It was January and I was habitat: outdoors. Prior to this I had been living in the Los Angeles Emergency Winter Shelter program set up by LAHSA at the National Guard Armory off of Federal and Wilshire. A room full of cots and smelly feet that would let you drop off to sleep between the hours of midnight and five in the morning on any given night. Chow and showers if you were privy, and a television to fight over what we all were missing. Money and drama at the full expense of the hottest blonde deaf and dumb to all but numb over what wouldn’t come all over the pillow that thrilled her manila. Envelopes of dough and hoods to overthrow, they shake you down and set you up at the door every night if your identification ain’t right. Believe you me, I went through five LAHSA I.D.’s as they were useful of sorts to open up accounts to check cashing clerks who were sports. You can get a membership there if someone knows enough about you to make them aware. What happened to my Pennsylvania Driver’s License? It went in the hands of someone a month before unplanned out of the 7th and Colorado trash can man’s plans.
The cost of not taking care of your responsibilities as someone educated to a P.H.D., throw in a little crystal methamphetamine, and the C.I.A. will take your accounts apart at the seams. I was excommunicated from the phone, the bank account, the email, the Facebook, the blogger, the domain name host, the twitter, the c – names wouldn’t save, the music wouldn’t take, my beats were dumped when they were made and my rap was getting better all the time. Living life as a hoodlum in the cash cow, now that’s for real. Makes for real fucking scary adventures down a road you don’t survive unless you fight to prove that time never comes back.
The first and only thing on the left side of the equation that’s thesis is Fission (prior to the ten thousand in computation) is one symbol, the mathematical symbol for change.
It takes a little while to get use to the notion that when the payphone rings as you walk by it, you can answer. It takes even longer to get used to the notion that they may actually know who they are talking to. I will never get used to the notion that they know what I stole, whose it was, and I haven’t the slightest explanation as to why this is formatted the way it is. It isn’t formatted the way or the byways of my imagination in the slightest prose I could superimpose. The imposition of the inquisition that was at my door wasn’t going to write away my blues for the ruse that I wasn’t no longer amused to hear every day.
Translation: The people being protected were of utmost importance. Not to mention the opinions of the people who were surrounding me in my habitat so to speak were not of the slightest bit of variable factors. These are the fucking stars of the universe, the people who run the entertainment industry who I was mixing and mingling with. I have no shirt, shoes, decent ripped jeans, or money to replace them with at this point mind you, and the way in which it affected me was thrilling in the face of Stephen Spielberg’s white haired uncle of an ass producer as he faced me on the beach every day for the week I had no guts to write.
“If you write it Joel, we will sell the hell out of it.”
I had the official Venice Beach bum blues at the behest of the best whom I was amazed were some of the most fortunate unfortunates to have been making history all the while under the noses of the public that so greatly ignored their financial needs. True genius breeds us to make the best stuff ever while not having the gall to sell it? I have to say this is the most amazing and humbling aspect of my motherfucking journey. But all that is much later on down the line.
Down the lines after lines after the times I unwind spending the fine rhymes on people unwilling to pay for what was amusingly free every day. To cultivate a sense of artistic poetry I had to experience the perfectly just unjust cost of the growing pains of a fanatical wisdom that underlies the simplest things. It is your time when it is your time, and if you are going to make it out as a writer, then for God’s sake you have to write it down. Writing it down on a collection of trash and paper bits, I tried my hand at many things in strange fits.
Sand castles that once were mermaids became obstacles to the change from the artist who didn’t want it after spending the day singing Bob Marley on the bench at Sunset and Ocean Front “Have no fear for Fission energy, because none of them can stop a da times…”
I had it simple because I was in a band. But I chose to be very unaware of the band on which I was trading, because I felt that meets were not going to be needed and my needs were not going to be met. I have no clue how to tell you, but I hate the Dodgers and I love the Mets, but I do love America.
The America I was finding at the behest of the Venice Beach local scene were a stranger than fiction crew of talent who wandered in and out mostly unbelieving of what we were all capable of. Some were capable of murder and drugs, some would rob you of your very heart and fly it off in a chill cooler to the transplant donor they sold it off to the tune of forty thousand on an insider trade. Don’t quote me on that, I might get made.
You can do business there. But it’s how business gets done that determines whether you live or die from day to day. You can drown in your sorrows until the end of time. Or you can pick up a couple of thousand dropping a fine line on a crew who may just buy what you are selling that day. I once tried to sell the artwork from some driftwood about the book I had just completed about OZENOZ in spot two oh two for four million dollars. I think the man passing by may have had a thought about it that was quite serious, due to the video footage of the mixture I was making in the jar next to my homemade bed with the metal steering wheel placed on a block of concrete I had stolen from the yard of the patio down the way. Unfinished and put in concrete I would be soon, I thought to myself as I hid the twelve killer strains in the basket covered in ivy that to my best of threats was not going to be exterminated from my fucking spot right there on the wall. It was my absolute right to have nothing at all said about what was not doing any harm. It was in fact contained in a jar as well. I leaned hard on my knowledge of Native Americans who had jarred up their buds and put them in the sun for months at a time with the alcohol filling it to make a sweet kind of mixture that after sitting in the dark for more months than I had would trip you to your wig. Wig out not when they yell six up, they meant they are coming to make sure you are in check. But the rules are not something they have to really put in, heck. This is not Hollywood people, this is not walking a fine line. This where the best come to find themselves and learn to unwind. Unwind and find the time gone nickeled and dimed was all a stupid waste, cause once they get a taste of what you truly can do, if you prove it. It’s off to the lovely zoo, the circus isn’t in town, and it is the town of Freaks who love to be them and shows who cycle freedom in its truest of sense.
All under the watchful eye of the most widely viewed cameras you could ever find. Documenting the things for the lovely and fortunate few who live there at the beach on the days you aren’t far and few. I love those days of pain and torture spent there under the sand. It wasn’t just under the watchful eyes of the man, but under the fitful gaze of a dreamer’s starlit gaze to make the reels unwind and find the dime that will take away nickeled and dime.
“IT’s a book, not a nook and cranny device” I would complain to my wonderful neighbor who came out to her porch every day to feed me bagged breakfasts “, so why can’t I sell IT? IT’s online!”
She just smiled and nodded. People are the greatest, and a friend in need, is a friend indeed.
If you can’t stand a camera, better get indoors in your own home, they are everywhere. Not that the eye in the sky can’t see through with infrared too. And if, just if you really piss them off, yes people we really do have laser cannons which have been made public record of the cool shit of war, which will vaporize a man, or an Afghan warlord.
“What they are asking me to do in order break up the fuzz?”
My head sometimes cut loose on some incessant ramblings like that of a man gone completely insane by his scenario.
I guess maybe there is no such thing as change necessary when the last words out of the free payphone are, “Don’t call us, we’ll call you.”
And don’t even try explaining what is going on with you to anyone. They either:
1.) don’t want to know.
2.) Get very scared.
3.) Have been there and laugh at you.
4.) Act as if you don’t exist.
5.) Make an immediate report to some amused emergency response operator.
6.) The payphone rings again.
You aren’t unlucky, and there is no one telling you to be there now. But unfortunately you begin to learn that you already are. You’ll see what I mean.
Its homeland securities and someone in an office monitoring the bus terminal camera’s in a room. No big mystical thing, but that my friend would give away the end. That is something you the reader, have yet to earn as well as me. The ends that didn’t justify the means but gave the means to justify in bold print.
The object of the game is to stay alive and make as much money as you can without taking it out on other people. Kind of like the object being the fatal goal of the game that really in the end does not matter, only in theory because you never know if you are going to make it to the end. If you make it to the end, then you are absolutely incapable of then right choices at that point because what you have obtained isn’t the choice of anyone but yourself to the correct audience of sorts.
The corrections officers of our government police forces choice would most likely look past what you have done and the rest is fiction. That is the attitude you have to have about it if you are faced with a line of questioning hoods who have some sort of jealousy over your take, but in the end the legitimacy of your take is the actionable offense of no one.
If you do it right. The other actionable offense if you do it right is the art of telling the whole truth in front of the authorities without speaking out the names or description or location of any offending parties. Everyone is in the game for their own good or bad and if you are just evil enough to be playing then you are:
7. Not lazy enough to get caught.
8. Not eaten alive by the first gang member who thinks you are cool.
9. Not killed by the last stick-up kid who you are stopped by.
10. In the heat of the moment able to leap tall dunes in a single bound.
11. The saint you started off as, but a little bit richer.
12. Capable of the honest to God truth, but incapable of the right truth at the wrong time.
I only have three bars in mind as I tell the fitful truth of the men whom I encountered who have the toughest job of all. Putting aside their convictions about the right and wrong for the safety of others as they consume all that is legal in the god aboding night club of their choice. The doorman is responsible for all of the things that go down if they happen, and his very testicles depend on being able to Homo erectus eject us as he sees fit at the drop of his very talented doorman hat. The second is the woman he is protecting. I observed several of these creatures as I walked who would have been the most incredible bodyguards to those with investment portfolios in the game of investment banking abroad. The third is the actual investor.
You have to take on the creative aspect of these things as you engage yourself in the art of lying to these people about the type of money you have, and where it comes from. The type of money you have is a funny kind of question. Is it liquid? It has to be a solid bowel movement to get it out of you and it has to be to the greatest degree of solitude with which you have the greatest degree of timeless farce like quality in your transgressed requiem of its parting of ways with your neighbor. These statements would earn you a solid and familial quality which isn’t going to have the requisite addendum if you’re that close to the globe trotters of the world who just don’t happen to know that Harlem is the most honest hood in the east, and Venice the west.
The actual truth is that most honest hood is the one that you are in at that very moment. If the gross and mean value of the product you are carrying are worth their weight in the pocket of someone else for survival, then don’t be afraid to liquidate what you have in the form of a friendly gesture. Yes, give it the hell away for free. Absolutely nothing is more caring and creative than the real person who receives it realizing that you must be of the rich sort of homeless sort. It grazes them through several reactions. It grazes them through the reaction that I have felt is the right one as well, that it is none of their god damn business. If it wasn’t for the solitude of the freedom you have freely moved yourself into, you would be absolutely in danger of offending the law, but the law most often if you are smart is where it came from.
I learned very early on that the law is capable of busting someone and keeping for safety and the person’s property rights. Just not more than half of the time if you are in a bad scenario to begin with. Which, if you are faced with a cop, it’s a scenario alright. If they we are incapable all of these supposed someone else’s personal property being stored if they were to keep it all, then what are they to do with it? They have to leave some of the stuff out of the storage for evidence, because the jails are so overcrowded, quite often the charges won’t stick for very long anyway. So on completion of the bust, the police are leaving behind the stolen property lying in the streets where the bust took place. The insurance is covered by the insurance company and the shop keeper is reimbursed.
The goods are delivered often times to be used by the force of circus animals who are spending their Homo erectus energy being the most extraordinary they can be. If they haven’t the name for themselves to buy it for themselves, it can readily be acquired through a transgression of parting of ways. Of course there is always the possibility that some of these people that don’t know how to mark their personal property for their acts are leaving their stuff and have it pilfered. I do believe involuntarily I participated in a bit of both.
One particular night I gathered a Titleist Golf Bag, an antique pillow, and a dust mop for my head. I looked sort of akin to the way in which Nikki Manaj looked when her Twitter account grew from 210 followers to over two million in a small amount of time. It takes an unusual wisdom to handle the circumstances she encountered when a non- bot granted her the life of a bot in a bodacious and unbelievable sweep of the players club.
But things like this are earned by an underground that is very unforgiving of the things they choose to be, and very forgiving of the numbers they choose for you to see. If you play the game, then you have win at all costs the convictions of the public via the undeterred language of love: persistence even through the straights of hell. The unmoving and uncharacteristic all-pervading wisdom that shines through the players who succeed is that they do not take their time lightly. They are very willing to take on a risk, but not take a risk that damages others livelihoods. This is a rule I very nearly paid for with my life.
One night while walking off the hallowed streets I came on a cigar. It was labeled pom-pom by the cigar manufacturer. It was not going to be the freshest of smokes if I had my way, saving it all night thinking that to unwrap it would be my fresh maker after a night of all night scavenging. In the meantime I have to say that the facts are not inconsequential, they are just not widely known and controversial. They are what I want them to be in the meantime since I have to wait for my social networking to escape from its martyrdom.
What you learn on the streets is what they teach in boot camp. What you learn in boot camp is inconsequential unless you take care of your shoes. And whatever you do, take care of your shoes. It isn’t enough to take care of them, you need to worship them as they are the best evidence that you will survive it when you have to walk from sixth and Spring Street in downtown back to your spot on the Venice “bored walk.” Which is why they all come. Come as you are, as you were, as I want you to be my friends. Come one and come all, just don’t come down the chimney before the present is bought because the fact of the matter is that you have to return the gifts in requiem if momma is just a little girl to your babies left behind. Don’t ask me what the meaning of all that is, IT’s my last book.
I went to the bored walk in the style and fashion that I chose to be necessary. With the attitude that I had as much right as the “kids” who had been living on the streets rather than the emergency shelter. We who would live in the emergency shelter were looked on as a weaker and clueless sort of breed. It was a very little known fact that what I was preparing for was an unconvincing effort at being accommodated to limitless travel. Touring is something that brings about the wrongs to the rights of you being searched at will by the airport security who may or may not have a homeland securities bug up their ass about your act. Also here is dealing with the drug scene, which I had begun to say an adamant “NO.” to. I had even preached enthusiastically and very loudly as I danced my way through the streets a new and poignant saying that was catchy and simple “Just No. Just Know” shaking my head at the first, and tapping it at the second. I wanted it clear that I was against illicit drugs, tough from experience. This ironically was a source of untapped chi for me, as I pissed off every doper and dealer around with my rap star quality dance with my no tolerance policy on anything not legal to consume.
I was attending self – help groups for the coffee. I was being told about my ability to drop in on the manual that was its leading source of direction, and yet the people I encountered were quite puzzled by my attitude that the very source of my disgust was the systematic approach at stealing each and every one of their freedoms via inside politics. I became very heavily involved in being an outspoken bigot of sorts, who was often due to his non – drug sprees of three, four and five days awake while wandering hundreds of miles through the streets served coffee and refreshments like the purveyor of Eminem’s Recovery album himself. OZENOZ knew his shit, and was hated and gossiped about for it, but I tell you what, it got the attention I wanted. Of course this shit was affecting our sales, you ignoramus. I had no sales, whatsoever!
I haven’t the slightest clue as to what it was that brought about the revelation in me that I was somehow learning about freedom from the laws that were keeping me from doing things that at times could protect me from the situations I was placed in, but it was a tough moral adjustment. One that did not sit well with those who had to sit through my tough guy dialogue’s about the way in which I am perceiving the act that has yet to blossom.
My kid brother, if you can call a man in his early twenties who is art owner of a music studio in Philadelphia, seems to think that OZENOZ is a part of my alter ego that comes out when I am jammed up. He is absolutely and completely correct in believing so, as OZENOZ is the part I turn to when I need to act on things or in a manner which disagrees with my very core beliefs of being a gentle and soft hippy like leftist. I just hate being told that if a man were to pull a gun on me that I couldn’t kill him without persecution. In my belief, as well as it seems the most highly respected individuals with badges and stripes understand that that isn’t my choice, it is the law. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. As long as you put away the regrets and hold no long term silly grudges. The upturned nose of society is on the systematic approach that if your dirt is on the table, you need not speak of it. The pressure is to bury it and the acts you have done under the weight of a guilt ridden truth that unfortunately you are required to not speak of out of the supposed a clue for the feelings of others. Fucking bullshit con artists who have been robbed and beat down the thugs have paid with their lives in prison to learn the lesson that if you speak once to an authority untrue about something you had the right to do, you have little chance of speaking again and having it be in their plans to forgive. As if the confessions of the killer who would have had on you for dinner would come off the grave and save your ass, if it weren’t for the fact Jesus already did. And I mean it, he really did.
He lives in eternity. Every second is billions of them for him as he turns every leaf he feels will right the world in every place at once. He is all pervading and can produce miracles. Every day they happen, every day.