WHY THIS second rate poet DOESN’T LOVE BIG BUSINESS part 43>

Today,
one thing:
consider the irony:

If Its it wasn’t because I always found april fool pranks incredible lame, I could be inclined to think this one was one of the better, but JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, I have take your name in vain
International gay-leaders are planning a 10 day Worldpride festival and parade in Jerusalem, Israel in august this year, to make a statement about tolerance and diversity symbolic set in the Holy City, home of three major religious traditions: christianity, judaism, islam.
The festival have in a rare spectacular way brought thesethree religions to a rare and almost bizarre show of unity in an attempt trying to stop the festival. They believe the event would desecrate the city and convey:

“a erroneous impression that homosexuality is acceptable. This is holy city, not Homo City and they are creating a deep and terrible sorrow that is unbearable…We cant allow anybody to come and make the HolyCity dirty. This is very ugly and very nasty to have these people come to Jerusalem. It hurts all of the religions. We are all against it, it’s the spiritual rape of the Holy City”

Ehhhh duh? To desecrate Israel and Jerusalem and a terrible sorrow? What are they on about in a city that have been a battle ground for some 50 odd years, desecreting humanity, allowing attrocities in the name of whatever fucking religious icon they could stampede of the ground. Unbearable? Get a fucking grip guys.

The strange gathering of beliefs is no wonder initiated by an american evangelical pastor Leo Giavenneti, a veteran of the american culture war on homosexuality, and most like of italian catholic background: a choirboy who most likely have been sodomized by pastors as a choirboy, as has shown to be the case in more than 2500 catholic congretaions around the country.

Love thy neighbour, as you love thy self? Yadda, yadda, badabing badabing: away religion away the pain away the mystery.

No shit.....really?
http://politiken.dk/VisArtikel.iasp?PageID=371607

Today,
More listings. After 7 month the states this time and two other trips to this here motherload of the Good life, I have with the help of good friend Krisan Badkar and his wonderful limegreen Ford Mustang 1969 convertible been collecting numerous eating experiences researching burgers, sandwiches and Mexican chains and vendors. So if you ever go and get hungry, consider this:

Winchells: donuts, bad greasy stuff that explodes your stomach after impact.
Denny`s: an attempt to go upperclass diner junk.
Taco Bell: Mexi fast food, the lowest. Employees in the shop and the fields on slave like terms.
Jack in the box: OK burgers, first with the clown, but…
KFC: three letters: KKK.
In and Out burgers: outstanding.
El Pollo Loco: Another failed attempt to franchise Mexican cuisine.
Carl`s Jr.: OK burgers, but pathetic concept.
Subway: stuffed crap, too much wrapping.
Coles (LA): classy bar and restaurant, the oldest in LA. Hold back on the salami though.
Burger King: kill the rats, good vanilla milkshake.
McDonalds: what can you say? Meatcakes!
Tommy`s: a strange cultural crossover: sloppy burgers, sauerkraut. We never defined if it was in fact polish or german.
Starbucks: starbuckian choises. Just give me the goddamned coffee and shot the fuck up. Never again.
Dunkin Donuts: Yummi!
Chili`s: decent tex-mex joint.
Hardees: unenthustiastic multi-crap.
Arby`s: shitty but also cheap!
Fatburger: Now we are talking real burgers. Tell it like it is! Fat!
Jacks (Santa Cruz): a local highlight.
Campo`s: real Mexican, respect for trying.
Del Taco: La cucaracha!
Norms: Dinner, they never close, but they cant cook!
Waffle House: worst greasy dinner chain, a must see!
Pioneer Chicken: A bad KFC imitation.
Popeyes: decent southern food…mostly.
Rally`s: another shitty burger.
Dairy Queen: ok ice cream, terrible burgers.
Burrito King (LA): Lifesavers!
Wienersnitzel: awful hot dogs.
Pinks: starquality hot-dogs. Everyone goes there: Dr. Phil, Lionel Ritchie, Jay Leno, Jamie Foxx, Charlie Sheen, you name it..they eat it!
IHOP (International Hell of Pancakes): breakfast only please!
Home: another great LA breakfast joint.

Bon appetit. If you are what you eat I could be you tomorrow.

Maybe in the absence of friends, the social nadir and the posse flatliner, I have turned to nursing my immediate superheroes, and in a very American style making a wall of heroes to remind me of ambitions or maybe I`m just acting out a late adolescent fan and stalker attitude. Anyhow, so far I hung these on my wall:

Hunter S. Thompson, deceased: for putting the subject into journalistic writing and not beating around the bush.
Oscar Wilde, deceased: for his persistent beliefs, idealism, works and early modernity. “Portrait of Dorian Gray” for being a historic equivalent to B.E Ellis` “American Psycho”.
KRAFTWERK, alive indeed: for being the founding figures of electronica. None below and none above.
Henry Miller, deceased: for being Henry Miller (see earlier posting).
Steve McQueen: For his stoic performance in “Le Mans”. When is somebody gonna produce another decent race-movie?
Maria, Steso and Allan: fictional figures but very much alive in Ejersbo`s novel “NORDKRAFT”, now also a motionpicture, I havn`t seen. So I look at the postcards and think of the days...believing in love is such a...
Jean Michel Basquait, deceased: for bringing the umpf back into art: the Godfather of streetart.
Julius and Carl: for being brothers.

today,
one thing

very wet at Club Bore

in a dream I ran around the transamerican pyramid for hours like little black sambo in the old fairytale untill the structure of the building started crumbling because in real time life they wouldnt let me and sunny in to take the esalator to the top floor in the dream my coffee cop was a bomb in realtime a coffee I should never have bought americans flavor everythting this coffee vanilla the choices the most american thing the constant choices which actually mean you never get what you ask for so in this dream I ran and ran and the building started to melt people disappeared totally uttered by this aggressive european running and running and running and then somebody called out from the crowd stop running the female voice said you were supposed to meet me here june 12 and I stopped and said I only remember playing in a band called all quiet on june 16 and thats in four days so what do you mean I was supposed to meet you here and I couldt even see who it was hair like a lion curly curly back and front and she said allright then Ill stay for another four days and then I started running again and then the building collapsed and I said so where do we meet now but at that point she had already left and for the rest of the day I was running up every possible hill I could find and thats san francisco right there

today,
3 things

1) driving home from Big Sur sunday, we hit some real heavy rain at Moss Landing, the clouds almost green, speedy winds, and...what looked liked funnelshaped toungues coming out of the sky. We all agreed it could look as the beginning of a tornando but that it wasnt, because in California they dont occur...Anyways, then yesterday in SF Chronicle I read that a tornando in fact struck in The Bay Area just north the Airport in San Bruno. Oops I then I remember than during a storm just over a month ago two tornadoes struck around Sacramento..."Tornado Alley" moving in closer from the Midwest. Though they still have to deside whether the tornado sunday in SF was in fact a tornado. Though it did do some damage, it is not certain that it actually touched down, which is the distinct difference between a tornado and a funnel-cloud. Tornadoes can be devasting, funnelclouds are but strong winds, but not as fierce, and do not touch the ground.

2) Silence on the blog for a few days, taking the family and friend to San Francisco untill sunday.

3) Had a mail from the Boboid today, he is back from Rome and continues to Dollerup Bakker, DK to celebrate easter - not Ester. Oh them sweet `ole Dollerup Bakker, in my dreams The Virgin Hills.

memories are made of this
http://www.naturplan.dk/foto/previews/hald-soe-2002-30-14.jpg

I don’t who loves who climping up the stairs horny spooked by the stars I wrap for a later score in d-minor she is fucking sleeping what did I do wrong and I do care I think the other bone structure is perfect and now after 12 weeks we hug I am not a tree she is not a tree but we are in deep fucking forest country cold damp silent astray apart lost tall and split legs birth blood blast back to fucking trees in nostalgic copenhagen my dick is bleeding I cant unlock my bike my pants around my knees around my future future is always different future is never there his eyes never loose the one now wide asleep I cant believe it seems simple but nothing will stick no ends ties up we do not communicate more than we piss we do not even try we let it loose and flow it’s as fucking stupid as long hair slow traffic keep right do not yield do not merge or mingle the questions unanswered but we keep asking them we ask to the bones stick out what stuff are you into and what stuff means shit to you that doesn’t mean shit to me and is not retrospect and half asleep and she and her bones states everything I liked about the eighties where as they before sleep drift into everything I hated about the eighties which subsequently leads us to the inevitable talk about death and being a by gone you should check out the stars I say again but its too cold you say and choose to take a piss instead and I think we are doing this because it means stuff but here I wont even think any deeper because I find it too private even for my self remembering that reality is a construction remembering the secrets I revealed on highway 5 that I in the dawn of 2003 committed a severe massacre on my own sperm neglected my appointments with the shrink and basically didn’t give a shit the question being: do I give a shit, am I really the cynical, ice-cold fuckface I find so hard to escape? But would she just wake up, and state an head investment instead of rolling flat on her stomach I think I could stop thinking about other bone structures as the geography of my situation really denies me the pleasure

IN MEMORIAM

JOHN DeLOREAN (1925 – 2005) died this week, aged 80.
DeLorean was acknowledged as the maker of the first ever “musclecar” when he in 1964 crammed a V-8 engine into a Pontiac Tempest and called it and GTO.
He quit GM in 1973 to launch the The DeLorean Motor Car Company in Nothern Ireland and eight years later the DMC – 12 hit the streets. The charateristica of this futuristic design was the stainless stell body and the gull-wing doors, and this made cult-status after playing a major part in the “Back to the Future” films starring Michael J. Fox in the late eighties.
However, the DeLorean company collapsed in 1983, a year after DeLorean was arrested in Los Angeles and accused of selling for 24 million dollars worth of cocaine to salvage his venture. He was aquitted on the drug charges in 1984 despite a videotape shown in court in which DeLorean called a suitcase of cocaine “as good as gold”. After the 1984 case he was involved in more than 40 legal cases, and after the his divorce following the drugbust, he said in a interview: “I was an arrogant egomaniac. I needed this, as difficult as it was, to get my perspective back”.
His flamboyant hustler life may become more his legacy than he will be remembered for leaving a powerful imprint in automaking.
Godspeed DeLorean! Godspeed!
http://www.delorean.ch/files/Pictures/DeLorean.jpg

Sunday, another drive south on Pacific Highway One – PCH 1. Sunday after Sunday, it is the closest I will ever get to a religious experience, I don`t know whether to smoke it, drive it, fuck it, fight it or pray for it. PCH 1, is the edge of the world, the beginning and the end. First stop: Point Lobos, sea-otters and seals in Chinamans Cove a little secluded beach in an area once called the most stunning meet of land and water.
From Point Lobos we continued to Big Sur to visit the Henry Miller library. Miller, the punk of punks, the bizarre, brilliant and obsessive fuckball, the writer and the painter whose work was an constant struggle for freedom of expression, a passionate quest in the dawn of an industrialized and rapidly changing world. Tropic of Cancer was among other materials written in Paris in the mid 1930s, and should, I think, be considered as one the most influential pieces of modern literature.
Miller settled in Big Sur in 1944, and was during the fifties and sixties a central focuspoint for many writers of the beat-generation and upcoming actors like Jack Nicholson and Peter Fonda.
The library is NOT as many think, where Miller actually lived, but the house of friend and companion Emil White which he often visited, but nonetheless a place full of vibe and goodspirited humans.
Yesterday I met a guy working there: Magnus from Sweden, who have been living in the area for 21 years. What puzzled me when I entered the library was the sounded of swedish rockband KENT coming from the speakers, which quickly let to a conversation on music and lyrics and the general state of things. I introduced him to the world of BOB HUND, and promised to send some outtakes his way. One can not possible begin to grasp contemporary Sweden without listening to the track: “Paperspåse” from the brilliant album “Omslag: Martin Kann".

small gods looks like this
http://www.henrymiller.org/

and this
http://www.powerfloe.com/media/DESKTOP%20PHOTOS/POINT-LOBOS-COVE2-1024.jpg