a good scare is worth more than good advice
howdy ther livejournal and fellow livejournal aliens
all has been well
same job same life same me
i kinda joined a band
me and these two other guys have been paying music together
one of the guys is really into jam band music
and can play music theory for hours
and the other guy is just a really good blues guy
we all play guitar but play other instruments as well
we're calling ourselves either ground control or unwanted ghost
the acoustic jams are fucking boogie riffic
nice and rootsy kinda grateful deadish kind of not
i'm excited i haven't been able to play with other instruments
in a long time
and it felt soo good to plug into an amp and feel like the god of sound
we'vce only had one electric get together
i kinda like just staying unplugged
but we'll see what happens
me and kasey have been making extensive plans for our trip
this coming november
i'm so excited
it actually feels like it is going to happen
and that it's not THAT far away
if there are any people who wanted to travel some ways with us
just let us know
partners are more than welcome
detours add to the memories
well i finally typed up the 2nd installment
to crickets adventures in "chirping at night"
i'm writing it by hand
so there is a delay to when it gets typed
i've just finished chapter 6
but this is all i have typed up.
please excuse grammatical errors and typos
and was very quickly typed and not
ran through grammar check or anything of the sort
************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
CHAPTER 2
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Cricket opened his eyes feeling very delusional. Confusion and dizziness was engrossing him as if he was just tossed up into space and fell all the way back to earth landing right back in front of the oak tree. Clouds were starting to form in the evening sky and began letting go of the water that it no longer had the strength to hold. To cricket the rain falling on him could have been magma, and he still wouldn't have been upset. He weaved his way through the ancient rows of grape vines. While gazing away at the little green marbles, he wished away the Dionysian existence he had luckily survived thus far. Each individual grape glowing in the sun flashed a moment of disappointment in Cricket's mind.
Cricket reached his car still in a genuinely adventurous state of mind. He was more than ready to get on the Trojan of destiny and take hold of the reins. On the third attempt the engine finally turned over allowing the radio to spit a couple Iggy Pop yelps before Cricket smashed the pause button. The button got so frightened it stayed hidden inside of its plastic shell refusing to ever again show its little rubber face. It took Cricket a few minutes to actually realize it would no longer play cd's.
“Great apes of monkey shit, mother fucker!" was his official response.
He quickly found a nice jazz standard to travel to. "About that cat..." Cricket said to himself thinking back to the reason he was even here. Cricket made himself a promise to hijack a kitten from a kill shelter before he arrived back home. Cricket reminisced about the day he had made all these plans to come here. It was a dull morning white knuckling a Planet of the Apes marathon hangover when the Price is Right came on. Bob Barker's face always reminded Cricket of his grandfather's stone countenance when he was lying in his casket. Cricket knew that nothing warmer than glacier water could flow through that platinum topped melting face of his. Then came his famous line "remember folks to help control the pet population and get your pets spaded or neutered". This was right after a geriatric woman had lost the showcase showdown that included a Harley Davidson and a cruise to Hawaii. Barker didn't care though; he had a mission, which was to save the damn pets.
"That's AMBITION" Cricket hollered at the streaming image.
Cricket's eyes quickly cut to a family portrait eyeing his mother. "I just don't get it..."
One week later...this is where he ends up. Cricket was not one to over analyze his compulsions. His obsessions, he believed, were the only emotions fueling his passions, and passion was all Cricket thought he had left. He had stayed out of "big" trouble thus far. So he could be doing something right...
As Cricket was traveling down Corridor Z he passed the first protestant church he had ever become a member of. This place was a very special one to Cricket because it was a recurring element in his dreams for quite a long period in his life. The altar, the black bell memorial in the middle of the courtyard, and the statue of Jesus with his smooth, bald, blemish free, un-carved stone for a face all were there. Cricket always loved this faceless statue. It made him think deeply about the actual person Jesus was, and not the legendary mythical deity everyone adores.
This struck a lightning bolt down Cricket's spine when he glanced at the statue. He felt as though he encountered a spiritual hot spot. Fear felt like courage. Courage made him feel wise. Wisdom aged him tell he in his mind he was on a prairie with grayness shadowing over all by the overcast sky. He was standing in front of an old style European house made of stones with a widow's clothesline standing between him and the house. The bed sheets were black, blouses, skirts, bras, bloomers, all grim and black. It was all contrasting against the primer coated sky. This is how she obviously mourned the death of her husband. The only objects not dismal were the red poppies in blooming pockets of flames tucked away on the prairies gentle slopes. Cricket could only repeat "Proverbs 1:9 the fear of the lord is the beginning of knowledge.” Cricket had no idea where this prairie was, but he knew that just over the hill was a beautiful cottage housing a preacher's wife. A flood of memories entered into Crickets mind like that of a 50 year tension stricken dam finally relieving itself of it's duty and satiating the surrounding bone dry canyon. He had the overwhelming sense that these current memories weren't from his life but from a story he had been told or read somewhere. Bible verses, games of red rover, twenty-four hour slumber parties/fasts from food for lent, all of these things were being aroused like dead ancestors in Cricket’s mind. Cricket thought back to the dream he had sitting back at that carved oak. He had closed his eyes and tried to absorb his surroundings, and boy did he. He really didn't want to think about what he saw back there at that house though. Time always changes perception. Hindsight is a much more reliable source.
Cricket was now pulling into the parking lot. The only evidence of this building still being active was a suited up, tall, dense, Native American fellow out front. His hair looked like finely woven silk with a gentle flowing motion in the wind. Almost like a tissue on the breeze. This gave the man a very classic look. Cricket quickly took out a notepad and pen and drew a quick gesture drawing of the stoic figure. The only aspect that Cricket was impressed with was the figure's hair. It looked like sand slowly falling through river currents.
Cricket reached up under his seat pulling out a 190 proof grain liquor bottle replacing it with the notepad, hoping to forget he even drew anything until he came across it accidentally later in life. He easily took a cheek-full down the gullet. He then forced about three more down feeling like he was literally shoving a gas pump down his throat and pulling the trigger. He gave himself ten seconds to recuperate he put the bottle upside down again till his belly drooled its inhabitants out of his mouth across his chin feeling like liquid fire on his skin. Not even putting the top back on, he rested it on the emergency brake and got out of the car. He loved the feeling he got when he had been sitting down getting drunk and the first moment after standing up. It was almost as if he couldn't get drunk sitting down, that he had to stand up and stir it around in his body. His brain set off a firework show slowly taking over his visual field and moving to the beat of his heart, and then blitzkrieg brain rush receded back faster than it had spread.
Walking towards the suited man he could start to feel the bass from inside beating from within his chest cavity. He passed by the door man without even once looking him in the face. When inside of the front lobby his skin was aglow painted by the vibrancies of the black light. There were quick flashes of clarity created by the strobe light which made everything in movement in the distance seem slow motion. He walked up to the slide window and spotted a very young Pocahontas, with the eyes of a pure doe nibbling on the snow covered ground.
"I need your id and $15" she requested mechanically.
"15 dollars? What's going on in there?"
"Its HBO night sir" she said looking right through Cricket.
"I'm no sir" he said as he dug out the items she needed.
"Yes your majesty" she sniggered and gave Cricket a smile that would make any man's day.
"Anytime your grateful servitude" Cricket said arrogantly, not even facing her, or asking for his ID back. He was to busy heading for the club floor entrance.
As soon as he entered the doors he wanted to turn around and go talk to the woman with her clothes on, and look at those eyes for a second time. The breasts in the room were like bike reflectors in spotlight. They could not be avoided, all the shapes and personalities. There were teardrops, cantaloupes, and even a pair that looked like sunny side up eggs nailed to a post.
After Cricket found a nice cozy cracked wooden table with a chair that was lopsided and tilted to any shift of weight he took a rest. He pulled a cigarette out and tore off the filter into two halves and put one in each earlobe slightly dulling out the drilling bass, and then lit up the remaining tobacco. Cricket finally became receptive to his entire surroundings and not just the y chromosomes’ bulbous growths. He looked at the main stage where a six foot blonde was laying on her back with all of her weight on her bent elbows. She had one leg propped up at an angle so that when she swung it, it appeared to be a flesh pendulum. Cricket heard a loud cheer rising over the beats and breaking through his cotton barrier.
"Get that shit; get that.....You guys seeing this? That fuck is folding up like a lawn chair." shouted a square fellow with a mustache. He looked like the type of guy who wore his suit and tie disguise all day and took it off at night to come in here where he spent the whole time hoping a client would not be a witness to his ritualistic debauchery. Cricket was gazing at the bellower's buddy sitting straight faced as a poker player at his mother's funeral while a short black girl had her fingers wrapped around the legs of his chair and her thighs creating a noose around his neck. She was shaking her body in front of him like she had stepped in a nest of flesh eating ants, and was trying to shake them loose. The woman showed no more pleasure on her face than the man she was supposed to be pleasuring. She seemed zoned in on how many 20's she had strapped to her bosom, and what business she was going to finance with it. Money is a harsh mistress never settling down in one place unless they are thoroughly surrounded by friends of the same face.
Cricket now noticed who and what the man was cheering on, UFC, Ultimate Fighting Championship. Modern day Roman gladiators, if the Romans had been skilled in the arts of boxing, all types of martial arts, GI training, commercial wrestling, and bullshit. One of the fighters had all of his weight on one leg, with just his big toe on the other touching the mat. Something was obviously broken in his knee. It was bulging at the side of his knee cap, and it looked like someone had held onto his knee and twisted his foot 45 degrees to the left. The same fighter had no eyes. His eyelids were the color of the night sky, ungodly sized swollen bruises resembling miniature domes. The rest of his countenance was crimson red; there was no evidence at all of what he previously looked like. All of a sudden the roars started forming into three recognizable words.
"Blood and sex, blood and sex, blood and sex" it seemed to Cricket that he was the only one not participating in this chant. Even the strippers were joining in with their fists in the air. It only took five seconds for this to turn into a brainwash session were nothing else was audible in the building. Then what Cricket thought was just a large blemish free wall turned out to be a projection screen which had just flashed on. Cricket never would have believed what he was now witnessing if someone else told him. They had put on Passion of Christ on the main screens with the fights continuing on the subsidiary screens. Not only did Cricket have personal hostility towards this movie because of all Christians refusal to accept this movie as an artistic expression, and not as scripture from the good book, but he just didn't like it. "Every movie is art all art can be good or bad, just because I think it's shitty art doesn't mean anything" Cricket told himself. All that put aside this just wasn't right. Cricket felt very uneasy and dirty, he didn't even know if he believed in god but he felt the adrenaline rush of being scared for some reason. "Fear of the lord is the beginning of knowledge" he kept repeating to himself.
Cricket suddenly couldn't even hear himself think over the ecstasy filled yips being emitted by all the participants. Cricket couldn't take it a single moment longer. The Romans were tapping on Cricket's and Jesus’ crown of thorns with clubs making fresh blood flow over the dried blood on his face. Cricket shot up out of his chair, put his hands in his pockets, centered his visual field on the floor, squinted his eyes letting in as little peripheral vision as permissible, and busily scampered to the first doorway he came upon. He pushed open the door walked up to the first door he came to and pushed the door open with his back and swooped in.
"DOOMP!"
A loud crack of glass filled Cricket's head.
He felt a very strong and violently throbbing pain in his head as he involuntarily fell to the floor.
****************************************************************************************************************
hope you enjoyed it!!
all has been well
same job same life same me
i kinda joined a band
me and these two other guys have been paying music together
one of the guys is really into jam band music
and can play music theory for hours
and the other guy is just a really good blues guy
we all play guitar but play other instruments as well
we're calling ourselves either ground control or unwanted ghost
the acoustic jams are fucking boogie riffic
nice and rootsy kinda grateful deadish kind of not
i'm excited i haven't been able to play with other instruments
in a long time
and it felt soo good to plug into an amp and feel like the god of sound
we'vce only had one electric get together
i kinda like just staying unplugged
but we'll see what happens
me and kasey have been making extensive plans for our trip
this coming november
i'm so excited
it actually feels like it is going to happen
and that it's not THAT far away
if there are any people who wanted to travel some ways with us
just let us know
partners are more than welcome
detours add to the memories
well i finally typed up the 2nd installment
to crickets adventures in "chirping at night"
i'm writing it by hand
so there is a delay to when it gets typed
i've just finished chapter 6
but this is all i have typed up.
please excuse grammatical errors and typos
and was very quickly typed and not
ran through grammar check or anything of the sort
************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
CHAPTER 2
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Cricket opened his eyes feeling very delusional. Confusion and dizziness was engrossing him as if he was just tossed up into space and fell all the way back to earth landing right back in front of the oak tree. Clouds were starting to form in the evening sky and began letting go of the water that it no longer had the strength to hold. To cricket the rain falling on him could have been magma, and he still wouldn't have been upset. He weaved his way through the ancient rows of grape vines. While gazing away at the little green marbles, he wished away the Dionysian existence he had luckily survived thus far. Each individual grape glowing in the sun flashed a moment of disappointment in Cricket's mind.
Cricket reached his car still in a genuinely adventurous state of mind. He was more than ready to get on the Trojan of destiny and take hold of the reins. On the third attempt the engine finally turned over allowing the radio to spit a couple Iggy Pop yelps before Cricket smashed the pause button. The button got so frightened it stayed hidden inside of its plastic shell refusing to ever again show its little rubber face. It took Cricket a few minutes to actually realize it would no longer play cd's.
“Great apes of monkey shit, mother fucker!" was his official response.
He quickly found a nice jazz standard to travel to. "About that cat..." Cricket said to himself thinking back to the reason he was even here. Cricket made himself a promise to hijack a kitten from a kill shelter before he arrived back home. Cricket reminisced about the day he had made all these plans to come here. It was a dull morning white knuckling a Planet of the Apes marathon hangover when the Price is Right came on. Bob Barker's face always reminded Cricket of his grandfather's stone countenance when he was lying in his casket. Cricket knew that nothing warmer than glacier water could flow through that platinum topped melting face of his. Then came his famous line "remember folks to help control the pet population and get your pets spaded or neutered". This was right after a geriatric woman had lost the showcase showdown that included a Harley Davidson and a cruise to Hawaii. Barker didn't care though; he had a mission, which was to save the damn pets.
"That's AMBITION" Cricket hollered at the streaming image.
Cricket's eyes quickly cut to a family portrait eyeing his mother. "I just don't get it..."
One week later...this is where he ends up. Cricket was not one to over analyze his compulsions. His obsessions, he believed, were the only emotions fueling his passions, and passion was all Cricket thought he had left. He had stayed out of "big" trouble thus far. So he could be doing something right...
As Cricket was traveling down Corridor Z he passed the first protestant church he had ever become a member of. This place was a very special one to Cricket because it was a recurring element in his dreams for quite a long period in his life. The altar, the black bell memorial in the middle of the courtyard, and the statue of Jesus with his smooth, bald, blemish free, un-carved stone for a face all were there. Cricket always loved this faceless statue. It made him think deeply about the actual person Jesus was, and not the legendary mythical deity everyone adores.
This struck a lightning bolt down Cricket's spine when he glanced at the statue. He felt as though he encountered a spiritual hot spot. Fear felt like courage. Courage made him feel wise. Wisdom aged him tell he in his mind he was on a prairie with grayness shadowing over all by the overcast sky. He was standing in front of an old style European house made of stones with a widow's clothesline standing between him and the house. The bed sheets were black, blouses, skirts, bras, bloomers, all grim and black. It was all contrasting against the primer coated sky. This is how she obviously mourned the death of her husband. The only objects not dismal were the red poppies in blooming pockets of flames tucked away on the prairies gentle slopes. Cricket could only repeat "Proverbs 1:9 the fear of the lord is the beginning of knowledge.” Cricket had no idea where this prairie was, but he knew that just over the hill was a beautiful cottage housing a preacher's wife. A flood of memories entered into Crickets mind like that of a 50 year tension stricken dam finally relieving itself of it's duty and satiating the surrounding bone dry canyon. He had the overwhelming sense that these current memories weren't from his life but from a story he had been told or read somewhere. Bible verses, games of red rover, twenty-four hour slumber parties/fasts from food for lent, all of these things were being aroused like dead ancestors in Cricket’s mind. Cricket thought back to the dream he had sitting back at that carved oak. He had closed his eyes and tried to absorb his surroundings, and boy did he. He really didn't want to think about what he saw back there at that house though. Time always changes perception. Hindsight is a much more reliable source.
Cricket was now pulling into the parking lot. The only evidence of this building still being active was a suited up, tall, dense, Native American fellow out front. His hair looked like finely woven silk with a gentle flowing motion in the wind. Almost like a tissue on the breeze. This gave the man a very classic look. Cricket quickly took out a notepad and pen and drew a quick gesture drawing of the stoic figure. The only aspect that Cricket was impressed with was the figure's hair. It looked like sand slowly falling through river currents.
Cricket reached up under his seat pulling out a 190 proof grain liquor bottle replacing it with the notepad, hoping to forget he even drew anything until he came across it accidentally later in life. He easily took a cheek-full down the gullet. He then forced about three more down feeling like he was literally shoving a gas pump down his throat and pulling the trigger. He gave himself ten seconds to recuperate he put the bottle upside down again till his belly drooled its inhabitants out of his mouth across his chin feeling like liquid fire on his skin. Not even putting the top back on, he rested it on the emergency brake and got out of the car. He loved the feeling he got when he had been sitting down getting drunk and the first moment after standing up. It was almost as if he couldn't get drunk sitting down, that he had to stand up and stir it around in his body. His brain set off a firework show slowly taking over his visual field and moving to the beat of his heart, and then blitzkrieg brain rush receded back faster than it had spread.
Walking towards the suited man he could start to feel the bass from inside beating from within his chest cavity. He passed by the door man without even once looking him in the face. When inside of the front lobby his skin was aglow painted by the vibrancies of the black light. There were quick flashes of clarity created by the strobe light which made everything in movement in the distance seem slow motion. He walked up to the slide window and spotted a very young Pocahontas, with the eyes of a pure doe nibbling on the snow covered ground.
"I need your id and $15" she requested mechanically.
"15 dollars? What's going on in there?"
"Its HBO night sir" she said looking right through Cricket.
"I'm no sir" he said as he dug out the items she needed.
"Yes your majesty" she sniggered and gave Cricket a smile that would make any man's day.
"Anytime your grateful servitude" Cricket said arrogantly, not even facing her, or asking for his ID back. He was to busy heading for the club floor entrance.
As soon as he entered the doors he wanted to turn around and go talk to the woman with her clothes on, and look at those eyes for a second time. The breasts in the room were like bike reflectors in spotlight. They could not be avoided, all the shapes and personalities. There were teardrops, cantaloupes, and even a pair that looked like sunny side up eggs nailed to a post.
After Cricket found a nice cozy cracked wooden table with a chair that was lopsided and tilted to any shift of weight he took a rest. He pulled a cigarette out and tore off the filter into two halves and put one in each earlobe slightly dulling out the drilling bass, and then lit up the remaining tobacco. Cricket finally became receptive to his entire surroundings and not just the y chromosomes’ bulbous growths. He looked at the main stage where a six foot blonde was laying on her back with all of her weight on her bent elbows. She had one leg propped up at an angle so that when she swung it, it appeared to be a flesh pendulum. Cricket heard a loud cheer rising over the beats and breaking through his cotton barrier.
"Get that shit; get that.....You guys seeing this? That fuck is folding up like a lawn chair." shouted a square fellow with a mustache. He looked like the type of guy who wore his suit and tie disguise all day and took it off at night to come in here where he spent the whole time hoping a client would not be a witness to his ritualistic debauchery. Cricket was gazing at the bellower's buddy sitting straight faced as a poker player at his mother's funeral while a short black girl had her fingers wrapped around the legs of his chair and her thighs creating a noose around his neck. She was shaking her body in front of him like she had stepped in a nest of flesh eating ants, and was trying to shake them loose. The woman showed no more pleasure on her face than the man she was supposed to be pleasuring. She seemed zoned in on how many 20's she had strapped to her bosom, and what business she was going to finance with it. Money is a harsh mistress never settling down in one place unless they are thoroughly surrounded by friends of the same face.
Cricket now noticed who and what the man was cheering on, UFC, Ultimate Fighting Championship. Modern day Roman gladiators, if the Romans had been skilled in the arts of boxing, all types of martial arts, GI training, commercial wrestling, and bullshit. One of the fighters had all of his weight on one leg, with just his big toe on the other touching the mat. Something was obviously broken in his knee. It was bulging at the side of his knee cap, and it looked like someone had held onto his knee and twisted his foot 45 degrees to the left. The same fighter had no eyes. His eyelids were the color of the night sky, ungodly sized swollen bruises resembling miniature domes. The rest of his countenance was crimson red; there was no evidence at all of what he previously looked like. All of a sudden the roars started forming into three recognizable words.
"Blood and sex, blood and sex, blood and sex" it seemed to Cricket that he was the only one not participating in this chant. Even the strippers were joining in with their fists in the air. It only took five seconds for this to turn into a brainwash session were nothing else was audible in the building. Then what Cricket thought was just a large blemish free wall turned out to be a projection screen which had just flashed on. Cricket never would have believed what he was now witnessing if someone else told him. They had put on Passion of Christ on the main screens with the fights continuing on the subsidiary screens. Not only did Cricket have personal hostility towards this movie because of all Christians refusal to accept this movie as an artistic expression, and not as scripture from the good book, but he just didn't like it. "Every movie is art all art can be good or bad, just because I think it's shitty art doesn't mean anything" Cricket told himself. All that put aside this just wasn't right. Cricket felt very uneasy and dirty, he didn't even know if he believed in god but he felt the adrenaline rush of being scared for some reason. "Fear of the lord is the beginning of knowledge" he kept repeating to himself.
Cricket suddenly couldn't even hear himself think over the ecstasy filled yips being emitted by all the participants. Cricket couldn't take it a single moment longer. The Romans were tapping on Cricket's and Jesus’ crown of thorns with clubs making fresh blood flow over the dried blood on his face. Cricket shot up out of his chair, put his hands in his pockets, centered his visual field on the floor, squinted his eyes letting in as little peripheral vision as permissible, and busily scampered to the first doorway he came upon. He pushed open the door walked up to the first door he came to and pushed the door open with his back and swooped in.
"DOOMP!"
A loud crack of glass filled Cricket's head.
He felt a very strong and violently throbbing pain in his head as he involuntarily fell to the floor.
****************************************************************************************************************
hope you enjoyed it!!