Slice Oh Cheese 11.08.2010

cruising through the heated streets of New Yark in none other than a pair of sneaks, cushioned for walking pleasure. they talk to me and this is what they say. "adi dassler was his name,his brother was a Puma, german engineered they were.david beckham kicks balls with them, steffi graf looked foxy in 'em too, they have stripes,3 in all, flaming, flash gordon red,they have lungs,theyre dimpled. i'm going too fast ,strap me in, velcro will do the trick. white,is it a colour?,antarctic white, hide and seek in the snow,'i can't see you'. 8 and a halfs, theyre just snug.apples and pears, they'll run me up of stairs.i see a leaf,its been through the shredder.best remembered through the revealed acronym 'all day i dream about se...uh i mean sport'. theyre adidas, and theyre great. wish you could see them".

these sneaks buffered me from the sticky,sweaty, sewer-stenched streets of    new york. the heat of a new yark summer is a brewing experience. the burning tar, the rise of vapour from the bowels of the earth where the trains screech, peoples body warmth, the basting lamb meat-a sacrificial offering to the lunch time suits, the subway grip bars sticky as honey buns, sweat stained arm pits and clingy shirts pulse the heated glow of a coal furnace. as i evaporated my bodily fluids, a trail of salt strung behind me, it was time to replenish, to unleash a gush of Dr Pepper. i popped into a drug store, purchased a cool bottle of berry-brown freshness and strolled over to Washington Square. there i crashed on a wooden bench looking out onto a fountain with kids prancing, birds lounging and hipsters in tight denim shorts, plaid collar shirts and ferris-buellers-day-off sunglasses playing cool. with a forceful grip i took hold of that soda pop cracked its coil open and as its bubbly energy welled inside it began excitedly bursting all over the show. while the caramel coloured fountain of fun exploded all over me, a fat ginger haired guy wearing a new york yankees cap, a wife beater vest and shorts had a chuckle and said 'i hate that sh*t'. 

the sugar coated sweetness was all over me. i'm an M&M

from a sweet russian bear

yours in candy coated goodness

TurnPike 23.08.2010

so i got me safely to Baaastin, although staying in the ghetto is always riveting, i've emerged alive.

so last night me, Di Caprio, Jack Nicholson and Matt Damon hung out at some irish pub on Union street. we drank 2 dollar pints of Miller Light, i was barely aware that it was even beer. the big lcd screens showed the patriots playing football. we weren't bothered, we were just catching up. in the back ground, the rolling stones filled the air waves followed by pink floyd's, 'comfortably numb'. great sound track to a great city. in my back pocket i pulled out a polaroid pic of the gold domed building that sits in the city centre of Baastin. the one that hovers just above the Baastin commons gardens, a real green retreat for a city dweller. i took the pic that day.although it was a little bent, crumpled i showed it to Matt. its the exact domed building Matt has a view of from his apartment. anyways we all went back to Matts apartment and listened to the Beach Boys and Patsy Cline on his quarter of a million dollar Makintosh sound system. it was reverberatingly awesome.

having left the lads, i returned to my hostel, where in my room i was greeted by 3 Bangladeshis. i realised quickly enough that this wasn't a scene from Slumdog Millionaire. since that took place in India?. the next day after a restless sleep cos those said bangladeshis were up all night talking cricket statistics, i notched up easily my 15th Subway Veggie sandwich experience on the great hallowed turf of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. now what an institution. the campus sits in the city, it's sprawling, it's huge. it harbours some great pieces of architecture including eero saarinens segmented auditorium, his chapel, an alvar alto curvilinear residential block,and IM Pei school of Design. but then where all have created beautifuly downplayed non-ego driven edifices , there frank gehry goes pleasuring himself on MIT territory. Frank was it really necessary?

sketching my way through much of the university, i see this janitor, he looks just like matt damon,scrawling on the chalkboard. so i shout out, 'will, good grief will, what are you hunting for,the theory of relativity?'. anyways i decided not to bother him and left him while he chalk dusted himself. not long after i left Baastin did i find out that that same janitor won an Academy award. astonishing. thats MIT.

the sun still hung by a thread in the blue sky, so i figured i could squeeze in one last destination. Harvard. turns out it was orientation week. all the juniors beginning their lives in Big school. i have no doubt one of these kids will cure AIDS or make contact with alien life. fingers crossed.

Baastin, apart from one day was awash in rain. while trudging the soaked cobbled streets, i noticed a guy in a wheel chair, his wheels smooth as custard, struggling to wheel himself up a slopey hill. i thought, gsus, i gotta give this oke a hand. 'mate can i give you a push?.'he graciously accepted.so i pushed the ginger(if being in a wheel chair was so bad, G-d went and gave him orange hair and freckles) up the hillock. i felt this rather rewarding and for some reason gave myself credit. 

that eve while holding up another irish pub, i was sat by a single empty chair.i offered to shift for a couple from LA-a radio DJ and his Petron-tequila crazed wife. said DJ says to the barmen, 'get this kid a beer, he doesn't allow me a word in edge ways. we get chatting, the night goes on and they move on, but before that,they drop some green backs on the arm pit stained bar, enough for another beer. enjoy the night bud.

ain't it crazy how things revolve, and i'm not talking revolving doors.

on friday 27th August i 'Departed' Boston

from a far flung lad in america which is like a scene from hollywood which is like the movies which is like a reality show on mtv

the russian bear hunter

Ghetto Blaster 12.08.2010

washington deecee,
having booked passage upon the wifi accessible, plug-in-your-ipod boltbus, i was in the state capitol after 4 hours. sat next to this lawyer, mike. he gave me his calling card, offering his services should i be in trouble with the feds. i just munched my M&M's.
after finding my bearings, which were as round as those chocolate coated peanut M&M's, i made headway for the hostel. now on a map, the distance between things looks kinda small and so i figured id walk the mileage. after sweating like a cotton pickin labourer, being drenched like a dog in a car wash and having noticed quickly that the demographics changed from milky white to cappucino to all black, i realised that i was in the capitals ghetto.welcome to dc
DC, designed with a straight rule and a rubber,has barely a curve.
the capitol hill, which offers a free tour, something free in the usa.....oh and slaves, sits at the centre of the city's cartesian grid, the 'centre of the universe', with the rolling green hills of the mall extending, binding that huge column 500 feet high, a pin prick on the bubble blue sky, to forrest gumps reflecting pool to the gargantuan lincoln memorial, its a phenomenally awesome patriotic expression of the nation's ego.
perpendicular to the Mall the white house on its green checkered lawn with the black president sits looking south across the Potomac river. the theme of the Nation, its memory, and memorialisation continues in this vast envelope with the beautiful, engaging Vietnam War Veterans Memorial by Maya Lin-2 black granite walls embedded with the names of fallen heroes cut the earth in the shape of a V, and the statue riddled war scene of the Korean War Memorial.
being boa constricted by the grid, i made way for the Arlington cemetery a dominoes box of the fallen-open to the doors of tourists. JFK's grave site, the Challenger and Discovery astronauts, the forgotten war heroes, and Jacqui Onasis, all their memory embedded in the manicured lawns of the cemetery.
the museums and art collections that line the Mall are a vast resource of information and history. here they harbour some serious odes to mans endeavours and artistic masterpieces.the holocaust museum, as many as i've been to, always pluck on the fender that is my heart, the aeronautical and space museum was simply a phenomenal walk and visual explosion of man pushing the envelope.
staying in a proper ghetto, when i get on the bus i feel like i'm in a spike lee movie, i never knew there was another million man march.

the clusters of excitement are limited here in dc. if you stray off the tourist path, well you're in the precipice of nothingness.
i've walked my feet to blisters and i have asked, is america a reality, it all seems so hollywood, did america achieve all that they have, did they place a man on the moon, is this all real, or is it all stanley kubrick?.

From a russian bear hunter with blood shot eyes

Couch Surfing 16.08.2010

new yaark yankees.

when you're in america, you gotta eat greasy grub like an american, you gotta drink soda pop like an american, you gotta laugh at americas funniest home videos even if it aint funny, like an american, and then you gotta indulge in its favourite past time, baseball while getting ice cream shmeared on your face, pretzel bits in your hair, beer on your shirt and a hot dog down your gullet.

with an eleven dollar ticket in my hand, this was me being a yank.

it was the New york yankees vs the Detroit Tigers that was printed in black on my self-download ticket.(i printed the tickets in black and white). 

as i rolled off the D-train there it was. a modern day colliseum, a newly built edifice to the biggest baseballing franchise, a diamond in the rough of The Bronx, a marketing giant, a neon sign big and drawing enough energy to power up addis abbaba, hues of blues and whites, and the typical hum of a big game event. this was Yankee stadium.

as i skirted my way to the nose-bleed seats, there stood before me on the concrete walkway an oasis of light,the ark of the covenant, a fully kosher hot dog stand. i had to. i had to buy the dog, a 6 dollar dog. having gripped my dog in one hand, i pivoted to walk away. and then, like a kung fu kick to the head, i turned leprechaunous green with sausage envy. i glared noticingly at all the other hot dogs around me. all the other dogs were foot longs dripping in sauer kraut, creamy mustard and fiery red tomato sauce, all looking like 1945 ally submarines waiting to blast the living daylights outta the germans while mine, yes mine was all of a puny 6 inches. quickly i averted my glance to stare at the blond with the big breasts and i realised what i had in hand.

this dog was coloured to perfection, airbrushed to look gently brown, and smooth as a russian engineered V rocket.this dog was there to inflict excitement on my taste buds, to make an assault on my very senses that were craving this simple protein/ carbohydrate tangoing duo. my mouth dripping in excitement took hold of this rocket ship to be pulped giving my pulsing blood an all american roller coaster ride. its soft consistent texture delighted me. this synthetically engineered sausage, with squirts of sachet tomato sauce was rapturous. it filled no gaps in my hunger, added no nutritional value, but it was blisteringly awe-some.

the 4 hour beer drinking, hot dog shovelling, ice cream scooping, lets-go-out-to-the-ball-game singing frenzy lacked serious excitement. like sinisterly watching a mosquito land gently on your flesh, piercing your skin to begin draining you of your blood, while you gently hang around till the wee bastard is all juiced up, flexing your muscle to watch a surge of blood burst the little critter to smithereens, but being irritated that the lil critter beat the trap having buzzed away at the last minute denying you a sadistic experience, thats...baseball.

from the western exploits of a malnourished lad

the russian bear hunter

Toffeed Apple 03.08.2010

Brooklyn Nooo Yaaark.

the sun baking hot, the tar a gummy liquorice. the airconditioned 4 train, in its shimmery shiny chrome skin, me, danny brawler, and gena g skidded out to Burough Park.

Borough Park is one of like a thousand little Jerusalems barry peppered around New Yark city. here its a wee lil shtetl where yiddish is probably the first language, pita and shwarmas the local delicacy. and if you listen closely you could hear the theme track from fiddler on the roof. here we rolled in the sweetness of apple sauce and burst into song at chocolate pastries. we tucked ourselves in the comfort of shlurpy mess-on-your-sunday-best falafels, and yiddished our way into popularity.the day was dusted for the D&G show and it was time for me to soak up more.

i caught a train down the road to crown heights, centre for the lubavitch jewish community and home to the late lubavitcher rebbe. the number on his door, 770. here in the streets, the black hat hovers, the black coat billows in the fresh breeze, and push prams cut grooves in the side walks. and in the background alicia and jayzee are shootin' hoops on the ball courts. i asked the locals if anyone knew fitz speigelman, and lo and behold i had a crowd of black hats scouring their 'berries for his contact details.

another day in paradise.

coney island, a once playground to the stars, a place of leisure, a place of fun. roller-coasters, candy floss, toffee apples and shoot-the-freak entertainment. all images that'd spring delight and excitement in a kids eyes. that was in the late 1800's.

coney island harboured this sorta mystery for me and on coming to new yark city it was sure to be one of my many destinations.

as the throngs of people burst outta the D train from manhatten i got the sense that i was back in south-end-on-sea up in the UK. from african americans, to russians, to chinese, to hispanics, to neon sign plastered strips, this was surely the periphery of manhatten. it was a culture shock i didnt quite expect and it was a view through a pin hole of what one could see outside of new york city.

all of a sudden the people swelled to xxxl, the russian talk threw me back to vodka swirled moscow, the american drawl placed me in that oprah winfrey movie, the colour purple, the hand ball courts threw my mind to ghettoised america and the people i saw at the edge, probably just wanted to fall off it. and thrown in amongst all this oddity were religious jews pushing prams, strolling, enjoying a sunday out and playing hand ball with the mexicans.

the promenade was full of take-out joints, dripping in fried goods, candy sticky and heaving to the sounds of led zepelin and the eurythmics. oversized cartoon characters holding hotdogs bobbed the skyline, the beaches full of bathers and frisbee throwers. the pier, strewn with fishermen in wife beater vests, stained to the chest and the pit.

at first sighting this lil kinda-island scared the begsus outta me, but slowly as i walked its path i began to enjoy its oddity, its strangeness, its freakiness, its absurdity, cos afterall this is where excitement lies.

from the trailings of mesmerized lad

the russian bear hunter

 

Rise of a Beigel 27.07.10

ah what a day, after waking up sweating like like an olive in a desert,i got myself up early, and made a bolt for the Metropolitan museum of Art. the museum sits on two floors, and i have no idea how many square meters it consumes, but its like a wee megalopolis. anyhow it sounds rather strange but i get kicks out of antiquities, well primarily the greek and roman stuff,afterall i was a latin scholar. here too i rubbed shoulders with the kandinsky's,the cezannes, the monets, the mantes, the van goghs. the list is as big as a new york deli side order menu. huge.

after walkng this place for hours and by the end of it needing the walls to hold me up, it was time to get some suunshiine and a beigel.yea thats what i said, a beigel. Matt Ai suggested that for my first beigel experience it has to be Beigel Stix on 53rd and 8th. i entered under the glowing red neon sign, rolled up to the intimidating counter, pulled out my wee book in which matt had scribbled exactly what to order-lox nova, thin cream and an 'everything' beigel, and i just sat breathing up against the counter glass ,drooling like a puppy dawg. i grabbed the beigel in its bag, and made headways across town. while strolling, my body shaking, pulsing, at the excitement, like an archeologist unearthing the origins of man. i unbag the beigel, unwrap its tinfoil outter shell and peel back the wax paper, as it is revealed to me, it bursts in to colourful life before my very eyes.the seeded bun like a rocky desert terrain, the 15 layers of salmon, glowing pink, soft, tender, the massive red tomato slice, all sitting tightly between two thin layers of the creamiest cream cheese my taste buds had ever surfed. i took a bite, the cheese shmearing its self all over me, the salmon as tender as a fresh bruise, the bun fresh and warm.in my hands the beigel was simply uncontrollable, but i took the upper hand.and wow it was good.

so im scoffing this thing down, loving it like the first season of Friends, and as im crossing town i pass by the MoMo gallery, its like 7pm and theres music bursting outta its seams. i see a girl standing by, looking all summery and i ask her while my mouth is full o beigel, how the hell do i get in there. she choons me its invitation only but if i want she'll squeeze me in somehow. so i tell her not to worry, i gottta finish this bite of heaven,the beigel that is and ill sort myself out (getting into the gallery that is). she says just act confident and youll be in like princess leiah with han solo.anyways in my sneaekrs, shorts and tee i roll up to the counter.the lady at the desk tells me its invite only, so i tell her im the kinda guy that gets invites to these kinda events. i tell her im famous. she asks my name, i choon her the russian bear hunter. there and then she googles me.she shows me a pic of some guy thats just elephant-shot a bear.i say yeah thats me.she's like 'OMG'. her friend aint buying it so they call the manager.i tell her i blog, and she's like, 'wow,you blog?', im like 'whatever', she checks the blog, the manager checks 'my' bear hunter pic.he says 'no'. but the sweet girl behind the desk gently slides over a ticket when no ones looking, shebam im rolling with the big cheeses of New YArk city.

free drinks and im happy as the ending of a hollywood romcom.

a corker of a day in Noo Yaaark Citee

bobbing for apples 25.07.10

sunday a day out.i steered my adidas sneakers to the american natural history museum. im not too sure why, but new york is pretty damn intimidating, it kinda gave me stage fright.i contemplated lingering at home under the air cooled atmosphere eating pretzels having been too afraid to step out into the world.

where do you begin to bite this fruit of a city.how do you approach it, how do you pounce? and hence the beginnings started well in the beginning when the world was created and Mcdonalds popped up on every corner.

so the history museum gives one the opportunity to pay whatever you wish, so its normally a hefty 20 dollars, but i had set my mind on 5 bucks.anyhow im in the cheapo queue and some poncy outta stater asks me how much im gonna give, so i tell him a 'fiver'.so he's llke 'whats a faiyver?'.its funny cos his wife got it. anyhow this f*ckin ponce tells me that 'know one in these parts knows what a faiyver is'.anyhow i kept my mouth shut thinking this oke was a total baseball head.

anyhoo i decided, f*ck him im paying 3 dollars, and with that i rolled in.

as i tried to read everything in this museum, trying to be interested i kept being followed by this smell, this scent of grandmas old flat in killarney, you know, that musty old smell that grannies have. anyways i smelled my pits and smelling like a fresh can of AXE deo, i realised that it was simply the teradactyl next to me. did i really need to go to this museum?

after 5 hours scouring mummies and old mexicans, penguins and dinosaurs ,ancient asians and prehistoric africans, rubbing rocks from space and rocks from the rockies it was time to head out side and take a sweet stroll through central park. there i cracked open the all too cool can of dr pepper and unbagged a stash of pretzels. im an all american.

this park is absolutely phenomenal, its vast, its green, its pleasant, it has runners and cyclists and walkers and talkers. its got frisbees and soccer, lollies and pretzels.

having greened my pants on the emerald lawns it was time for me to meet up with bochy, the blessed one. together we followed this dude to a bar in amsterdam avenue that sells beer for 3 dollars-the cows had come home and pigs could fly. but after 15 pints i could still remember high school calculus.(not to be mistaken with high school musical)

having asked for local knowledge on a fine slice of pizza pie, this college kid leads us to Freddies, a little dive entered below street level run by these like porta ricans. a real sweaty place only cooled  when the coke refrigerator was opened. that lil triangulated wedge of ecstacy was the sweatiest tastiest slice of life i've had in a long time. i knew this was the place cos here on the wall i shared a moment, another(after wall street) moment with michael douglas and the great Sopranos.ssssiiiick.seems like michael douglas spreads himself thin.

after catching a cab, a frikkin yellow cab, typically driven by some guy from new delhi we rolled into Brandys across town on the east side (got the lingo down hey).its a wee piano bar, open mic night it was and gees like it was awesome.

the waitress after cheesily offering us drinks, grips the mic like a lolly pop, her flaming red hair glistening in the bar light, her green top glad wrapping her torso, her skinny jeans, like a scuba suit, and her black heels polished to a mirror conducts the piansist and begins to belt it. her lungs powerful enough to have turned the winds. her vocals squeezed tears outta my eyes, it was mesmerising. that eve not a single singer couldnt sing, pure freshly squeezed talent dripped from this bar. thats new york

sweet melons what a night, it ended in miss waitress singing a lady gaga tribute, i want your 'vertical stick'.

as i caught the polished chrome train back home with bochy, i knew i was a seed in the great apple.

from a scurvyless lad

the russian bear hunter

Hooligan Juice 12.06.10

i always believe, yes i do, and i suppose the wizard of Oz just made it reality, but if you do click your heels 3 times(or your adidas boris beckers in my case) and you wish real hard,dreams do come true. and so the colourful life i lead just turned HD- i'm talking high definition.

this weekend on friday eve, i get a ring on the ol nokia hand held blower. its the berndawg offering me a ticket to Engeland vee USA for one thousand rand. im like 'no dude, its just too large'. 2 minutes later, after bernie held the okes nuts in his hands gently crushing them like soft grapes,the seller agreed to a face value R560.00. and lo and behold the red sea parted and we, that's bern dawg, bernie middle brother from middle earth and me moonwalked over to Rustenburg.

Rustenburg a wee lil town like 200 kays north of civilization harbours the Royal Bafokeng Stadium as well as a housing complex called Little Italy. the only thing rustenburg has thats italian is possibly an old worn alfa giulietta tyre from the early 60's used as a kids swing. 

anyways the story goes like this. The Bafokeng tribe purchased land having sent its troops to work on mines to earn money to make such an investment. this land near Rustenburg happened to have one of the largest deposits of platinum in the world. you could just imagine how hysterical this tribe musta been.gsus. they probably sacrificed some poor kid.

although this humble little stadium sits in a rural settlement, quite a change from a stadium in say Berlin or in Barcelona, it still bubbled like a pre teen zit waiting to explode all over the the bathroom mirror.

as we arrived, i sessioned a car bar of green heneikens, cos i knew, yes i did that mister Shwet Splatter (sepp blatter), would rape and pillage my pocket like the meat eating vikings to some unsuspecting vegetarian tribe out in the andes.

as i drank my dutch brewed excuse for beer, bus loads of mcdonalds and coke drinking americanos began to roll in. the Americans, looking lost, trying to find lions to ride, just seemed outta place in this shebeen strewn drag leading up to the stadium. theyre like cartoon characters these yanks, can you even take them seriously? as a yank screamed 'Aaaammeeriiica' , a whole pancake stack replied 'F*ck Yea" in glorious unison, alluding to that great flik, Team America. 

the poms loud and berry red, shirtless in the icey cold, decked in liquor jackets ,the red cross of saint georges pasted across their chests had arrived to make haggis out of american body parts. i wouldnt run to these okes if i needed a band aid.

while the hoardes continued to drink inside the bowels of the stadium, i felt i needed to batter my liver in fermented barley and hops just a couple more times. at R30.00 a pop my heart missed a cupla egg beats, and i nearly swallowed my nokia phone. but when the wave of euphoria washes over you, you just jump in and start swimming.and so i forked out 60 rond.sorry starving ethiopians

as i looked around me , the hum, the buzz and the euphoria of a big stage football match sent the hair on my back standing up, piercing through my 3 layers of tshirts, i simply stunned myself into disbelief.

entering a big stadium is always dramatic. you rise up the stairs looking out towards the landscape, then make a turn into the tunnel beneath the seats, the tunnel is dark but for the light at the end of it, a window, or a snap shot of whats taking place opens up to reveal artificial bright light and a heaving crowd, music over the PA and raucous excitement.its simply wow and a feeling that never dies. i sat alone, well with out any one i knew, but i found myself in and amongst the beer swilling, flag waving ginger americans. they were an animated bunch, they sang great footy songs, waved a flag i couldnt believe id be seeing in our home country, ate sweaty boerierolls and said things like 'caar' and 'yaeh'. it was an absolute gas.

i watched some of the greatest players on that green checker board field. rooney just couldnt make magic, well england on the whole were just shate.and then one blunder by one wee lad and every britisher wants to pop his eyes out with a blunt toothpick. its riveting stuff. it wasn't the greatest footy match i've ever seen. but the reality of seeing the greatest down here in the South was pretty mind blowing.

that very next morning as i walked the golf course having slammed my drive deflouring the virgin fairway, i thought to my self, 'gsus dan, thats one helluva life youve lived'.

i went onto double bogey the hole 

from a city stewing with all the excitement of a teen groupie at a Take That concert

the russian bear hunter

Gandolf's Wisdoms 26.05.09

up Until May of 2009 a haircut was the worst possible experience I would endure. the year 2009 became a torcherous odyssey,the only space it had going on was the vacuum left at the rear end of my pie hole.two gaping black holes.

these days it aint easy just giving up on one , let alone two of your gnashers. as a kid there was always money involved, it was an investment. you stuck a thread around your tooth, tied the other end to a door and got your older sibling to ram that leaf so hard, there was a possibility the brain stem attached to your spine would be ripped from the vessel that is your body. the possibilities could have been fatal, but if all went well you got your tooth, a shiny nickel, and your bro got to make you cry. it was a win win situation.

25years on and whats in me-organs, teeth, bones,appendages stays in me. so i thought. 

as a wee lad, pimply, greasy and at the heat of the late 90's, my teeth found themselves incarcerated in the alcatraz of the day,braces. once them train tracks to stardom were peeled from the skin of my teeth, the dental fraternity have wanted my teeth, my wisdom teeth. I always denied these hunters a piece of me for they gave me no hassle and i gave them no grief. until i awoke one morn on this thin rubber of a matress in down town Tokyo to find a fillet of gum loosley flapping around my mouth,swollen like a jellied donut.my life with my calcified friends was about to change.

No sooner had I dropped into joburg did I have Doc doom on the ol blower,

'dan youre a good guy, you play a good golf game-nice follow through, and you give the ball good shape, but i have no choice, its either an absess every month that'll rot your gum or the teeth,ones of yous has gotta go'.

and so i was pushed over to the Maxillo facila surgeon-sounds like a Mad Max movie starring the guy with the perm, one mel giblets gibson.

and so it came to pass, i left work at 12 and said 'ill see you at 2'. 

i tried to put on a brave face, the one Leonardo Di Caprio wore when he's about to meet his death in that final scene in the elevator of my favourite movie 'The Departed'...for the cute receptionist.but she'd seen the movie a thousand times before.

with my knees knocking a beat, i was Singapore-slung into the low lying tan leathered dentist chair, shown two zeppelin shaped gray penicillin capsules which i chugged back, rested my head unknowing of the carnage i was about to endure, had the doc then jolly jab me twices,my lower mouth a swollen jabba the hut. my lip a scoop, good for a two scoop.

 

the final scene of Braveheart had begun ,and i was in a lead role. Max begins to extend my pie hole wide open, pressing, probing, prodding with his rubberised hands. like a clay animation character he manipulates my face to begin his lumberjackin assault on teeth 17 and 32. my eyeballs shut, my heart leading the Americas' Cup, racing at knots, thumping its way down a white-horse-splattered sea. as i dared to take a peek, the blinding light shot my pupils to retract within themselves, to hide behind the white curtains of my cornea, shaking, shivering, squeezing out a tear.

the rubber hands continue pressing derobing the hugging pink gum against my tooth, the pressure of this force pulverising the gummy ness of my brain

it was a massacre with a chain saw, grinding away like a lumber jack to an old friend. the drilling couldnt have taken place off shore. my blood splattered face, a scene from Fight Club. this wasn't Hollywood, this reality tv.

The gaping jelly bowl, stiched closed,im raggedy andy. The gut tickling my tonsil, I wanted to hooch.

As I peered upon the stainless steel tray glistening in the morning light and nesteld on the obligatory blue tea cloth with all this weaponary, bloodied from this massacre,I could only imagine the pain William Walace endured. I shouted freedom, but I still longed for two faithful friends.

'Bag those chicklets,theyre coming home with me'.

My mouth dry ,lips cracked as a deserted alien planet. I sit here sucking soup though a straw, I aint no brawler. But today I went the full ten and im reeling.

I have the two in a jar, this tooth fairy is gonna pay, and I want bonds, bank bonds

I did not want to be a part of the evolutionary walk, now that my wisdoms are gone, I am.

a toothless Russian Bear Hunter will Hunt again

Irritable Bowel 06.01.2010

i had to buy myself a gift-a new pair of siick high top converse chuck taylors, theyre prison jumpsuit blue with double stitching crossing the length of these nasty kickers, theyll make you say wawaweewa when you see them. they have no flash, no gel, no waffle. theyre just ordinary.. i knew when december kicked off i'd be a cruise-ader (no relation to darth v-ader)

the yodel of a december holiday, is the creamed custard on my warm apple pie.

the mozzie bite on my psyche had been itching me the whole damn year, i scratched it till it bled, and if december hadnt come when it did, id have bled out.

we were a trio-a hairy me, an hairier bones, and saulie. we were headed for a journey, i dont wanna call it a rode trip, that just aint carbon neutral, but we slashed the eastern cape in a fire bomb german engineered tri star, notching up 3600 carbon fueled kays. we were guided by a GPS. that frikkkin gps story blows my melon all shades of red. the world can see us, it knows where we're going, it knows i needed to pee a mega litre, to dispatch it in some one-stop, it now knows that i know that it knows.

we alighted the vehicle in a weee dashing lil town called Cintsa, i sniffed the air and i knew antarctica was closer to becoming a wave pool.Cintsa is a spitoons throw from east london-a town which should have undergone the romans scorched earth policy.

there we drank hectic style, drank cheap grotty box wine cos it was free, played beach volley ball on the grass until our feet bled, well not me cos well i just watch ball sports. then we hit the bar,and id just sit and watch sh*t unfold.anyways we swam in the sea, dug our feet in the sawft sand, we cycled to a wee Xhosa village and watched lil kids jump in beaded skirts. totally african experience i tell you. they asked for pennies, but there was no jingle jangle in my shorts pocket. we met tanned germans and over grown hollanders. we beat the sh*t outta cape tonians at table tennis.

cintsa you havent heard that last of me. pow pow
it was time to dust the crust off our underpants and so made a 1 prong attack on a lil horror show of a town called Kei mouth. its the kinda town that'd make a great backdrop for a b-grade horror flik. couldnt wait to get outta there.

the hike began. kei mouth, double mouth, haga haga, morgans bay, ganubie. we placed our green lil houses on this monopoly board. we got sand in our underpants, sun on our arms, we smelled like a mine workers pits, we wore only 2 tshirts,we ate noodles, we baked beans,we decanned tuna and 2 minute oats, we dipped ouma-all she wanted to do was play kalookee, we swam again, every day in the sea and in the lagoons.we used a teeny toilet ,like those portaloos at rock fests.never go into one of those bogs with just your socks on.we cooked on a wee gas cooker,drank sugarless coffee outta stainless steel mugs,bear grylls wouldnt have approved. we looked at rocks and shells, birds and whales, we were forced to cross a river and lo and behold we fell and wet bacame us. i lost my camera and one sock, it was sad,the sock drifted into the sea,never to be seen again.i miss you sock.my camera drowned and any amount of blowing,left it limp, pictureless,flashless.rust over came it.you served me well fuji man.
at Ganubie we stopped walking when we got to our hotel, they threw in a free breakfast.i drank all the sacheted sugar.

Bones ate poached eggs, but at addo elephant park we werent gonna poach animals,maybe bbq. we zooted there in 3 hours.we saw big bellowing muddy elephants,we saw roarring hungry man eating lions,we saw black backed jackals, wandering tortoises, a buffalo carcass and heaps of dung. we made fire,danced around the boerwors,sacrificed onions wrapped in tin foil. we read books and dried our underpants in the baking sun.

when we had chewed the fat of our last piece of biltong,we rolled into the boutique town of plettenberry bay (thats how swedes would pronounce it).
ah how i love this svelte lil outcrop.here we bbqed,and we beached the beach and saw great whites jumping, frollicking in the sea,we saw life gaurds shouting and people running,we saw drama,it was a steven spielberg dream. we drank and clubbed, not seals but bars,only one bar,and chillaxed to the max. we tossed the frisbee, i never tossed the cookie, i listen to my ipod,the sound track to 'into the wild' like a 1000 times,i read a book, 'around africa on my bicycle',now i wanna go be free, although you gotta wear the correct shorts otherwise youll chafe.believe me , i know. i walk like a cowboy after every run i do.ive always wanted to ride a horse, but not like this.
we fished, i caught a crab,rather it caught me,then it just dropped off the line and said cherry bye,we ate sweaty Steers chips and drank coke zero from an avatar can, what a shyte drink, rather run to lose weight i say.
i ran in hakerville, in the forest, ah it was bliss, i ran real fast, it ended in a bott of blue sweet powerade, gushing down my food gullet, cascading past my unnshaved chin, making blue my innards, like a sci fi movie.it was awesome.
it was new years it was debauchery,but full of shyte music,dance music for the masses,4am rolled by and Paddle Sticks wants to play golf.it was a corker way to start the year.
now holidays, summer days are dwindling. the days are shorter and the nighs alonger.

hope you all had a good one.

be cool stay cool and like apple pie, stay well baked

cahito (like a mohito, but tastes better)

Marie Antoinette 08.09.10

Melrose Arch how I love thee

Melrose arch is a living, not a way to live. It is not a lifestyle but a life we’ve lived for centuries. Melrose Arch unearths natural city living, the natural comfortable human existence.
It is nothing new, but on the brains of joburgers it’s etched as something brilliant something extra ordinary. Walking to buy a carton of milk is liberating, it’s freedom and it is the expression of Melrose arch.
MA is about all sorts, it’s about the bustling meet-your-mates-for-a-pint watering hole at the end of the curved street, next door the linger even longer lingerie store.
MA is the unexpected turn, the hidden happened-upon, the surface scratched, it is not fake, it is real to touch, to feel.
The old quarter exhibits architecture, texture, soft and hard, it is tangible, one looks up and one looks down round back and forth.it is a kaleidoscope. The eyeball is engaged in a gymnastically entwined rapturous explosion of intricacy. It’s the grainy bits, the nooks and even the grannies. The square is pedestrianised, navigable by foot, its enlarged paving-space to rest your hand upon an ice cold bev.
As I cruise northwards juggling my coins in my pocket, glancing at the gallery, the pizzeria and the europa, I feel kinda cool, kinda breezy but then..

I cross the road, I trip heavily on the chainlink barrier, tearing my stomach, ahernia never hurt this much. the edge of the jewellery store knicks me on the chin, I stumble on a Swedish Tiger, phoxyyy. the stroll is pleasant and then into the bowels of the underworld I go- well that’d be exciting. But I turn sideways to mount the moving narrow stairway, rolling rolling down. like a stale 3day old tuna sarmy I cringe, struggling to devour the experience.
The mall-its clinical white insipid colours scream to me the dentist chair. Chewing glass I’d rather do. The floor nicely smooth, Michael Jackson woulda moonwalked this journey.
Ive seen this all before, it aint the dvd I’ll rent again. Im stunned by the deep spaces, maybe 9 of them. The post boxes, are they going for an industrial look, kinda new yorky, niice ,reeeal niiice.
The glassed mall, gsus. Its ‘floating glass roof, a scene out of wills smith’s Independence Day flick, frightening
I need colour, my eyes need an explosion of things to see to explore, to trawl, to engage. my eyes need something I’ve seldom seen before. Images of bleached facials and pimply, zitty mugs, the beauty salon makes me lurch. The Hairdressers sleeper wall, great touch and now…
There are greater places to enjoy an ice cream sundae on a summery Sunday in October.
I just wanna cry at what could have been. just as I sweated through the spine riveting crack of my wisdom tooth being extracted, so I endure the pain of the journey through the ‘mall’

The little record joint, the second hand book store, the corner café, the Gucci shop and Luis Vuitton they’re all integral to a network, to a fabric of excitement. You can’t have one without the other. if you do it’s a half baked egg. Integration fosters societies, breeds networks , links people, binds relationships.

Urban art enlightens, attracts crowds and passersby. Pleasant environs, spectacles, innovation, good planning, little hubs, urban furniture, little joints attracts a lad like me, a design enthusiast and heaps of my like minded honey bees. Show me the honey. goddamit.
Woolworths you make a pretty package, you’re now the face of a precinct, funk yourself up. You’re a canvass for a dream art work, a kentridge, a preller, or dumile feni sketch, be bold be brazen, grab the cherries.
MA is an innovation in SA, it’s a hub for flash. MA is a launch pad, it’s a pandoras box for innovation, for showcasing, for educating-lets scratch the surface.

The cultured crowd frown because there is nothing enticing, nothing to grip them by the brain stem and drag them from the bedraggled cracked beer bottled melville. give them an open art exhibition, a fractal of grey matter and they will swarm like fat bastards to a shmorgasbord. Mary Antoinette has an art gallery,’ ‘is there anybody out there’, what was pink Floyd thinking. Expose the gallery, is it on my monthly gallery trawl, I don’t think so.

MA is a destination, not a one stop mosey on shop.
Its aimed at the high heeled,but they can only purchase so many Shermans.
Im the guy, the regular guy the architect, the trendy tshirt wearing sneaker pimp that needs a local, a pint in a hand and an opportunity to say hi to spidermans sweet mary jane.
I can buy an olive or a pickle from a jar, lets innovate. we aint a mall, we aint a suburban dive, we’re a living sprawling amoeba, integrated innovative, pedestrianised living working playing entity that wants to engage to be inclusive.
The trump card , the royal flush-the merlose arch address no longer wins bets, its real action that is needed.-dancing in the square, architecture pavilions, cutting edge innovative design, entice me and my whacky advertising architecturing mates to spend time, to tread foot.

Why given the platform, the canvass to be outrageous, courageous, ballsy do we go on and create a regular sponge cake.
Show us your balls caster, show uuuuusss

Rock, paper, scissors 18.01.09

Swimming in the goo that surrounds my brain, the boat of my thoughts harboured the idea of someday sitting on the saddle and churning the peddles of a bicycle. I had this plumbers blockade telling me it’d never happen. but then my bingo numbers came up while living on the Island. it was fire engine red, as quick as an insane Bolt and 70 squids. it livened me up to the joys of two wheels, of having the cold icey wind cut through my hair. it replaced my imaginary friend and together we rode into the sunset.
but then i flogged in for 80 quid, made me a quick buck and bought a tube of Mcvities biscuits.

After returning to jozi, my boss chewed my ear urging me to saddle up. it was time. i harvested my nuts, sent an electronic transfer and all of a sudden I had this beast in the back seat of my car. Wheels rugged for off road, the frame matt silver- indiscretely welded together to give it the AArrghh effect, the brakes holding anchor at the gentlest of clutches, the shocks turning this ride into a moon walk. these great components all came together to create a machine the great Jackie ickx wouldn’t recognise.
Yes the afrikaaners strolled in to the hinterland to start the great city of jozi, but this my friends is the true Great TREK

It was off to the spruit on a bright sunnyside up Sunday.my padded shorts clinging to me, the paddding reminding me of days on the beach when my trunks were full of sand.
We were going off road, a narrow beaten path tracked its lengthy way mimicking the snaking river path. the flora bushy from the nights rain, the fauna, the rat on a stick.
i was really shyte on a bike, but i figured how hard could it really be. I sat behind my posse peddling, mimicking their every movement , the long wet grass slapping me around, the air of crushed eucalyptus billowing in my flared nostrils, snot cascading from my snout dribbling to a fine pool at the top of my lip, my heart screaming to be emancpiated from its rib cage, my eyes honed, zeroed in on the front mans movements, but then like the smoked salmon at a shmorgasbord, they were gone amongst the trees, vapourised/scotty -beamed up.
i was alone,my thoughts, my friend. all of a sudden the theme music raced,i took no notice. there in the clearing, a rock the size of Gibralatar lurched up at me. there was no retreating now, i was 300 AARRGG. my rubbered tyres attemptin a bite at the rock, rock paper scissors it was a no brainer. the rock gripping and flinging my tire which is connected to the shocks which is connected to the frame which is connected to the handle bars which is connected to ,well, me. sent me and my components on a stairway to heaven, but the return home was a horoshima fallout. I was over my handle bars flyin through the air like a pre blazing zeppelin staring down into the cavernous precipice and waiting for the rock bed to knock me out. My landing was made for tv. my arms were my airbags. the slow motion button released. i was back in real time and hurting like a hammered thumb.
'nah im fine, ill ride through the treachourous pain.' I got back on my chariot,whipped my legs into action and charlton hestoned my way on.
this was no march into the sunset but rather a treacherous road to ammarillo.

My left elbow as able as a beached ship was sent to the clinic, the blood pressure reading extracted in LED from the velcro wrapped around my arm, my bp good enough to 'keep me moving'
I had xrays, my arm laid out on the chilled stainless steel gurney,im sure dead bodies had shared this same experience as my arm. miss Xray nukes my limp panelled elbow. tzdt dzzt and there before my very eyes I could see in inside myself, I could see the bones that stretch my skin, that give me shape and form. it was a truely outer bodyily experience. and there too was the hairline crack, an addict would be proud of.

apart from eating a 3 day over expired yoghurt, im proud to say im truelly extreme.

yours truelly on a fine autumnal eve,
the russian bear hunter, master swordsman and soon to be proud donator of his name to a new series of gut splitting leatherman tools

coolio iglesias 16.10.08

so last night i had a wet dream, i was doing lengths in the pool at the gym, but my arms weren't moving so lekker. i didnt drown, but i didnt take 8 gold medals either.

after very very lil sleep and rushin around africa like a seedless pomegranate i awoke to see the world through a china mans eyes -half closed and watery. i flew in to Japan after a mammoth flight from jozi to dubai(what a dump) and then swiftly onto Kensai Airport, Osaka. i rolled my knuckles over my eyeballs, the tears washed the past away and i set my red streaked adidas
onto the tarmac of the future. after a fashion shoot and having been inked i moseyed on through passport control into a new world, a cultural shock to my linux system.

Japan was me detaching me from the velcro of familiarity. as neil armstrong on a bicyle in a space suit in the tour de france would feel,with chafed legs and calloused hands, well that was me. phew japan was a foreign movie and there were no subtitles to decipher what the hell was going on. i never handled a knife or fork for 2 weeks, never slept more than 2 feet off the ground, never ate anything harder than a jelly baby and never spoke more than 2 words of grade two english. trying to harpoon my food with a wooden spear was a game i struggled with. trying sign language without giving the middle finger was hard, real hard.before japan, the most japanese characters id seen was on some over sized bird on the beach in cape town before the war. my vocabulary extended from konichiwa to bruce lee. short and concise like the oxford dictionary. Going to the bog left me with 2 choices, the squatter or the contraption that was straight outta Robotech with fully functioning seat warmer, fountain spray and blow dry. It was a no brainer

from osaka to tokyo and a whole stash between i blazed a trail.

like a cape town bergie without his two front teeth to box wine i chugged the city of Osaka. man i punished it hard, the residue spilling from my mouth down my chin, it was thirst quenching, moist to my dry mouth, washing away the desert that is joburg. i unloaded my back pack in a wee 5 storey, jammed between two buildings.i nearly didnt see it. the door to my room smaller than me but larger than a hobbits.a pair of blue granny styled slippers sat neatly perpendicular to the tiny sunken lobby of the room.my room as deep as the 1970's long jump world record and as wide as an israeli gherkin (the vegetable that is). my bed neat as an ironed sheet and the vhs
ready for action. i unpacked my spongey eyeballs, the ones that soak up stuff,tied my sneaker
laces and headed out into this foreign world.

Osaka is a city careering in 3 dimensions-it swoops below ground, glides along the ground, hovers above ground, beams you 173 meters up and drops you back to earth at a rate of a blitz. the city streets are a book stack with spines jammed, and fudged into place-it'd be a right royal task to squeeze your finger between two buildings. as my eyes caressed the stores, the shops, and the bars,the labels emblazoned upon the spines emerged as pure design pure excitement, pure eclecticism.

rolling my eyeballs like a township kid with a tire and two sticks, i stubbed my toe on Americamura Americamura, its a shaken bottle of coca cola waiting to be uncapped. it's osakas camden town, wet streets, throbbing stores, outrageous clothing, girls in teeny red tartan, white buttoned shirts and sculpted, caressed moulded hair. guys in stove pipes, elvin path beaters and Thriller jackets, hair architecturally cut, grafted and set. a wave of design, an insight into the future.if you wanna see the edge cut, bleed americamura.

From city to city i rode shot gun on the shinkansen. The shinkansen, the bullet train is flaming sambuca fast. as the train rolls into the station its nose a grave yard for bloodied splattered insects that weren't quick off the mark. Every take off and every landing is a sight one ought to capture albeit, a blurred moment.

a day out of osaka, and it had to be Kobe, the port, Japans largest. the earthquake shattered city, resurrected to once again walk the seas. when Kobe was ruptured, japans economy faltered, the next so many years were end of the month salticrax. but she emerged, she grew back, the lizards tail always does. i hugged the coast as i strolled the waterfront, i made my way uphill to find a treasure of swooping roads, new and old japanese, white buildings, cobbled streets and bouganvillea.I was lured to the cable cars, pondering my fear of heights, my vertigo, I dropped my 1000 yen and boarded ship. It was a sweaty escapade I knew id hate. I let my camera lensbe my eyeballs as I looked down upon my sneakers.back on earth, my pits a sweaty coalmine and my back drenched like in hollywood movies. my knees trembling, i found a bench, i cried into my
sushi or was it just the wasabi.

In a square box, sat my 12 upright uniformed soldiers,straight as a set square, each enwrapped in a rice jacket, hugging a burst of pink salmon, itching, crying for a salty gush of soy and a nose tingling whip of algae green wasabi. I sat upon the bench, as ungenteel as mr miyagi and handling the sticks like a claw handed invalid, I stabbed, drowned and crushed the sushi between my teeth. It was nice, real nice
kobe was a shoppers dream, with her tiny meandering back alley streets harbouring clothing gems and itsy trinkets, gaming cafes and bordellos. her high street fashion attracted the finest, it was beautiful. i left kobe, had me a shower, dropped a cupla yens for a can oh green tea and tucked me into bed.

Kyoto-imagine a place where the apples are the size of footballs and the grapes the size of swollen testicles. i saw it with my very own eye balls. a temple, a cathedral, precision carved out of timbers , there's one for every day of the year-burnt incences, a buddha or two, red lanterns and timber flops. theyre the meat between the high risers. Kyoto is a bellowing city, it’s an outdoor museum tracing japan's history centuries back. Here I could caress the long gone past of a mighty nation.my hands were calloused. i set my eyeballs on a gold clad temple perched in the middle of a lake, it was indeed a treat, but the experience was a henry ford production line. i got my photo, you bet ya. I needed silence, contemplation time. I needed to wrest my wary feet from the call of the lengthy tarmac. i made a meal of a day and went to visit tadao ando's Asahi art gallery, there was no beer but Monets lillies. the concrete gallery sits upon a hilltop within a range of mountains, barry peppered by maple trees squeezing hard, turning red in the autumnal breeze, bamboo forests, vertical, the shoots thick and tall-a chinese torturers dream, khoi ponds and bonsai trees.this day was a welcome retreat and a piece of architecture i kinda said, 'oh well' to.

kyoto had excruciating moments. finding things i wanted to see became torturous.mapping here is so advanced, me with my hand sketch directions smacked of using a telephone book in the age of mobile phones.i was directionless, an untravelled rat in a maze. going 15 riotous rounds with the festering nightmare of heaves of tourists flashing lights and constant movement, i was beaten into submission. i needed quiet time, time off the beaten tarmac. i rapidly made tracks for
Yokohama

Yokohama, we know it as a tire. i knew it as a city harbouring an architectural master piece-the Yokohama Port Terminal it was a quieter retreat from the tourist mad frenzy that kyoto is. my
hostel was in an area set aside for ex war vets and looneys. it was zombied freaks in hospital gowns with mobile drips cruising the streets picking up litter that gave me the heebeegeeebees. daily i found myself just running as fast as i could to my hostel door,my hands shakin as i tried to force the key into the hole.i was in a horror movie and i wasnt loving it. apart from that, yokohama was rather tasty. i made a blazing trail for the Terminal. a port designed by Foreign office Architects. a piece of urban landscaping fullly functional for sea traffic. a place of leisure and contemplation- lovers licking ice creams, couples getting married, picnics on the grassy knoll and strollers strolling.ah the sea breeze and blue skies. It was a total retreat from the last three cities i'd licked.

jumble up the letters of Kyoto and you'll find me in Tokyo shawowee, this sprawling megalopolis was more fortune cookie than i could ever get my gnashers around. my eye balls had an outer body experience, dragging themselves around corners along clean streets. Tokyo is a colour
explosion in your brain . the streets jingle as an 80's pop music video, with the vending machines
whistling, and the traffic lights tinkling, the pachinko halls chingling, and the neon signposts flashing. tokyo is a sensual shmorgasboard, overwhelmingly carazy, violently illuminating. as an architect itll make you tremble at your knees, lay down in the foetal position with your large thumb in your mouth. it could either inspire or crush your wee lil soul. Ginza is everything youve never seen, its a faberge egged bedecked in the jewels of architectural mastery.my glazed eyes reflected the tree inspired Tod's, Mikimoto's paper cut out building, de beers sexily mangled extrusion,a crystalline Dior, an irridiscent ghost at night, simply mesmerizing and ofcourse prada's bubble wrapped magnifico.this building stripped me of any notion that anything is unachievable. with its bubble wrap skin and liquid innards it was gob smackingly orgasmic.in my worn jeans and scuffed boots i was a most welcome visitor to the Prada store. 'Diesel store in Sandton, suck my d*ck, you dont even know what exclusivity is.' By day the city appeared gray by night the werewolf begins to mutate, it becomes aggressively vibrant, its skinny back ruptures to sprout new features, its teeth reveal edgy crevices. as i walked the nights streets the pachinko halls enveloped my senses. 'Since i was a young boy i played the silver ball, from Soho down to Brighton i musta played them all, but i aint seen nothing like it...these japs, they sure play a mean silver ball.'
ching ching, theyre going nuts for it


i headed out to mount fuji, together with a bunch of all sorts germans and a frog. We all thought it was up the famed volcano we were to head to singe our nostril hairs, but alas one of the lasses had other ideas. We spent the day at the hotwater springs at the base of the mountain. Ah it was all I needed to rejuvenate my noodle hammered body. I turned into a raisin in the lavender scented hot bath, untied my knots in the jet streams of the Jacuzzi, sweated a river in the sweet smelling sauna, and had my toes nibbled upon by ravenous doctor fish.i got back to Tokyo and slaughtered a couple of premium Asahi beer. ah i was relaxed as as sloppy joe .

rappongi, you gotta see it. rappongi is beluga caviar. this district is lacquered in the finest sheen, well thats after i drooled all over it.
it's beautifully designed. its street furniture, garden paths, galleries, wide pavements, grassy contemplation spaces, babbling brooks and shopping malls expressed to me a city respecting its citizens.
i laid tread upon the paths of ueno and her galleries, museums, street shopping and pachinko halls, i idled over the masses of pedestrians at shinjuku, i was inebriated over hentai porn, i got to shlurp my rhaman noodles and drink straight from the bowl. i traveled sky high on the monorail swooping the city way above ground. i gasped at vertical parking lots, and manga comics. i got to be a spaceman in an alien world

Japan, wham bang apricot jam. it was overwhelming and absolutely foreign.it was infuriating and excruciating, it was beyond my senses. it was another world, it was alien. it was the epitome of human advancement, the pinnacle of evolution. but like my last rolo, id never have given it up.

Its been a while my furry friends, hope your eyeballs enjoyed.
this email was not sent from my blackberry, cos i ate it with my granola this morn. it was sent from my pee cee.
take it easy
the russian bear hunter