from Alabama to Texas where i promptly go to jail, part 1

A little context. the day i went to jail was November 19th 1994. I got to my mom's house perhaps it was the 23rd. approximately 3 days in jail. overheard one guy in jail say that 3 days dead is 7 years in hell. sounds right to me. Let's take a digression a week or so previously i was in a small city in Alabama. i'm unclear which one but a quick consult of a map cd let me know but for now i was as lost in person as i am in recall, and asides from subtle clues that i was in the deep south and not in Houston Dorothy. So earlier that day a guy picked me up at a diner where i had my tarot cards out, hoping to make some sort of contact. Guy drove me to a bar in said small city in Alabama and wished me well. i set up my tarot and offered readings. I guy i read for said he wasn't sure but that i might be able to stay at his house. We walked a long ass way to who the hell knows this hitchhiker dude who is having a chill time, while the guy i am with is worry that his weird roommate wont let me stay. I guess his worries worked cuz the roommate was weirded out by me and said no. this is where it gets weird. The Guy take a slice of paper and draws an automatic map. it involved crossing a graveyard, and turning right at the crown. I have a bag of change of clothes, but i've been in my man in black uniform a couple of days. I walked out of the cemetery as a small cluster of college types all burst into laughter. 1 of them happens to be looking at me as i emerge from the graveyard, dressed all in black, i said "Nothing happened." and walked away while he tried to tell his friends what that just missed. i got to the crown, which was a liquor store sign. i turned right and a house was obviously the place. weird music played and i suddenly felt really shy. i sat on the curb and had the nerves. "I have this map, you see…". a couple came out and asked me WTF but in a kindly way. i guess the party was winding down, i was offered a a spot on the patio, with some bedding. The music could have been Nurse With Wound, it could have been ethno-musicological recordings. Currently i am listening to the last Throbbling Gristle record before their breakup and re-union and who knows how things stand now that Stinky is dead. But Heathen Earth is haunting and beautifull, recorded before a select audience. Cosy Fanny Tuti is my greatest inspiration as a guitarist. (short list: Mary D'Nellon of the Virgin Prunes, Robert Quine of the Voidoids Marc Ribot who i first heard on a Tom Waits album. Only really heard Keiji Haino recently, but i would have spent retarded amounts of money on overpriced imports if i had known.) watch this space for the actually events leading up to a story that has a point. i have my own way of reaching the point but stick w/ me and we'll get to jail in Beaumont TX, we'll get out, we'll even get to my mom's house and finish this piece off w/ the poem i wrote about coming home after going all the way. It ends "Well, that's not funny, me and my frenz, dig, we're going home."

SF Bluegrass & Old Time Festival After Party

i love all kinds of music, but don't have much knowledge about current bluegrass, but once hitchhiking in New Mexico got a ride from an astronomer who was stopping at a bluegrass festival up the mountain a ways - it was green, the stage was taken by family group after another, each one more heartbreaking than the one before. They mostly wore hand sewn 'uniforms' outfits i guess is the right word. costumes. Simple or dressy, the music was magick. here in the City i take in a lot of local music, my friend Bob formerly of Fluff Grrl died last sunday. I just got back from a trip to Harbin Hot Springs as a guest of an employee who also happens to be the poet laureate of Lake county, an interesting twist of fate for a guy i knew 'back in the day' when we were scruffy spoken word artists who didn't deign to write down our moments of glory, or i didn't - i spoke off the cuff, called it a poem and generally got away w/ it for almost an entire decade. When i get up tomorrow i am, under the advice of a Tarot reader, going back to work on my novel, or writing at the very least. I am the epitome of the sensitive artist, psuffering entirely imagined anguish, my friend Emrys has over a hundred short films of me, a lot of it is meant to be funny, some of it is extremely offensive to somebody if not everybody, but the point of the whole shoot was to undergo a transformation. i'll not send you the link until i know you better. i don't think there is anything in the whole ouvre that i couldn't watch w/ my mom, tho my sister who is the kind of devout christian who didn't let my nephew see the Harry Potter films, or read the books would be horrified at some of the ways i disrespect religion in some of them. I have been away from home a lot recently, over President's Day Weekend i went to the Pagan Convention they hold every year, for many years now in the Doubletree Hilton in San Jose. for some reason i forgot my pain medicine, and a lecture on Gender and Spirituality may have sound good when i first looked at the schedule, but once the time rolled around i wasn't in teh mood.

A friend Blake who is an atheist, bipolar like myself, and actually being the person with the right perspective who cd tell me that he didn't think i was on the right medicine. I took his advice and told the psychiatric nurse practitioner i didn't want to take the anti-seizure drugs any more, and was willing to give time released lithium a try, even tho regular lithium had sucked an epic amount of my personality away. as my lover of the season told me, I was over medicated. My 'she's not a doctor and i don't want to write out psychiatric nurse practitioner everything, but Alice is half chinese and the other some european i haven't quized her on the details of her ancestry. Alice is fresh and young and beautifull, is lulled into thinking as she has been taught that is best to adjust meds gradually and a much more aggressive previous pyschiatrist had gotten really good results. it took months of crying everyday to admit a willingness to take an anti-depressant again. we decided that from my insurance co.'s formulary that LexaPro was new and worth a try. i tried lowering the dose cuz it seemed that i was rather manic, cut the dose didn't work, so we tried increasing this. Voila! no more tears.

i am much more at peace, but after listening to me ramble the last half hour my roommate Lizie said "Get your manic ass to bed." it takes my pills about 4 hours to force me to sleep, but i surrender most nites w/out the epic insomnia that haunted my life until recently. i credit the homeopathic treatment i received for 'racing thoughts' made of coca. yes, that coca, but the Dr. describes it as a whole plant extract. i don't know how, but he's an old hippy looking guy who is an M.D. and a homeopath and i don't say his name anymore cuz he keeps giving me proscribed remedies.

A rant i deleted from a well meaning aphorists wall - and i forget what kind phrase with hidden venom set me off

when it comes to taking the stairs and an assessment of the state of my arthritis your phrase might add a few years of being able to take the stairs in my gradually decline until i am old enough to be a candidate for knee replacement surgery. in that context i find your quote usefull. it might be, if applied consistently - nay, relentlessly! it might prove to a state achieve-able in my bipolar cycles - a state that when i am in it, might be the fulcrum from which i can move myself in better mental health. but i have a cyclical disease that is poorly understood, and most medicines used to treat were developed for seizures, or are weird little medicines in the category Atypical that have a long list of effects, that if you are the lucky combination of factors they admit they don't understand that you will feel better. the house of cards came down when i started taking a new asthma medicine whose number one warning was 'may cause suicidal ideation' and the may turned into "and that whole list of other psychiatrist symptoms thrown in just for kicks!"

in other words i flinch reading your statement. it feels cruel, and unforgiving towards the damaged and ineffective. it seems to have an inner architecture of isolation and the competitiveness that seems to be a compulsion of the western mind, and widely felt by all - competition in the sense of an word that comes between compassion and cooperation, one kind of behaviour exhibited by living creatures. as a man who had dreamed fantastic dreams as a young man, stripped from me by mental illness and a cruel world's response to that expression of my inner world was incredibly violent. i am permanently damaged. Like in Spinal Tap "if you want to get louder you go to 11." i have long since hit the 10 barrier. we got 10 on the pain scale as a daily experience. later today i return to physical therapy. parallel to the cruel world that commits acts of violence upon my person if i persist in saying crazy things - is a world of healers some of whom have enough craft to allow the natural compassion to manifest in my body as acts of healing. but the healing is slow, and the vulnerable are a constant target.

i appreciate the phrase as it operates as way of encouraging the faltering. it hurts my feelings to imagine the way people might express that sentiment who are not coming from a place of heart felt expressions of Service - "does this help?" is the stance of good hearted people, but the cruel and heartless use similar, more hatefully phrased, like the charming euphemism for firing that alcoholic who was good in a pinch and for god's sake he has a family: trimming the dead wood.

sorry to rant. in fact i wont. i will repost to my page and not polute your page w/ dissent: i feel that you post this because you think it might be inspiring. having had poor health my entire adult life - entirely invisible poor health, asides from the hippy extreme to which i have let the freak flag fly you mostly wd see a robust guy in his late 40s who looks pretty damn good for his age.

kenne on kenne doing what i want to do

“Where were you last night?” Alison wanted to know in a shrill tone.
“I spent the night at Rabbit’s after the party.” I told her from Rabbit’s phone, mine was dead. “I wanted to stay after the last BART back to the City.” Alison didn’t have anything to say to that except to hurry home.
Rabbit had taken me to the BART and was standing off at a polite distance while I spoke with Alison. When I rang off Rabbit said I should have called last night. I had wanted to do what I wanted to do, and not wanted to fight about it. I had gone without my pills and really didn’t sleep, just lay in the dark listening to Original Synergie breathing next to me. Funny, he sleeps with a pillow over head like I prefer. I didn’t have one. Alison called my head pillow the mushroom until she tried it herself, then it was the Sleep Crown. Maybe an aluminum hat would be more effective, but the Sleep Crown keeps my dreams at bay.
“‘Drugs are bad.’” I had made a fool of myself the night before, and all I had done was smoke pot, which sometimes over-stimulates me. I had gotten up in the morning and said some things to Rabbit which later Rabbit would call me on, note to self, never joke about rape. In fact, just keep your mouth shut.
The BART was on the weekend schedule, with no direct train to San Francisco from the Richmond/Fremont line. I was hung over, in trouble with Alison and Rabbit, and had a 20 minute wait for the train having just missed one. And no phone. I was lonely and dissatisfied. No book or anything to write on, just my own inner resources. Which I lack. When there is nothing else, I can pace. Pace I did, trying not to think about last night, or the homecoming I dreaded. “Where were you last night?” “I was at a party and wanted to do what I wanted to do.” I was aware of how inadequate that was, but that was all I had.

Start in the middle, since there is no clear beginning

and then,
you wake up.iT goes up and a memory cuts w/out pain nor blood. yet.

and she sez forget.

you wake up from the dream in the dream you die and you had fallen out of a plane and crawled out of the crater of your descent, dead, but the dream, and self, continue.

and then you wake up a zircon of glass trapt in lashes. something so heavy. and if will cd. make it so dead you wd. be, right there, a line of red.

and she sez forget.

forget. i had promised you always.

Mill College On Sunday for a recital

Christina enters stage "fuck yeah i want her in [Sacred Wall of Feedback] or whatever we call ourselves - "Make the metal scream!" dissonant lovely lonely music. I wonder how Christina feels about doom chamber music. Her percussions brought in elements of doom, jazz, and asian influences; yet the feeling was aolian, found sounds in a desert, moaning of desolation.

Ecofascism and the Radical Middle: Vote For kenne!

i wanted to say that i want to run for president and wd include in my platform your petition. i haven't decided a name for my 'party' (of whom i am the only member) - I consider True Socialist only because someone beat me to SuperCapitalism -

ecosocialists exist. I could run. I usta own the domain name ecosocialism.us, but hadta let it lapse. a more accurate term for my politics is ecofascism (i also owned the domain ecofascism.us) but no one understands what that really means.


all i am saying is seize half the wealth of the top 10 percent and put every American into a home that is their's outright. and the following year we seize another 50 percent of the top 10%'s wealth.

By which point very few people will be left who own more than 5 houses.

With that money we wipe clean the debt of every American.

The third 50% of the top 10 percent goes toward the future: devising a zero water zero emissions zero toxic waste technologies.

The concurrent first step is to seize some large percentage of every publicly held company and redistribute an equal share of the Corporate wealth to every American.

I propose two tiers of citizenship:

the resident: this includes children, aliens, and people who do not want to participate in the total surveilance culture

their duties include paying taxes and partipipating in local politics. if a citzen gets 1 vote, a resident gets a partial vote.

To become a citizen one must contribute to the weal of the nation and our people. I propose an agricultural army, a teacher's corp (college students in the classroom), an ecocorps. As well as military training. if one does choose to participate they remain residents. Other wise once one has completed your service (it starts at 13 like going to boarding school. this is one aspect of the process of the elimination of class distinctions that lead to power over.

My power of the U.S. comes only if this certified lunatic can persuade people in every state to work to get me on the ballot, even if only as a write- in.

I need you America, and I am the death of Amerika. Perhaps they may one day be Americka, but not as long as children are property. not where prostitution is safer than the factory, and they find murdered women everyday. We have to examine our hatred that we think of as love.


As has been said "a standing army during peacetime is an invitation to tyranny" the military will stand down. The U.S. under my leadership will stop being the obstructive force in the U.N. - and sign the International Court Treaty - bring every president since Bush I for crimes that go beyond against humanity. I am referring to the use of depleted uranium. This is an act of biocide. As a signatory of major international treaties, the torturers will be brought to justice.

But a "well organized militia" - everyone shd receive the training appropriate to their ability. Not everyone is a warrior - but remote control guns can be controlled w/ eye movements. (To use a disability example). No $300, no college deferment - this is college, plus getting your hands in the dirt - every citizen takes part in their youth in the raising of food and learning survival skills. Teh barrier between city and country will break down. We will use our ecocorp and build to the future. A lot of the emediate future involves dismantling dams. Teh next generation of suicide bombera will the same disaffected suburban youth who are the main consumers of rap music.

i'll end on a nasty note like that. as i have said out loud in public (to the fear and chagrin of my companion) "Does predicting civil equal promoting civil war?" in other words - are these words seditious?