A little more than a year ago, in Portland, Oregon, a friend, a 
girlfriend and myself were walking out of a local arthouse theater where 
we'd just seen a fabulous 3D porno from the nineteen-seventies featuring the 
late great lesbian loving thesbian ... Mr. John Holmes.  My friend looked at 
me and said something that I've managed to remember; he said, " M.R., I've 
noticed lately that a lot of people, myself included, are living as if they 
were a traveling fine art exhibit.  They take the show on the road ... but 
as soon as one of the paintings in the exhibit gets the slightest bit 
damaged, they freak and pack up the show ... they get scared that one of the 
paintings will be lost or have it's original intended meaning altered, and 
they put the art in crates and lock it up ever after ... they hide their 
beauty from the rest of the world.  I don't want to live that way anymore.". 
Although I'm not absolutely certain of what he meant by that, I took it 
to heart. 

     On the other hand, I almost killed a friend with an act of spontaneous 
'beauty' the other night.  It was me and Katie, roving the streets of 
Mang-Mi-Dong.  She dragged me into one of those video picture booths with 
the vinyl curtain around it.  I hate taking pictures, but we were drunk, and 
I followed reluctantly.  Once we were in the booth, while she was stooping 
over to feed a couple thousand won to the machine, I decided that it would 
be funny to get naked and hang from the top frame of the picture booth, so 
that the camera would get a close up shot of my big brown anal eye as my 
legs flailed to either side.  So I shed my clothes and grabbed hold of the 
overhead metal bars which held the vinyl curtain in place, lifting my legs 
and hiney up and towards the camera.  But Katie didn't even get a chance to 
stuff those bills into the machine, cause the entire photo booth came down 
on us.  It was so stupid.  As the massive metal beast collapsed towards us, 
I was tossed out of the way, my naked ass skidding on the asphalt street.  
But when I wobbled to my feet, I was horrified to see that Katie was 
crouched in a fetal ball under the toppled booth.  I immediately started 
saying "Katie, Katie!" while I frantically pulled my jeans on without 
undoing my belt or the button.  She didn't answer at first, and I feared the 
worst as I began trying to lift the metal beast that was still blaring it's 
chincey techno tracks.  In my drunken stupor, I feared that I'd wounded or 
killed her ... I couldn't tell, had her head gone through the glass monitor 
... had her back been broken under the weight of the machine? 

     No, she was alright.  Seconds later, she rolled out from under the 
picture booth, laughing and staggering to her feet.  Barely able to form 
words from between her giggles, she managed to say, " I'm outta here!", and 
she took off into the night.  I stayed behind, trying to pull one of my 
imitation Nike's from beneath the corner of the heavy metal motherfucker; 
but it was jammed, and I was fearing the Pusan P.D. drunktank, so I grabbed 
my t-shirt up off the ground and followed after her in my jeans and one shoe 
... laughing a wheezy smoker's laugh all the way home. I snuck back to the 
downed picture booth later that night and managed to free my shoe. 
    

Chaos trips ... they're all fun'n'games ... until someone gets their 
skull crushed.

     A general oversimplification about the human race, coming from the 
mouth of a mega-celebrity, tends to sound like prophesy or gospel ... as was 
the case a few months ago when one of by buddies who works for the Gannett 
media juggernaut did an interview with Life In Hell/Simpsons/Futurama 
creator Matt Groening. 

Groening made a statement to the effect that the human race was 
composed of two types of people; the Daffy Ducks and the Elmer Fudds. Anyone 
who's ever seen a Daffy and Elmer Looney Toon will surely remember that 
Daffy is the silly duck who always say's 'Thufferin' Thuckotash!' while he 
runs around making a mockery of all things serious ... while Elmer Fudd is 
the self conscious shot gun wielding humanoid who is constantly trying to 
blow mortal holes in Daffy ... when he isn't stalking Bugs Bunny or Porky 
Pig. 

     He said that the Daffy Ducks were just goofballs, always out for joker 
kicks; while the Elmer Fudds were always hunting the Daffy Ducks ... trying 
to put an end to their lighthearted ways.
     Unfortunately, it doesn't seem so simply black and white to me ... I've 
seen Daffy's who're out for money or illicit drugs and Elmers to actually 
want to help some sort of victimized individual who falls into neither the 
Daffy nor the Elmer role.  But then again, it's such an easy way to sort 
people out ... 

     All those Jews and Muslims who're constantly fighting in the middle 
east are surely a bunch of Elmers after one another.
     And all American politicians ... Elmers.
     Kids who shoot rack up high school body counts ... Elmers.
     Any man who has sex with a woman against her will ... Elmer.
     Jerry Lewis was a Daffy; the old lady who pops her dentures with her 
tongue to freak a small child out is a Daffy.  Peter Sellers was a king 
Daffy.  I'm a Daffy ... I hope ... little sips from my momentary mind ...
     ... here's to chaos trips and joker kicks ... any old meaningless, 
purposeless act in the name of shits and giggles so to speak ...

   Hardy Gilbert and the Colonel Tim Hockett, cruising I-65 out of Opelika, 
Al in a custom van with an airbrushed swordfish mural on the side and shag 
carpeting interior, tanked on GHB, starting up king hell shouting matches 
with truckers on the CB radio ...

     ... watching old 2000 A.D. at the overpriced posh-fucked tavern in the 
basement of some hotel on Hayeundai Beach ... Murphy's ... as he whisks a 
bottle of Bacardi 151 from behind the bar; we take it to the back room and 
mix our own drinks on the house ... end up with Korean and Japanese girls 
out on the beach ... start swimming in the still temperate fall waters in 
the straight of Korea ... a trip through the Hayeundai hooker districts ... 
horrible soup at an all night joint ... with soft black hunks of ... boiled 
tire rubber? ... then back to the beach ...Kwang-ali ... we sit on a 
concrete slab and watch an Adjuma aerobics class at 5:30 am ... imagine 
fifty aged adjumas moving in synchronal-time to Korean techno music by Clon 
with the ocean's morning calm in the background ... gorgeous ...

     I just hope that there are others out there willing to turn off their 
televisions ... to disobey the first church of christ computer programmer 
...  and return their videos and revel in their own lives and times ...
I think there are many ... I hope ... because if there aren't ... well, then 
nothing matters any more ... the black waters of construct reality and 
mental revisionism ... synthetic reality displacement ... have overtaken us 
...

    If that's the case, then we're no more than spawned out salmon ... tired 
of swimming up stream ... doomed to swim out the last moments of our lives 
in a stagnant death pool of consumer products and creative alien-isolation 
...

     Teach the children?  Teach them what?  English ... grammar ... how to 
compete on standardized tests ... never to ramble on ... ramble on ... 
ramble on in fragments of wordy tone poems ... chaos trips ...

  Snapshots in tight black underwear and rubber spiderman mask ... posed

with the plastic Colonel Sander's statue in front of a fast-food-crack-den KFC ... joker trips ... nothing more ....

     For the love of christ, for all the doomed angels in the heavens ... 
fuck those travel plans and money goals of for a few seconds and live in the 
world like a decent earthling should ... so a little birdie told me.

     The priceless laughs that arose from the depths when the Gib Duke of 
those great Northern Canadian lands was describing his hockey injuries ... 
telling us so earnestly, " Well, I could get in a fight, and my nose has 
been broken so many times that one punch would send it flapping across my 
face ... most of my teeth are fake, and would come out with the second punch 
... I'd be toothless, with a flat nose, covered in blood, but I'd just be 
laughing and swinging ...

     Walking out of the surrealio-depressing hooker district in Nampodong, 
to find ourselves in a bustling 6am market place where 2000 A.D. starts 
buying up copious amounts of fish and vegetables ... I pop a whole green 
pepper in my mouth and start crying and screaming like a baby ... all I can 
manage to say between wheezes is ... I can't think ... I can't think!" ... 
the old Korean people are laughing their mongolian blue-spotted asses off, 
offering me water ... but I can't even take the cup from the kind old 
ladies's hand, I'm moaning and whining , " I can't think ... I can't think 
..." the pepper is so hot that it's dissolving the tissue inside my mouth 
... I'm going into some sort of panic-shock hallucinations ...

     Birdstuff's the drummer for an Alabama Sci-Fi Surf-Instrumental band 
... he's compulsive about not touching small change ... if a penny or a 
nickel or a dime touches his skin, he has to have a shower and scrub himself 
... he makes cash register workers wrap his change up in dollar bills ... 
eventually, driven mad with his small-change fears, he fills his bed with 
pennies and tries to sleep in it ... but it doesn't work, and he ends up 
scrubbing himself bloody in the shower ... battier than ever ...

   Revel in your own life and times ... do that for yourself.  Do it here on 
Pusanweb ... that's what it's here for, I think.  Mental thoughtscapes ... 
memories solidified ... congealed with the letters of the english language 
... is there any higher purpose for the alphabet?

    Try to create new words ... new sentence structures ... for English is a 
living language after all ... isn't it?

    The greatest alchoholyptic move in a bowling alley is to get a strike in 
the next lane over; trust me, my hogwan president and coworkers really 
respected me afterwards ...

    Is an unabashed fart in public some sort of crime against humanity?  If 
so, I should be tried, convicted and executed for crimes against my fellow 
man ...

    The world may be fucked, but that don't mean it can't still smile an old 
toothess grin ...

     If I get my druthers, I'd bid any recent arrivals welcome to a fairly 
new community ... where I'm not the first and surely not the last ... it's a 
gaseous ... electrolytic community ... composed of free formed and free 
floating personalities and egos in the process of being realized ... it's a 
mental party where everybody's invited and nobody get's touched ... 
physically that is ... it's a place where no thought or word is tabooed or 
aborted ... it's one of those ideal, theoretical realms where infinity and 
god as possibility are born and killed on a daily basis ... it's a place 
where as Os Mutantes told us in their sumptuous Portu-Brazilian tongues, ' 
Everything is Possible' ...

    ... sooo, let's get down to it ... the bones of the matter ... get to 
work ... there's still so many beautiful creatures to be captured ... get 
down to that keyboard when ever life lets up long enough, and fingerfuck 
that little plastic monstrosity into oblivion ... let's populate this 
motherfucker ... eternity is waiting for your head, maybe ...

... several species of small furry mammals, gathered in a cave and grooving 
on a pict ... several peices of tall blurry angles gathered at a rave and 
schmoozing on a brick ... does anyone have any spare crystallium isotope 
series 237 ... my interstellar overdrive is running low ... the marijuanaut 
is banging on the gates of the Temple Agamemnon ... that's secret code for 
ego y'all ... it's in the blood now ... that deep LSDNA hangover ... let's 
get to the center ... before sleep comes a callin' ...

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