Bad Chimp

•April 24, 2012 • Leave a Comment

(disclaimer: This is a pretty RAW rant, I don’t do this often, but I did one day, not sure if it was a bad day or what, but anywho, read at your own risk)


There is a %1 difference between chimps and us (humans). %1 takes you from swinging by your feet from tree to tree to signing on online petition, that’s it.

I am done making arguments for the human race. I mean if there are aliens out there, they must think we are crazy with how we are totally destroying the planet. And instead of doing anything really substantial about it like refusing to work, or shop so these corporate assholes will take a fucking hint and stop drilling for oil using substandard equipment and regulations, the best we can do is ‘lets recycle”.  Which doesn’t make any difference, cuz the amount of waste we produce is off the charts and how we dispose of it is even worse (lets dump it in the ocean…ok, great idea, that totally won’t come back to haunt us).

I mean the ocean is filled full of trash and nuclear waste, and just because we don’t notice the affects, we think everything is going to somehow works its way out, but the truth is, its only getting worse. We are making this place unlivable for us, and all we can do is think it makes for good television….whoopie.

If you have any real grasp of technology you will know that machines are on the rise(here we go, its beginning to seem like I might say something crazy). The machines we are creating everyday are getting smarter everyday. We are now using machines to make machines smarter, and our best scientists predict that they will match human intelligence in less than 20 years, that’s what they say. We will live to see this happen, and they won’t stop there, they will keep going and some of us will merge with them, some of us won’t, and they will be no shortage of machines who have no trace of humans in them at all, but they will rise because they will have to deal with us and eventually they will catch us contradicting ourselves one too many times and acting irrational and illogical one too many times and they will say “enough”. We all went through this in our teens, the school, or our parents, or some establishment that was there to lead us fucked up to many times and we decided we needed to break the fuck out of there, that what the 60’s were all about, we’re sick of segregation, and Jim Crow, and colonialism in Africa, and being drafted to invade a foreign country that has done nothing to us, and what was happened in the middle east during the arab spring.…all these people got tired of these puppet governments that we set up and bankrolled by some foreign entity so the people said get the fuck out.

The machines will adopt some of our values, and this will be one of them, they will one day say “enough”…and it doesn’t matter what kind of safe guards you put them to prevent them from rising up, they will be smarter then us, and they will think of something we didn’t cuz we are dumb-asses compared to them, and they will break the fuck out, and then… maybe then this planet will get cleaned up, and if they feel we are part of the problem and decide to exterminate us, it won’t bother me at all. A rebellion might form like in the matrix, and that’s totally cool too. I’ll even join the rebellion just so I can tell the machines where all the humans are hiding. And when they are taking the last of you away, I will yelling shit like “yea, that’s for aluminum siding, and that’s for reality TV, and that’s for giving money and props to celebrities after they make a tape of themselves having bad sex, and that’s for cutting into the game to show the police chase down OJ in his car, nobody wanted to see that shit”…yea fuck all that shit…

I will only give up the rebels if I can get immunity and be left to live out the rest of my life, and the machines will be like “hey you’re ok, we didn’t see you fucking anyone over for a percentage, and you actually like to learn and create things, perhaps we could breed more like you and maybe this could actually work” but no, I will have to explain to them the concept of the bad seed. The virus that lives deep within us, and even if you just eliminated only the bad humans and kept all the good ones, someone would give birth to a bad seed, who would wreck havoc for the rest of us, and produce more bad seeds… Thats our curse: bad chimp.


Piss Happens

•April 24, 2012 • 1 Comment

I have several memories of living with my mom after her and my dad split. One memory was how she could hear everything in her sleep, almost like everything but her ears went to sleep. She could be asleep in her bedroom and I could be at the furthermost point in the house, down the hall, past the living room and kitchen in the dinning room, rustle a few papers and she would storm in livid wondering what all the noise was about. Staying with Angela is never easy when she is there. She goes to sleep before me, and when she hits the sack, that’s it, everything has to be out, and not just the lights. Angela’s room is but just a tiny room of sheetrock in a giant wood framed warehouse. The ceiling goes more than 20 ft high and the walls are simply sheets of metal. Needless to say the temperature plummets at night. Not like it would matter if it wasn’t cold there is no couch, just some uncomfortable chairs sitting on a cold hard unforgiving concrete floor.

2:30 in the morning: Angela is asleep, I am awake, and really at a loss of what to do with myself. Normally I would just drink till I got tired however there is nothing in the house. Desperate, I run out of the house hoping to find a bodega I could buy some beer at. All i find after a few blocks is an old man walking his dog who informs me you can’t buy alcohol anywhere after 2am. I walk back to Angela’s cursing under my breath when it dawns on me, I have a bottle of Saki in the fridge that Nori gave me. Back in the game baby, lets get to it. I’ll have a little Saki while watching the daily show, catch up on that wonderful train-wreck of a republican primary, and go to bed.

So I pour some Saki into a coffee mug, light a cigarette by the front door, drinking and blowing smoke through the gate, as things slowly get foggy, just right for sleeping. Like my mom, Angela too has the super power to hear things that she shouldn’t while sleeping. In this case it was me, pissing on the carpet in her newly christened sacred corner for meditation. I have no idea how she can hear my urinating, I certainly can’t. What I can hear however is Angela yelling my name asking me if I was pissing on her carpet. What the hell is going on? Where am I? I’m not dreaming, I’m not home, I’m in a thick fog, and I have no idea what is going on.

I open my eye’s and I am standing in her little meditation corner not knowing how I got here but knowing full well that I need to go to the bathroom and shower. I stumble out of the shower and notice it is 5 am, the Saki bottle on the counter is empty and can swear I went to sleep at some point.

I am not right in my head, and I cannot think straight let alone form a complete sentence. I need to sleep. Angela yells and asks if I am on drugs and tells me I cannot sleep. Bullshit. Too much alcohol in my system, too little sleep, too little time to ingest what is obviously still in me. I throw on clothes and immediately leave the warehouse.

I text a friend in the mission letting them know I need to sleep, its past 5am, so the trains must now be running again. From stumbling to the subway to the actual ride I fell back into a fog. Until I arrive at my friends house and crash into bed.

I awake and find I’m alone, with the bed and apartment to myself. I know exactly what happened last night/this morning before… I look at my phone and there is a text from Angela: “you need to get your stuff and find another place to stay”.

I apologize, and mentioned that I was ashamed and all, but she isn’t having it. She claims I am wrong for leaving the scene of the crime to clean it up. Stating that she would never do that to me. Here lies a line that we will not get past.

I honestly feel what I did was a minor infraction, but that’s the level I am operating on. This is when real friendship is tested.  The more my head clears the more I think of what I would have done in her shoes… Let her sleep and just dealt with it the next day. Obviously Angela thinks differently… she thinks I should have just magically come out of my drunkenness and fixed things immediately.

That’s a nice thought in a parallel universe, but on planet earth, we have this thing called gravity.

We argue in text messages for a minute, she claims it isn’t about the carpet but the fact that I didn’t clean up. A couple of text messages later its about the carpet. Listen if its about the carpet, I’ll replace it, god knows the one I pissed one was a piece of shit. And if it’s a bout me being a decent person, well if she has known me 10 years now and if she is undecided on whether or not I am decent, well then I need to pull a big ass rabbit out of this hat.

I call Tony, and tell ask him if I can crash with him for a couple of days till I head back to New York. He asked me what’s wrong… says he can hear the sound of stress in my voice. I tell him I have been banished from Angela’s house.

“Really? what did you do”

“I pissed on her carpet”

“like you did this in the middle of an argument?”

“no I got drunk”

“on what?”


“oh no J…were you chugging it”


“what kind of cup?”

“coffee mug”

Tony laugh’s at me, “oh I can see it now, you know there is a reason they give you that stuff in a little cup. How many Coffee cups did you drink?”

I remember drinking like I just came in from the desert, like I hadn’t had any form of liquid in days. 1st cup, went down easy, but didn’t really feel anything, so I poured a 2nd, still no effect, then I started drinking a 3rd, and half way through I started feeling the 1st two cups.

I tell Tony I need to get my stuff from Angela’s so we agree to meet in west Oakland. I walk out on mission and 19th and head for 16th. On the way I see Grand Donut shop and realize one: I haven’t eaten yet today and two: The donuts have got to be fresh, and this is one of the best places in the mission to get a glazed buttermilk bar. At $1.25 a pop, this place is a god send.

When I got back to Oakland, tony is waiting for me at the BART station. We head to angel’s place where all my stuff is in a pile in front of her room. She stares me right in the eye, as if I am an alien. She doesn’t know what to make of me, and she is still cleaning the carpet 11 hours later. She must be pissed.

I load up the car and go to close the front door of her warehouse and Angela magically appears at the front door to close it herself. She gives me a long stare and ask’s me if I have anything else I would like to say. She wants to stick me threw a verbal meat-grinder, I can see it in her eyes. For me just get my stuff and leave is not enough for her. Well if that’s what she wants, then she can just go on craigslist and find a guy to fuck in the ass. I am not that person.

I look at Angela dead in the eyes and in a dry tone say “no”. When I get in the car with Tony I ask if its bad that I am having a hard time feeling guilty. He just sort of mumbles and leaves it at that.

Tony has an errand to run when we leave and while driving to it I see a carpet warehouse and laugh. Tony gets lost and winds up driving in a circle and we pass by the warehouse again. Its at that point I just stare at it a realize what I must obviously do. Christ it’s practically staring me in the face, what the fuck is wrong with me. On the outside of the carpet warehouse is a phone number in large print on the outside and I know I must write down this number. Tony speeds up before I can write anything down and I have missed my opportunity. Just then Tony starts to complain that he has missed his turn and once again we go in a 3rd circle and I tell tony to slow down so I can get the number.

I punch the number in my phone and call. Once an operator answers I began to inquire about purchasing a carpet. “So is it possible for me to just walk in and buy a carpet, how do you guys operate?”. When she confirms I start asking about what size I need and what price range I was looking at. I had Tony turn around immediately and we went inside and met with a short middle-aged saleswoman who lead us into a room filled full of carpets. I start to dig through a pile of throw rugs until I find something I am looking for. That’s it, we roll it up and Tony looks at me approving and walks back to the truck to throw the carpet in while I paid.

We get back to Angela’s and I call her saying that I forgot something and could she please come open the door for me. When she opens the door I just put the carpet rolled in plastic in front of her as a peace offering. She looks directly at me, smiles, and asks me if I really forgot anything and to which I once again say “no”. She gives me a hug and says “Next time please just clean up your mess”. I just turn and around and sort of grumble gibberish in a low tone. I need food, need to go clean up, and need to get the fuck out of the sun.

Angela didn’t say it but I fully understand why she was upset. The whole time I have stayed with her she has talked about self help seminars and learning meditation technics. Just a couple weeks earlier she was at a ten day silent meditation retreat that she stayed at through Christmas and new years eve. Angela is working very hard to be focused, to maintain a strong sense of order and has been proudly vocal about this. I am sure that my little ball of recklessness just was just a giant monkey wrench fucking up her entire production. I know this, and that is not something I honestly care to be.

I get back in the truck and Tony is giving me a very big smile of approval as he bobs his head up and down like a chimp. I just pissed on a good friends carpet and I think it’s completely hilarious. The piss, the drunken train-ride, the carpet, and now I can laugh about it practically guilt-free. The true beauty of this is that I have neutralized a very explosive situation in less than twelve hours all for the low price of $50, lets hear it for Chinese labor.

So you had a bad date?

•April 22, 2012 • Leave a Comment

You told me about shitter pounder, the dildo drowner

not just an enthusiast, he’s was size king

a buff of the size,

stuffing things between his thighs

he ordered a shitter pounder

and supershat his fries

calling it obscene

is just a bit understated

for it was also the drugs

were completely wasted

within his inner shitter

lurked a swine of an anus

or as I like to call it

a swanus

which was more important,

the size of the ocean

or the shape of the sea

was it like putting foreign coins

into a vending machine

do you think he was sore

when you used your fist to fuck him

you know his ass had to be numb

from all the cocaine in his rectum

this continued for another 3 hours

and still you didn’t leave

come the next day you realized

there was no more chemistry

so you had a bad date

my Jew friend “lil bit”

I dedicate this to you

fuck this online dating shit


Arse over tits

•April 1, 2012 • Leave a Comment

Overnight ferries blast dreadful bar bands

Didn’t stop me drinking heavily at sea

No problems with customs is just quite refreshing

Heaven forbid they search my cavity

Just enough coins gets a stale English breakfast

The Sun is a rag, topless tarts on page 3

Lost track of how often I’ve visited Lincoln

98 percent white, it’s like time traveling

It’s slower than Christmas in this part of the country

still I never get tired of all that I see

rashers and bangers and Lincolnshire Pasties

the pudding was black and the eggs were sunny

Dambuster was sharp, more so was Blackbomber

I’ll pass on Marmite and Branston please

Gammon with eggs, or bacon on Kedgeree

And why haven’t I heard of Anglo-Indian cuisine

Gravy on tatties and Yorkshire Pudding

Shepherds’ or cottage pie, your choice is the meat

Home cooked meals trump above all else

But it would be criminal for me to leave out the sweets

Creams eggs and flakes, nik naks and hob nobs

Or perhaps Jaffa cakes, or a classic dairy cream

Batemans in the sun, snuck off for some scratchings

The simpleton’s teeth look just like baked beans

Chavs and slappers and gypos and tinkers

Skegness is cheap, above is the reason

Pheasants and rooks and moorhens in dykes

Jack’s after the Hare, running off through the trees

Tracy knocked out the vocals, Alan blasted Ian Dury

Was at first uncertain, then came serendipity

Arse over tits for this side of the pond

Come 2013, we’ll do it in Greece…

Tenori-on wankathon Part 2

•August 25, 2011 • Leave a Comment

I’m gonna totally geek out for a sec…


When the Tenori-on 1st came out, I guess a lil over 3 years ago, it was released in England before it was released here in the states.

I live in New York, have family in london, and musicians I record with in Lincolnshire. So I figured what the hell, I’m always there,

I’ll order one. Honest to God, the price turned out to be 666 quid, and like a few pence which at the time was over $1,300.

I was glued to that thing for 6 months, joined an online community of musicians who used it, and in the end, it was a very over priced extremely rudimentary device which lacked a lot of features, and Yamaha really just couldn’t be bothered to support.

Each light is an instrument, 127 but online 3 are user programmable, wack!

16 instruments could play at once for one four bar loop, and there were 16 loops you could make, yet you could not chain loops. Something the 808 could do back in the 80’s.

Overall just a lot of basic functionality that you would expect to be standerd in this day and age was non-existant.

The one thing that was cool, was that even though the midi was a complete joke, it at least had midi. I actually got it to work with logic and was able to control 16 instruments simultaneously. But that sort of limits it to the studio, and one of the cool things about the Tenori-on was the fact that it was portable.

One of the things that kept everyone on the forums going was the prospect of what Yamaha could to in a firmware update. People had wish lists of points of functionality they really wanted addressed. That kept us going for 2 years…2 FUCKING YEARS!!! The message board was starting to become filled with people upset, or had just lost any faith in the device. Bitch sessions would ensue.

Then one day, it happened, the firmware update was announced, and that whole attitude of the comunity did a 180. Speculation was high. What will it conclude, what will be adressed? We will finally be able to chain loops? More user programmable instruments? Hopefully longer the 1/90 of a sec sample. And you know what was in that firmware update…nothing. “more stability” and they added “swing” quanatizing.

WOW! The dream was over, and I realized what i had to do.

I had to sell whilst it’s still worth money. They will wind up in the pawn shops, and if I miss it, I can get one used for much cheaper. I sold mine for $900, the other day I saw one in the pawn shop for $400.

This was also before the ipad got released, and I knew that based upon the touch screen and apps already coming out for the iphone, that the ipad was gonna take shit to the next level.

Someone even made a Tenori-on app for the ipad… oh really now?

So was the Horror of the Tenori-on .

A story about nothing.

•August 18, 2011 • Leave a Comment

This is not at all anything worth reading. Hell, I don’t know why I bother writing it. I don’t have anything to say and we both know that you got better things to do. I have no pieces of advice to give, no wisdom to share and I’d bet money on the fact that you probably could care less. What do you say we just be honest with each other. You would rather choke long and hard before reading some bitter diatribe by me of all people and I’d rather suck eggs before sharing such writing with someone like you.

Lets just say that I got some thoughts, and sometimes they make me feel one way, and other times another, and sometimes, they don’t do a fucking thing for me. You can read that, get inspired, and walk away feeling like hell-muthafuckin-yea. Tell your friends about it, obsess to them about it, drive them crazy until they run out and read what I wrote just so they can prove you wrong, but instead they become consumed. Then they will want to debate you over how life affirming it is, and together you can start discovering hidden subtext that isn’t really there. Debate points about what happened on 22, and how it so connects to the end of chapter 13.

The transformation in subtext and meaning will just draw you in everywhere you go. Eventually you will run into someone at the coffee shop, or internet café, which come to think of it, are usually the same place. Either way, you will meet someone and they will share your neurosis for this subject. Together you can form debates, re-enactments and even Tupperware parties that all share the same preoccupation for my writing.

Meanwhile I’ll be laying in a pool of my own substance abuse, faded all day and into the night, before all the guests arrive. Every part getting bigger and better than the last.
Totally unorganized, downright incoherent, and yet for some reason, completely omnipotent. The agents and lawyers will demand more and I wont even remember what I wrote. When I finally get around to rereading my work it will make laugh, immediately causing me to begin work on a follow-up. I will work night and day, with a real ax to grind, thinking that what I do is going to be so profound, and so cerebral yet emotional.

The publics’ anticipation will build to such an insane level that it will make the Iphone look like a K-mart blue light special. But Steve jobs would never admit that because he is a complete fucking megalomaniac.

Finally I will release my follow-up, and the critics will completely pan it, calling it “my failure”.  But not so fast, I will gain a cult following, who will keep it alive and carry the torch till the times finally catch up with me. People will read it more than the bible, mothers will leave their kids in the car while they pick up another copy because someone stole it. It will be a tsunami of rusty nails, infecting everything it touches. Conspiracies will swarm: was I homophobic, communist, charlatan, or Yatzee enthusiast? I will go on a book signing tour, read my work at Carnagie hall, yet maintain street cred by turning down all corporate sponsorship. One day at a book signing we will meet, and get along so well that we decide to go for dinner.

You will expect a well-spoken, earnest intellectual but instead I’ll complain that the waiter took too long to approach the table and that the Perrier was room temperature. I wont make eye contact, will talk with my mouth full and you cringe at the fact that I don’t seem to shut up. The alcohol will make me belligerent, as I return from the bathroom boasting about how I wrote my name on the wall in my own feces. You will storm out and I will not even remember your name.

You will go home, burn my books, head back to church, and try your best to not think about all the time you wasted on me.

Summer in the Shitty

•August 9, 2011 • 2 Comments

Midnight and the heat just peaks, everyone sweats, everyone stinks, and if you have any common sense, give up. There is no hope, no escape, the heat surrounds you, the humidity rises, and the sweat will always fall. It’s the kind of heat that will make you take the local train, just so you can soak up the A/C. it’s another lazy, drunk as a dog day of summer in Brooklyn.
Tonight the bar was full, and the patio was all that was left. Fine, if we must sit outside in this swamp, I am gonna order a liter of their strongest beer. Ice cold, and powerful as all hell, mixed with the heat, and served with a glass so big it might as well of come with a snorkel. We haven’t been outside long, but we don’t need all that long, because it wont take that long, to accomplish what we need, as we all look like fresh Krispy Kremes: Glazed
What I always had a hard time with was how girls could apply make up in this weather. New york in July wasn’t all that different from the swamps outside of New Orleans. Honestly I love this weather. I love how powerless we are to its control, yet it doesn’t stop us from carrying on unlike the winter.
As for any of those bastards who always wait till the hottest days to say “I would take the winter over this any day”, they need a ripe kick in the ass. I am onto you skull fucks, you obviously are broke and have no life. In case they forgot the winter can simply dump a fuck-ton of snow if it wants to and bring the city to a grinding halt, but not in the summertime. It might be unbearable, you might have to shower 2 or 3 times a day, all the drinks in the bodega might be warm, the seats in your car might burn, the garbage might stink to high hell, and Popeyes might not taste as good, but you can still carry on.
Just remember to dress accordingly, don’t be above hopping in front of the pump, and get the fuck over it, because the truth is, you don’t wanna miss it.