ON LONG DISTANCE! HOLD IT DOWN, FOR CHRIST'S
SAKE!"
the insurance people still maintained that I owed them
$76 and would send me a letter explaining why.
I hung up and stretched out on the bed.
I was already married, I felt married.
she came out of the bathroom and said, "can I stretch out
beside you?"
and I said, "o.k."
in ten minutes her color was normal. 

it was because she had taken a niacin tablet.
she remembered that it happened every time.
we stretched out there sweating:
nerves. nobody has the soul enough to overcome nerves.
but I couldn't tell her that.
she wanted her baby.
what the fuck.

-Charles bukowski

An Old One

Being 25
Being Angry
and being drunk
pointing fingers.

revolution is not on a t-shirt
no matter what school you went to
no matter what messages you send
on that american apparel shirt
you're not fighting anything
but giving into critical mass.
it's funny,
how only girls want to save the world.
is it because of your lack of inner being?
that you want to change everything
except you
when you are the problem
that has been handed down
generation
after feeble generation?
i can't endorse your cause
because it's just fickle
fickle like you.
one minute you preach about environmental rights
and yet
when we go to the Ralphs at 2am
you don't ask for paper
but let them pack
every item separably in plastic
bags.
you spend money on bullshit items
like decorations for Halloween
and decorations for easter
and every holiday in between.
you think that you're changing life
changing the way people live.
you don't make a difference
you don't actually do anything
but brag about how great you are.
i see it in all of you
trying to save the world.
oh.
oh.
i say this place isn't worth saving.
we are animals.
there is no god
no jesus.
no holy Nazareth.
it's all just goddamn stories meant to scare you.
and you are scared.
so you don't steal
you don't fight
you don't ask questions
you conform.
and conforming
is the worst thing possible.
once you play into the mass hands
you become nothing but a chipmunk
collecting nuts
and marching to the beat
of the mass drum.
shit.
i understand you though.
i get it.
it's way easier
to shut your mouth and smile
talk about saving dung beetles
talk about saving dolphins and whales
talk about saving everything on this planet.
that's not the way it's done.
you save one person at a time.
you make them better than what they are.
you motivate and help them strive
for more than what they have.
let them all not be satisfied
let them all be depressed and fight for more.
some people have it.
the others
well
the other just find whats hip and in trend
and follow that for the rest of their
lives.
what horrible lives you must lead.
but you're oblivious to everything outside your
bubble.
hit me on the head
and break my spine.
slap me across the face
and destroy my brain.
i want to be stupid and full
of nonesense like you
so i can be happy with all this
goddamn phony bullshit
they handed us.
it's so easy
being you.
being empty.

a day as a beast

...and Then I Ate my Tie 

The ice cubes slid like glaciers.

The lime wedge was the Titanic, sloshing back and forth across dark sea of whiskey and ginger ale. It was my duty to save these poor souls by emptying the glass, so the ship could run ashore. None would be lost, and none would be saved.

Welcome home god.

                That’s how the nights run, through soaked eyes, one must keep the gears from seizing up or binding. Cars need oil, lips need Chap Stick, and vaginas lubricate themselves. I do it with drink, anyway I can. I don’t wake up and feel the need to chug a fifth of whiskey, and neither do I feel the need to drink in order to escape whatever life or reality they call this thing, but rather, it’s a drink to reflect, a drink to think and ponder, I see no harm in that, and as long as my personal relationships, my work life, or my family, or my safety is not at risk, then I see no harm in pouring a scotch and doing some great writing.

                Which is how the day begins, usually it’s a 2am mad spree and my palms are sweaty as they pound on these plastic keys each night. I don’t fancy myself a writer (I hate writers who use the word fancy) but I do enjoy the process of writing, the excitement and anxiety to get the next set of words out, the scratching of hairy body parts in order to relax and push the brain muscle a little bit further out pass the chain of flowers at the door. It’s challenging to challenge yourself every night to produce something different, something new, something, well, actually, anything at all. And when the merging gets out of hand I give myself a head nod and lay down to sleep a few hours before the dreaded workday begins.

                I do not enjoy the act of going to sleep, actually it scares the hell out of me,  to lay down and let your body slowly shut down all functions and unplug your brain, how is that supposed to even comfort me to close my eyes? But waking up is always twice as hard, my eyes are groggy, my nose is stuffed full of particles I inhaled in my sleep, my bladder is calling for evacuation and somewhere, always, every goddamn day, there’s a leaf blower making this mad noise in the distance.

                My life runs on a series of alarms.

                My morning alarm is the first one, this gets me going, pushes me out of bed and I make my morning waddle to the coffee maker. I stand there, not really thinking at all, and listen to the coffee pot putter. Putt, putt, swwwwooossshhh, putt, putt…. On and on like this, it’s my morning meditation, I plan my day out and make a mental list of things that need to be done. I finish my coffee in the shower and before I pop out the door, I check to make sure I have what I need, “Spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch.”  It’s a daily mad dash to get out of the apartment and to work before anything explodes. Myself included.

                2 cigarettes and ten miles later I’m at my second home, which is sad in a way, that my job would be my second home I mean. Not the 2 cigarettes or ten miles of driving, which can also be sad in a way, but I enjoy driving and the cigarettes keep me focused, so fuck that noise. I manage a restaurant. Actually that’s an understatement, I run the restaurant, I manage the employees. There are twelve poor souls who call me boss, and I report to the owners. I am merely the middle man, and we all know what that means, I’m usually the one fixing the problems. The food is decent, the atmosphere is great, and my paycheck is pretty fat. Although it is a job that requires my full attention, and there are always things breaking, employees expressing their concerns, and people spouting off half-assed, dim witted ideas. Sometimes I watch them talk, and think to myself that there must be a monkey in their heads, wearing a cute little hat, and a red jacket, slamming two cymbals together, as another monkey flings his poop across and splatters onto his brain walls.

                By the end of the day, I’m taxed out and sit at the bar to enjoy my free beer. I plan out the next day, check to make sure everything is idiot proof, and then walk as fast as I can out the door and to my car.  The drive home is smooth and flat. I lean into the turns and push back against the seat, I let gravity take me for a second and clear my mind of everything except the thought of staying alive. When work mode is shut off, my face numbs, I don’t smile or frown, stationary face and let the thoughts come back into my head. I take note, sometimes writing the first few lines as I merge onto the next freeway and do a mental inventory of my bar at home. If I’m stocked, I’ll be writing, If I’m not, then I sit around and have a few drinks in a dim bar somewhere full of people that I’ll never love or like, but can stand being in the same room with. I don’t take well with other humans, and those that I do enjoy the company of, I love dearly, or else I would not have them with me. There’s so many empty people floating around, so many vague, dead eyed humans with no respect to humanity. I feel sad for these people, and angry for their naivety.

  I think to myself that perhaps I should have thrown a line or two about my girlfriend in here, but then I realized that she knows how important she is to me, that I don’t even have to put it in writing. It’s unexplainable, her involvement is incomprehensible and private, while the rest, well… The rest is turds floating down Life River. 
Fucking deal with it.

Two Cents a Piece

women are beautiful
in their own little ways
be it a smile
a glance
be it a wave
they might as well
take me and bury me with the stone
because from that first glance
i'm goddamn well sold.
but all of you are the same
shallow and filled with puss
infections
deterioration
you'll kill me eventually.
its rare you find a woman
that will stand up to your shit
and devour you
like a fat man
on a
non diet.
those girls will teach you something
even though you don't want to learn
they'll make you brave
as all your friends burn
at the steak
because of them
and her.
deep breaths
are the only way to extract
exactly what Darwinism
meant
by making
contact.

who the fuck are we and what are we doing here? there's way too many distractions, too much going on, life's become cluttered, that's the problem with so many damn people, they clutter their lives up to fill those gaps when they are alone and have a second to think.

do not step backwards
do not step backwards
or you'll fall right back on your ass
just from right where we got up
don't step to the side
or you'll miss what you missed
the first time
the only way is to step forward
alone
to step out into the murk
alone
without the flashlight
without the candle
zippo
or flare
step out into the murk
alone
and be scared
be fearful
because it's good for you
be excited
anxious
and let those thoughts race
and race
and race race race
all through your systems
let the palms sweat
and the testicles recede up in to
their special hiding place
wipe the sweat from your forehead
and above your lip
comb out your beard
and step into the murk
they can't hurt you out here
out here
in there
they can't do anything
but you can do all those things
and more
so step you dirty asshole
send the message to your legs
to take the great leap
forward
alone

Fucked Up and Got Zippered In

Derick was waiting. always waiting. waiting for love. waiting for someone to notice him. waiting for something to happen. he wasn't active, didn't have his own principals or timing or morals, he was merely another human sucking in the goddamn air filtered through the vents. short handed poetry wouldn't be good enough this time. Derick would wait everyday, for someone to love him. he thought to himself that this might of branched off of the fact that his father never gave him any recognition and his mother usually passed them over. he felt a longing inside for something that he knew could only be filled by love for another human. He met one early on and they both fell madly in love. Derick was a sucker for women, they could easily be bad to him, manipulate him, he was not strong in any fashion. They would come and leave just as quick as they fell into his life. and then Derick would regress back into waiting.

He fell hard one day and then he fell even worse the next year. After all of this time, spent maintaining a good heart and a great outlook he was left broken again. deserted, lonely, desolate and the days blended into harsher nights. he wrote fast and mean then. Derick was a sensible enough kid, but his heart was just to goddamn big and there were too many horrible people around him. He set himself up for pain, and he liked it. But that was not a way to progress, and he could see himself in the mirror slowly vanishing like Marty in Back to the Future. 

Time was cut out and a space for that time was cut out. It was time to grow up.

When he reached his peak, his brain operating on all circuits firing go and body pistons pumping blood octane through his damn heart fueled by the rage in the alcohol and caffeine, his uttermost top tilting operating level... she came to him then. And their nights were faster, hotter, and stickier than anything he had before. 

She stayed awhile, and then had to leave again.

As she was gone, he drove the city hunting down the best turkey sandwich with cranberry sauce he could get his paws on. stopped at a red light, car idling roughly and cigarette smoke billowing out of his nostrils, the thought occurred to him as he starred at the peeling skin on his finger. 

he spent the majority of his adulthood waiting for a mediocre person to give him a feeling of necessity. When they arrived it was a great time, but they always left, and he would go back to the feeling of loneliness and depression as he waited for the next one to come around.

But now when someone arrived it was a constant rush and the days passed fast and nights even faster. It was a blur after blur and emotionally draining (in a good way). This was something that he could really grab a hold of and truly appreciate the value of the situation. 

now instead of waiting for someone to spend time with him...

He was waiting for someone to leave so he could spend time with himself.

and that

is what it was like to be Derick.

without blinders

And then She Watched Me

i watched her as she poured drinks
i watched her dance a little
she wasn't anything special
as her low cut boots slid
across rubber floor mats
she came to me
and i could see in her eyes
just how tired she was
tired
and frustrated
i wanted to give her something
not sure of what
i wanted to hold her
and rub her head
let her know that he work wasn't
all in vain
(in reality it was)
this girl
tired
sagging eyes
stripper like
wanted something
i concluded
that she needed a good fuck
like a firm
but gentle
somewhat emotional fuck
that would put her to sleep
and push all those thoughts out of her head
she had a nice pair of legs
and her face wasn't to shy either
i watched her
watched her pour drinks
watched her walk
and the calling oozed from  her
like nails from a pipe bomb
i wanted to grab her
and kiss her like these other fuckers
could never do.
i wanted to pull her hair
and slap her ass
fuck her with those low cut boots on
and eventually cum
somewhere on her torso.
but i couldn't
and i didn't want to
because the girl who i have now
makes all these broads look ugly
and
i don't cheat
and i'm not
that guy
or at least that's what i repeat to myself.
i wanted to be the one to give her all
those great things they write about
but i couldn't
and i didn't want to
so i let her stare into that empty glass
just like
she
was looking
in her mirror.

Going Up

being up is nice. being down is nice as well. some people never go up, or down, they stay steady lined the whole way. i dislike those people, they have no fight, and nothing to fight for. they're either always happy with a cheese smile on their face or either sad with a shit grin. when you're up, it's like being coked up, you're up on top, feeling alright, figuring shit out and enjoying the moments.. when you're down, well... you linger on shit way longer than you probably should, but being down builds character, and maybe that's why i'm always looking for down? happy people piss me off, i used to be happy, maybe that's why you make me angry? how can you be satisfied with all of this? don't you have any kind of opinion? anything to fight for? grow a little guff, don't be such a goddamn gullible push over..

i find it hard to smile in the face of shit. i judge.. so hate me.. i judge all the way.. i try to be understanding of people's situation, but some people are just shitty to begin with, what do we do with these people? do we beat them with beer bottles until they bleed at the mouth? sounds good to me?

the key might be to keep those shitty people, who give you bad vibes, far as possible away from you. some people make me smile, those are the good ones, and some people make me really angry, like bitter angry, like cynical angry, and those people i keep as far as i possibly can. 

if you can be anything, be something worth something, not something worth nothing. 

meh.

yeah...

fucking meh.