Hangover

You wake up on the floor. Nausea, a gentle sea, rocks you back and forth.  Jeans and t-shirt, miles of seaweed, land nowhere in sight. A slow swell of panic builds up in your gut, washes over you and settles in your throat. You get up, but the deck is unsteady.  You have no footing, legs bending wildly, your hands grasping at shadows.

You can see the clock, but the numbers have no meaning. A thin line of yellow light indicates a door. But what will you encounter along the way? Where will this jouney take you? You need to go to the bathroom but a large chinese man keeps passing you shots of Tequila from out of the darkness. He needs to be pushed out of the way along with unseen objects and the sound of people's laughter.

You make it to the door and slide it open in two goes.  The hallway is bright and squirming. The bathroom is just on the right. Take a seat. No, get up.  You need cold water, your head is tomato about to burst. There is no sink in the bathroom just a toilet. A few minutes just sitting, your face against the tile.

You wake on the toilet. The sun is up. The nightmare begins.

Free Writing

In my high school English class we were required to write for 15 minutes every day without ever putting the pen down.  Even if you were only writing "I am thinking about what to write, but nothing is coming, this is shit! I know it's shit, but I can't stop because the teacher is looking straight at me because I am not looking at my paper and writing.  There are small moments, seconds, where I look up or even just away from my paper, and her icy stare is there.  She is looking only at me!  Why!?  Im sure other kids in the class are faking it.  Look at Dave, he couldn't write for 15 minutes if someone had a gun to his balls.  And there he is, scribbling  away and looking like he likes it.  Is he just drawing curly q's or what?, what the fuck is going on here, this bastard is totally faking this shit and I'm taking all the fucking flack? FUCK that, this sucks. I wanna see what that dick is writing, he's probably writing about me, OH! look a Migliacci! Writing away, scribbling around like he is really doing something, that fucking pig, probably just drawing huge long dicks across each line.  Pausing for a second to look like he's really into it, getting it done.  Like he likes it, that phoney fuck, what a dick, here i am drawing curly q's and this cock smoker is shakespearin' it up, OH look at me teacher I've got a huge hard-on for this project Im so artsy you know this shit is right up my ally. Holy fucking god, what just happened?  Was I writing for dave? is he channeling me somehow? does he have access to my thoughts! thats impossible, I wont believe it I would rather die than believe that, but it was him not me, He was even looking at me, calling me a pig.  That rat bastard Ill pull his kidneys out for that one! He cant fuck with me.  After this we each have to carry our own desk to the gym to have exams.  Do you believe that shit, our own desk. That is like making a group of people dig their own grave.  Like digging all day and then catching a bullet in the back of the head falling face down onto the dirt, shattering teeth on a half exposed rock, blood running down the back of your neck and around your throat like a necklace, as body after body pile on top of you, pressing the air out of your lungs, squeezing your eyeballs out, splintering ribs, its getting darker, dirt starting to seep through the bodies.  Buried Alive."

Ok times up! Put your pencils down and pass your papers to the right.  Take out Romeo and Juliet, page 23 line 6.

What Would Be Your First Decree?

If you were ordained Supreme Ruler of the Universe, what would be your first decree?  Most of us say we would end war, stop hunger, clean up the environment.  But that would only encourage these pesky humans.  I always have the same answer for this question, which seems to pop up an awful lot.

I would collect all the weapons on earth.  Every bomb, bullet, gun, hand grenade, thermonuclear weapon, and slingshot.  Have them melted down and fashioned into a gigantic roving killing machine, who's job is to cut the human population in half as soon as possible.  The death selection would be totally randomized.  No one person would have an advantage over city sized death machine.  The method of killing would be painless.  Perhaps sucking you up through a vacuum tube of some kind, I really don't know yet.

But once his work is done all the major cities on earth will have to be emptied.  They must be prepared for simultaneous attack from space by new, environmentally friendly, "clean" bombs.  Every decent sized building on earth will have a sudden flash of light thrown upon its face, and instantly turn into the richest most fertile soil the planet has ever know.  Like castles made of sand they hold for a moment... and dissolve into soft piles of earth, thousands of them drifting off into the bright orange sunset.

There is a world wide feeding frenzy!  Life of all kind flocks to these areas.  Within days it's covered with grass. In two weeks trees shoot up from the unmarked graves of New York, Beijing, Tokyo, London, Los Angeles.  By next month there is no sign that the cities ever existed.  Life of all manner would be living there, in perfect harmony.  From the microbes who eat garbage and shit out food, to the 100 foot long eagles who's eyes, more powerful than the Hubble Space Telescope, can see through time.

The atmosphere is being scrubbed clean.  A new form of sunlight, when shined through the new ultra-clean air, will melt tumors away from cancer victims, purify water instantly, and greatly decrease brain activity in the surviving humans.  They remember nothing of the past.

Their memory banks have no records of traffic jams, bars, television, wars, family members, friends, offices, funeral parlors, Starbucks coffee shops, movies, The United States of America, supermarkets, superman, school, music, the internet, names, places, directions, phone numbers, magazines, trains, air travel, space travel, The Miss Universe Contest, garbage cans, advertisements, breakups, the Beatles, clocks, doctor's visits, birthdays, first dates, books, art, computers, hamburgers, buildings, credit cards, jobs or their vote for me to become Supreme Ruler of the Universe. 

A Dame, A Bean Shooter And A Brodie

I was in my favorite dive with a baby and an All The Way, when a twist waltzed in with a lincoln and offered to grab the tab.  "What's the story, morning glory?"  I puffed out with my gasper dangling.  

She ordered a coffee and slammed her purse on the table.  Turns out she was making time with a skin tickler who played nights at the Vanguard.  He was a real crumb who would beat his gums about any jelly bean who floated through the joint.  Looks like this canary sang one to many lullabies, and was gumming up the works for some big shots uptown. 

His loose lips put the kibosh on a deal, and now some patsy was waiting on the hotsquat in San Quentin.  Word was a couple of torpedos were taking aim, and he'd be wearing a Chicago overcoat before too long.

  

My dame steps into the story because she was bleeding the egg for running with some moll on the east side.  She had pictures and got a cool sawbuck a week to sit on 'em.  With this cat on ice her lettuce was starting to wilt.  His cave was clear, and he hadn't sat a set in two weeks.  Looks like everyone in town was after this genius. 

"I had enough candy toots, lets say we make it to a gin mill for some giggle juice and talk things over ."  We danced across the street to Mickey's and grabbed a quiet car in the back.

"So your butter and egg man is on the lamb, and you want me to get the bread mill rolling again, what's in it for me?"

"I don't know, what's in it for you?" she said real calm like blowin' smoke from her cherry lips.

This kitten had the bulge, and she was sittin' pretty, real kip in her hat and vail, her fingers lousy with rocks.  She wanted me to give in because she was a dish, and I was some Joe behind the grind.  Well maybe I was...

and maybe I would...

The Strange Tale of the Magical Men

I attended a small boarding school in Long Island, New York, called The Knox School.  

When I was first set to go, perhaps in the spring of 1989, I did not know what to expect.  I figured it would be a laugh riot, like The Facts of Life, or deep and meaningful like Dead Poet's Society, and a little vulgar like National Lampoon's Animal House.  It was all three.  Pranks were thoroughly planned and exquisitely carried out.  One stands out as exceptional and became a tradition which spanned years.  The nightly visit of the Magical Men.

One night my roommates and I were fast asleep in our tiny room on second floor of the then named New Dorm.  Suddenly the overhead lighting forced my eyes open like a glowing crowbar.  I clutched my sheets in terror as I saw three half naked bodies gyrating wildly around the room.  One, wearing nothing but thong underwear and a grotesque rubber Ronald Reagan mask, was sawing a pizza box in half.  Jimmy Carter, also wearing bikini-like undies was puffing baby powder into the air while thrusting his hips suggestively on the desk.  Finally, Nixon, completely naked performed karate moves on my roommates bed.

The look of sheer terror on David's face stands out to me even now.  Demola, was on top bunk and I can only imagine his wide eyes and bear teeth.  As for myself, I don't know how I felt it was all over in a matter of seconds.  The lights went out and we, being half asleep anyway, drifted off. 

The next morning I woke up to see Dave siting up in his bed looking at me and then at the faint dusting of baby powder on his bed and the desk.  "We're late! Demola yelled and we all rushed into our uniforms and down the hill for the 7:15 breakfast bell.  Dave and I were both seated that week in the main dinning room where the headmasters table was.  We were both exhausted staring at our sausage and eggs somewhat in a daze.  Suddenly Dave stood up, I looked at him from across the dining room.  "Last night!" he yelled.  Everyone was looking at him and then at me.  I got up quickly, even though it was forbidden, and ran out of the dinning room. Demola met us outside.

"Those freaks were in our room last night!"  We held each others arms like we were all about to start playing ring round the rosie.  "They've been there before." Demola whispered looking at Dave.  "Hang on, hang on...was Ronald Reagan sawing a pizza box last night?"  "OH MY GOD!" Dave said looking back and forth at the two of us.  "This happened before." I said.

Immediately after breakfast we confronted the pranksters.  Mitch Shivers, Brendan Leddy, and Rudolfo Antorcha.  "Finally!" they said with relief.  We've been in there 5 times this month.  At that moment it started to flood back to me.  A strange montage of nightly visits all lasting less than ten seconds but stored somewhere in my sleepy mind.  Each one more bizarre than the next.  I felt rapped.  My dreams invaded, my mind played with.  There was only one way to get even with a prank like this.

The next year we would be seniors.  Mitch, Rudolfo, and Brendan would be gone, their maskes passed on to a new generation of pranksters...The Magical Men would live on...

...for one more year at least. 

Raving Private Ryan

Part 1
Quite a few years back my younger brother, Mark, and I were living in Singapore and teaching at a polytechnic institute there. We were given a generous amount of holidays and we took advantage.

One of our very first stops was Koh Panyang, Thailand. A small place just north of Koh Samui in the south. We were not really aware at the time but this place was famous for its Full Moon Parties at Had Rinn. We were staying at Thong Nai Pan Noi, a quiet little family beach north of Had Rinn.

Our beach was getting flooded with hippy-types and Euro-Ravers from all over the place. "You here for the Full Moon Party, Man?", everyone was asking. Well sure why not? We paid for passage to and from Had Rinn on one of the many boats that will take you there and started getting ready.

A guy from San Diego, California told us about a place just south at Thong Nai Pan Yai, where we could get some great tea that was made from island botanicals and fungi. The lady serving up the brew was a beautiful older Thai lady that ran a cafe just over the hill. Just what we needed for a memorable night we thought.

As the sun began to sink we made our way over the hill to the strange cafe. A hut really, like most of the buildings there. We were the only customers, and as we made our way inside we saw a life sized Santa stuffed and nailed the the celling. His eyes jammed with Christmas lights. His hands boney and menacing. It was dark now, and we didn't have much time to make our boat. We sat down and the woman drifted out from behind the counter.

She was beautiful, tall and slim. She had long black hair with some streaks of grey, and her face finely lined. "Yes?" was all she asked. "Ummm...two special teas, please." Mark said with a question mark stretched across his face and then a long pause. "Two special teas." she said and floated away. A moment later she placed them on the table and said "Be careful, it's strong tonight...with the full moon." We stared at her for a moment and then back to the tea. Lets just drink it down and get out of here, we thought. It was just like any black tea, but very sweet, and with a hint of blue cheese dressing. Getting it down was hard, plus it was hot.

Part 2

We split to make it to our boat. By the time we hit our beach, the potion was taking effect. My legs felt much longer than they should be, and I  felt a little sick. Had we made a horrible mistake? Should I get in this boat? What was going to happen I thought, as the blood drained from my face. "Dude, it's cool, just get in and we will be at the party in no time." "Ok." was all I could say. My arms and legs were miles long. Getting into the boat was difficult but once seated I was fine. When the rest of the passengers got in we shoved off for Had Rinn.

The sound of the motor was deafening. All I could hear above it was the voice of a young German sitting behind me chatting up some American broad. "YAhhh iz diss your first Foool Mooon Pahti?" he was asking her. "My friend is DeeJaying tonight it's going to be unreeeeel." We were completely surrounded by darkness. The German's voice drifted out over the waves and disappeared. I was sweating a cold sweat, my knuckles white as I held onto the boat for dear life.

I don't know what it was, perhaps a combination of the German dude, the boat's motor and the mushrooms, but I started to hear a voice in my head. A very rough American accent, stern but soothing in some way. "Gentlemen, 10 minutes!" I looked around wildly. I saw nothing accept a young Thai in an Iron Maiden T-Shirt staring out over the waves. "Remember your training, move off the boat and up the beach!" My heart was pounding wildly. "Landing craft are coming in behind you, get off the beach as soon as you can!"
Search lights were licking the clouds ahead, for the taste of enemy aircraft. Then all of the sudden BOOM! There were explosions ahead! What the fuck was going on! BOOM, BOOM, BOOM I could see brightly colored blue and green lights reflected off the clouds ahead. The search lights dancing madly. The boat's motor drilling into my ears. BOOM! and then the sound of machine gun fire, POP POP POP. The boat slapped the waves rhythmically BOOM BOOM BOOM POP POP POP!

I have to get out of here I thought, I'm going over the side. "Mark, I have to get out of here!" I said, almost choking on my words. "Dude we're almost there, that's the beach ahead." He said. People running wildly, explosions everywhere! The girl sitting in front of me had a flame thrower. I have to get away from her the minute we hit the beach, I thought. Some kraut bullet will tear through that pink tank-top of hers, and this whole boat will go up like a Christmas tree on the Fourth of July!

All the other landing craft were now coming into view. Thousands of them. Some skimming past us, others far out to sea, but making toward shore. We all jerked forward. The boat hit sand. I jumped up to get away from the blonde with the flame thrower and realized almost instantly, that was no flame thrower. It was a backpack shaped like a gorilla. Even more disturbing in some ways. The beach not crowed with wounded GIs, but with dancing people. Many of them urinating and vomiting into the sea. The same sea I was about to step into.

The scene had totally changed. People dancing and drinking. Searchlights dancing with the music. Fireworks lit the sky, and the rattle of machine gun fire...simply the snare of the DJ's set. I had been lost in a dream. Mark told me later, I was just looking out over the water the whole ride, looking totally relaxed.

Part 3
The party actually, was a dud. Not all that fun and we went back to Thong Nai Pan early. Our beach was quiet. The families asleep the beach dark and empty. I took a walk alone for a few minutes. My feet hardly touching the ground, I bounced around like Charlie Duke at the Descartes Highlands (Why Charles Duke to describe a Moon walk and not Neil Armstrong? Two reasons: One, really good footage of the moon walks came from the later missions, Apollo 15, 16 and 17. And also images of John Young and Charles Duke were among the first images of the moon walks I had seen as a child.)

The water seemed like a thick jelly. Just lifting itself up and then slapping down on the wet sand. It looked so warm and inviting, I was tempted to lift it up like a blanket, crawl underneath and go to sleep warm and cozy. Luckily I had more sense than that. Mark and I went to bed that night in the shack we had rented on the beach. It was so dark that if your eyes were opened or closed, it made no difference. So I just stayed up a while looking around at my thoughts and went to bed.

Are You A Boy Or A Girl?

Reading never came easy to me. I really didn't start to read regularly until my thirties. In fact, I don't think I have ever finished one reading assignment during my entire education. I had a tendency to look at letters and numbers in a different way.

Ever since I can remember I assigned a gender to all letters and numbers. I gave them personalities and histories. I imagined the relationships they had with each other, even the most forbidden, an alphabet/numeral relationship. 8 and G always had something going on. 8 obviously female, and a bit on the chunky side, liked G's soft side. She also like that he stood his ground..."No, I'm going to stop right here! Fuck C, I've got to be my own man!"

A and B, female. Lets face it, B looks like a pair of breasts and A kinda looks like one of my mother's friends from when I was growing up. C D E F G H and I are all male. The old Boys Club of the early letters. "Sure, A and B might be girls but we dominate the first ten letters." K is female, just look at the way she moves. Strong and assertive yet graceful. L...kinda goes both ways if you know what I mean. Like 9, neither here nor there. "You're no 6, that's for sure, and 10 wears the pants in the family."

Actually there are many gay letters and numbers, Q for instance, just look at that limp little hand of his. 7, feminine for sure, but there is something about her. 1 2 3 and 4 are all children, and therefore without gender to me. 5 is growing up and wishes the others would stop following him around all the time! And anyway, he kinda likes 6, you know.

M and N are both female, and good friends. Well, they have so much in common. Nobody likes O, nothing to grab onto, mostly empty space. The only one who likes him is P, another loser. J is like that uncle that is younger than the other adults. He's still cool, he still smokes pot every now and then, and lets you borrow his records. R and T are drinking buddies. Tough, rough and vulgar. They like beer, bowling and farting. S is R's wife, and she's always coming between the two. V W X and Y are the matriarchs. The old ladies sitting around in rocking chairs, brow-beating the rest, demanding quiet and hot tea.

Z the poor thing, hardly ever used. Worth 10 points in scrabble you know, not a vowel anymore are you love?

God is Heavy

I have to say that I too, like the bright young girls in this picture, believe in an all-powerful force that created everything. This power created us from nothing! It is invisible, and cannot be measured, even by the world's greatest scientists. Even Albert Einstein never attempted to solve this great puzzle. This force caused the big bang, and the formation of stars, which in turn created the elements that formed the planets. It put the breath of life into the universe.

He governs every step of every human being who has ever lived on Earth or will ever live on Earth. Although his great laws can be bent by some, they can never be broken! From now until the end of time (which will be at a time and place of HIS choosing) we must all bow to his absolute power.
This force treats everyone equally. If you are foolhardy enough to think that the rules don't apply to you, you WILL be punished! Your body may be broken, your possessions may be destroyed, and your loved ones taken from you.  

Sometimes, this great entity takes the innocent. Those who have done nothing to offend it, will suffer its wrath, perhaps as a warning to the rest of us to change our ways.
So little is known about this absolute ruler of the universe, but this is known for sure. His name starts with a G...
This god is Gravity.
...and he has nothing in particular against gay people.

Another Boaring Night in Kyoto

My dear friend Chris Gifford recently left Japan after five years in Kyoto and Osaka. The adventures that were had were both numerous and incredible, however one stands out.

Chris came to us one day with the wild claim that he had been attacked by a wild pig only minutes from his home at the foot of Daimonji, in Kyoto. Chris is known as a heavy drinker and occasional drug user so his story was quickly dismissed as either hallucination or outright lie.  

Chris' home was located at the foot of a famous mountain (and I use that term loosely) in Kyoto. True, many creatures of the forest can be seen in that area, in fact a visit from a large centipede while tripping out on a YouTube video was not uncommon. He had a Sake jar full of them. But...a wild boar? Within the city limits? Rather unusual to say the least. We figured, Chris, drunken and on a bike hit a large dog. The dog's cries of pain resembled snorting, Chris made his estimation of the incident and the story was born.  

Chris, being a bachelor, hosted many a night of debauch in his run-down mountain hideaway. One night in particular I was rather drunken and refused to spend the night, claiming I was fine to ride my bike down the mountain and safely home. A mistake I would come to regret.
Shortly after leaving the house I found myself on a quiet street lined with small japanese houses and a few scattered vending machines. All of the sudden a dog started barking and growling madly. The sound was enough to scare me, and make me ponder the reality of a dog attack. However, all of the sudden I heard another dog barking, and then another! In fact, the dogs were chained safely in yards and barking at some unseen menace ahead.  

I slowed my coast down the mountain lane. The sharp smell of an unwashed beast hit my face like a slap. It smelled like the monkey house at the Bronx Zoo. At the intersection ahead a large four legged creature stood in the road. "Was this a dog?" I thought, my heart now pounding. Coasting slowly forward the beast came into view, and in the light of an old Coke Machine was clearly a pig. A large, hairy, tusked pig.

He was five feet long if he was an inch. His shiny little hooves glistened in the moist mountain air, his teeth dingy and stinking stabbed at the glow of the vending machine, his eyes dead. I froze, petrified with fear as I envisioned my demise. Falling drunken onto the pavement, a boar's tusk tearing a valley of skin and flesh though my corduroys, and God forbid, tearing my scrotum.

These visions danced in my mind and eyes until I realized I was still coasting toward the beast. I slammed the brakes, sending a screech of rubber against aluminum echoing into the forest. Startled by the sound the pig jumped, stumbled backward and almost fell. Regaining his footing on the wet pavement he bucked and snorted twice in my direction. Now at a full stop i closed my eyes and waited. When I opened them, he was gone. A faint swirl of mist and the sound of hooves dancing into the distance were all that remained. The pig was gone, Chris is gone, and the story is now just a story. One of many.

Knuckle Sandwich

I must stop cracking my knuckles. I'm addicted to it. That sweet muffled crunch of cartlilage. That snap that seems to dissolve some hidden stress which has settled into the bone like a sunshine unit of strontium-90. Like biting into a crisp apple on a cool fall day. Bright red and yellow leaves floating around like plankton.

A baby's skeleton is 80 percent cartilage. As you grow that cartilage is slowly replaced by bone. Bones are simply deposits of the calcium you take into your body through food. In fact that snap you hear is not cartilage at all, but fluid that gets trapped between cartilage and bone and is then forced out through a contortion of the limb. Wow, it really sounds gross when described like that, but its true. How many other greatly pleasurable things sound hideous when described medically. Masturbation, for one, or sex for that matter.

But it doesn't bother me, I like thinking about it. Each snap brings my bones that much closer together. I am more complete with each snap, crackle and pop. I'm one, working as a whole. But...there is a catch. With each crack you are letting in slightly more fluid than there was before. That's why it's easier to crack your knuckles each time. In fact, the moment after the crack, your bones are slightly further apart. You are drifting away from yourself, held together by this bag of skin you call a body.

What are you? Your face? Your body? Your hair, lips, eyes, make-up? Each pop brings you closer to dismemberment. Each moment brings you closer to death. Crack your knuckles! Enjoy your time...