LA DI DAAAA
The war of the roses
Farmers
Valoglass
Scotland
Ireland
Potato
America
New Jersey the docks
Midwest, WWII
The bricklayers Union in California
Divorces, the South
California
Omaha single moms rock and roll
The old market
Antiquarium
Record store
Loft
Acid
Me
Born in an attic
An exclusive affair of extended immediate family
Hippie bohemians
Lowest working class
Working class people who did not want to work so they identified with the bourgeoisie
The vegetarian scene
Rainbow
Punk rock
Dads music—early saddle creek
Gabriel and Monica
Feminist new wave
Ani difrqnco
More of the same
Jackie Marts, Dean, Merrill’s, Ryan, Nick, ebc, Bob
Arizona
Living with Monica
Benson party scene
Nightmares, insects, dinosaurs, what about David?
When I think of rock and roll these days I think of Bob Dylan.
I think of Bob Dylan crashing his motorcycle and surviving to go country.
I think of Jim Harrison, Thomas Mcgaune and Jimmy Buffet in Key West chasing Tarpon in an ugly scene with pristine surroundings once they got in their boat.
Jack Kerouac, William S Burroughs and Allen Ginsburg.
Hunter S Thompson.
This zine.
The Black Lips roaring musicality on Let It Bloom.
Of course The Day the Music Died.
Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin.
To me rock and roll is San Francisco with no agenda.
Rock and roll is a road trip with no ambitions except finding “it”.
Rock and roll is so alive in a place like Omaha until the alcohol, cocaine and friends are gone.
After the rock and roll, the friends are always gone.
It’s in the name.
A body rocks and then he rolls.
Just like Dad.
Just like that rock and roll lover.
Just like Hemingway.
World War II.
Who I used to be.
That little boy or younger man always dying beneath the rock to become an older man who rolls out from beneath the rock.
I lament like Kurt Vonnegut of the loneliness after the rock star life of a socialite.
I weep like Charles Bukowski at the beautiful young women while I scheme of how to get another chance through my crocodile tears.
I could still read Celine.
There has to be more night to journey through.
And there is.
Winter is coming.
It will crush me like it always does but this year it will crush me much less and therefore I will be much less new in the fall.
I am getting a hold of life’s gargantuan punches, under-toes and rapids.
People need me to be stable.
The DUI’s probation schemes are beginning to get through to me.
Jim Morrison’s ghost is hidden in last years crash and burn.
I sit like the heart broken pianist at my type writer with the 1970s ideals of Joe Biden looking back at World War II, the 1950s, and 1960s.
Vietnam.
The Gulf war.
The War on Terror.
Norman Mailer all the way up to his book on a fire being on the moon.
We went to moon guys!
No one cares.
Henry Miller saying how horrible America had become for the existentialist and that was in the fucking 1920s and 1930s.
Apocalypse Now.
Interstellar.
My family.
All is laid to dust beneath the headlines of Maga’s Trump, technology, six and seven, my 90 hour work schedule.
I worked 90 hours this week and still found time to give money to online bratty women.
Six months sober though.
Nothing says the music has died like being six months sober.
I don’t even care about music.
It’s the explosion of atomic life that I love.
The Jonestown Massacre came to town and I couldn’t get myself to go because they are a glorious band but wouldn’t it be sad to see such a punk rock outfit in a place like the Slowdown in 2025?
It is akin to my complaint about doing cocaine in Omaha.
Then what?
Generic sushi?
The state of rock and roll today is like Anthony Bourdain as an old man getting cucked in print by a young toxic heroine.
Nothing to do except Ian Curtis.
So it all comes back to Bob Dylan speeding his motorcycle down a straightway into a tree.
I drove my car into a median and popped my tires.
I popped a wheelie.
That was my act of jubilant defiance when it finally came home that the American Dream had died.
Marlon Brando’s slug goes over the edge of a razorblade and lives only to die from the salt of the US government by the hands of Martin Sheen.
The people engineering our demise in Silicon Valley are no longer living luxurious lives of affluence but holding the line against the AI monster they have concocted by competing for the few jobs left by working from 9am to 9pm six days a week.
As each industry goes belly up from the ai generated bots I work more to keep my personal hope alive of flourishing someday in something that’s gone beyond an hyper-capitalistic system.
Open corruption in the government.
A government shutdown supported by both sides.
Army families at food banks.
Food stamps not working just in time for winter.
Farmers selling out and committing suicide.
Sharecroppers and wage slaves and not even the millionaires have a penny in savings.
This is the age of the billionaire.
I work 90 hours a week at decent jobs and haven’t even started to think about a house, girlfriend or brighter future.
There was a thing called rock and roll that Elvis played after he got off from driving a truck.
Think about a time when there was that much joy from driving a truck.
I experienced it.
It was called being twenty and in love in the 2010s.
I am in my mid thirties and in that brain fog state of senile folk when their own death obscures all of their thoughts into visions of the apocalypse.
I truly don’t see rock and roll being a reality for the next generation.
That’s not true though.
Younger people will always love life.
I see them loving their youth with my own eyes.
I sit back like King Solomon with my proverbial wisdom and say, “enjoy it while it lasts.”
Nothing matters except loving God but that doesn’t change the fact that once the thrill is gone it is all darkness.
I live for the smile of future generations.
Some day it will get so dark for me amidst my joy that the terror of light will seep forth.
I live on like Keith Richards as a testament to what rock and roll could be.
I have my secrets.
Like Jesus Christ was by my side this whole time and that she still loves me.
Now back to gooning before I start another 90 hour work week to pay the bills.
Marrying my mother and my girlfriend is my brothers mom
Where is Dad?
Westside baptism
Kindergarten and grandma Clara
Homeschool
Prairie Wind
Trinity
Dundee
Jesus Bus
Kansas City
Richland and Conway’s
24th and Ida
Full house in the ghetto
Where is Dad?
Two pay checks sent off to onlyfans models for little interactions and ten second to one minute and thirty second clips of asses jiggling and titties in the face I would call one hell of a thirty-fifth birthday. Of course it does not get any better than that. So I am caught up in reverie and reflection all the way to the first moment that the word “wisdom” dropped in my lap. I have been a thinking man ever since I was a wee lad and I go about sniffing daisies and catching grasshoppers and all of the sudden a word like responsibility, discipline, or humanity latches onto my skull and creates a new layer of matter for my eyes to see the world through.
“Listen, kid, I have been thinking about your situation.”
“What about my situation?”
“Well, how you want to come over and play video games while I am trying to watch the ball game. But more than that is that how your mother lets you do whatever you want so you expect me to let you do whatever you want. You don’t have any guidance in your life.”
“I don’t need any guidance. I just want to play the video game.”
“Yes. That is okay for now and we will play the video game at halftime of the game but you are going to need guidance for your future. I have been thinking about, who is going to teach you wisdom?”
“What is wisdom?”
“Wisdom is about making good decisions that are difficult so that a person may continue to live a happy and joyful life.”
“How is your life different than mine?”
“I provide for myself and have built a community of friends. I work for the things I have and you just think you can live off of other peoples work and happiness.”
“So you don’t want me to hangout with you and play video games anymore?”
“No. I don’t. Listen, you are a cool kid and you can come to the party on Friday to see what wisdom looks like.”
“Ok.”
The party was just a bunch of bros who were friendly and got along with one another playing sports like frisbee, shooting and collecting pogs, drinking beers, playing video games and watching sports.
“So this is the big wisdom that you wanted to show me?”
“Yes. See we work to be able to share this community with each other. We have earned this and we do certain things to keep it going. You will understand someday.”
With that I took my five year old self onto other friendships that quickly deteriorated. I became a girls boyfriend and told her I would do whatever she told me to do. A program I quickly deferred from after she let me cuddle with her. Another kid had a Mr. Stretch that I either lost or destroyed so that the kid could not hangout with me anymore. Finally we moved out of the apartment complex and into the desert. Which is a completely other tale that is more interesting in the subject matter of actually living in the midst of the Señora desert than the reality of bugs, sand and sleeping in a car with a halfbreed wolf pup. Oh, look the roadrunner.
One day back in Omaha we were in this bookstore. I didn’t know how to look around a bookstore for something that I would like. I was like ten now. All the books had me feeling gloomy. So much stuff that I didn’t know anything about. Someone asked me what was the matter and I gave this answer, “I just don’t feel like I have any wisdom. I don’t know what kind of book to get. I don’t feel like I know anything about what is worthwhile in life.”
“Wow. Easy kid. How old are you? Those are pretty big thoughts for a ten year old. I think you are going to do fine in the wisdom department. I have got just the thing for you. If you read this and understand it you will have all the wisdom you will ever need.”
Then he gave me Psycho Homicidal Jungle Cat. Calvin and Hobbes cartoon strip book.
“Is this a joke?”
He told me the author was some big professional wisdom guru guy that just wrote cartoons to help dumb adults in America maybe start to think about deeper truths that actually come naturally to a child’s wondering mind.
I read it like the bible and was satisfied in the wisdom department.
