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Hurry, Hurry, Hurry on down to the corridor where flies are being swatted at the rate of 10,000 per hour in an attempt to deinsectify the property surrounding the Old Miami, which is preparing for mayhem and mischief on 8/22. And speaking of flies, there will be none on the Space Heaters nor will there be any fucking around.

Why do rock and rollers seem to always run into rotten luck? Devlish forces? Rotten people? Lazy motherfuckers who don't deserve anything better? I don't fucking know. I don't fucking know anything. I'm just a lazy motherfucker who happens to be a rock'n'roller who's all tangled up in bullshit lately for some odd reason. Remember though, why's everybody picking on me? Truth be told, everybody's picking on everybody. Just take a drive down Detroit's Lodge Freeway to get a sampling of this. Two funerals in the past week, a computer turned to junk, a flooded apartment. The worst thing about it though is these are ordinary experience and when ordinary experience can be that ghastly, there must be something wrong with ordinary experience. Remember, there is trouble all over. Hawaii Five-O showed that paradise was not to be found on those tropical isles. Why that guy was running all over the place trying to catch crooks in that alleged paradise. Why do bad things happen to good people? Well if a bad person "deserves" it then why wouldn't a good person deserve a little too? I don't know. I don't fucking know anything. Let me give you another example associated with my life. Two months ago I received, in the mail, a bill from Sprint for $243 and some change. All fine and good, except that I did not make nearly enough phone calls to justify those charges. I called to complain, and was told to expect to receive a credit on my account of $109 and some change. I know this is horrible boring but what can I say, I"m in the mood for blog. Anyway, I end up getting a bill in the mail and instead of no charges, I got 45 more in charges. I called and was told that a supervisor reviewed my bill and determined that the $109 credit was not justified by Sprint's supervisor. This led to a labryinthian phone marathon and my hope was that I would be vindicated. Don't take shit from no one, right? Well, I took a lot of shit in that phone call. I was up. I was down. The operator was determined to charge me. Now, everyone knows that cell phones are stupid, ridiculous and absurdly expensive when compared with some of your land line deals. In my case, I had to get rid of my landline because it came as part of a "bundle" with comcast that was getting unaffordable for me. Guess what? I won in the end. Good things do happen to bad people, or at least mediocre people, and probably even good people, too. It's not all a veil of tears, but the basement's a lagoon. Yours truly, FourEyes

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=blJXji2XqEI

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=blJXji2XqEI

Trying to leave Detroit isn't as easy as it sounds. First, you've got to leave the city the same way as you found it -- bone dry. You've got to circle Masonic Temple, the Michigan Palace. You have to step into bars to hear the news. You've got to pack, and pack and repack, and pack again and you've got to ride it all on your shoulders. The prospect must make it alone, they say. You don't know if you're livin' or dyin' but you keep on walking, or running, all the way to the bus station, where you discover you've lost your wallet. But the bags, the bags in the locker. How can you free them? That fixed, you step in line. The Greyhound station sucks and that's because it's for poor people. Make no mistake, poor people have it hard. You can wait in line for an hour, only to find out Greyhound oversold the bus. So you head back home, but you can't go straight away. You have to stop and John King's and run into an old friend who administers the test. You would have to be a fucking genius to pass this test. "No one gets tham all right,," freind says. You don't have time. Is it too late to rip up the test? You get free  books from the box outside. Fuck that test, you think. Can I get a job anwhere, you ask? Who answers?Day 2: you finally get on the bus and after a half an hour you retire to the bathroom where you rub sanitary fluid on your body, eat shit and try to escape through the toilet, but there is no back door. You enter the seating area. You make children cry and argue with a hothead who likes to kill you and your ilk. Off the bus! Kicked off the bus in Grand Rapids, the wing-ding Kristian capital of the state of Mickigan. Off of the premises, the police officer say. All alone waiting for a bus under an overpass. How can I ride with no coin at my side? (to be continued . . . )

Trying to leave Detroit isn't as easy as it sounds. First, you've got to leave the city the same way as you found it -- bone dry. You've got to circle Masonic Temple, the Michigan Palace. You have to step into bars to hear the news. You've got to pack, and pack and repack, and pack again and you've got to ride it all on your shoulders. The prospect must make it alone, they say. You don't know if you're livin' or dyin' but you keep on walking, or running, all the way to the bus station, where you discover you've lost your wallet. But the bags, the bags in the locker. How can you free them? That fixed, you step in line. The Greyhound station sucks and that's because it's for poor people. Make no mistake, poor people have it hard. You can wait in line for an hour, only to find out Greyhound oversold the bus. So you head back home, but you can't go straight away. You have to stop and John King's and run into an old friend who administers the test. You would have to be a fucking genius to pass this te2st. "No one gets tham all right,," freind says. You don't have time. Is it too late to rip up the test? You get free  thbooks from the box outside. Fuck that test, you think. Can I get a job anwhere, you ask? Who answers. Day 2: you finally get on the bus and after a half an hour you retire to  the bathroom where you rub sanitary fluid on your body, eat shit and try to escape through the toilet, but there is no back door. You re enter the seating area, make children cry and argue with a hothead who like to kill you. Off the bus. Kicked off the bus in Grand Rapids, the right wing christian capital of the state of Mickigan. Off of the premises, the police officer say. All alone waiting for a bus under an overpass. How can I ride with no coin at my side? (to be continued . . . )

It was at Mark's August 1, 2008. I can't describe it now. Write me in a week. I'll tell you about it. Luna twirled fire. Do I need to say more? Well, I guess I should. Mark prepared, and I mean prepared, the finest meats, bevatable side dishes. I mean hours, he spent hours on this and that's because he was cooking for his friends. We're talking beef, we're talking turkey, we're talking chicken, we're talking pork. Two grills and three smokers, mom's potato salad recipe, crazy bread puddin and more for dessert. We're  talking obsession to make one night a spectacular night. There were fireworks, you can bet on that. A whole younger (I mean, could you get any younger than this?) bunch were there. Including my beautiful and talented niece Allison, who is so beautiful beyond description. I got hug from her, and I could've ended the night right there, so beautiful. For me, she was a standout along with her motherKIM. and the reason for the barbecue, The Mitchells, were all there, and I'm talking big daddy Tom, big Mama Zena Susie, baby Luna, tall talkin' Dylan and number one son Joseph, whose absolutley the best, except for all us othert creeps. We didn't start eatin' til about 9, but by the time we did we had almost all the space heaters, half of the hysteric narcotics and 2/5s of the Denizens, and almost all of the Boners there, and all that's just personal. We had Sailor Rick and his voluptuous daugher there. We had the Napster. Besides and including Sailor Rick, we had the Metcalf motherdaughtersisterlover's there Charmagne and Lisa. We had babies to lift our souls and ladies to adore. Matt Downey was there, unfortunately not Diane. My new nieghbor, Rebecca and her guy. Mary and Chip; Whitey and Glen. We talked about Spiderman and old Heath Sutcliffe who unfortunately passed away. We did not listen to music. I repeat, we did not listen to music except for the music passing as words that sprinkled as dew between laughters. If you were not there, I missed you. 

Always turn to the left they said, but it leaves you screwing down the manhole lid on a devil you'll never nor no one'll never see. Down, down, down the spiral, the never ending spiral and through the threads visible to no one. The end is all you seek but the end is nowhere in sight and so it's back, through Sunday papers and adverts that buy everything practically for nothing. Another going out of business sale to set the chumps alight. The bastards want your cash and for your cash they'll give you credit, no interest until after Christmas but first you'll need a tree, a money tree no less whose gumdrops of green mintyness float above the languid pools of blue and emanate first class seats to the Bahamas, where umbrella laden sissy drinks smell like marijauna. Mary Juana? The demon is your grand dad, who cusses out the ladies and questions every noble attempt to dispense legitimate medicine. Who is it good for? Cocksuckin' muthafuckas! Smile in the course of human events. Smile in the cause of accidents and who can you save but yourself as the Desi and Lucy flow down the drain. Hark the herald angles sing and the argus connect with diamond mine, in some South African boom town. I can't catch her. No one can. This land is not my land, this land is not your'n.

Boarding the Greyhound after two days of delays and false starts. After circling the Michigan Palace Palatial Parking Lot and wishing for the dolls to play one last time. With the whine of the sirens down Cass Avenue and into every party shoppe along the way for one last Pop. One last bang, just a black cat away, I threw a Cherry Bomb into the future, bought oxycotin and zanex and a junior whopper with cheese. No, they say, you can't take it with you. It won't fit on the bus. All your percussionary comrades and your six strings blessed by Clifford the blues man. But, we said, we're going home to the reunion and before you know it you're on the bus, wedged between the toilet and the sink, and rubbing yourself down with shit and sanitary fluid -- blue grease. Blue lightnin'. Just one last sip from the soap dispenser and you're out in the crowd. The black boys are screaming. The children are crying. Who made you a monster? Booted off at the first stop, I could not catch another bus. I could not find my money. I made my way through town. Uptown, downtown, and into the garden spot traffic island, where I offered to trade in souls hoping for yours in return. This is the way we get burned. Purple plush guitar case stuffed with suicides, hootenannys and whatdoyoucallits and whatdoyougets in return except license to play the prince of darkness for one long night by the lagoon. World War III set afloat with toy boats and foam submarines. The moon doubles and sets, disappears from the sky really, but it's image is burned on your retina, never to be forgotten. Still, you must get some rest before you make the long trek up Cavalry, shielding your face from the buzzing mob that circles and circles with each circle you circle. All day in the hot sun, losing your guitar, losing your clothes, caddying for your brother in the briefcase but nobody knows. Drop him off at the peak, the new garden of Eden, where poison grows alongside fragrant rose and the sun never sets. Collapsing on the lawn, King Richard has won. There is a grand Episcopal church set back in the newly built subdivision. It's only double vision. What do they want? Blood, they cry. What do they want? Urine. They want urine and your time of reckoning has arrived. Who can come back? Who can come back? Anyone but Malcolm X, but you press your point. Now you're a double motherfucker, who would you trade for revolution? Aren't we all redeemed eventually? You would think the trial would be over by now, but it has only just begun. It runs itself over on a daily basis and enemies become friends and loyalties fade in the face of survival. Who's my rival?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2TLDhmVZ6CE