people were milling about in their search for work
clinging to the rails
and pounding the sidewalk with their methodical
step after step
scaling their
private chambers of
ticking time

a white ragtop ’72 Cougar
announced itself long before it was seen
the car radio piercing the inquisitive air
stabbing the sky led along by an
authoritative fatherly voice chattering over the
atmosphere and hollering at the unemployed

the car wheeled about and hit its mark
just next to the near corner of the building
a few beats collapsed
and a middle-aged individual wearing a baseball cap
stepped out and joined the uneasy fox trot

I returned to my pacing
deliberating on the sidewalk
the walls of the bungalows and a
plastic church bell
hanging
in front of me

an old movie prop

this bell had never made the music
and had joined the suspicious mystery of a popular silence
long shared by the tense passing of
time

I wanted to hear the words,
“What’s the news?”

“Well, I was on my way over here listening to the radio
and there was an interruption.
Bernard Shaw. We just bombed Baghdad.”

“When did it happen?”

“About 3:38 our time.”

I walked over to make the formal shake,
“Welcome to the new world.”

he laughed
we laughed

it was obvious after 5 minutes of dialogue
that we were on opposite sides of a few key points and
empathetically chose a polite place to
make the leap
and
switch the exchange to
cars

yes, he had a ’72 ragtop beast
made reference to the stock parts stashed in the trunk
and elsewhere
discussed the cubic inches
and the love for it all

I talked briefly about my
Cadillacs as we eased around the corner
of the building so that my
new acquaintance could be recognized
as a part of the wait for work

I could hear the clandestine silence all around me
as it snuck up thru the
venting earth oozed into my shoes
whispering sotto voce under my skin

if only the skin of the world could speak a
common language with the
pedestrian freak show business crawling over its scalp
or wash away the degenerate sins of a lazy mind

a group rapport rose out of the impatience

we swan dived into the structure this time,
“Who do you think gave it to ‘em
and taught them how to use it?”

“Man, that’s all Russian shit. Them’s Russian jets.”
this guy’s New York angle on talk rattled my ears and
jammed into my California sunshine

even the sound of voices had become
sabers shining and shaking in the late afternoon

banners were everywhere

I turned to the stranger next to me,
“Tell this fool what’s going on.
Tell him who gave those fuckers all that shit.”

very simply and directly he stated,
“We did.”

this recording lasted a few minutes longer
and then someone emerged with one of those
ridiculous little portable
sports and picnic televisions

the games had begun

Ted Turner had just accepted his new position as
Pope of the insane transmission
electronic sound and colorization
his logos and teasers tugging at the trousers of the world
24 hours a day with history’s greatest soap bubbling
full speed ahead

all eyes were buttons on the horizon waiting to be pushed
no one was a friend to another
as our souls were being
pricked by the demise of any hope
whatsoever

George was going to be on at 6 Pacific to give the expected talk

I made it home to the apartment at 5:57
just about 3 minutes before Spencer’s
scheduled appointment with me and his
bath
our son was so happy to see me
he fell apart in
exhausted anticipation

Sharon and I teased him and appreciated his
ignorance to what
was taking place in his life
but he was riding the tension and had hooked onto a
big nasty swell

his rant went on for about 7
or 8 minutes when Sharon started to believe
it was funny
and giggled at Spencer screaming and crawling
like a drunk spider
all over my
chest and face pinning me against the couch

I snapped,
“This isn’t funny. Do you want to hear this?”

I was pissed at myself for not paying more
attention to them and
even needing to hear the crashing report in front of me

“I wanted to hear it,
but I figured I’d watch it when they
started repeating it.”

“Well they probably won’t be repeating it verbatim later and I
wanted to hear it all.”

she picked up Spencer and carried him into his playroom
full of toys and books and
pieces of things all scattered in the pattern of
his day

George Herbert Walker Bush was president now

our 41st

he had made it and we were for better or worse
with him

          it was all business :

the makeup
the cue cards bulging with saintly platitudes
but most of all what loaded the screen was the attempt to
smile
like a beacon to the gilded edge of pain on a long dark night

the man did his Ivy League best to hang with
the moment
because this was
his moment

it was a nostalgic time

you could taste previous conflicts on the revolutionary wind
as it snaked its way thru the
baffling buildings of the city

even the warmongers were yakking about
Viet Nam

peace rallies screamed ‘60’s
massing in the streets of great cities all over the country
we had even heard rumors about
Italy, London and France

the 5,000 or so that had gathered in
downtown Los Angeles in front of the
Federal Building were in desperate need of fresh heroes
as speakers grandstanded and singers jumped on board the
excitement looking for easy access to the hidden virtues of fame

it was a time to be angry about peace

there were those with peace signs and flags
tie-die and hair
there were those that carried
Martin Luther King into the soiree
and Ghandi was squatting everywhere

I wanted to be Thoreau

Thursday
Stage 23 at the Universal lot

I had been called in to shoot some pickups

they were taking some off-camera dialogue and putting it
on-camera

overnight the one portable thing had multiplied
sprouting everywhere along with the constant flow of
news and information
the Middle East and the stock market peeing out of the
office radios
to give their java that rich coffee taste

there were some production types squeezing into a
honeywagon
to catch the latest

I peeked in,
“Still the top of the first inning?”
3 or 4 of them were gathered around the spouting little monster
watching the same tanks from the day before
crisscross the screen
as the faces of the beautiful newsfolk
crawled around on some hotel floor in Iraq telling us how
this all looks like the 4th of July

these guys all believed I was a little looney anyway
they chuckled a bit then gave their own
play-by-play on the affair

one of them reported,
“This ain’t no baseball game.”

“Sure it is. We got a long ways before the 7th inning stretch tho.”

they appreciated the humor

“I hear 8 missiles in Tel Aviv. I heard they hit Jerusalem too.”

“Yeah. They just bombed Tel Aviv.
Those fuckers don’t know who they’re fucking with.
Israel’s gonna blow their shit right out of the water.”

phones were ringing everywhere with the news

the world was ringing
hunchback into the future

my flesh was ringing
my eyes were swinging back and forth ringing on the present
while I very
secretly
and privately began to say
farewell America

it was time for work now

my sideburns were rebuilt
and my makeup applied
it was all business

I was only required to wear the top half of my wardrobe
the prop guy made the comment that I could be
naked from the
waist down
and I wished that I was

the camera was ready
the director was called over
everyone could hear the ice in their drinks cracking and
breaking under the weight of butter-colored scotch

it was martini time
mine was the last set-up of the day

there was one of those obnoxious portable tubes barking in
the right corner of my periphery
belching the war into my eyeballs

I wanted to scream,
“Turn it off! Turn the fucking thing off!
How do you expect me to concentrate with this
stupid fucking war going on!”

but I knew that it was too important to everyone
they were all hypnotized by the contact
Israel had been hit and everyone was eager to get home to
kick back with their favorite libation and catch the action

I busied myself with the lights and the lens in front of me
the hands everywhere and the eyes
as I listened intently to the rumbling sound of the war on
Ted Turner’s television

the director approached and I asked him,
“You mind if I play with this? I mean, you know,
go off a little, or does this need to be word for word?”

“Well, I mean...”

“You know. I just wanna have fun with it. Get loose.”

“Yeah I guess that’s what you did last time, isn’t it?
Yeah, sure. This show needs to be loosened up a bit.
Yeah, sure.”

“Thanks. I’m not gonna fuck with it too much. I mean,
I’m not gonna rewrite it or nothing, ya know?”

he walked away in mock satisfaction just doing his job
as I was doing mine

it was time for me to be funny

I could feel the war pounding thru me now
the camera rolled

they bought it

           they bought it again

                      they were laughing

“Great. Thanks a lot. It’s going to be a good one.”
came the director’s report
this time the handshakes and the smiles were genuine

I had fooled them again
I never knew where it came from
but somehow it was there

people were striking from what seemed to be nowhere
one man slapped another for some masculine infringement
and two others guys got into it over the same
setting each other up like cats twitching for a small explosion

Theme Song For The Movie of the World News : An Eerie Elegy
The Revenge of the Vending Machines & The Hotdogs of War

somewhere just before the end of this fractured film of ours
long before the blind off-track bettors
declare the winners of the three legged horse race
long before the apocalyptic think tanks lurch
blindly forward in the final strut of
we don't remember what we were
over the glowing desert with brave new stolen languages
free to reap & mine
the bittersweet nuclear harvest
of blood and oil
and sugar-souls that got liberated

even before the bastard bite of history calls home the false rewards
the bounty hunters of glory
come ready to rock
all powered up all right
but repeatedly stalled
at the gate

it was a beautiful blaze in shattered baskets of chaos
that lit our way to see us through the afterglow of fetid victory
like Sodom & Gomorrah
now you know we're just acting positive to say that
(don't look back)
Oh, stink me! We are a happy atomic pillar of love
stumbling piecemeal into the
ancient heat of frankincense and myrrh

over there, on the field of battle
modern muted verses of epic spear-throwers
split the artless air full of ticking gusts and empty promises
their wild history never told
stuttering into bomb-deaf ears from undisclosed locations
while nuclear winds of niggling network news
sweep clean the antediluvian hands of time's up!
those hands hanging in the air like
so much plenty dirty laundry
racing against the crusading world of news networks
washed red, white and blue
with subliminal pornographic x-tra-hi nipplefocus chic -
I mean ABC the happiest place on earth
NBC just another stock exchange of information
Generally Electric CBS
(well, not all the time, but just generally)
& CNN & TBN, etc., etc., etc.

the cosmos has misplaced its parking ticket
and there is no validation available at this time
the violated cosmos cries out once again for the ice-blue Krishna moment :
Eve & Adam
apple & snake
big bang & ethereal boom
licking clean
the radioactive rib of victory

strip teasing reality TV
enticing the swelling prick & womb of interest
anticipating the fateful ending
wrestling with the awful results of the stupid truth
in the unforgiving photo finish flash
where the impatient ticket holders shuffle uneasily
while history takes inventory of
the next recipient strange love holocaust

Who will win?
Who helps Who control Who?

together, gripped in shrouds of mortal mud
we were the horse and empire riders of HummVee/SUV & ATV -
we had a good run,
running the last fake races with them
again, we thought it was real, but we learned that
angels of fate
angels of mercy
angels hovering over other angels
looking over our shoulders at the
angels of death
angels in the Texas out&oilfields
our better angels of Lincoln's tomb
and even the angels of a merciful war & peace
who may or may not be accountable or even available
where the dead rest dreaming transpersonally hammered into ethereal sentience by everything
they never understood or spoke of
while the spirit gives back to itself,
mirrors like a river said Hegel on his toilet, what once it was
at the camp of forgotten holy warriors on fool's errands
where no one is anyone really anymore
except Buddha-face, who is looking backward
at all our immigrant fantasies
chanting about how to get it cheap, and real,
as our real dreams lay abandoned in pieces all about us
slim hope broken & blowing away
like the desert sand we capture vanishing
with our pawnshop Salvador Dali melto-hands

we must buy gas masks, and safety,
and lots of duct tape
for a safer world right now! GET IT?!!
(we had to buy what we were directed to buy into at any price)
                            OR ELSE!

forget having a good time -
Goddamned humanity!
what the hell's it all good for anyway?

Hey buddy, could you spare some peace for the change?
Hey sister, would you sell away our blood for a rich shot?
Hey friend, do you hear the clarion call hip-hop forever may we be blessed?
Can I grope you? I am a needy society!

some sound track thank you fevers
tongue unruly continents of wounded bones
that claim they can hold a tune
no one can dance to
I can't, and I'm glad

the monster makes perfect sense
as certainty compels the converted over the cliff
Gods & Generals driven by protesters
along with their signs of mad cowboy disease
the new Romans thundering again into the born-again wilderness
sent there
by God,
to learn their lessons again
over the edge

when we lose our way
we take our useless tickets home
left in a drawer with the rest of what we've lost
we do it for you who are what we were yesterday
who have never won their right mind honestly

half-life time spits inane love songs from the abyss of the stomach
a strange file indeed over an Internet of sincere liars
while at the see thru internment camp for fleas at Guantanamo
elephant audience demands something better than
dogs for best friends

meanwhile,
back at the oasis
the best music of all is late in showing up
with its weary resume
attached to its sad but sacred heart
but it does arrive

stop and listen

it is what you have been waiting to hear all your life
and its really good news!
we are more than we would have been.
otherwise,
we'll all get up tomorrow with our new, sandy-desert-colored faces
with tank parts for arms
and missile legs
mortar recall
night vision
and transformer everything

in time
we suck in our enemies
with sweet justice for all
and they become every good old-timey Republic Western we ever saw
with John Wayne
Tom Mix
Hoppy & Roy, Trigger & Silver
& hey Lone Ranger, don't forget Tonto, Kemosabe
as we Hi Yo & AWAAAYYYYY!!!!

happy trails to you, whoever you are
until we meet again
in our sad agrarian nowhere
in our present rapture
here in Camp Heaven
as the movie flickers away

Vaya con Dios my darlings

framed
one
frame
at
a
time

©2003 The Carma Bums - Los Angeles/Atlanta
M. Lane Bruner, S.A. Griffin, Doug Knott, Mike M. Mollett & Scott Wannberg

click for larger view
photo by Mike M. Mollett.(neon'd by s.a. griffin)
As reported by Mike M. Mollett 2/23/03:

This photo was apparently snapped by a blind hiker, one William Righty (or his dog) while on a hike on the Angeles Crest Trail above Los Angeles on February 23, 2 0 0 3.
Both hiker and and his dog have disappeared.

Only this picture from the missing man's camera has remained as "proof" to the sighting. Wil Smarting, friend of the two hikers, gave this account while in a trancelike state of bliss. "I felt something odd, and then I realized that we were each being struck by strange powerful beams of elongated light that felt good. I began to laugh hysterically and roll joyously on the trail. I have no idea how long I rolled & laughed, but when I was able to breath and think straight I looked around... Sammy [the dog] had Bill's camera in his teeth, & Bill was floating off the ground, rising higher and higher, pulling Sammy with him into the sky. I moved too slowly to grab Sammy & try to pull them back to the ground. I think I was saved because I began laughing again & only stopped when something hit me on the head and rattled to the ground. It was Bill's camera and it was glowing and it smelled like the cosmetics section in a department store."

Since making this statement to a reporter on Mt. Wilson, very near to the trail where the incident may have occurred, Wil Smarting has also disappeared without notice.

This very same saucer-like image with the narrow ray lines was found "burned" into the bedding on the gurney where he had lain in the paramedic's vehicle when it arrived at a Verdugo Hills hospital.

Forensics experts are pouring over the evidence for clues to this unexplained occurrence.