The Official Hog Blog
Wednesday, March 26, 2003
He woke up and washed his face, and unto the day he walked. The skies were overcast and the grass was damp, so a rain must have drizzled its way through the neighborhood a little while ago. He hadn't any money, so to the ATM.
Aaah, he thinks as he pulls his card out. What a relief that he'd been working and can pull money from a machine. Pulling cash leisurely, as were his plans, was refreshing and new, for he was mostly hard pressed for funds. More recently, on the other hand, at the grocery store he pulled out his card to not only pay for groceries but to accept more cash back. What extravagance! And, I'm pleased to say, a pleasure. It was his pleasure to be unconcerned with lack of money. What a lightheartedness we live when food is on the table, when we can afford to buy music or books.
Wow, he thought. I walked in with nothing in my pockets and now I have fifty bucks and these great food items bought selectively from the deli to ensure I have a proper meal of pork and a tasty beverage to wash that shit down. This is great, he thought.
The ATM, just down the hill is on the way to work. He can get to the machine and to the coffee shop for a morning cup of joe before reaching the 8:15 train into the city. What luck, he has a job and enough money in his bank account for these luxuries that are so often left for the lovely, these dalliances of the lighthearted not meant for him most any other day. Spendthrifts can shop in the finest of stores and the middle class sip coffee in their homes, which he so wishes to do. Even to enjoy the rich excesses of the lush life, daydreaming on it as the ever approaching busy intersection that plays host to his money machine draws near.
The ATM, an island that juts out of the concrete like a monolith, begging people to c'mon and spend some of the money it's got. Its an oasis in the desert for a man who has no money in his account, even taunting those who have loads of cash stashed up.
"C'mon," it begs of you, "I've got even more money in here than anyone. I've got so much money that I can afford all of you. I can give you all money. C'mon." It's a C' Monolith.
With an outstretched arm, he touchedthe structure's side lovingly as he whisked around it to fetch some cash, to deposit some cheques. In with his card, he pushed some buttons, the machine beeps back to him in alien computer blips, but just as his cash is to be spat out, the machine does something terribly wrong. It doesnt give him back his card.
Oh No. he thinks.
"The card is stuck inside this machine and its not coming out!" He says to himself, as the machine blips back at him, happily accepting his deposit and that he should retrieve his card and receipt, thank you very much, have a happy day. but this isnt going to be a happy day.
blip get the card blip stuck in the blip blip blip blinkie blinkie its right thereblip goddammit blip with my keys I can blip blip blip if only I had a set of needle nose pliers blinkie blinkie blip blip I could tweak my way into the blip blinkie blip blip machine and yank it out blip blip I can blinkie see it blip blip right there!
beeeeeeeeeeep. blink blink blink.
"Thank you for banking with us" and the card was gone.
"fuck that." he says aloud. " give me my card you fucking piece of shit machine."
blink blink blink blink and a bus roared on filled with people in suits and ties with briefcases filled with papers that are very important to someone. someone who has a card just like his. but with probably more money in the bank.
With fifteen bucks in his pocket, he took the day off, went to the hardware store and found a gas mask on sale before heading downtown to the bank.
Friday, March 14, 2003
If this were my job.....
I'd be willin.
Thursday, March 06, 2003
I'd began separating my records into two piles. One pile was filled with the vinyl I didnt need, didnt play, didnt listen to at home, but had some sort of personal relevancy. I may have bought it while ion vacation at a record store in Boulder, or the LP had a song on it that reminded me of the days I lived in a single room studio in Oakland, just me, C-Bo and a big-assed rottweiler named Arlo. The second pile was filled with records I knew could make me money, and that I could live without. That is, I chose a pile of records that I listen to, maybe frequently, but that have some sort of value to the few record stores thgat buy from my collection. IN the second pile were albums by Godspeed you Black Emporor!, a Ramsey Lewis plays the Beatles LP, possibly some of my Clash records or Iggy and The Stooges records. Oh, and Blue Mitchell, too.
I took the first pile and loaded up my backpack, until completely filled, hiked up Telegraph to Amoeba. Bean, a messy-head asian guy with a thin chess king jacket on, studied my records keenly... poring over each side, looking for scratches, extra dust, or even the remote smudge of human funk from these my hands which are conitnuously scratching a head of unwashed, unkempt hair. Seeing my copies of Nappy Roots, or the ealry New Edition amongst soul singers like Renee Patterson, he smiled.
"You take better care of these records than most folks that come through here," he said.
"Yup," I said," and I wouldn't be selling these to you today if I had enough money to pay my rent. I spent most the afternoon carefully listening to these records and making sure I was prepared to let them go."
He stopped to look up at me and I can only think he recognized me to be a stand-up kinda guy. I dunno, maybe he saw a copy of thge Sun Ra album I always listen to when I'm stoned and writing in my journal, or he saw the Ben Lee 7-inch that everyone I know has three copies of, only on account of the massive free promotions Capitol records threw at people.
"I buy used records here all the time, I said," and I'm stoked when I find used copies in great condition. These records move effortlessly through people's lives, and in doing that... I'm selling these, but Its like passing down history, man. And I dont want to pass on junk. I wont take junk, eiether, and that's where it's all-good. So, I hope some kid finds that record and jumps up and down like I did when I first got turned on to music, turned onto music like it was the breath of life, you dig?"
He got that, and put his face back into my records.
Tuesday, March 04, 2003
I wonder what the hull of those carrier ships look like. The ones with all of the military personnel in'em. The ones similar to the big ole ships that haul just about anything else, except more menacing. Bigger, and scary. Scary like the way UFOs would look if Aliens were intent on blowing the whole shebang, turning the world into a ball of fire.
I imagine the big ole ships are filled with scared young men and women right now.
These ships are so familiar to me....
Oh, I think I understand.....
they remind me of the big ships that hauled Africans to America, turning an people into slaves.
