Friday, July 22, 2005

Glossary

risible \RIH-zuh-bull\ adjective
1 a : capable of laughing b : disposed to laugh

winsome \WIN-sum\ adjective
1 : generally pleasing and engaging often because of a childlike charm and innocence
2 : cheerful, lighthearted

debonair \"de-b&-'nar, -'ner\ adjective
Etymology: Middle English debonere, from Old French debonaire, from de bon aire of good family or nature
1 archaic : GENTLE, COURTEOUS

RISIBLE

Fany is winsome debonair:
Risible to the tip of her hair.
Always giving, always frank,
Makes deposits to your Karma bank.

Her presence fills space with joy;
Very sweet and seldom coy.
Perma-smile, never frown,
She is the happiest Jew in town.

Needless to say she is quite the cook:
From chiles rellenos to grilled Chinook,
Chops, sautés, fries and blends:
I'm sure we will always remain friends!

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Red Beard's dream recall - 4/19/05

Wow, you boys have been posting some deep shit... Let me lighten the load with another twisted tale from the depths of my slumber. This recall is from a while back (April) but worth the read. Hope you enjoy. -barbaroja
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early AM April 19, 2005…

PART I

Time: Day, early morning or late afternoon. Gray skies. Downtown San Diego, city scape. I am going to deliver something to one of my clients who lives in the apartment section of a tall, old downtown building. I enter through the ground floor using a passcode to get in. I recall having difficulty getting in at first, trying combinations of 6’s and 9’s on the key pad.
Once inside, I find the place to be sterile and vacant. There are no signs of other people in close proximity. Could people actually live here?

I walk further down a long corridor that has windows facing the street with my delivery. I seem to be towing something heavy, like a stack of folding chairs, if I recall correctly. At the end of this long corridor, I arrive at an elevator bank and see three women, maybe two, standing outside of the elevators. They are young and attractive, but silent. Are they residents, I ask myself. They didn’t acknowledge me as I too stood in front of a set of elevator doors. For a moment I thought of that old TV show “Bosom Buddies” where the set was a women’s-only apartment building.

Soon, the elevator doors opened and I stepped inside. This is when things went strange. The interior of the elevator car was pale white with a yellow glow and very small. It had an almost triangular shape and felt as though there was only room for one person – me. There were only two buttons inside the car. The bottom one was marked with a “B.” Basement I presumed. The other I don’t recall, but it might have been “P” for penthouse, let’s say, or maybe “D” for something I don’t even know.

I pressed the one opposite “B” because I knew I had to go up; that was where the apartments were of this building and where I ultimately had to go to see my client. The elevator car started to ascend very quickly. It felt as though it was trying to reach a maximum speed. I was not uncomfortable at first, but as the fast ride continued to accelerate even faster, I began to feel claustrophobic, lightheaded, and nauseated all at once. The car felt as though it were coming to a stop. The end was in sight.

The next thing I knew, the door (or could have been the hatch on top of the car) opened up. I stepped or crawled out and was aided by two older women. They were actually rescuing me from the elevator. According to the women, I had been passed out in the car for about two hours and the thing had gotten stuck. I told them how the whole thing had only felt like a couple of minutes for me.

We were standing in what appeared to be the landing of the top floor when I came to, and then we moved out to the roof of the building. It was now evening and the two women seemed to take a spot on the roof lower than where I was standing. I still felt groggy from the experience and tried to remain calm and cool, describing my side of the story. We didn’t seem to be going anywhere, anytime soon.

PART II

Strangely enough, this was one of those mini-series dreams – the kind that picked up later in another REM cycle perhaps. I recall that I woke up and remarked how strange the first part was, then fell asleep to weave the second part. Or it could have just been all rolled into one…

I find myself back inside the building going for the elevator bank again. This time, I feel like I’m investigating a crime scene. I get to the elevator bank, except this time, it looks like there is a lot of unfinished construction: building supplies, plastic sheets, tools, buckets.

As I survey the area, I seem to hear or see a TV that is reporting on a certain “De La Casa” case or “Ama de la Casa.” It appears to be a story of mob activity or organized crime. The face of the woman who found me in the elevator pops on the screen! She is somehow involved in the story, as though she is an informant to the criminals. When I see her face, I remember that when we were on the elevator, she told me that she had used my cell phone to call for help since the elevator was stuck!

Then, the face of two men, flash on screen. They apparently are the two crime bosses of the “De la Casa” case.

Suddenly I feel implicated in the case too, as the woman, a possible suspect or accomplice, had used my phone!

The dream started to get fuzzy and then ultimately faded out.

I awoke at 6AM, kind of wigged out. I had to sit and record the strange visions in my dark bedroom as the sun started to peek through the gray skies that were the backdrop for my strange journey.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

And the winds blew westward once again...

What a tangled web in which we weave, this way and that from one silk strand to the next. And the next move will bring me back to the islands, back to paradiso to work and work and work. Reunification with the Raging Mule, with one John Lee, and with the Mother Earth in her most enthralling environs. And where do these days find us next, either dragging the valley or gliding on wings of angels from whence to forth and back again. All in the pursuit of this transitory life...

Monday, July 04, 2005

Biological Clock a Tikin`

One sometimes wonders what parenthood really entails; does it have to do with paying for diapers or designer footwear that will never really touch the floor and will be grown out of in a few months? Could it be the undescibable feeling that new parents report to have at the first meeting with their newborn children?
P. T. A. meetings, school plays, broken windows, thier first best friend, their first visit to the police station to the museum of art and to an internet porn site? All this turmoil and undoubted activity in the name of propagating the species; A species that, by the way, runs little risk of extinction, especially compared to all others on the planet (with the obvious example that is cockroaches.)
You may ask yourself why is Astro writing all this? What is his point? Are we going to attain a higher degree of enlightenment by the end of this post? Well dear reader, if you really have to ask those questions then it would really take too long for me to explain, and it would be better invested finding myself a future mother for my children.
Furthermore; CUÑÄAA CUÑAAA

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