ITS ALL OVER

It seemed, getting older time dilating. 

digging a hole next to the well. The well the source of creative pain and misery that served so well, is now dry.

but I cannot escape the new hole I have made.  I fear I am lost in the ground. 

I wear no seatbelt

I still haunt the same corners

the same bathroom stalls

the same dark corners of my mind find me dull and dilapidate

there is no anger, no shame, just empty nothing. no water. no vice. no way out

SO I BREATHE IN

one big breathe

hope that it will carry on to the next

hope that oxygen will bring reason to the day.

I will pray to the creator for help, I didn't make this life.

I wont get mad but I wont get anything.

KEEP THE FORCE going as fast as humanly possible

  

Greth Ann Greta Greene

Methamphetamine is a nightmare. Notice I said is, not is like. From it's onset effects like bizarre euphoria it seems tame enough, but, take more than a test drive and learn why the true meaning of "wigged out". And I'm not talking about a real bad headache the next morning what did I do kind of nightmare. Its the kind of nightmare where everything is broken including doorknobs and light switches, everything has this film all over it including your own skin which you will repeatedly try to scratch clean off. Every little detail is scrutinized and every little morsel is squeezed out of every little crevice inside your skull and out. Nobody can give you a ride anywhere you want to go, nobody has anything to smoke not even cigarettes which have burnt a hole in your throat. On the second day you power through happy hour only to learn that the seven pints of cold beer you thought were going to snap you out of this shit now only make you feel weirder and still not sleepy. Still not happy, by the end of the second night you are trying to relax and just chill. You close your eyes but your head won't stop moving you hear German being spoken, you don't know how to speak German, you toss and tumble on the floor the combined hallucinating effect of sleep deprivation combined has taken full hold of your senses turning the most innocent event into horror. You have to keep moving or, you fear, you will die. I search of a cure you make it to a pay phone and avoid the police car parked outside the exxon. You call on the only person you know how to call upon you tell her that if she ever loved you she would have to come and cure this wretched nightmare and talk you down out of the sky. And you hang up you wait for a century she comes dries you off gives you an elixir and some soup out of a can. You'll get sick a day later, from using the pay phone, some one spit right into the receiver

In Dreams

One day Michael sprang forth from the ground in his parents backyard. Not sired, but borne through magma and stone and finally soil. it would be several years he spent learning to read and write on an old Apple IIE computer. He learned to cook from an rusty steam powered pre-war robot named Peter Crowley. He learned his own name and how to comb his hair with a wagon wheel. Michael was proud and learned to love by gazing longingly into a mirror. Although he would never utter his name aloud and forbid the use of shoelaces he was loved by many of the townsfolk and revered by the local pig farmer for his unique husbandry techniques. Then, as if all at once,Michael stepped through the looking glass and broke his mind. His memories were permanently fragmented and collaged on his bedroom wall where they would remain for seven eternities. He was never to be the same again. Michael, the fun loving Plutarch made his life and his love the same. In his travels he met a gonzo brain surgeon while hang gliding in Panama, Using the technology available his brain was augmented with three red robin birds nests and sixteen chaffs of winter rye. Perhaps it was the winter rye that made him change his name to Cosmo, we can only speculate. Cosmo carried on the tradition and grand esteem that followed the latter day Michael. He carried it on through the night, through drainage tunnels and the Great Smoky Mountains until he found its permanent home in the big city once owned by the Celestial land bridge crossers. It was there in the county of Kings he enshrined his own spirit, casing it deep within hardwoods and burying it deep beneath the tracks of the G train Metropolitan ave. station. Spent yet unencumbered, Cosmo learned many new rites and spiritual mandates from his new companions the Karate and the Cowboy who were actually a half-gnome and the ghost of Charlie Chaplin respectively. The three were inseparable and they shared a single wife and a single room apartment and a king size bed but were able to afford individual coffee. It was there in the county of Kings that they would spend the next three years on the rooftop. They painted and practiced their Karate together, they taught each other how to play the lute and how to conjure BBQ meats. They spent many rainy nights offering counsel to wayward Jewish robots and teenagers. They stood guard as the stalwart defenders of the dead celestial souls that once sold the entire city for a single grain of salt and a thousand bottles of vodka. The old souls would torture the dreams of the neighborhood dogs And it would be Cosmo, The Karate, and The Cowboy that finally brought the nightmares to an end. Or did they?

San Antonio: Filmmakers Paradiso

Whether you live here, or you are just visiting San Antonio is a great place to be, any time of the year*. It's also a great place to make films. I grew up in San Antonio inside loop 410, and when I was twelve I remember riding my bike. Everywhere. In doing so I learned to appreciate the varying landscape, in this, the seventh largest sprawling little city in the U.S. you never know what's right around the corner. Hundreds of miles of beautifully constructed Texas Highway called Loop 410 wraps it's cement arms around the heart of the city here you will find over a hundred city parks along with Historical battle grounds, and monuments, military installations including airstrips, missile silos and armories. There's old caves and caverns under massive expanses of undeveloped land, lakes and rivers leading to Spanish missions almost two hundred years old. There are two, maybe three sports arenas (depends on who's asking) all of which is surrounding a very beautiful skyline of buildings that makes downtown a beautiful sight close or from afar. All of this, and that's just whats inside the loop Being that I am also a filmmaker I could not imagine a place with more location options and beautiful scenes to photograph than San Antonio TX. (the food ain't bad either)

Not Nostalgic in the Least

had kept the bar warm on the one weekend a month we could draw and even though people were broke they really wanted to be drunk to forget it.

Dancing and singing on that one weekend a month dressing the best that my drunken couchstar life could afford, mostly clothes from other band people and pants from the juniors section of the goodwill.


and they came and they warmed themselves at the mix with party liquors and by groping eachother with stiff cold fingers from the hell freezing 40 degree San Antonio winter.

And then afterwards we would go and hang out at Vincents house and since his neighbors were illegal they never called the cops on our loud music and fighting until all hours of the morning

wasted half of a human life trying to figure out what i want. and along the way i have drug others down with me.  bottled anger, fear, agression line my pantry. i am death. i mean i are death.

What is so Grrrr-eat about Counter Culture?

you suck, and your a part of it.

degenerates

after reading the cover story of this months Adbusters, in which the writer attacks so called "hipsters" for being the last in a long line of counter culture movements. So far removed are they from the agenda of the precursory cultural movements that they have brought an end to all counter culture and with it the fire and brimstone of the end of western civilization.

while the hippies were free lovin and stinking all over San Fransisco people were still working. Even artists were still working.

The reason i think that hipsters are so disappointing to many is that they HAVE jobs. With the exception of the Trusti-farian contingency that has bought up all real estate Williamsburg and Silverlake most of these "hipsters" actually are part of the establishment. and thats no fucking fun. There is no molotovs to light no rocks to hurl. There is only the simple joys of freezing a coworkers trac-ball, or peeing
in the coffee. And why you ask, is everybody a-workin' ? Because our precursory generations fucked it up for us all enough so that we have to work to pay for all their cultural misgivings. To fill the coffers of Social Security, and to keep the economy afloat. Because as we grew up we never saw a single change take place. We saw MTV we saw the wall come down and nothing changed, so we couldn't actually figure out the allure of the hippies, being counter-culture seemed so counter productive. We were all taught that if we worked we would be rewarded. And so we did. And our reward is the simple pleasure of being called a buzzkill. So what we blog about everything, wear stupid ironic takes on fashion, and drink piss beer , So what we snap stupid pictures of ourselves half-drunk-half naked face-down in the parking lot of the club you never pulled any wool from. If I work all day I am allowed to go out and whore if i want to. hell even if im using student loan money, and as for never creating anything and halting the counter culture movement on whole, I ask you, what did counter culture ever do for us any way?

-Cosmo