Black laquer spilled on the floor
Doesn't make me some kind of whore
Green splash above my eye
Doesn't mean I just got high

Pretty dark circles, drawn around my vision balls
Bring you in and wipe out the trivial
guys who get fake numbers and girls
who can't remember their names

Heavy boots, ripped jeans and you
dancing on stage to the tune of the crew
Lights are blinding and so it would seem
you are a figment from my dream

But its not the piano girl that I write about
or even the brunette I want to take out
this congregation that I describe
Is System of a Down, take it with stride!

Cause they fucked my mind, my eyes and my throat
and to get off my make up I need a soak
Where I'll think of the wonderous muses I met after
and the one I kissed that was a fucking disaster

Couldn't believe she had an eightball in her tongue
First time in six months my face went numb
Severely disappointed I walked away
Thanking God I'm still sober today

But did I have a systematic breakdown, being in that moment?
Is the dark side of night always going to be a component...
Of my lifeforce and bloodstream and everything between?

God only knows and I'll let him/her figure it out
Cause I'm too tired and happy to even shout
Wet dreams probably await me and Saturday
someone clean will take care of me

And that's today's Systematic Breakdown

Empty Spaces

Empty spaces need to be filled with secrets
They should be written in black ink
DaVinci wanted them in the mirror
and yours I never want to hear

Six months ago I killed a man for the last time
he looked at me funny, eyes bobbing, jaw aksew
There was nothing between us but a choice
One quick slash and he lost his voice

My hands are tired with splinters from the shovel
for the hole I try to fill keeps getting deeper
But standing over my former self, alone in the rain
reminds me that its been a long time since the pain

The rustle of graveyard leaves and tombstone whistles
blow on the back of my neck a little chill
Ritual moon rises and robes are put away
I have been alive just six months today

And look I forward to filling the rest of my empty spaces....

This weekend I sat fourth row and watched a bunch of geriatric strolling bones rock out harder than half the musicians I know... I speak of course of Mick and the Boys. (The Stones!) Their encore hit me and several other friends of mine particularly hard due to its poignancy to recent events. I didn't cry, but I felt my mom shaking the heavens, happy that I got to see the Stones do their thing. I recieved a call from a close friend who sat in the nosebleeds and he spoke of the weight of the eight minute ballad: "We thought of Pegi." I realized I hadn't immortalized her on my own site and had to do something about that.

'You're never really prepared for the day' they say. But what if you are?

I loved my mother until the day she died, which happened to be Tuesday, May3rd. she was defeated after a long six year bout with all sorts of Cancers. I had written her Eulogy almost two weeks before hand, knowing that inevability was around the corner. The Schiavo case had come to the inevitable conclusion and my mother was fresh in her residence at North Shore Hospice, a wonderful place to fade out. I wanted to make sure I captured her. I'm posting this to share with my friends who didn't have a chance to enjoy her company. There was an integral music cue of an edited "You Can't Always Get What You Want". After I finished, the guitar riff came in and Mick got the Mass jumpin...

For Pegi:

Our house was always open. The kitchen door remained ajar for the laughter and smiles of everyone who came in. Shoes were left at the door. Sunlight beamed in through the stained glass window over the sink, dividing the kitchen from the mexican fiesta known as Our Porch. By the time you got to the counter of the counter, walking towards that warm, sun-drenched palace of white wicker furniture, you had a cold cocktail in your hand. It's five p.m. on a warm late-summer day and Pegi is waiting for us.
The smiles and the laughter begin, books are discussed and maybe some hands of bridge are played over shrimp cocktails and bloody marys. The sun doesn't move until she wants it to. A violet sky simmers above the treeline with a fiery sunset just as the stereo gets turned up. Candles are lit. It smells like rain and Pegi is laughing after a brilliant home cooked meal- Like Osso Bucco, Poached Salmon with cold dill, authentic mexican, italian, rack of lamb, pot roast, pasta, or any other culinary delight she felt like whipping up that night. There was nothing Julia Child could throw at Pegi that she couldn't even knock out of the Ballpark. The music just makes it taste better. More candles are lit. Others are replaced. You remember Janis, Buffet, Mamas and the Papas, Gipsy Kings, Marley, Chris Isaak- maybe even some Carole King or Grateful Dead. You smell the rain before it pounds onto the slotted glass windows on the porch. You sink into the wicker-backed couch and smile- and Pegi is smiling right back at you. A symphonyh of thunder is the preamble to the electric clash of chain lightning. The house shakes under the sonic boom and then, the power goes out. The only thing you can see is the gleam of her smile in the flickering candlelight. Beneath your own giggling you hear the cacophony of Pegi's signature snorted laugh. We're safe- and in good company.
She kept us safe. And good company was always welcome.
It was her gift to give to us: Her warmth, her smile, and even the occasional snorting laugh- All of these things are the hardest ones to let go of. Her gift was just being Peg. No one fit on a beach better than "Mamacita Margarita"- As the nation of Mexico will soon attest. From the days in Acapulco with me in utero, to the week after the first wave of bad news came rolling in and we surrendered to Puerto Vallarta's comfort, my mom was gifted at being at ease. And we, in turn, wanted to be in that blissful state when we were around her. Happiness was always abound with Pegi due to her unconditional love for all of us. And that was HER GIFT.

(Music Begins...Organ and Choir of the ROLLING STONES.)

We're all told that once were given a gift, it's ours forever. But the smile that's on our faces right now when we think of Pegi- our friend, your sister, your daughter, my mother, your wife and everlasting love...These smiles are now OUR GIFT to her. She's collecting them from us as we sit down here on the pews. She's lounging on God's porch in a sundress with a halo over her head and the best view in the world. She knows we loved her just as she loved us. It still doesn't make the loss any easier- Because to kno w Pegi is to love her. And we always will. While we'd love to continue our days with her, we realize that, just like one of her favorite songs, "You can't always what you want, but you can try sometimes, and you just might find, you get what you need." What we need to do now is celebrate Pegi, because that's what she wants. And we will.
We miss you dearly mom, and you will not be forgotten.

"...I saw her today at the reception, a glass of wine in her hand..."

Everybody's got an angle on it.

I just read Michael Moore's openly sarcastic and totally pedestrian atttack on Bush. It read as fi anyone who knew Michael Moore's M.O. could have written it- This does not mean to detract from the issue at hand. For the first time in a year, Moore's arguements are 100% justifiable. (I give a lot of leeway to the fundamental weakness of any human being in a position of power. You have to be INSANE to want to lead the free world.)

Bottom line is: New Orleans is a fucking mess.

For two days I have immersed myself in Katrina's wake, watching every broadcast I can get my eyes on. PBS is doing a great job, as is NBC and ABC. (CBS is in another world, airing Hilfiger's reality show while the other networks dedicate coverage to the atrocities happening in the Big Easy.) Five days into the horrorshow and CBS can't let go of its vice grip on the 18-34 demographic it fought for years to get....unbelievable. I have had ample time to watch this as I sit displaced from the world with a wicked case of Pneumonia- made only worse by sitting in my apartment with nothing to do (Everything is in boxes for a Tuesday move). I can only formulate the worst of opinions concerning FEMA, Brown, Blanca, Congress, and Mr. Bush. You gotta wonder if Bush jsut doesn't want all those poor blacks invading his sacntity of the greater nation of TEXAS, and has decided to stonewall the relief so that many of them will perish due to the heat, dehydration and violence.. What he doesn't know is that another Hurricane is probalby on the way. The press would love to say this isn't a race issue, but seeing how much help has arrived in the majority white-based Mississipi Gulf Coast, one can only scratch their heads. It is disheartening to apply the stereotypes to this disaster, but it is inevitable. A performer recently commented that when the Blacks raid the stores it's called "Looting", but when Whites do it, its called "Finding Food." And Kayne, well... Everyone heard that one.
Well, I got news for you, courtesy of World News Tonight on ABC: The blacks are looting. And the whites are too. But they're not taking anything of substantial use- thus proving an education wasted is a terrible thing.

According to Police in New Orleans, the large chain stores that have been hit, have been hit in the worst way-.

Picture this: You have no power, no water, and no shelter. Your family cringes in the dark beside you. You reach a Wal-Mart. What do you take?

a) Water, First-Aid, Powdered and Dry Goods, Pens, Office Supplies, Signs, Paint, Rope, Camping Gear, inflatable devices, Socks, Shoes, Candy

B) Blue Jeans, Jewelery, TVs., DVD Players, Xbox games, DVDs, CDS, Furniture, etc.

Seems an easy answer doesn't it? But B is the correct answer. While many raided the food first, more have opted out against their own health and chose the low road of material possesion. Apparently not to the people of New Orleans who have taken the time out of their busy days to loot the Jewelery and Electronics sections of the chain stores, as well as the boutiques downtown. And where exactly are they supposed to store this new gear? What in God's name are they thinking? This makes me so fucking sad for the human race, its no wonder terrorists hate our spoiled American values.I'm sure mosque attendance is at an all time high. They must be reveling in this, especially since we have turned our backs to them. "Just let the Niggers run their course" says Jim Crow. " It'll work itself out just fine..." I cannot believe that the US Govt has allowed us to opine so loudly and show these horrifying images of corpses, sadness, looting and violence with no sign of hope. While the gov't is using ice to cool their Diet Cokes, they should be putting it on cooking corpses in the street. New Orleans is a cesspooll and as of right now, up for grabs....

And what do we do in the face of tragedy? WE LAUGH.

Q: What is George W. Bush's Postition on Roe vs. Wade?

A: Doesn't matter. He really doesn't care how people get out of New Orleans....


AND NOW....

The Louisiana Refund

BATON ROUGE, LA. - The White House announced today that George W. Bush
has successfully sold the state of Louisiana back to the French at more
than double its original selling price of $11,250,000.

"This is a bold step forward for America," said Bush. "And America will
be stronger and better as a result. I stand here today in unity with
French Prime Minister Jack Sharaq, who was so kind to accept my offer of
Louisiana
in exchange for 25 million dollars cash."

The state, ravaged by Hurricane Katrina, will cost hundreds of billions
of dollars (and even more EUROS) to rebuild.

"Jack understands full well that this one's a 'fixer upper,'" said Bush.
"He and the French people are quite prepared to pump out all that water
and make Louisiana a decent place to live again. Seeing as they're already
accustomed to the smell, they should feel right at home and be ready to
get right to work. And they've got a lot of work to do. But Jack's assured
me, if it's not right, they're going to fix it."

The move has been met with incredulity from the beleaguered residents of
Louisiana.

"Shuba-pie!" wailed New Orleans resident Willis Babineaux. "Frafer-perly
yum kom drabby sham!

However, Bush's decision has been widely lauded by Republicans.

"This is an unexpected but brilliant move by George W. Bush," said Senate
Majority Leader Bill Frist. "Instead of spending billions and billions and
billions of dollars rebuilding the state of Louisiana, we've just made 25
million dollars in pure profit."

Even the Democrats professed unmitigated support for the President.

"I just can't fucking believe it. Pure genius. Who woulda thunk it?
Unbefuckinglievable. I gotta give him credit. Props to the Bush." said an
exasperated Illinois Senator Barrack Obama (D-Illionois)

The newly formed Brass Band Relief Troupe of New Orleans was visibly
excited about the possibility of the influx of French Horn Donations in
the near future.

"Bwua-shepbor-muhammonao!!!" Said Lemanjello De la Croix Aquafit. "Weeesa
gahnnna blow! Shaunuff!"

"This is indeed a smart move," commented Fox News analyst Brit Hume. "Not
only have we stopped the flooding in our own budget, we've made money on
the deal. Plus, when the god-awful French are done fixing it up, we can
easily invade and take it back again."

The money gained from 'The Louisiana Refund' is expected to be
immediately pumped into the rebuilding of Iraq.

In related news, Jeb Bush has been attempting all day to contact the ever
elusive Pirates of the Carribean to piece off whats left of Key West while
Texas Governor Rick Perry has placed a return phone call to Mexican
President Vincent Fox offering a quote for Texas.

Meanwhile, in related news, Muslim Mosque attendance has reached Guiness
Book of World Record proportions...

Moving can be impossibly tiring.

I’m not just talking about the intense bounce of molecules and electrons that keep every nerve in your body in perpetual motion. I’m not referring to the beat of the left ventricle, or the involuntary “blink and breathe”. (I am still able to filter out that my body is electric!) What I’m speaking of is the categorization, organization, deconstruction and eradication that is otherwise known as moving. The whole concept of discovering how many nasty left-over ideas reside in one’s apartment is fairly disconcerting. Whether it be an album, a scribble on a cocktail napkin, a receipt you still might need, a letter from an old lover, a book you thought was lost, a negative bank statement, clothes you can’t believe you wore, a picture you can keep but it’ll weigh you down, a book that you might need in the next ten years, unexpired condoms, a coke straw, stacks of unopened bills, cigarette burns in the carpet, objects formerly known as “missing jewelry”, guitar picks, old wine bottles from that amazing night, lots and lots of fucking pennies or your bed, you can’t expect anything other than a mental coma from point A ( i.e. Soon To Be Former Apartment ) to point B ( i.e. The Great Unknown ). The tightening of the chest is an average symptom as you face your life while sorting through three years of debris.

Moving in the 21st century poses some extreme internalization for the general consumer. Not only do you have your couch, loveseat, bed, entertainment console, dresser, bookshelves, drafting table, curtains and rods, speakers, kitchen set, bathroom set and clothes, etc., but the consumer has something else that turns very sinister upon setting out to move: A computer. The victim falls into a trance thinking about: the files that can be deleted, the files that need to be moved, the folders that need to be created, the skimming and deciding of old files, the music that needs to be listened to, the playlist for the new house, the desktop that can be reorganized, the screen saver that can be made new for the new house, the consolidation of albums into Mp4s to get it out of the way, the scanning of documents that can be later thrown away (thus reducing paper weight), The cables that need to be wrapped and bagged, the monitor that needs bubble wrap and the internal computer that needs a hard reboot the most….their own mind. After all that critically arresting thinking, synapses begin to pop and the couch looks like a good spot after all.

Thankfully, you can’t sit for too long because you are, you guessed it, moving. And it doesn’t fucking matter if you’re tired, or sick or happy, because you have to keep on organizing, pitching, socializing, walking, applying, searching, reading, calculating, cleaning, stressing, e-mailing, photographing, smoking, eating, crying, panicking, playing guitar, working, connecting, swimming, tanning, telephoning, reorganizing, pitching, smiling, reading, writing, uploading, downloading, and packing- All at the same time.

Exhausting, isn’t it?

This thing called moving.

Thankfully, I have twenty-one more days just like this one.

Sigh…..This thing called moving.