Friday, December 21, 2012


My bladder’s about to burst! its poisons from drinkin’ too much watermelon juice I picked up from one of those fancy juice bars earlier today. Would serve me right too for letting them rip me off @ the cash register, same as they do for your $4 or $5 coffees imported no doubt from some hard to get to exotic jungle. But they taste sooooo sugary sweet and bone depletingly good.
Oh man, gotta piss gotta piss but I didn’t come here to talk about this as I put the Kegels to the test. I came here because I miss you; your mournings and your laughters. My soul aches when I think of the weeks that rush by that I don’t sit down to write for whatever reasons and I just . . . age. Then, when I do start, Writers Block peeks in n blinds it all up til I give it the boot right in the ass and kick it to the curb with my old habits and shames.

My next door neighbor’s walking up the steps right now and we say “hello” every time we pass each other by. Yes I wanna do her but I don’t know if she’s got a girlfriend or not. KnowhatImean?
She looks like the clam eating type. I know, it sounds like an awful thing to say but seafood I don’t like. Pink Floyd I do.
What one’s got to do w/the other, I have no idea except that she’s blonde, in her mid-20’s and not necessarily all that great looking.
Go figure.
But why would one try to figure it out when it’s so natural.
So primal.
Opposites attracted to differences.
Go do what the animals do so beautifully. Go fuck!
Go fuck well but don’t throw the gear shift into Reverse when the car’s in motorDrive and don’t call someone else’s name out when you say you are true.


Feels good to empty the bladder. Get the watermelon juice out.
Feels good to be empty minded and waste a whole day lying in bed watching Star Trek: TNG reruns.
Feels good to smoke a bowl when my chores are all done and also when I’m the pig in the sty throwing lots with winded devils late arriving upon my shoulders.
Feels good when I touch myself like a master the way no one else can.
Feels good to go off on a writing spree and while I’m @ it, might as well smoke one now if not for the children then at least for a bit of peace in the Middle East.
Forget it.
Ain’t gonna happen. Peace I mean.
This is the beginning of the end.
How cliché. How empty and dramatic. The Beginning of the End.

Now, although I don’t subscribe to the prophecies of Armageddon that are printed in The Holy Bible or in Nostradamus’ obscure predictions of rulers, anti-Christs, or other shitheads raining hell, fire, and std’s down on earth;  I do believe in the Mayan calendar where it points out a cycle of life ending on December twenty  .  .  .  1st I believe. The year’s 2012.
That’s what some of the people that’ve studied their type of writing have said. And like I said, The Beginning of the End. From now til 2012. Maybe nothing will happen maybe some things will only shift, that’s all. Maybe our days and nights will keep on til there’s nothing more to inspire the dreamers and reclusive sages on their lonely roads. Til then who knows?
However when Hitler was a teenager.
When men began copulating with animals.
When humans with extreme wealth or inside connections claim Godly preference or status this is t.b.o.t.e. ~
The beginning of the end.
And speaking of Godly ~ To hell! with the Catholic Church.
Maladies to the moth infested, tilted head w/a crick, push-cart riding, god-dammed Pope John Paul George & Rin . . . just kidding  . . . I love the Beatles.
To hell with all organized religions. And if I offend you sheep then to hell with you too.
I just cannot see myself being led around from the nose by another human being in a costume with a nifty hat or caught up in their precepts & rituals when it comes time to my spirituality.
Some people need that crutch I guess.
I’d just rather be the wolf than the sheep and there are a lot of you out there.
Sheep I mean.
I see you.
Thinking you need a strange person to lead you in personal spiritual matters.
The sheep get taken from behind by slick men and then comes the dick disease. And then the deceased.
We all need a crutch I guess. Mine just happens to be herb. And I will never understand why alcohol is legal and marijuana ain’t. Well, I do understand but . . . I never will. The argument’s there but that’s for another page.
So I regress to about an hour n a half ago when I was sitting deep on my broken down sofa looking at the rolled up lint linting on itself right on my pajama pant legs. I was just sitting there, on pause. My eyes, glassy and defective were rolling back n forth between the lint and the television set which was turned OFF.
The equalizer on my stereo was slaving away its LED’s fascinating my easy going mind.
My brain felt burnt out and exhausted from my 8-5 bullshit doing me killer harm. Felt like a mossy stone was napping inside my head. Like all the electrodes and equations had been squeezed out of it in a press. And I imagined that this is what Keith Richards must feel like all the time.

My breath’s stinking badly from my crutch and my speakers are sexing Pink Floyd but there is no seafood involved.
Only Jesus was left unsaid.

I believe in Jesus but only as a man, much like David Blaine ~ an illusionist, a man who knew how to manipulate the elements and was a master of misdirection.
And maybe he knew some things about healing w/herbs too.

Now, if Jesus was just a street magician w/a big mouth talking a lot of shit about being the son of GOD and resurrecting so n so over there ~

Back then that kind a boast coulda scared a lot of people into maybe  .  .  .
crucifying his dumb ass.

Victor Millan

Sunday, December 9, 2012

Friday, December 7, 2012

December 7th

Damn Japanese got the jump on Pearl Harbor that day.
Lennon was murdered on the 8th and Morrison born on the same. Jesus got his holiday shortly thereafter. That’s what those nutty Christians say anyhow.

Today the war keeps on in Afghanistan with its killings and mounting tribulations and bit by little bit the whole country keeps on crumbling like dried up old shit. There’re no fountains or gardens or vineyards like the poets and grandparents spoke about. No overflowing cornucopias like they were told in their bedtime stories years ago. As a matter of fact no overflowing of anything except repression, tears, bullets, blood and death.
It’s a shame, really. They’re a beautiful people oppressed by the tyrannical hands of religion, ego and greed.
It’s a shame.
And I ask myself pretty much on a daily basis why can’t we and how can we remove our
“Representatives” from our government?
And if you’re thinking votes EHHHH think again.
They don’t speak for me and if you think they speak for you I’ve got one thing to say to You ~
Baaaa. Baaaaaa  aaa.
We are the majority. Just too poor to own our own broadcasting networks and news media and pharmaceutical companies, I guess.
The first two to tell the news like it really is and the latter to keep us drug happy and sane while passing new laws and trying not to become sick with greed and power like they are.
Fuck it. I don’t know that I know what the answer is.
I just know life sucks nowadays and it feels more like the Bible Belt South, 1963 instead of The Newstates of America, 2003.
If I didn’t know any better I’d say I was just the imported grease which keeps
the BIG wheels making their ca$h. Like Marley said, the BIG fish.
But let’s not forget grease is slippery and combustible. Backs could be broken and hypocritical BIG fish could be fried.

We are the majority.

But then I look around and I see people pissed off @ other people instead of camaraderie.
Neighbors suspiciously eyeballing each other up n down instead of keeping an eye on the well dressed, “shake my hand, vote for me and then kiss my ass” representative.  Excuse me, non-representative. But then again mad-dogging in L.A is normal as palm trees so no biggie until tomorrow although tomorrow has already come for Japan.
Right now my Friday’s done for the night and so am I. Time to turn in and hope I don’t catch the flu.

Something’s tickling my ear @ 1:44 in the a.m.

Victor Millan