Au+0m@t1c 4 m3
... back once again, the incredible, rhyme animal, D , public enemy #1!
well... .. ... uh ...
... place a good quote here
this is mike. he is my buddy. he likes to dj. i had this mix on me when *this* happened to me. keepin it short.
listen to this ))) DJ Almighty Nectar out of Long Beach Ca.
·.¸¸.*·´¨*·.¸¸.part 1 13:50 @ 12.6 mbs
·.¸¸.*·´¨*·.¸¸.*·.¸¸.part 2 7:53 @ 7.2 mbs
·.¸¸.*·´¨*·.¸¸.*·.¸¸.*·.¸¸.part 3 2:59 @ 2.7 mbs
·.¸¸.*·´¨*·.¸¸.*·.¸¸.*·.¸¸.*·.¸¸.part 4 8:04 @ 7.4 mbs ...have fun!
the avac@do tree
... all my friends know the low-rider. the low-rider is a little higher.
when i was a boy we lived in east LA. alhambra to be exact. in a small house off garfield blvd at twenty-five palmetto drive. that was my kingdom. that was where all the magic in my life was. the home of tiny, benji, mr. tree, tony & alfred, doc, and of course the old avacado tree.
the back yard was simple but grand. it was longer than most and filled with adventure and good friends. it was my narnia and turkish delight came wrapped in flour tortillas with guacamole and cheese. my childhood was grown and nurtured in the long grass behind the garage along with my senses of wonder and imagination.
the house was not the oldest on the block, but it did have a history that began with the vast orange orchards of the san gabriel valley. when i was little i would peak my head over the wall at the back of the property and look across the parking lot to an apartment building and out to the sunken railroad tracks. my grandpa would tell me that when the house was built there was a bright sea of orange trees all the way to the mountains. every time i looked over i would imagine that sea of glimmering orange unfolding before my little eyes and the smell of the ripe fruit would fill my nose for just a moment. the last vestiges of those days were the many fruit trees we had in the yard. oranges, apricots, black walnuts, plums and apricots, but my very mostest favorite was the tall majestic avocado tree that towered just outside the back door of the house.
the avocado tree was like a friendly ancestor that looked over me while i played in the grass and called out to me on windy nights to let me know that everything was OK in the valley. underneath it sat an old riding lawnmower that never really worked. i would sit on it in the mid day sun and pretend to ride fast across the plains on my dusty red pony with the great tree running alongside to fend off the hoards angry cowboys that meant to harm me. we always beat them to the safety of the sea and not once did he ever drop a fruit. he was a good friend that fed me in the summer and let me climb into his wispy heart to swing on his branches just to make me smile at a time when smiles were the most important thing in the world.
as the years went on i learned to count to one hundred for my first time in that back yard, i buried my first friends, and learned the lessons of a young man in a changing city. the tree was always there and always bent slightly when i came to visit. never without a ripe fruit just for me.
now that i am older and the days of innocent play in my wonderland all but are gone. i now look forward to someday having children of my own. i want to thank the yard and all the wonderful trees, spiders, and pill bugs that lived there and helped me become the man i am now. i especially want to thank the old avacado tree for all the times he saved me from the evil cowboys and kept me healthy and safe under the hot los angeles sun.
listening too )))
Lila Downs and Mariachi Juvenil de Tecalitlán - La Llorona
War - Low Rider
f1n@lly s0m3 c0nt3nt
... blinded by the silence of a thousand broken hearts
now it is time for what all of you have been waiting for. an AUDIOPOST! thats right, i caved in, so have an earfull and a good time. with all my luv to all of you nut balls.
CLICK HERE !!!
listening to ))) music ... duh!
Sister Nancy - What a Bam Bam
The Almighty Nectar (my best friend!) - from the mix tape zone
... come along and ride on the fantastic voyage
around here the rocks are ripe with anemone. i think they are purple anemones or something like that. they are all over the rocks. sitting in the tide pools like colonies that resemble a spongy rash. i love em.
when i was a boy the anemone were bigger. much bigger. so big you could ride them across the sand and whip your friends in the face with thier big jelly tentacles. i used to have a favorite squishy steed i called pablo. on the weekends i used to come out here with my dad and we would blow this tiny plastic conch we bought at the store.
and right on cue pablo would show up all fiesty and ready for a good ride. oh he wasnt a fast anemone by any means but he had a great loping sort of style that really grew on you. i miss all the summers in the sun eating fish and tacos while we slowy molested everyone on the beach.
a proper jelly slap to you all!
... i know my chicken, you got to know your chicken
the itch is upon me. its a grinding in my soul. the walls are closing in and the sun is calling. i gotta get outta town. i have to run.
the bus is too slow and space travel ain't in my budget. i gotta fly. fly to the real world. maybe mexico city or belize, i'm not sure. i need it bad. we'll see. but for now...
listen to some original ska from the vault ))) gotta love it!
Toots and the Maytals - Preassure Drop
Desmond Dekker - You can get it if you really want
Prince Buster - Oh! Carolina
and a new school goodie ))) from japan!
Tokyo Ska Paradise Orchestra - Golden Tiger
Tokyo Ska Paradise Orchestra - Pirates
... california knows how to party. in the city. the city of long beach.
some dreams consume us, and some dreams never happen.
as i lay dormant in my bed i can hear the dry leaves stumble down the dark alley outside my bedroom. i dream. i dream of the hot sun baking my brown body till i begin to burn blue in the bright desert sun. i burst into ashes. flying on the back of the great quetzalquatal listening the sounds of concertina. far above the ruins of teotihuacan i can see the brightly dressed mestizo girls dancing in the ball court under the shadows of the pyramids. they look up to see right through me. my pulsing crimson heart explodes from my chest and beats to the rhythmn of the guitar while i hold it in my own two hands. the feathers of the serpent god tickle my soul and shoot me into orbit with the black jaguars to prowl the star forest at night. i fade into the univierse and the dream goes on without me.
listening to ))) The Mars Volta - Concertina
... would you rather be Kang or Kodos?
i really dont have much today. just this, last night i had a dream about me, an alpaca named jimmy, my death and a long van trip to peru involving machu pichu. i have always liked them alpacas. they are fuzzy.
i think it may be time for another crab tale. i don't know. what do you guys think?
actualy i have this too...
we all have a devil inside us. he can be small & quite, big & fierce. all the while the devil tells us the truth. he says when you want something. he says when you want to do naughty things. the last thing you should do is silence him. a coin would not be a coin without the other side.
listening to ))) Bad Religion - Los Angeles is Burning
... i think we're alone now, i can't see anyone around
the small radio speaker blares: attention coastal communities there is a small craft warning issued for san pedro and all surrounding marinas. the water is calm but there is an air of danger spotting 1 kilometer off the port of LA and coming in fast. water spouts have also been seen in several locations. all small craft are advised to stay in the port and hunker down for a brief flurry of danger and angry elements. the message begins to repeat.
i could have sworn i just saw a coyote run through the alley. its that kind of night. permanent summer is almost back and the sea is changing its demeaner. its needs something. it needs to make a statement and the city wants to hear what it has to say. the city being the cruel and nosey type.
the screams of the gantry cranes wakes me up from a dead sleep. the inky black night outside my window is only broken by the lights from the boats out in the marina near the port. mt attention turns to a broken window nextdoor and the silouettes of two people agrueing while trying not to be loud about it. on hits the other and i couldnt care less. i need to get out of here.
my shoes go on fast as i grab my keys and hit the road. its just before two so i grab some whiskey on the way out of town. the air is dry and hot and the baby tumbles weeds are beginning to take root on the sides of the road for next years death roll. sonic reducer by the dead boys is on the radio and is broken by another announcement.
attention all coastal communities there is still a small craft warning in effect for all vessels and quiet peace. take cover and stay indoors. danger is in the air. stay tuned for any further announcements.
the mist from the crack of the beer is a refreshing change from the dry air shooting in from the sun roof. i can smell a hint of skunk in the air as i drive. it smells like hate. 75 mph and counting.
i dont smoke but i wish i did because i feel like a smoke. the ocean is on my left and im moving north on the backside of the peninsula. no stores no cops and no witnesses in case anything goes wrong. alot of people dump bodies or commit suicide out here. it seems appropriate because all the uber-rich houses are out here. they need to see what they drive us to do.
the new trump golf course is to my left. its still under construction. back when i was younger it was a place for punk kids to light bon fires and drink beer on public land. now its gated off and all the rich kids are the only ones who can get in there and use it to date rape thier rich little friends. better clothes on crappier people. i can see two kids molesting a half concious girl. not much new for this place. you'd think theyd do that at home in the rec room with all thier friends and a camera but these kids are the 'new stuipid.' 85 mph and counting.
another coyote darts out of the darkness and in front of my car and i feel a thump. a big thump. are you kidding me? the blood and fur obscure my headlight but threre is no body to be found and i couldnt care less. another death in new utopia. the sea doesnt care and the city feels even less. with my new tribal paint job im off. 95 mph and counting.
i am sure i'll run out of gas soon and i'm not even home yet. the circle of the new cruelty is almost complete and the six pack is almost gone. i still feel weird but fuck it. danger is still in the air and i bet i can find it. i need a gun and some beer.
... some of them want to get used by you
this is an audio post. soak it up and you will know exactly how i feel today. i may write a snippit later i don't know yet. pretend like i am there mixin' for you.
listen to ))) rhinestone cowboy
then listen to ))) like A prayer
next listen to ))) sweet Dreams
and finally listen to ))) time after time
·´¨*·.¸¸.*·´¨*·.¸¸.* all tracks mixed by DJ Z-Trip
... look at the stars, look how they shine for you
jump in my boat and put on your life jacket. it's the shiney one underneath the back seat. if you fall in the water it lets you live life. while the fishies eat your toes you can enjoy it as a cuddle from the deep.
port to starbird we can scan the horizon for signs of adventure. a way to taunt the mowai and lay waste to boredom. just you and i. a drift in the blue soup in my bowl. watch out for the crackers and cheese.
will you tell me why i run? will you let me know my own secrets? i spent my life in worship of you. staring from my window and floating down your fingers. water to my left and water in my lungs. i have never washed off the salty remains of my days with you. i never will.
... there goes my hero, watch him as he goes. there goes my hero, he's ordinary.
in some circles tattoos and strange piercings are weird and to be looked at funny or suspect. well, around here its a part of the norm and not just for the kids. that being said, let's have a little fun ...
my arms are all wiggley from the grinder and the cold wind has just made its mark on the city. the sharp breezes are broken only by the shrill roar of the f-1 engines gearing up for the upcoming races. the town is a buzz and the chilly winds hide hot desires for speed, action, and victory.
thursday nights belong to the blue cafe. a place us hardchargers took over for the next month or two. DJ's, bands, and a slew of eMCees. a place to call our own and kick up a lil dust downtown long beach style.
'i drink, i drank, was drunk last night.' thats a piece of an old song we sang in high school. its funny how things come to pass. across from me on the outdoor patio is a lil number that i wanted to get to know. she was the kind of chick i dig but never get. all tatt'd up with some great piercings and jet back hair with a devil red stripes down the sides. i was sold. all i had to do was look at her.
'hey' (this is her talkin)
'you talkin to me?'
'yeah, how are you?'
'i'm doin fuckin great now.'
'i bet you are.'
'well, ive been checkin you out.'
'i know. c'mere'
she slaps both of her palms down on her thighs. she wants me to come sit on her lap. holy shit! was this chick for real? if so, hell yeah!
'are you serious?'
'uh huh. c'mere.'
'you got it baby.'
i sat down on her small lil lap. i was face to face with the coolest lil chick in town. she's a lil slutty just the way i like 'em, but decisive, very decisive.
'am i hurting you?'
'you? i doubt it.'
'well now what?'
'i dont know.'
'lets get married! im in love.'
'let do it right now and then go home and pop out some angry little kids. we can all get electric guitars and tour like a dark partridge family. i'm down are you?'
'i like you deryke.'
'how do you know my name?'
we began to make out (in the good way too!) i played with her toungue piercing and ran my fingers around her hair while i sat on her lap. this was good shit. i was mezmorized. we chatted a bit and kissed a bit more but the witching hour was upon us and she had to go.
'call me tomorrow and we can finish this up in my bedroom.'
'hell yeah baby. put your number in my phone.'
she grabbed the phone and looked at the cheesy hamster on my screen saver and looked back up.
'you are soooo lame. did you know that?'
'yeah, and i'll prove it tomorrow night. where it counts.' we laughed
after she handed my phone back to me she walked off with her friends (and i think her mom too.) i looked down at my phone and across the room to my dumb founded friends. HOLY SHIT. i'm on a roll. i went to hit save on the phone and just then, like in slow motion, i drunkenly hit the wrong button. it was gone. GOOOOOOOOOOONE! fuck.
some things just arent meant to be.
listening to ))) tiger army - True Romance
d3ar d3ad g1rl
... at your funeral i will sing the requiem
dear dead girl,
i am sorry that we have not spoken. i am sorry that your voice could not fly the spaces between infiniti and my heart. i loved you and now you are gone. the shadows have set on our day in the sun, but let's not forget the way it was. let's do that now...
12 days till the perfect moment and all i can do is laugh. i always wanted to see you in ski pants. your apple cheeks all balled up and smiling back at me the way that only you can. i loved every minute of that weekend. no matter how many bumps along the road were hit and hurt. the day was wide but the nights were ours.
remember the time we went out in the middle of that misty august night? we ran on the beach and drew huge pictures at the waters edge with driftwood sticks. we drew stars, seahorses and happy fish just out of the reach of the waves. we must have done a million of them. not to show just to do. the way we lived life that night was perfect and fleeting. i miss those nights. i miss all of it. the rain on ocean boulevard and all the pumpkins we carved. every time we took the long way home and every lap we walked on second street. all were appreciated and all are still in my heart.
i guess the way things were are never to pass again. beauty always fades like the afternoon shadows. those were amazing times.
now that you are gone i want you to know something. you still have a piece of my heart sitting in a lil box on your dresser. it smells like cheescake and strawberries and if you like , where ever you are you can open it up, and where ever i am i will smell it and remember you and i and the cool ocean breeze from the little beach i am sure you are sitting on right now.
youre truely, deryke
listening to ((( saves the day - at your funeral
RETAR1U$ ... an arena rock tr1bute
... to those about to rock we salute you, dirty thoughts to dirty minds we contribute you...
a tribute to RETARIUS and his blog 'A Non-Stop Cavalcade of Fun'
RETARIUS a blog not to be dienied and a writing spirit that dwells deep in the some guys head out in japan. the news of your recent blog bewilderment has troubled me, so i went out and formed a 'coalition of the willing' to make a pre-emtive assault on your noggin. it is time to meet that coalition and read our mission statements ... get ready for the love.
a little something from LUCRETIA AGAIN ::::
Shirtless, my tattooed Snowman
Stands in his Japanese kitchen
baking me bread.
I cannot see his face
But the sex of him is
All around the room and
Who needs a face when he's cool
like the other side of the pillow?
a word in haiku from 8zero8 ::::
I like seeing mom, dad fuck
Cavalcade must live!
meet the lovely and talented TRANSIENCE ::::
don't cry, precious, i'm here. there's a song that starts with that line. funny how you are raised on the beatles and the mamas & the papas and turn out worshipping a man who basically grunts out that line and you have to google the lyrics to understand what he is singing.
funny how google has become a verb. an expert. the be-all end-all of research. a few days ago, a friend said"what is that dish you ate at (insert name of restaurant here)? i need to know so i can google it and know how it tastes." uh, excuse me. there is such a thing as a first-hand source. i ate the goddamn dish. ask me how it tastes. but noooooooooo. whether or not you were there, google will and always be the first-hand source. google is it. google is the bomb. google is the shizzle. be careful if you work at google and blog about it. google knows who you are and what you did.
if you google the word retarius, he comes up first.
i am going broke. every week, i have to spend a wad of cash on baubles and trinkets and what-have-yous. this is because i am getting too immersed in the hell hole that is my job. consumerism is the way to go. ease your pain. buy a prada. buy a retarius shirt at target.
i drank tea at the coffee bean and tea leaf the other day. i tried their strawberry cream variant. it was probably a twat choice but it tasted too good to be considered vulgar. i remember how retarius likes to drink tea and read books and write kickass book reviews. i remember his snowboarding pictures and the shinto temple and how he's going back to the states around june. i remember how he is shy at emailing and chatting and how he won't tell me about his tattoos. i remember how he makes me feel really special when he comments on my blog. i hope he reads more than 52 books this year. i hope he doesn't delete his blog or quit writing.
blogger.com hosts your blog for free. so if it fucks up, you can complain on your blog for free. unlike if you work for google, you complain on your blog and you're free. free from work. shit man i'm sorry you were fired here have a jelly doughnut work at blogger.com and screw up the comments function exercise your power sit back and relax while the whole blogger.com population gives you the finger woot.
the best things in life are fun. so when you stumble across a non-stop cavalcade of fun and it grows on you like moss to a rock, you don't let go. not easily. sometimes, not ever.
this is probably the worst watercolor pastiche of the retarius genre any writer has ever done. (forgive me, retarius, for trying.) free writing is nothing without the master.
now a word of INDETERMINACY ::::
Reporter: I'm here with Professor Ernest Grimm, the world famous
archeologist who has made what is probably the most significant
discovery of our 50th century. Professor, would you please explain
what you found.
Professor Grimm: I'd be glad to. Here you see a petrified specimen of
the race that once inhabited this land during the Google dynasty.
Now, we were sure that some kind of catastrophic event ended their
civilization. A solar flare melting all the credit cards or a fatal
disease like hiccups. We just didn't know.
Reporter: But you've solved it.
Professor Grimm: Yes I have. You see, this specimen here was coming
out of a server room with a backup of the Internet in his hands.
Luckily, the Outdoor Computer Museum in Antarctica is in possession of
a working Pineapple Macintosh or McDonalds as they were sometimes
called, reconstructed from pieces dug up where the Pacific Ocean used
to be. The point is, we could read the backup.
Reporter: Were there problems translating it?
Professor Grimm: Actually not, the backup was in English, one of the
simpler languages of that era, spoken universally by all primates. It
doesn't present a problem to us. But I digress. You see, you have to
understand about this race. They thrived on humor. It was their
nourishment. It kept them alive. Gave them hope, something to laugh
for, as one of their ancient sayings goes.
Reporter: And this backup proves that the humor ran out?
Professor Grimm: Yes it does. As we know, the ancient God of Comedy
was Retarius, who channeled his humor to the masses by use of a blog.
But one day he closed the blog and that was the end. With all the
humor gone, everyone instantaneously turned to stone.
now lets get fisted by the city FIST ::::
Really, he cannot bear to face it. Cock flopped out, the fists of faeces getting ready to rock out - and, then, as down he lowers his butt, the horror, the horror of the toilet seat still hot.
Equally, those harsh facts from biology; unbearable. Smell is made from the molecules of actual stuff, not some different substance given off, as with the reflections of light.
Thus: the stinky air here is dotted with the sharp snap of actual shit, actual shit; it lolls about the lips, nests in the nose, enters him through the eye holes.
And so, only moments before, here his housemate's body must have hovered. This exact spot. Squeezing out the body-sifted debris. Sausage, fried bread, ice-cream and lager.
Revolting and pointless, surely, he thinks, to realise it. Such cruel facts of life as these - they are about us always, enough, anyway; so much human pollution of humans. Shut up, he tells himself, and just get on with it. Stop talking. Stop talking shit.
I, Fist, of course, have something else to say.
"Underneath the indignity, might you not sense a little story? Of having shared with your housemate's survivors a little moment that forms a memory? Like a blog entry does? Or more like a little touch of connection, like a comment is?" But he shakes his head. Enough of grandiose claims, he thinks, enough of faking some function out of the dirt of our lives, he doesn't feel like it at all.
"Something else, then," I said, meandering on, as if in the maze of the city, amongst walls made of mirrors and unknown corners. "Surrender that responsible feeling, which clambers for a hidden logic to hide the horror and shame, that groping hunger for pride. And then carry on anyway - with the search for words in common amongst the shit, with the attempt to name things which matter - even only if in a random form, say of an acrostic."
and a lil sumtink from FUNKY FRESH FREDDY ::::
and now the geek-tacular STACY ::::
Such unexpected pleasure found
inside your head....
upon your tongue....
the tips of your fingers...
As you spill yourself....
your thoughts....ideas....and memories
here for our enjoyment
and perhaps...our sorrow
a kind word from HEYYY NORTON ::::
i stumbled across this blog, this dark, funny witty blog purely by accident using the next blog function of the toolbar.
up until this time everything i had found was 13 year old malaysian girls writing love song lyrics on there site. quickly i added a non stop cavalcade of fun to my firefox bookmarks. retarius had me at hello...
oh yeah, it's him, it's the BLOG HO ::::
sorry...long ass nap. as promised: Well, I'm late.
That being said, I come because I was called to help Mr. Retarius through a moment of pain...Ho style.
My first stop was the ice cream truck of Retarius.
'I'll suck your dick for a dollar,' I said.
'Fucking Retarius. I thought we had a vibe going.'
Actually, it seems he's going to continue writing. This upsets me. I like to think of myself as the Axis of Evil in the blogsphere. I took out Junker single-handedly.
Junker called me one night on the Ho Phone. Ho, should I quit? I'm kinda upset about things...life, my kids, time, etc.
'Yes, Junker. Quit. Send your minions my way.'
One down. Here was my chance for Retarius. One more down. More to me. ALL TO ME. So welcome back, cunt. If you get misgivings in the future, call me.
and finally a word from yours truely DERYKE ::::
i am not a writer. i draw. i paint. i laugh and i cry. i walk the line. i live to learn. i fall. i get up. i dig in the trash and i find treasure. to me its hard to call yourself anything but alive. then i began to blog. i learned to unleash my inner animal on to the computer keyboard and out to you fine fine kids.
along the way i met some folks that made me care. a gal named trans, a fuck named fist, a fool name freddie, but the one that got to me the most was a guy named retarius. the wind cries retarius. always a kind word and a fun turn of phrase. you cant beat good people.
so now when one turns to the boogey man in the closet and askes him to 'get it over with.' that one should look inwards and ask 'am i wearing clean underwear and have i read the last post in 'a non-stop cavalcade of fun?' because both are MUSTS before you die. long live RETARDIUS!
thanks for all the reads and all the writes from all of us.
LUCRETIA AGAIN, 8ZERO8, TRANSIENCE, INDETERMINACY, FIST, FUNKY FRESH FREDDIE, STACY, HEYYY NORTON, BLOG HO and me.
p.s. HEY BLOGGERS if anyone likes, they too can send me a post and i will add it. deryke@exciteNOSPAM.com