HOLLIE IN THE LIVING ROOM

 Photo: Marianna Rothen

A MOTH, A FROG, AND A CHIPMUNK

  

“Molly?” this is what the pretty blond girl asked me around the fire the other night at Slick’s FAMORO DJOUBATE concert at his Outlier Amphitheater. We had been chatting earlier and I assumed she wanted to continue the convo on another level. “Are you offering me some?” I asked not quite sure where this was going. She looked confused. “Some what?” she retorted. “Molly.” I clarified. “Oh no.” she rewound. “I was wondering if the band was from Mali.” My bad. Honest mistake these days in the Catskills.

 

This past weekend ended the season with a bang not a whimper. The African musicians put on a helluva show for the overwhelmingly white crowd scattered through the fallen leaf woods. Then on Saturday night I opened the doors of the church to the Catskill DJ community. It didn’t take long to warm the place up with twirling bodies, rattling windows, and sphincter loosening bass lines. In this crowd there is no confusion between “Molly” and Mali.                            

 

The party flowed naturally between sanctuary, front lawn smoking, outhouse dumping, and fireplace porch VIP room groove. Shewho and I danced and bounced between the scenes, elder witnesses to a crowd seemingly in the midst of yet one more mid-life crisis. Forget the elections. Forget the kids. Forget genocide. Forget capitalism. LET’S DANCE! Even Cheeky stuck around (no dogs) deciding at one point to jump on (and off) of Cowboy Jake’s lap. Now that was unusual. We all noticed.

 

It was then that CJake told us that he recently had experienced a heightened connection with the animal kingdom. How so? “The other day,” he explained, “I was walking in the woods, heading up a hill, trying to catch my breath…..when a moth flew in my mouth and went directly down my throat.” OK. It’s not a worm eating RFK’s brain, but interesting. Go on. “I was gagging and could feel the moth fluttering in my throat. I couldn’t puke it up or swallow it. I had to run back to the car for water.” He eventually was able to dislodge and swallow it. “I shat it out that night.” I’m assuming it flew out his ass. But that wasn’t all.

 

“A couple of days later I was chopping wood,” CJake continued, “when I heard a rustle in the trees. I looked up and a frog fell from the branches directly onto my face. A FUCKING FROG!” Now he had our full attention. The music throbbed out of the church as the drugs did their thing. “But that’s not all. I threw the frog into the bushes, when suddenly a chipmunk appeared out of the wood pile. He ran across the yard directly at me. I thought he was gonna crawl up my leg, when he stopped at my feet and with one little paw he touched my right foot, looked directly into my eyes (as if to say “Tag you’re it”) and then ran away. WTF?”

 

Was this “communing” with nature on some advanced level or the spirit world attempting to warn CJake (and us) about some impending disaster? All the signs are there. But what do they point to? It may take a minute to figure this one out. “More Molly?’ somebody asked. Yes please. It's gonna be a long night.           

BIKINI CAR WASH 2010

 PHOTO: Marianna Rothen

IF YOU ARE INDICTED, YOU'RE INVITED!

 I stole this line from the new Trump-Cohn buddy biopic, The Apprentice. Federal indictments seem to be falling like the yellow leaves of autumn in my world. This invite is applicable for ALL this weekend’s festivities here in the hood. Fellow big game hunter Slick is hosting a live music show at his venue The Outlier tonight around 7 pm tonight, while CLGM Band of All Faith’s drummer Dreiky Caprice is gathering all the DJs in the county to throw down at church tomorrow night. It’s a big weekend. RNButch may still be in a Bronx halfway house during the week but on weekends (playing the Jew card) he is let out on the weekends. Good Shabbos. Hopefully he’ll show up for a little welcome home spin on the dance floor. Sadly, my indicted ex-lawyer SR took the permanent way out of his troubles in an FBI shootout and suicide. As far as the CLGM goes, all (living) criminals are welcome.

 

Artists and criminals have much in common. When I was a kid (fifth grade) my parents and teachers felt I was hanging out with the wrong crowd. My little buds John Balonzi, Bruce Taylor (writer Mickey Spillane’s supposed stepson) Ronny Helms and Tommy Maroney were admittedly troublemakers. I was immediately drawn to their humor and distain for authority. In an attempt to turn us from the obvious primrose path to hell and a life of crime, the art teacher, Mrs. McGinnis, decided to form the after-school Art Club just for us.

 

The others grumbled and fidgeted with their crayons while I took to it like a fish to water. Within weeks I was the only one showing up for club, while the others immersed themselves in kiddy crime. I didn’t lose or toss my friends to the curb. No. Instead, I started to identify as an “artist” in the group. Every gang needs one.

 

 As the years passed John Balonzi was somehow mobbed up through family connects. I think he did time and is now dead. Bruce Taylor also did time and is also now deceased. Tommy became a hard-working contractor and died years ago of a brain hemorrhage. I think Ronnie Helms became a cop. I don’t know if he is dead or alive. That’s the entire art club. Only I became an “artist.” I put the word in quotes as the (art)world may take issue with that assignation.

 

As a lifelong criminal (drug user) I have avoided the judicial grab by the long arm of the law, but for a few minor instances. Although accused of much bad taste and arrested a couple of times for minor offenses I have never been indicted for anything serious. The character “flaws” that have saved my ass over the years are the very real fear of incarceration and the lack of interest in money. I’m not willing to work for $, let alone steal it. It’s just not that interesting.

 

So, shout out to all you Catskill crooks and criminals. Leave your firearms at home if the Feds haven’t already confiscated them and join us at church. Dance all your criminal inclinations away. Thank you, Mrs. McGinnis! You did have a giant effect on my life. You showed me there was another way to keep boredom at bay and entertain ourselves for over a half century. Criminals and artists love to break the rules. It’s what makes us special.                       

MORNING COFFEE

 PHOTO: R. KERN

HERE COME THE GODS

 John Hopfield and Geoffrey Hinton just won the Nobel Prize for physics. I usually don’t pay much attention to this kind of thing. But these cats may just be the two most important “Dr. Frankenstein” brains on earth. They will, according to their own calculations, “soon be eclipsed” in mental ability and capacity by their own invention - Artificial Intelligence. The beast has opened his eyes. IT LIVES!  A.I. applications like Lavender and Where’s Daddy? used by the IDF to target and kill Palestinians in Gaza and now the Lebanese people will most likely be in full effect as these scientists accept their checks and medals in Stockholm. How smart will these killing applications be by then? Count the bodies. In Hinton’s warnings, we do not know how to control this new technology and soon it has the capacity to bring back a new era of “fearing the Gods,” as unseen forces at play toy with our very existence – just like in the old days.  

        

We are already locked in what has all the earmarks of “end times” here in the USA. From the evil machinations of the Postal Service to MTG’s accusation that the Democrats can control the weather, to Haitian children nibbling on dog ears around the breakfast table, things look bleak. Bots are running the show already. It’s only going to get worse. Thunderbolts from the ancient heavens, thrown by an angry Zeus are going to look like butterfly kisses in comparison.

 

I don’t have a cell phone and try to minimize my dependence on technology. But if Shewho’s cell is anywhere within earshot I get ads for whatever we are discussing. Who needs a 14-inch dildo? I can still get it up and heat by wood. I think Shewho and I were discussing how long to cut logs for the stove just before the dildo ad came up on the CNN newsfeed. That’s just one example. I still have free-will….so far. But I can see a day when the money will come directly out of my checking account and the dildo will be delivered directly to my door (without me ordering it). Don’t want (or need) it? No problem. Just repackage and drop it in the mail. Wrong address? Sorry. Time is up. Bend over.

 

Fear of suffering under the wrath of these lurking, unseen, Gods has already manifested itself by Qanon crackpots and flat earthers in 2020. Seems quaint now, don’t it? A.I. was in its infancy then. Like the Corona virus A.I. has by now mutated and spread across the globe beyond all expectations. Even as these big brain scientists warn that Pandora is already out of her box, the media continues to spin the “good” applications of this God like force. “It may cure cancer.” the pundits spin. It also may unleash a nuclear holocaust. Pick one. The Gods are fickled.

 

Where’s daddy? He just walked in the front door of his tent with some bread and water for his starving and thirsty kids. 3-2-1…..FIRE! Nothing but dust.        

 

Thanks A.I. What a God send.

 

Nothing is moving in the woods. All the A.I. in the world won’t help getting on a shooter buck.

SCARED

 Photo: R. Kern