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