tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35742732011-07-30T22:34:29.090-07:00The Official Hog Blog<img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/69/184100079_51b6915f01.jpg" width="150" height="125" border="0" alt="Hogg">Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.comBlogger2001100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-35558733470563645552010-02-09T16:18:00.001-08:002010-02-09T16:24:47.935-08:00I'm unsure of where the time went, but I know its been a while since I've chucked a ball down the lanes. I must be getting somewhere if I spend less time doing such a task. There was a day I'd fondly toss a stone at the pins, holler at the video screen with the dancing turkey, practice my shwooshing slide toward the foul lines...but today, I'm happy just sitting on the couch with a beer in my hadHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-64621606462529610392007-05-30T19:11:00.000-07:002007-05-30T19:29:53.041-07:00I was thrown into a pool before I could talk properly, at age four or five. So long ago, I can't even remember the first time. The shallow end was nice and easy, playing tag and marco polo. But I watched with amazement at the kids who were big enough and old enough to swim in the deep end. I practiced holding my breath under water for extended periods, knowing that if I had to I could swim from Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-67850173714899761142007-03-06T21:08:00.000-08:002007-03-06T21:09:31.623-08:00Neo on the written works:(From "Helen") The laugh, the tear and the hard-on are three internal gauges by which we can judge our literary work.Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-5073387482430413882007-03-06T20:42:00.000-08:002010-02-09T16:12:32.676-08:00"I know the unloved.
I love the unknown.
There is much I don't know/
let it be said that
I feel much better when my grass is overgrown.
A patch of dirt, and a bottle of rye,
Aint much in the world that don't stop me cryin'.
let the rain fall heavy, and my eyes well up,
till that patch of dirt, yea till it
all in time for dyin'.
Chorus:
just let me fade away/
don't give me time to say/
that I Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-35662421675240125692007-02-14T22:39:00.000-08:002007-02-14T23:08:28.518-08:00 I was at the top of some building, as high as a skyscapers. the building's edges began to close in - slowly - around me. It became clear that I was being tested, by whom I don't know, which fascinated me more than the building changing size and dimension. Not to mention that as I looked down , I saw that my arms werenothing more than shards and jutting angles of the bluest crystal I'd ever laid Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-57306849388255212952007-02-14T22:31:00.000-08:002007-02-14T22:38:10.715-08:00From a postcard to R___ & J__ : I guess that you too, my friends, have wondered what it is that happens to a man when he can no longer see himself and can no longer grasp himself with the inner hands that hold that part of us (which part, or what to call it, I know not) which flees those unfortunate others. 'How abominable it must be,' I once told myself, 'to watch as some portion divorces itselfHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1167369988117425012006-12-28T20:47:00.000-08:002006-12-28T21:42:18.133-08:00The end of the year is a game of catch-up. Catch- up with all those promises I still haven't fulfilled. Catch- up with all of the bills I havent paid.Catch- up with the work that hadn't gotten finished. & when I have the time,Check- up with friends. Then, the beginning of the year gives us this immense potential. The new year can also bring about hope & if its an illusion, or my outlook gets Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1150495389846227452006-06-16T15:01:00.000-07:002006-06-16T15:03:09.856-07:00Its been a long week, and to those detractors who try to bring me down I have one thing to say: go to hell!Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1149602213471349952006-06-06T06:56:00.000-07:002006-06-06T06:56:53.483-07:00Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1149601507857772682006-06-06T06:44:00.000-07:002006-06-06T06:45:07.860-07:00As we approached June 6, 2006, the many connections to this satanic numeral became clearer to me. How many omens have we seen? What invitations do we accept, or deny? There were prophesies foretold by such dignified seers, but none will heed the warning. None will take hold of the flame, to brighten these dark days. Some say that we are in the midst of a new hell, and a familar demon is waiting Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1149571635018036892006-06-05T22:13:00.000-07:002010-02-09T16:11:10.142-08:00As we approached June 6, 2006, the many connections to this satanic numeral became clearer to me. How many omens have we seen? What invitations do we accept, or deny? There were prophesies foretold by such dignified seers, but none will heed the warning. None will take hold of the flame, to brighten these dark days. Some say that we are in the midst of a new hell, and a familar demon is waiting Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1149475499302914812006-06-04T19:39:00.000-07:002006-06-04T20:09:08.096-07:00This will never be a music blog, altho I like to talk about music now and again. I just don't have the time and knowledge to put together a music blog. So, instead of posting actual MP3's, I will direct you to the sites where I've been finding new stuff.I can't get this Gnarls Barkley Song, CRAZY, out of my head. Recently I found a website that has a MP3 of Ray LaMontagne do a bang up cover of Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1149008517107447872006-05-30T10:00:00.000-07:002006-05-30T10:03:16.183-07:00Oh the things that I could do.....Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1148919677691220842006-05-29T09:20:00.000-07:002006-05-29T09:27:44.090-07:00Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1148674403562172702006-05-26T13:12:00.000-07:002006-05-29T10:11:15.390-07:00As a fanatic for collectable records, the reports that vinyl is selling more and more these days is encouraging. I've been wondering how long it would take for this sort of resurgence. Hooray!Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1147997068274363282006-05-18T16:55:00.000-07:002006-05-18T17:08:24.410-07:00Not Ready to Give Up the GhostA new ghost has settled into my home. His baudy jokes and barroom joviality are haunting me. His laughter is that of a pirate's, with a Har Har Har. His accent is like WC Fields. He checks out the dames and he drinks plenty of scotch. Pointing to the bed, he'll remind you that's a great place to pork yer old lady. He's prone to calling the shots as he sees 'em, even Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1147780647317665712006-05-15T19:08:00.000-07:002010-02-09T16:11:10.145-08:00Marty Nine doesn't talk much out loud or otherwise. He grunts and snorts, instead of making coherent sentences. A quick nod, shrug, or a turn of the head serves the purpose most every day of the week. His single testicled dog, Muddy, is his only companionship in this world, which doesnt count the many hours Nine will spend reading or looking at pornography.Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1146699145513873172006-05-03T16:21:00.000-07:002006-05-03T16:35:05.880-07:00i wake up before 5am,shower if I need to and make a large cup of mud. yes, its a sissy drink. its a soy latte, but its a strong one.while the water boils and turns into espresso, i dont have much time that early in the morning, so i work three things at one time. pull my clothes on, check the time, brush my teeth and look at the news all in the span of ten minutes. by 505 am, the coffee is ready Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1146444411336577672006-04-30T17:44:00.000-07:002006-05-03T16:20:45.360-07:00amidst greatnessshrinking away from laughterthe bottle grew heavy in his handit was sometime after noon,yet before the early eve,that the eyes began to drop/ head nodding offmind blurringwaiting around to die -- a song from a long time ago --ambles through his mind and a tear slides down his cheekthere are plenty of thingsto do in my time besides wating around to dieHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1145813556646140992006-04-23T10:32:00.000-07:002006-04-30T17:44:08.936-07:00Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1145417973536309372006-04-18T20:28:00.000-07:002006-04-18T20:42:56.536-07:00gas prices are up and my weekly wages stay the same. man, it cost me fitty dollars to fill up my tank, so i think i got to stop driving and start using public transpo. i'm beginning to think i need to go back to school to get a job to be able to buy this fuel. i can learn some new skills. i am in need of updating my skills. i guess being a drummer will get you nowhere in the world these days. i Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1144377011465255772006-04-06T19:16:00.000-07:002006-04-06T19:30:11.480-07:00everyday people looking for their place in the sunSun sets later and the rain has quit, young men with their peach fuzz chins and strawberried elbows glide by a window on long-boards, young women with their bobby pinned hair strut by and glance from the side of their eyes with every intention of catching your eyes, old men on the corner beg for sparechange and rearrange their baggy clothes to Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1143853389758796202006-03-31T16:51:00.000-08:002006-04-01T08:10:30.756-08:00It may have been the weed, or might have been the weather, but the blues had become an obsession for me. It must have been raining for a week straight, and all I could listen to was Albert King, Muddy Waters, and Jimmy Reed with a howl in his voice like he had a nail in his foot. BB King 7 inch records, heard at 45 rpms for two dollar and fitty. Flip side got a crackle in it, but it do, man... itHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1143602346939298502006-03-28T19:02:00.000-08:002006-03-28T19:27:13.246-08:00"I want you to get out there and smash that ball, Jacky," said Coach Casey, "Smash it into the stratosphere, you hear me?""I'm gonna get a home run today, coach," replied Jack, "for my dad."Jack was smaller than the rest of the kids on his team, and the coach kept him off the field for the most part, but he was quick to dive for the line drives and he showed a lot of spunk at second base. Jack Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1142001882537551652006-03-10T06:39:00.000-08:002006-03-10T16:30:49.193-08:00BreakfastHe put the coffeeIn the cupHe put the milkIn the cup of coffeeHe put the sugarIn the cafe au laitWith the coffee spoonHe stirredHe drank the cafe au laitAnd he set down the cupWithout a word to meHe litA cigaretteHe made smoke ringsWith the smokeHe put the ashesIn the ash-trayWithout a word to meWithout a look at meHe got upHe putHis hat upon his headHe put his raincoat onBecause it was Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1141650996179524372006-03-06T05:07:00.000-08:002006-03-06T05:17:30.006-08:00Tonight there is talk of Shufflefuck and I wait impatiently to match up with SF Shufflefuck contingent, to show those mothers that all this California foolishness won't fool an old Chicago salt who plays his shufflefuck dirty and rough like a bull in a ring and if you really want to see a bullfight, take a cape and sword away from the matador and that's the kind of fight I like—straight up, no Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1141592797546949152006-03-05T13:04:00.000-08:002006-03-05T13:08:06.013-08:00From the TrainA couch sits among trees, dark leaves, fallen logs rotting, a young boy stands on gravel and cinders holding a stick in his hand watching the train as it passes, through an underpass and a dune appears, a boy on a 3-wheeler approaching the top amid a cloud of sand, then a building and high brick walls crowned with barbed wire, a penitentiary, and again past trees, the junkyards withHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1141491911400488182006-03-04T09:02:00.000-08:002006-03-04T09:07:23.783-08:00Ned Foskey versus Charles Bukowskiby Ned FoskeyI was in a small, low-ceilinged warehouse, dim-lit, dark in the rafters and many black steel support posts all about. There were many people either sitting on the clean concrete floors or mulling around slowly, waiting for something to happen. Charles Bukowski was there with a couple of his pals and they'd been playfully baiting me with light insultsHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1141486632585854202006-03-04T07:31:00.000-08:002006-03-04T08:55:53.746-08:00Ned came to visit San Francisco in the winter of 2002. My bandmates and I asked him to write up a little something to read during our set at the Hotel Utah. Early in the morning, he and I went to North Beach, where we sat in the North End Caffe, drank gallons of coffee, sat with our notebooks and wrote as the hustle and bustle of the city passed us by. That weekend, he read the following as our Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1141433261664264272006-03-03T16:38:00.000-08:002006-03-03T17:18:36.003-08:00Once, as a child, before a trip to the lake, I collected a sturdy black ant, and a gurthy red one. I placed them in a used pill bottle filled three quarters to the top w/ water. I watched them all the way there, and pledged that the winner would go free. I watched and watched. They swam and paddled and fought, and plunged momentarily. when we pulled into the sandy parking lot, one had died. I Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1141350084643345252006-03-02T17:41:00.000-08:002006-03-02T17:52:14.836-08:00A Handbook for Writersby Ned Foskey A hobby for the leisure class. Sit down, relax, imagine as a child does, something exciting and wonderful. Stroke silks as you do. Pass the day in a trance, or impassioned wildly, or in an athletic frenzy listening to Dizzy Gillespie, your shirt soaking in sweat and swilling rivers of coffee. Become eccentric; a personality. Grow your whiskers long. A Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1141165444032775352006-02-28T14:23:00.000-08:002006-02-28T14:24:04.043-08:00Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1140617764012221982006-02-22T06:14:00.000-08:002006-02-22T06:16:04.020-08:00HAIKU WEDNESDAYArrive untimely,we shall get to where we go.All together now.Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1140485143377867642006-02-20T17:19:00.000-08:002006-02-20T17:43:45.193-08:00Cool Shit!!!Read about DokkenWhat the f--k?!!?!?Learn about Ray Barretto from O-Dub, your soul guide. Drink whiskey Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1140460298724418332006-02-20T10:31:00.000-08:002010-02-09T16:11:18.254-08:00Cathy and Michelle were the bitchiest girls in school. Its not like they bitched about everything, but were bitchy about everything. Neither of them had a boyfriend, and we liked to say that they were "hot to trot." Of course, no self-respecting young teenager wanted to deal with them. Nobody wanted to hear their precocious sneers, their continuous sighs of disapproval as if the world would neverHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1139415621113713862006-02-08T08:20:00.000-08:002006-02-08T08:25:10.416-08:00After his divorce, Marty Nine got a dog. It was a beagle and was very cute, with its brown and black spots and its tiny little paws. It would hop up on Marty whenever he returned from work, and it would hide if it made a boo boo and pooped inside the house. Marty never liked the dog. To be frank, he didn’t like animals at all. Initially, getting a dog was supposed to give Marty a sense of Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1137458438429259862006-01-16T16:38:00.000-08:002006-01-16T16:40:38.443-08:00I have not forgotten you, tho your scent has changed. I miss your unknowable questioning. The train rides are silent and the el does not sound like joy as sun ra has said. We disagree about things that should be the obvious. I want to touch you and I cant even tell you that. Why should it be so different? I have seen your smile, and I know that smirk means more than that you’d like a hug. I’m no Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1137356530929353972006-01-15T12:18:00.000-08:002006-01-15T12:31:40.620-08:00I may be a cretin for enjoying this, but when late night snaps occur and I know by morning I'll be disposing of a dead mouse, I get some sick happiness inside. The last three weeks, I've placed mouse traps in every corner of the apartment. Each one with a bit of peanut butter, or incredibly stinky cheese. Each one to entice these little creatures from their cubby holes, trip the trap and die Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1136536978926119942006-01-06T00:28:00.000-08:002006-01-06T08:56:54.286-08:00There is no perfect trap. There are some great designs that will snap a mouse neck in two without blood, nor excess amounts of mouse hair. I've found, tho, that after a day or so the mice find ways to outsmart just about any trap. Jumping over the trap, or picking at the bait, allowing the peanut butter to be picked at and not eaten aggressively so as to not trip the trap. Somehow, that mouse canHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1134780779766207512005-12-16T16:52:00.000-08:002005-12-16T16:52:59.776-08:00Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1134538683818096402005-12-13T21:34:00.000-08:002005-12-13T21:50:52.070-08:00We Get LettersHere at Hog Headquarters we like to throw most our correspondence away. We don't get much more then a few offers for cheaper indian food, some bills that should have already gone out, and one or two letters which I respond to promptly. Even before the bills. Recently, this one fell into my lap.Dear Hog Blog,I've been known to party pretty hard, but lately I've been drinking too muchHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1134063313535779422005-12-08T09:32:00.000-08:002005-12-08T09:40:25.186-08:00Couple'a weeks ago, the group did a gig at some bar near the Castro called Cafe D__ N____. It was a wedding and the couple knew the owner so he had the whole place all decked out with flowers and the food and drinks were free. The bride's son, from her first marriage was in the School of Rock Band, where kids learn to play guitars and drums and bass and keyboards. Eventually they're taught to Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1133588622484377082005-12-02T21:42:00.000-08:002005-12-07T12:27:15.493-08:00“Are you gonna take the job, or what,” asked Marty, “My wife’s in Vancouver for the next two weeks, so that gives you plenty of time to case the joint…”“Wait, wait, case the joint? Do I look like Sam Spade?” “Sam Spade was the detective and you’re going to rob my wife, not solve a mystery,” Marty continued on without missing a beat, “MaryAnn is in Vancouver for one more week. I can leave the Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1132594461575656482005-11-21T09:33:00.000-08:002005-11-21T09:34:21.586-08:00Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1132211355603574562005-11-16T22:52:00.000-08:002010-02-09T16:11:18.257-08:00teevee buzzes in the back room, and smoke gets in yer eyes is on the radio in the kitchen. cards on the table remind me of a 3rd grade kick in the groin that i got in gym class. it was the most pain i'd ever felt, and prolly the most i've felt since. steal the bacon was in full effect and i ran fast to center court, where the bacon resides. my screeching squeaking sneakers stopped me quick at theHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1131600053952770682005-11-09T21:20:00.000-08:002005-11-09T21:20:53.960-08:00Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1131598591711882572005-11-09T20:49:00.000-08:002005-11-09T20:56:31.723-08:00I stubbed my toe, and hell I think I may have broken it. I did more then stubbed it again. No. I sat down and while I sat down I stubbed my toe on the coffee table trying to get my left leg over my right and sit in that relaxing posture-ific position that allows me to lean into the couch and smoke that pipe the way a intellectual does it. I wanted to enjoy the smoke, lean back and enjoy that shitHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1130287785988396992005-10-25T17:48:00.000-07:002005-10-25T17:49:45.993-07:00Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1127973617700557382005-09-28T22:51:00.000-07:002005-10-28T09:04:02.876-07:00"She's all fuzzy in the cuffs," says N__, with a tongue-tied freakish lisp that is all bent outta shape from too much whiskey."Give me some good Squirt, Johnson!" says R_____, who is being pushed by N__ in a shopping cart we found between Toons and The Music Box. Where in the hell is the Music Box anyways? It seems like we've been trudging through this blizzard for hours, and the bars have to be Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1126063570658160152005-09-06T20:13:00.000-07:002005-09-07T20:43:49.676-07:00A Worm Hole in the Kitchen at the Start of a Very Rough MonthAfter work, I sit at the couch, sift through bills, glance at the evening news then stumble into the kitchen for a heated up plate of chili rellenos. Cable bill: due by next thursday. Credit cards after the first of the month and the telephone company threatening to turn us off if I don't hurry up with two months of past due notices. OhHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1121270737777800502005-07-13T08:55:00.000-07:002005-07-13T09:05:37.783-07:00"P_____ remembers"No one befriends him. No one that wants to be seen with anyone else that is, and when he walks by, people don't say hello, they just keep on walking and pretend he wasn't standing right there. He'll ask the time, or quote the book. He hasn't got many friends, at least. I see him with some folks every now and again, but mainly he skulks around corners and peers out at me like I Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1121097093891484352005-07-11T08:51:00.000-07:002005-07-11T08:51:33.896-07:00have you listened to Def Leppard lately?it's quite nice.it makes me wanna rock rock til you drop.Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1120233734300552102005-07-01T08:48:00.000-07:002005-07-01T09:16:28.786-07:00"where have you been?" I asked."I've seen things I shouldn't have, Hog." SHe always called me my nickname, "I was messing about in the mailroom, sniffing for anything fishy, you know because everything has changed since the big one hit the towers, and I started seeing these packages come in with loads of stamps and very cryptic handwriting with only a few words on them. Things like: 'tonight?' Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1119976426479862392005-06-28T09:27:00.000-07:002005-06-28T10:07:54.490-07:00She was leaning down, peering into a tiny pile of ashes she'd created on the ground in front of the old firehouse on Tarentel Hill. Her face was craggy and lines had burrowed their way into her forehead as she flipped her hair about and curled her lips around a deftly held cigarette. She muttered to herself, and moved the ashes around with her free hand. Her hands were filthy. Her face was filthyHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1119566329771790622005-06-23T15:38:00.000-07:002005-06-28T09:27:08.766-07:00I still love the pistons.especially Rasheed WallaceHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1118160890876880782005-06-07T09:13:00.000-07:002005-06-07T09:16:23.870-07:00From a bathroom stall:"My ass tastes like steak"and"Grand Rapids never had a 'scene'"Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1117209976376887842005-05-27T09:03:00.000-07:002005-05-27T09:06:16.380-07:00Remember the days when video games were just a series of green slashes that had to be moved from one side of the screen to the next?Were we retarded for thinking this was fun? or maybe our imaginations were so great, each of these little green slashes were HUGE green slashes with real names like Joe Green, and The Fridge?Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1115705394111226152005-05-09T23:01:00.000-07:002005-05-09T23:09:54.176-07:00The man with the bunny approached me on the underground. I was minding my own business, staring off into the buzzing nothingness of the train's rocking forward motion and he came at me out of nowhere and to be honest it caught me off-guard. "You don't know a thing," he said to me, jabbing his finger at me and waving his bunny around as if to shoo flies away, "You are monpolizing everything! Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1115371725188479332005-05-06T02:27:00.000-07:002005-05-06T02:28:45.193-07:00this is hip hop livin' loved ones.weed. naywatcher.Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1115100211184011402005-05-02T23:03:00.000-07:002005-05-02T23:15:35.546-07:00That’s when I saw her. She was walking in through the out door. The saxophone man played the blues to her walking. It was the I got lost walking blues or something. Ooh, when I saw her the earth kinna sat still like when the elevator don’t work, and it aint broke, cuz it’s just a set of stairs all a sudden. I held my breath until it hurt and I had ta breathe but in gasps. There was a time when Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1114967200415363632005-05-01T10:03:00.000-07:002005-05-01T10:07:16.046-07:00Advice for youngsters:Never bring a huge burrito into your junior high school.Also, don't put your cell phone into your pocket.Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1114615863331188892005-04-27T08:17:00.000-07:002005-04-27T08:31:03.333-07:00As I was on my way to the bus stop at the corner of Irving and ninth, I saw him again. This time without his bunny, and he had a few of his friends with him. He was with the junky kid, Billy, who sits in front of the Fireside cafe on Tuesday nights selling his beatnik book collection for dope money. He was with a fat man who always carries an attache case. I call him the councillour. The Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1113887560615932352005-04-18T21:59:00.000-07:002005-04-18T22:14:44.846-07:00I was seen, and he quickly turned around to look me in the eye."You've been following me haven't you?" he asked me with a not so secretive desire in his voice. He'd wanted me to follow him, and was as fascinated with me as I of him. "I've been watching you follow me now for years and I can hear your thoughts too. You think I am the chosen one, dont you? That is what I'm reading in your mind rightHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1113498007591696602005-04-14T09:59:00.000-07:002005-05-02T23:27:59.956-07:00I'm losing my patienceI followed him around one night, and couldn't believe my luck when he began shouting at The Transamerica Pyramid. I think he must have thought it was an antennae to the aliens, cuz he talked of conspiracies, hovercrafts, and the brown noise. "when will you return to me and take me away? i want to see the big city lights again!"Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1112991044894528662005-04-08T13:09:00.000-07:002005-04-08T13:11:05.653-07:00Random Puppy thanks Puppy break!Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1112892131309868652005-04-07T09:06:00.000-07:002005-04-08T13:12:23.410-07:00I think I'm going to have to change this blog or something.I'm not that geeky about blogs.That is, I don't get all HTML-ey about it and try to out-fontthe other blogs. Nope, I started this as a vanity thang.I wanted somewhere I could write fiction, and showcase some of my tastes in music, and to try out different writing styles.Well, I settled on the official Hog Blog as my byline, because Hog isHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1112675805017969412005-04-04T21:27:00.000-07:002005-04-05T15:53:32.250-07:00Today, at dinner, that first gulp of wine was glorious. There are days when a man gets so beat down, so very beat down, that he could need a means to wash that day away.Wine, or whatever libation you should choose,goes down easier, feels a little better, even looks more alluring on days like this one I had today. Oh, I know all ya'll gots worser days than the ole hog could ever had.Today, tho, Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1112376589327605272005-04-01T09:23:00.000-08:002005-04-01T09:29:49.330-08:00I'll be watching the May 4th episode of The O.C. For on that day, the great modern day songwriter, Sam Beam will be performing.He is Iron and Wine. I am not worthy.I hate The O.C.Do these white kids with beutiful eyes and lithe bodies realize thatthe indie world is not made up of Gucci couture? [sp?]who am I kidding, tho?Indie rock is dead.if you want to see seom good music, go to your local Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1112289128982473812005-03-31T08:44:00.000-08:002005-03-31T09:13:49.316-08:00the following is a poem I've been working on that incorporates anthropomorphism.Death is the singer in what would be a song, and it's written as a love note/reminder to those in the living realm. That is, we don't live forever. An age old Carpe diem type of poem, I guess.....It's not named. If you'd like to name it, hollah at a playa.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[sad Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1111597210285314052005-03-23T08:48:00.000-08:002005-03-23T09:24:19.373-08:00Tom Waits has made sure to let everyone who reads the Guardian know about Czech polkas and waltzes. "Whats that?" you say. Yes, Bohemian and Moravian (Czech, that is) polkas from Texas have made his top twenty albums of all time. It came in at number twelve, and had my dad seen that, he'd have fumed around the house for a few days on how it should have made number one. I am in agreement. Here is Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1111510920190643902005-03-22T09:01:00.000-08:002005-03-22T09:02:00.190-08:00If you need me,I'll be in my chambers.Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1111510332278827432005-03-22T08:43:00.000-08:002005-03-22T08:53:58.356-08:00There's a man in my neighborhood who walks around talking to himself. He must have some thing going on in his head cuz its rare that he doesn't sound angry, or that he's cursing. It's always something that you wouldnt want to hear out loud. He sounds like he's nuts and he's never with anyone. He sounds like he hasn't seen a sane day in a long time. He sounds like he's talking to someone that isntHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1111165582184711192005-03-18T08:46:00.000-08:002005-03-18T09:16:20.003-08:00It started raining. We'd had a week and a half of respite, but it came back slowly for the weekend. Sitting down with Nick Drake , I came up with a list of some of the best rainy day music. Who doesnt like to make lists? I'd like to sit down and discuss why not. 1. Nick Drake - Five Leaves Left2. Boards of Canada - Geogaddi3. Hank Williams - Wait for the Light To Shine...4. Kenny Burrell - Out ofHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1110389535934894492005-03-09T09:19:00.000-08:002005-03-09T09:37:04.163-08:00My hand on the glass, I watched Dave Gleason's Wasted Days shuffle through some slowed up diversions. I drank Scotch and Water, but only one glass, which is a rare occurrence. Only one, I thought, as I shifted in my seat to see if I knew anyone in the cavernous Makeout Room. Prolly ten or fifteen people came to see these guys play, making it a bittersweet affair. I was happy few people were in Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1110327789459241922005-03-08T16:22:00.000-08:002005-03-08T16:26:51.830-08:00are you looking for some kitten time?do you want a kitten break?how about some bacon?Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1109890582390117832005-03-03T14:55:00.000-08:002005-03-03T14:56:22.390-08:00Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1109868852310179182005-03-03T08:49:00.000-08:002005-03-03T08:56:55.046-08:00I began searching for a new wig. One that would make my eyes look bluer. I stopped into a store near the north side of the city and found a bright red one that made me look fat, so I said "Please can I get one that just makes me feel like I'm invisible?" and the store keep said, "Nope, wigs generally make you stand out."I tried on a beatles cut wig, but I look too much like Ringo and no one wantsHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1109312608937844002005-02-24T22:09:00.000-08:002005-02-24T22:25:57.456-08:00Hunter S Thompson is dead. He shot himself, and I havent heard any evidence that says he wasn't shot by someone else, so I'll believe the suicide. despite the lack of a suicide note. You'd think that a man as willing to tell the world to fuck off would give it one last go before he pulled the trigger, hmm?Who would want the man dead? There are conspiracy therorists that believe he was targeted byHoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1109030682181895162005-02-21T16:03:00.000-08:002005-02-21T16:04:42.183-08:00Paris Hilton was hacked and here are some of her phone pictureswhat a ditz.Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1108660652990928282005-02-17T09:05:00.000-08:002005-02-17T09:28:39.296-08:00It never ceases to amaze me. The incredible technology we have access to in the modern age astounds me. Really, I know that it sounds trite and who cares anyways? Dig, tho. I awoke, drank coffee, and begin my daily routine of reading news at Reuters, Sfgate, and Drudgereport. I check blogs from folks like TonyPierce, Ken Layne, EyeControl and The Bossman Cometh. Somehow I stumble onto Salon, a Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1108054380600577852005-02-10T08:45:00.000-08:002005-02-10T08:53:00.600-08:00Every morning around this time, I have a cup of coffee and listen to the NPR news. I don't really listen to the news. It is on like the television's channel three in the eighties: white noise. News bytes hit me lightly and bounce off so I don't worry too much about it. I read a few blogs and look up music online. mostly, I'm trying to get my eyes to open.
My neighbor has a different routine. Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1107717207054713122005-02-06T11:10:00.000-08:002005-03-01T13:30:50.916-08:00I'll tell you what...I'm waiting for the rapture to come on and we are lifted up to the heavens on a big shiny craft. I'll bring the cheesy poofs and my wet suit for emergencies. you know...in case I shit m'self.Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1107364644556626782005-02-02T09:14:00.000-08:002005-02-24T22:28:57.273-08:00Punxsatawney Phil has seen his shadow and we are in for an extension of this already brutal wintry weather.Luckily, in San Francisco, it is a beautiful sunny morning with a cool breeze coming in off the bay.Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1106088666644360862005-01-18T14:50:00.000-08:002005-03-01T13:32:34.766-08:00yo, this will be me when I get down on the weekend:Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1104958555882955752005-01-05T13:55:00.000-08:002005-01-05T12:56:10.173-08:00yo, this was me on New Years Eve:
Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1104912207686455742005-01-04T23:58:00.000-08:002005-01-05T00:03:27.686-08:00My wife decided to leave me. Whats worse is that she was to take her jewelry with her and split sometime the next week. She’d grown tired of having to wait for me nearly every night while I gambled away most of our savings. She’d lock up the diamonds in a safebox, pack up a few other things into the truck and head south to live with her mother in Huntington. At least that's what I overheard her Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1104427047855719242004-12-30T08:54:00.000-08:002004-12-30T09:23:10.833-08:00I was going through my record collection last night and reminiscing about all of the wunnerful songs and albums I purchased, stole or was given over the course of 2004. Its been an average year of music. I thought that 2003 was much more inventive and fresh, as far as music is concerned, but what do I know?
I just love year end lists, so I've created a few lists of mine own to appease the Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1104251322661866982004-12-28T08:25:00.000-08:002004-12-28T08:28:42.660-08:00get out yer noisemakers and party hats kids its time for another rousing rendition of who the fuck is making that crazy drilling noise so close to my bedroom at 8 o'clock in the morning. It mus' be the nice men in hats and bells and whistles that forgot to remind me that the work day begins at eight not nine, or in my case at 11 in the morning. And in the case of these assholes, the noise begins Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1101227775413955132004-11-23T08:25:00.000-08:002004-11-23T08:49:50.736-08:00I wondered what it would be like to live in an Orwellian society, and with a list of items ticked off to remind me exactly how we have allowed ourselves to be governed by thought police since our original birthdays I found that we not only live in an Orwellian society, but most of us welcome it.
Some people people call it a radical idea, and throw it away as part of a paranoid delusion. Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1100222491922861032004-11-11T17:20:00.000-08:002005-01-04T15:09:49.343-08:00Parchman Farm are playing at Café Du Nord this evening, but I can’t make it cuz I’m deejaying tonight. I’ll go and see them another day, tho. They’ll be playing in December when I am available. Who are Parchman farm, you may ask?
Long story made short: Allyson Baker moved to San Francisco from Canada with the intention of creating a heavy rock band. This band, as she tells it, would eventually Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1100105860639678962004-11-10T08:56:00.000-08:002004-11-10T08:57:40.640-08:00This person said everything I was thinking right chyar, sir.Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1099934532706904712004-11-08T09:15:00.000-08:002004-11-08T09:23:42.823-08:00Here is your divided America. Each of the counties of each of the states are depicted by the color of their voting. THat is, Bush = red and Kerry = blue. There are purplish spots all over the map, too.
whoah. I'm totally stoned.
and another one.
politics are trippy man. like, whoah.Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1099690492793481912004-11-05T13:33:00.000-08:002004-11-05T13:34:52.793-08:00O! and here is another case of voting machines malfunctioning in GWBush's favor.
not surprisingly, the nation is apathetic.Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1099673701259007282004-11-05T08:51:00.000-08:002004-11-05T08:55:01.260-08:00I wouldn't usually prescribe to anything that USA Today reports, but look at what I found! USA Today reports that there were (GASP!) missing votes in North Carolina.
I guess the missing votes couldn't have changed anything, but were there more missing votes in other states? That's what I want to know.Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1099584249526872812004-11-04T07:50:00.000-08:002004-11-04T08:05:34.790-08:00There are a few facts that have been misleading us all over the last few days. Not to mention some old news stories that were un-remembered. I present them to you.
First: While the world awaited Ohio to decide whether or not to vote in the devil they knew or the devil anew, I remembered a story from August 28, 2003. It read as follows:
Published on Thursday, August 28, 2003 by the Cleveland Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1098806688036976072004-10-26T08:59:00.000-07:002004-10-26T09:09:13.816-07:00No matter how many times a guy can win, it won't matter as long as he loses anything at all, but I won that night. I bluffed a couple of hands, and even owned up to a pair of threes that fooled the whole table into believing I had me a flush. The Gooch was not happy about that one.
"shit," she says," I had me a pair of eights and you got threes?!?!"
Each hand had something to brag about, and Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1098200224538575822004-10-19T08:27:00.000-07:002004-10-19T08:40:39.673-07:00I'm never one to discount the humour found in disgusting practices, or weird societal occurrences. And so, today I must alert you to the news I've read on a website that could be today's own version of the Enquirer, except that it features legit articles, many of which are ridiculous. Its the smoking gun!
and the news:
" SEPTEMBER 1--Meet Austin Gullette. The 45-year-old Louisiana man was Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1098064774676266792004-10-17T18:56:00.000-07:002004-10-17T19:11:50.603-07:00"I'll take a redneck over a hipster any old day," I told him after checking out his brand new trucker hat and unmatching striped socks,"but checking out your clothes, you've given both a bad name."
There is a fine line, these days, between hipsterisms and good ole boy fashions.
dig the trucker hats, a long time fashion no-no to anyone calling themselves hip.
today, hot young types from Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1097069677021022682004-10-06T06:23:00.000-07:002004-10-06T06:34:37.020-07:00"c'mon lets go," he said and my eyes were half open. the eye hockey forming in the corner as lack of sleep set in. my body hadnt gone prostrate in what seemed like days, and i felt like i could have dry heaved my way to the next stop.
"c'mon lets go," he repeated, and i stared him down with the stink eye.
"aint you gonna rest? aint you got to get some sleep sometime?"
"no time to sleep, the Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3574273.post-1095869142051885322004-09-22T08:58:00.000-07:002004-09-22T09:07:33.446-07:00on bathroom walls
when traveling, take the time to enjoy the pithy, inspirational graffiti found in roadhouses and reststops along your way. here are a few great writings I've found, thus far:
"BJ Wed Nite any color cock"
"Your Mom"
In the bathroom at O'Leavers, a bar in Omaha where the smokers hang out, where every person hacks a lung up while choking back drags, I found an array of song Hoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06457438402146833294noreply@blogger.com0