Idiots Journal

“Idiot” Journal Something I should have started months ago. I write this from work [The Righteous Room], it's 4:45 [P.M.] on the dot. I have an hour and forty five minutes left on my shift. I'm listening to the sounds of Atlanta filtered over running refrigerators

and

ice

machines.

I'm

not

paying

much

attention to either. My stomach rumbles slightly, I'm tired of the food here. I think I'll have a smoke. -INTRO And so begins my “Idiot's Journal”, a record of my fleeting thoughts from late 2003 to the tail end of 2004. I was working two jobs at the time. Alternating between a tiny bar call The Righteous Room in the day and a neo-soul club called Apache Café, during the night. My days spent at Righteous were fueled by alcohol pilfered once the owner had left me and the bartender alone. My nights at Apache were filled with weed smoking and more stolen booze. After Hours were spent with my homeboy D-Nasty running the streets of Atlanta getting even more wasted. It's amazing I found the time to write anything. In fact this scant journal was almost all I collected of my inner thoughts for the entire five years I lived in Atlanta. The actual journal is mostly filled with band stickers and doodles, I wrote mainly on the bus in between jobs. It was a hectic time that culminated in a trip to New Orleans before it was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. To think I almost left the safety of Atlanta for the booze frenzy of The Big Easy. Thank God, that was just a fleeting fantasy. I had a great time during all of this, with the exception of the fights between me and my LAV1 (Amber), my infidelity and late night carousing was just too much. This is a snapshot of a man on the edge, I had stopped fighting my demons and taken to sleeping with them.

Something about this feels strange, like it's all a dream and one day I will wake up in a padded cell, my arms strapped to a bed for the rest of my life.

“Idiot” Journal

The price of crime is punishment..... 2 many months lost in the Drag Underworld Face paint for the masses

....punishment is a life of crime! “Your stereo is your idol life lessons that be vital”

Sitting in a (faux) Mexican Cantina, eating beef enchiladas listening to R-O-C-K in the USA by Johnny Cougar. Waiting to meet OutKast1 at a record signing. 1 OutKast, was a popular hip-hop duo who had recorded some really ground breaking records that inspired me and much of the South throughout the nineties. I saw them at a record signing for what would be come there biggest mainstream success. It was dissapointing to hear them courting the other side.

“Idiot” Journal War is ragin' everythang's changin' And muthafuka's wanna make pop records I betcha Whole music industry's been payed off While my hommies out at Hanes been laid off Fuck that shit You don't need another hit What the world needs now is another pop singer Aw, Hum dingier you only a ringer call it Love Box or Speaker Below I call it losing your flow I'm that Ras Clot Niggard steppping on yo toes go ahead you punk ass ho speak back I'm true dat My visions clear where I be in a year Met Outkast, they were small and didn't even look at me as they signed my album. Pissed me off, and the new album sucks. My favorite group ain't coming with it.

Fucked Up Music

“Idiot” Journal

4 Fucked Up ™ People

™ I came up with the title Fucked Up Music For Fucked Up People while in prison. It was intended to be a blanket title for all the music I hoped to one day produce. Of course I got as far as a receiving a banjo and never learning how to play it. It's sad actually I wasted a lot of time in Atlanta getting drunk and high, when it was the perfect place for me to explore my musical side.

“Idiot” Journal “The day Amber fell in the hole, or, One Night At The Star Bar” Now I have to get a new Social Security Card, a new ID., and stay away from holes. God's divine vengeance, or Jess's new sitcom? You decide. The night was surreal, it plays over in my mind like a vicious episode of Americas Funniest Home Videos, or Max-X. By all rights and mean we should have died. But somehow we survived to fight another day. Yet we continue to fight each other. You think that if you save someones life they let you slide on not washing the dishes-but no! That's up in ATL. The story so far has been one of bitter retribution from Amber and the cosmos at large. (True Story) After a night of drinking and having a fabulous time with Amber and our deer friend “Little Matt”, late one October night in 2003. The three of us made our way back to Mine and Ambers shared apartment. The bar we had visited that evening was on Moreland Ave. It was only a ten minute walk from our home a walk we had allmade countless times by this point. The funny thing was as we made our way back we noticed that part of the street was flooded (which it hadn't been hours before). It had been raining and in our drunkenness we thought little of it. A backed up sewer main was our best guess if that. In all likely hood we were far to wasted to even care. As we got closer to the source of the flooding I began to notice a geyser of brown water surfacing from where there should have been a sidewalk. Amber however-stubborn as always-decide to ignore my warning and walk right up to it. Later she admitted to being to drunk to even pay attention to what I was screaming. As it turned out a water main had burst and created not only a massive hole in the ground but on the opposite side of the geyser there was a powerful suction coming from the other end of the broken pipe. This of course tried to pull Amber into it. I dove in immediately to pull her out only to find myself being pulled down as well. Thanks to Matt for being with us. He managed to grab hold of my arm and pull us both to safety. The force of the suction was so powerful it completely stripped ambers skirt off and ripped the jewelery from her ears and face. We would have lost her that night if not for Matt. It was traumatizing for a while and we spent a few weeks telling each other how much we loved on another but of course things denigrated to more fights and arguments, due in part to my drinking and neglect. I don't make

“Idiot” Journal time for regrets I feel everything (good or bad), happens for some reason. Even if we can't see it at the time.

Notes on God: “Ron Jeremy-The Legend of”* -Defies convention -proof that we are all God -Lives amongst the stars -multi dimensional -charismatic -family is doctors, lawyers, ambassadors History -Masters in Special Ed. At Queens College -Degree in acting -taught for two years childhood schizophrenics -student taught at AABRP (Association for the the Advancement of Blind and Retarded People) * From the movie; “Pornstar: The Legend of Ron Jeremy”. Much like my brief obsessions with Jerry Springer and Don King, I took on Ron Jeremy as my Part-Time Personal Savior. A technique gleamed from The Church of the Subgenius. I fully intended to write out a dissertation on the merits of Ron Jeremy and exalt him as the True King of Bad Taste and extol his virtues as a God even. Yet, like most things from this period of my life remain unfinished and rightfully so. After my obsession with him faded he was taken up by the mainstream media and attempted to turn himself into a reality T.V. Star. He appeared all over the small screen for a few years eve before returning to his porn roots. It would seem the rest of the country was also becoming hip to the Subgenius philosopies.

“Idiot” Journal

#'s -14 women in 4hours -2500 girls in film 25000 in private

Quote- “There's got to be something better than this?” Thanksgiving shopping@ Turkey Sweet Potatoes Spinach pinto beans Corn on the cob eggs cornbread milk alcohol

MEXICAN TURKEY @ Thanksgiving of 2003, we invited some friends over and I whipped up my now infamous Mexican Turkey. A big bird stuffed with Habenero Peppers, Habenero Stuffing, and covered in a Whiskey/Honey/Habenero glaze. It's quite delicious going in but it's murder coming out. I first made it in 2001 after I was released from prison. Yet another sick idea formulated behind the wall.

“Idiot” Journal

Habeneros, Jalapeños

CO D A S 1 A RMA D A S to be a training manual -Fling Poo for a living-i.e.; talk shit -Monkee's always have tails/tales -So many things I want to say 1. A historical guide to how the Monkee Armada came to be 2. The history as written by me 3. Symbols (fist and F.M.F.H.)2

Green Crimson and Gold 3

Canaries of the Sea Tar heel Terrorist

God Bless This Mess 1 More on this later 2 Flying Monkees From Hell 3 The colors of the Hindu Monkey God, Hanuman

“Idiot” Journal 2.Monkees are friends to both Ninja and Pirate's but loyal to none. 3.Try to picture the life of a creature with a tail/tale, who lives in the trees above man. Yet can be closer to God 4.The Armada is those of us who have left the kingdom to travel the world hipping others to the philosophy and freeing other monkees who we meet along the way.

Open the door and let in the big bad Wolf is cold and hungry not so bad just more or less trying to survive. But the blood red killa lurks inside I got ice cold water in my veins I got murder on my brains

“Idiot” Journal

an I com'n for you through Hell and High water I'm the one that's gonna fuck your daughter! One Night I'll Fuck You Too!!!

BE GONE DEMON BACK TO HELL One monkey will stop the show!!! The armada is somehow in your face, under your skin, and in your hair all at once

The Monkee Revolution will take place on your Face Shadows crawl across the wall As you inch your way to me tiny noises fill the room and I wonder what they could be Over and Over, and Over, and Over-

“Idiot” Journal Don't you think by now you would have gotten away with it?

Don't ever Listen To a damn word any man says

Viva La Armada! Somewhere out there...... I imagine a day twenty/twenty-five years down the road. I'm fat and old, my bones ache constantly. I break into coughing fits over dust. Yet live like a pig in heat. Off on my own in the hills of North Carolina. My business failed scraping by on the skin of my teeth. But I have my dog, my bike and my rickety old pick-up. I

“Idiot” Journal don't go into town much once a week to check my P.O. Box and get some groceries. My face chiseled from a life time of hard living. I imagine my ex-wife and son off in some far away country. Europe or Africa, I don't even know. They don't talk to me much anymore. My drinking and gambling drove them away. I sit alone, well I got he dog, but you know. Mainly it's just me, and the bottle. Out there somewhere on the edge of the world waiting for the good Lord to come and take me away. What to say about my tenure at the Apache Café Not to mention the daily grind of the Righteous Room. I'm on a train now, headed for New Orleans. Six days away from listening

to

anymore

shitty

poetry

or

self

righteous

black

empowerment bullshit. Six days my hands won't stink of onions. The Apache was good for what it was. A place to work but, not work. I seem to luck into jobs like those. Now it just feels time to move on. I've made some friends, a few that will out last the job, a few that won't. The grueling nature of my jobs came from the fact that I was; prep,

grill,

saute,

expo,

and

dish

boy

simultaneously.

One

man

kitchens eat dick. What ever made me want to tackle two of them at the same time.

It never ceases to amaze me the sheer depths people will go to get laid. 90% of the “poets” who jump on stage do it because they have nothing else to offer a woman.

“Idiot” Journal

BEWARE THE WERE-WOLF FOUNDATION This country

is

side

the

long

strange

deteriorate

trip

admist

the

to

Mardi

drunken

Gras.

Watching

ramblings

of

the

aging

southern alcoholics on their pilgrimage to the American Mecca. This is the furthest west I've travelled and so far it all looks like North Carolina. I can't help but notice the unfathomable amount of dilapidated houses, run down churches and abandoned where houses which line the railway. The rural south is often a sad sight to see. The abject poverty and decimated state of the notion. The broken down cars and metal yards broken only by Army Depots and National Guard Armories. If I had a van and a camera I'd drive around documenting it all. No amount of words can say. Filthy little white kids chasing theses three-legged dogs through the Mississippi mud. Trees torn up and tossed in swamps. Dusty back roads populated by lonely old pickups long abandoned by their drivers. It's been raining a lot lately, every state we speed through is filled with giant mud holes and th sky is a constant gray. Winter must have hit hard this year all the grass is still dead and the trees seem bent. It'd be depressing if it weren't all so fucking beautiful. Well, beautiful in a Tim Burton/Sleepy Hallow type way. I'm three and a half hours away from New Orleans, somewhere in the Delta and the sun finally breaks. The houses are further from the

“Idiot” Journal tracks now. I've seen nothing but swamps and cemeteries for a while. The alcohols flowing quickly through my veins. I have to be careful though I'm on a strict budget due to my continuous drinking back home. Luckily the bar is three cars ahead of mine, making laziness a fator more than anything else. I've been reading the Stone Cold Biography Amber got me.

MARDI GRAS WORLD -take ferry across river -clown head

ICF 4-LIFE Drunk and disorderly in New Orleans, the gods laugh with me through the winding streets. The sound of inhibitions hitting wet pavement make a thunderous boom. Voodoo is in the air, it's hard to think straight with the sound of the damned howling in my ears. Is it the drink or armageddon which has called me here. Will I ever be the same

“Idiot” Journal

again. My eyes are burnt out from so many new and colorful sights. The devil tempted me to Louisiana for the flesh, but rewarded me with booze. This is not a den of sin I had hoped, but at least I'm drunk Bacchus must be my God now for this time in between times. I felt Mardi Gras would be a turning point. Though where this shall lead but I hope the road is wet with bourbon. For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son-a drink! Ha! Praise be to the most high for what we are about to receive. For in the fellowship of friends old and new. There before the grace of Jack go I!!! “ What shall we name our first son?” “Well call Him Tobias” She answered. “No Tobias is too weak, you don't want the first Emperor of the Moon to be called Tobey!” “No, you're right.”, she laughed, “We'll call him

“Idiot” Journal Xander!” “I like that Xander first Emperor of the Moon.” “Who was killed by his younger brother Tobias.” And they laughed and stared at the moon as the E took hold of them and their lips were the fist to intertwine, then their legs, soon they were one creature dreaming one dream. 1. old broken shack platform on the water, use boat to reach 2. On a rock near the old shacks, use boat

The words of a meaningless whore trapped between greed and desire she is lost to her lust and knows not the true path of divinity I pity none. 6 x 8 ¼

r/6 + 8.101 ≠ 196/2000

5...4...3...2...1 Forever isn't such a long time, it depends on how you measure time in years or experience. It's been forever since I seen my friends yet it's been only such a short while. It's been forever since I held the hand of the one I love, yet it was just

“Idiot” Journal the other day. Time only has the meaning we give it from moment to moment, day to day. I am old yet I am young. Fuck you nigga tell that shit to my knees! You yellow belly fuck!

SOMEWHERE BEYOND THE LIGHTS LIES MY BABY somewhere in the dark lies my mother 5 I come from the Red planet

Dirtiest Playa in the Game Supa herb/Golden Grain villainous atrocities my claim to fame Rotten mutha-fucka born to hang

I am that grime corps

“Idiot” Journal

original Twin engines of despair, the motors running

and I don't care. Life is happening everywhere, but you're still in my hair. It was in this parlor where I first laid eyes on you. Poor girl in such tattered rags. I knew we would shag. There's nothing to it.

Kids are dining in the snow, Please don't eat the yellow though. In the pines it smells like Christmas Was that planned I missed it

“Idiot” Journal

August 2004 At some point in the game you have to hit pause and check the command list or you're going to keep losing. This is the lesson of six months of zombifiying myself with this blessed Play Station. I don't know if it's the drinking, the weed or the video games that's rotting my brain for real. My money's on the combination of all three. Not to mention the stress from my job, my girl, and the endless hours of mind-numbing television. I need a break! I'm annoyed by the sorry state of my own existence. I return home in two weeks for a short visit, and already I know it's going to be hell. All my old pals are either wasted or parents and the one person I really want to see isn't een going to be there. My body is a wreck and isn't going to have anytime to recoup. The only upside is that I won't have to go to work or be anywhere on time.

Home Coming Coming Home NO Home Coming for the K.I.D I return home in August of 2004 for a four or five day trip (four nights, five days). I arrived late Thursday night to no fan fare, no party, not even a trip to the bar. It's not that I expected a hero's welcome, but I did not expect to slink in like an ousted dictator slipping through the back door. It's funny how in Winston nothing will change for five or six years, then all of a sudden you can't even recognize the place. New Buildings, ne faces, and all my old friends no where to be found. Those that were seen where looking

“Idiot” Journal beaten and broken by the years. The only exception, my oldest friend Jeremiah. He has become my avatar. The reigning king of the small Winston goth scene. While visiting home I got a chance to see him play. I applaud his new direction and envy his status. Most of the fucking kids there never even heard of me. There is no sin greater han regret. Never look back in anger only joy over your past. What you went through made you who you are today.

Laughing at bald headed kids I play a game with myself. I see you but you don't see me. I 'm not hiding, I just don't care, not a wave or a nod, just a passer on the promenade. Smell of smoke fills my nose it's already in my clothes, you won't even notice me. I'm the very air you breathe. Cigarettes and a crowded room one of these spells your doom. Running in Circles Dejected and rejected by Life and by Love Adrift on a Sea of your Unholy Blood I'll be dead by morning, I'll be gone by noon

“Idiot” Journal You'll be alone again the way you like it soon What is this viscous cycle What is this vicious cycle Why do we do this to ourselves It's time for this to stop

Sorrow + Sadness = Torture + Madness

I've seen this sort of thing before I've been to this part of town before There's a Church's Chicken and a liquor store Some crack-heads on the corner Where they've been before Not much else over here A place to get fat and drink beer The grass grows but no one goe in it Except the rats and snakes that live in it The sun shines but hurts our eyes This is your life-surprise I've seen this sort of thing before

I've been to this part of town before

“Idiot” Journal

There's shit on my breathe because I've been talking too long There's blood on my hands because somethings gone horribly wrong If there was some way to fix this I wish you'd tell me If there's a way out of this I wish you would show me How could you let me get behind the wheel You know I can't drive You ask me who's drunker I ask you who's alive There's shit on my breathe because I've been talking too long There's blood everywhere because something has gone horribly wrong Where are you taking me? Where are you taking me? Where are you taking me?

“Idiot” Journal

“I'm just too busy to stop and smell any roses besides my allergies might act up and I have an important meeting with the boss. I don't want my nose to run and have him looking at me wondering why. He's not dumb; How do you think he got to be the boss? I hear the guys sniffing in the bathroom, you think I'm the only one who noticed?” For a monkee everyday is a Holy day, no one moment ranks above the next to be eternally free is to be removed from judgment of time, all time is special in it's own way.

Liberation is it's own celebration! The howl of the monkee will signify his lust for sex, violence, or both!

The vengeance of the Armada is the dreaded Flying Monkees From Hell! The airborne legion of the Kingdom. Fierce warriors whom personal safety is forgone, for the good of our cause. The bond between a monkee and his parentage is dual (much like the life of a monkee). The mother is nuturing and loving, though

“Idiot” Journal she may be raped when the time is right. The father is dominant and distant, but will be challenged when the time is right. Barbarous is gentile by comparison.

Every good mother will carry her child upon her back until the day when he can attack!

MONKEE ARMADA manojavam māruta-tulya-vegam jitendriyam buddhimatām varişţham vātātmajam vānara-yūtha mukhyam śrī-rāma-dūtam śirasā-namāmi

Hanuman the monkey King The Armada stands for physical strength, fighting ability, and the capacity to preservere. Armada fighters display superhuman powers to accomplish acts of service and the ability to increase one's attitude of love in preforming selfless service. Armada fighters must be full of grace. Even if it appears to be an awkward grace (filled with stumbles and near misses), EVENTUALLY ALL monkees will fall. It is to their strength, they do not stay down. The trees are our home we will not be denied them for very long. The skies belong to the birds, the ground to other beast. To the monkees, the Kingdom lies in the trees.

Rabid Wolverines, can't compare to a Ragin' Rhino, and that horned Hippo don't touch the power of a Mad Baboon-Capitan of the world!

The Codas Armadas:

“Idiot” Journal The foundation of the Armada as we know it. Beginning with the earliest tales of Monkee Power The fables, legends and beliefs of humans in the power of the paw, and the tail. -the religious writings of Hinduism reached their peak of historical development with two great epic sagas, the Mahabharata and the Ramayana, both of which have been described as the Collective Unconscious of India sending their own idiosyncratic yet universal message to humankind.۞‫۞۩۝‬ I am that golden monkee who stole the keys to heaven I was sent to find the secret parchments and bring them back home. But, I kept a few for myself. I fought along side Rama against the armies of Sri Lanka. I have made love with the earth and gave birth to the whole human race. I have stole from the gods and laughed as they fell from grace. I see the end of time and my bastards blast into space. I came from the golden egg to bring Chaos and hilarity to the universe. Thee 3 Precepts: as laid out by the Codas Armadas our law in word 1. Stay in thee trees; for the ground is not good enough for a monkee. We are the lords of the skyway. The kingdom lies not below but above it is us who stand between heaven and earth, just as the tree reaches upward so shall we 2. See no evil, Hear no evil, Speak no evil, Woe; for there are no evil between us the first primates. The first children of the earth knows not the vile wickedness that lives in the hearts of man and ape. Our existence is pure and no malice forms our actions. What men see inside us is beyond the confinement of words like evil. Violence is for survival, action is our lives.

3. Monkee See Monkee Do; yet we do not do as man nor ape, we do only as we see fit. Our will is divine, our hearts are pure. No man or ape shall ever influence us to betray our true nature. Even dressed as men and living amongst the beast,ours is our own.

Dance, Little Monkey ۞‫ ۞۩۝‬Micheal Jordan, Eastern Wisdom: The philosophies and rituals of the East

“Idiot” Journal

Go and be free Dance, Little Monkey For you and for me No need to be afraid now the world is in you and me So spring and jump from each little tree Dance, Little Monkey for you and for me Life exist as a torrent of bad decisions one wrong turn and you're off the board. Occasionally you get to return and play again, but the same notion is you get harder and harder turns. God is not above you as you're told. He surrounds you placing obstacles in your path to him. God does not want to be found. For when you find hi (by the rules of the game), he must reward you. That reward may be for you worse than the consolation. Knowledge is a tricky thing, it seems the more you have the more you have the worse things seem. Remember things were never better than when two people hung out in a arden. Once they knew what clothes were they were fucked. I don't know about you but, I'd hang out naked

“Idiot” Journal with some chick forever, in a place where nothing grows old. Finding yourself doing the same old thing again, and again? Longing for a change? You need to get out of your rut but, you don't know how. You're scared, let's face it. You don't know if you're ready to pick up and leave your things behind but, the road is calling you. You should just go you'll have a great time. Or, you won't but, you won't know until you go. So just quit worrying and do it! Don't be so selfish really! Do you really need all these things. Don't let desire drive you to ruin. There are more important things than stuff. There are also less important things. The goal is to find a balance between what you need and what you want. The trick is having enough of each.

It pays to embellish....... .......All by my lonesome.... ....It's for my own good......

.......Without whom we would not exist..... .....Just leave it to me....... .......You'll never last.... ....Got an ape that can dance.... .......Beneath our own roof...... ....Monsters Lurk in Closets......

...The time has finally come.... ......Departed desert air?

“Idiot” Journal

There will be plenty of time to sleep when you're dead or in jail. This I tell you because there can be no other alternative, other than a complete retirement from the game. Don't act surprised. I'm telling you the truth. There is only one way out of the life we lead.

VICTORY GARDEN SNAKES!

STOLEN RECIPES (the mini-series of a lifetime)

Guacamole 5 Avocados 1 tsp garlic salt 1 tsp cumin 4 Serrano Peppers (dice) 3 Jalapeños (dice) ½ yellow onion (dice) •

drag knife through container, then stir

“Idiot” Journal Radical displacement through time and through space. The ground gives way beneath you, now as you lose your face. You say, “Is this it-am I tripping”. Then the music kicks in. You're on your way, now don't lose your place.

2

3 4

“Idiot” Journal

So your father is and ogre and your mother is a fair maiden?” Do you truly think that you're alone Do you truly think that I'm not here Do you think none of it matters Can you smell me next to you Can you see me in this seat Can you feel my cold cold touch I'm not your father, I'm not your lover I'm just the boy next door watching you discover Discover the only thing that you really need is right by your side the whole time This night, this knife, we'll make it right This night, this knife, we'll make it right

“I don't want to live in a loveless relationship” (Chorus) I don't want to live in a loveless Relationship (x4) (Lyrics) We've been down this road before We've seen this a hundred times The echo of your tears rips through my mind You notice the sound of my teeth when they grind I'm sick of you running in circles

“Idiot” Journal saying the same shit over and over the way you smile when you're nervous just makes me so damn furious I'm ripping out my hair with my hands I will not give in to your demands This time is it I've had enough of this shit (Chorus) You know I'm the true raw digga, the ultimate face dealer. I got grime from crime, I put on jump-fuck standing on the corner selling that bunk. I'm the man to beat, got the shotty in the trunk. Drink any man under the table, it's horror time! Fuck Necrophiliacs, and fake Doom sayers. Ain't none of you as vicious as the real rhyme slayer. Tongue like knives, fight to stay alive. If you feeling froggy jump, I'll give you a dime. The Mind, of a master, beat moving faster, pick up the pace or you'll lose the race!

I don't come from anywhere in particular, But, I've lied every place you've ever been I don't come from anywhere in particular, But, I've lived every place you'll ever be I'm a ghost walking among you in a sea of people My resting place is not beneath your ivory steeple I sleep in the sky and beneath the ground When you look for me I can still be found If you see me don't say a word If you do it won't be heard The rest of your life we will meet In the trees or on the street But we won't hang out we won't hang out I don't come from any where in particular,

“Idiot” Journal but, I'm going where you're going, I'm going where you're going, And I'm going there with out you with out you

“Idiot” Journal