this shit ain't easy yo

whoever said that you'll never get poor buying real estate in manhattan has never lived in this economy.

open houses are my weekly opportunity to go get breakfast elsewhere and dream of greener pastures.

oh well.

—the bastard

bird of prey...flying high

here we go again.

the palace at one a.m.

the bastard had a dream this evening.

he was walking through the park on his way home from the evening's repast.

walking past crowds of people waiting for hamburgers and men made of iron standing still.

I walked down 24th tonight because I had bid my company safe home on that corner.

the bastard walked under a bridge.

and under a street lamp was a chrome plated bird.

a rare beast.

the superhawk.

only this wasn't a dream.

it was the bike I have only seen in books.

under a streetlight.

on a Thursday night.

telling me that it's time for a bastard to dream again

about the wind in his face.

and the promise it will bring him.

I will not disappoint.

sweet dreams.

—the bastard

...racked

as he sat down on the train,

the bastard realized just how tired he actually was.

we met with the reverend tonight to go over the particulars of our upcoming special day.

and the bastard just likes to talk.

about what?

fucking name it.

tonight I gave the rev something to help her feel less disheartened about her son being lazy about college.

I told her I was lazy too. all young men who grow up stable are.

it made her feel better in retrospect,

being that I turned out ok.

but now my joints hurt,

and I'm hungry,

and the two teenage girls sitting near me nver seem to shut up.

at least the drunk singing on the train left.

I'm racked as I go throw the crossing between manhattan and queens.

sure as hell that I'll find my car where I left it last.

—the bastard

...on crashing

it's late

it's dark.

go to sleep sam sheep.

addled, the bastard can here waves crashing in the distance.

but he knows that it's merely a toy in his daughter's room that duplicates the sound of the ocean.

this doesn't do a thing for removing the lyrics from my head that say,

"we are rulers of the ocean."

"kings of seven seas"

my eyes are heavy now. the benedryl is working.

"we are rulers of the ocean."

"kings of seven seas"

—the bastard

...on light rail and text messaging

bastard: is everything ok? I had a dream in which we got lost in the st Louis subway system.

thing of it is

st Louis doesn't have a subway system.

the elder: hunh

bastard: just stating what happened is all

the elder: okay

bastard: so your not going to st Louis. ok? they have a light rail and neither the subway or the light rail go to cardinal's stadium which was what busch stadium was called in the dream

the elder: Unless you are telling me that I am going to atlantic yards

bastard: mayhap. the other anomaly was that the st Louis subway was huge and akin to an ugly grand central station that used big diesel trains so...

perhaps

the elder: If I go then will go halves on lotto

bastard: deal

—the bastard

the palace at 4 am

the bastard takes drugs at night.

no not those kind of drugs.

i'm allergic to the cat so i have to pack myself full of benedryl so i don't wake my ladyfriend

and the baby

and the cat

and perhaps the people who live downstairs.

anyway, i went to bed at one.

woke up an hour or so later and had to go to the bathroom

fell asleep and woke up in a dark room.


bewildered because i was sitting in the dark and disoriented from the benedryl, the bastard walked into a wall.

i was very concerned as i reached around me only touching flat surfaces, i envisioned that i had died

and had gone to hell.

and marcel marceau was the devil

and that hell is a small black box that you get to stay in for all eternity.

with a toilet.

i didn't have my knife, or my iphone.

i was horrified and reaching around in the dark until i wacked my hand into the towel rod.

and i realized that i wasn't dead.

relieved, i found the door,

left,

went back to sleep.

as the bastard drifted back into a benedryl induced slumber, somewhere in the distance, i could hear a mime crying.

—the bastard

...on nightmares

...and dreamscapes

part one: get rich or die trying.

chairman: hey

the bastard: yesh?

chairman: ok, crazy dreams last nite

chairman: you shived 50 cent to death, in vegas

the bastard: he had it coming

the bastard: and vegas had a crowd i could disappear into

chairman: well u me and jamie kennedy were hanging out in the Wynn

the bastard: jamie kennedy?

chairman: and 50 walked by and i go holy shit its 50 cent and 50 goes no pictures

the bastard: what the hell is wrong with you man?

chairman: but u kept running around w/ ur iphone

chairman: try to snap shots

chairman: then 50 recognized me

chairman: and said you man tom can get a picture with me

chairman: so u took it with the iphone

chairman: but 50 felt it was too pixelated

chairman: and was poor quality

chairman: apparently he's a fotog

chairman: so you go chairman, i'm gonna have to take out the good knife

chairman: and u stabbed him

chairman: fast forward

chairman: we're in the desert with samuel l. jackson

chairman: trying to bury 50's body

chairman: and sandra bullock posed as an overzealous reporter sees us

chairman: and puts it on the interweb. So you decide because you're the overlord at this point

chairman: that we're going to commandeer 50's suite at the wynn

chairman: then i woke up

the bastard: well at least i'm not a boring date

part two: don't call it a comeback:

chairman: to only go back to bed to have a dream that staten island was going to blow up

chairman: and i was in a car with philip seymour hoffman

the bastard: nice

the bastard: that is the best dream EVER

chairman: who was telling me about his fleggling baseball career with the brewers

the bastard: he does look sort of midwestern

chairman: we were driving a 1984 maroon station wagon

the bastard: chevy or ford?

chairman: but the air was filled with propane gas

chairman: mercury

the bastard: i see

chairman: with the roof rack

the bastard: grand marquis wagon?

chairman: yes!

the bastard: 80's era?

chairman: w/ the wood paneling on the sides

the bastard: nice

chairman: maroon seats

chairman: yes

the bastard: that's the only way to drive

chairman: tape player

the bastard:what was on the tape player

chairman: high end

chairman: styx

the bastard: benzi box?

the bastard: was it best of times?

chairman: and damn yankees

the bastard: or mister roboto?

the bastard: did it take you high enough?

chairman: he was trying to talk me back into a comeback

chairman: im not sure if i was a singer

the bastard: a comeback?

chairman: or a baseball player

chairman: or what

the bastard: i see

chairman: but he wanted me to comeback

the bastard: but you know what l.l. sez

the bastard: don't call it a comeback

the bastard: you know what this means chairman?

the bastard: it means that you're gonna kill again

chairman: goooooooood

chairman: not psh tho

chairman: he's a genius

the bastard: nah, he'll be your accomplice

part three: the bodycount?

the bastard: i'm putting this on the blog

the bastard: too good not to

chairman: at least i have A list celebs in my dreams

chairman: not sure why you keep stabbing them

chairman: i think if u had a chance u would have stabbed PSH too

chairman: first sarah silverman, then 50

the bastard: oh wait, i stabbed sarah silverman too?

quick sidebar: the chairman had a dream last weekend that he was married to sarah silverman and she made fun of me several times, prompting the bastard to storm out of his subconscious.

the bastard: i thought i just stormed off

chairman: true

chairman: naa u made a shiv out of a spoon

chairman: and came back and stabbed her

the bastard: nice

chairman: and your ladyfriend was pissed that u did that

chairman: but apparently you're a ruthless serial killer who kills my A list celebrity friends

the bastard: i am

the bastard: everyone has to have a hobby

chairman: after you killed 50 you were really excited that it was on perez hilton

the bastard: nice

chairman: this is all your fault for making me write my crazy dreams down

chairman: and passing out to VH1

the bastard: excellent, it'll help in the long run

the bastard: well i know that you love the 80's

the bastard: and hal sparks

chairman: who doesn't love hal sparks

the bastard: your mom

chairman: good point

the bastard: i know

someone please stop me before i kill again. for the love of a-listers.

—the bastard

...on the subconscious

the bastard doesn't understand.

i keep having these reoccuring dreams.

they take place usually in and around the neighborhood. and i don't recall the overall storyline in the dream. it's not like the rat dream s i used to have but, i never really talked about them much (it's kind of a long story).

anyway, the only thing i can recall when i wake up is:


somehow, the black guy from night court keeps showing up. not bull or harry anderson but, the black guy.

hell i didn't even like watching the show. when it was in syndication, the mofo (rest in piece) would want to watch it and i kind of didn't want to. which was not to say that i never watched but, i never really watched it willingly. i thought the bull character was unfunny, marky post had the worst 80's hair and harry anderson was not just awful, he was god awful.

anyway, the bastard clearly doesn't understand why the black guy from night court? why not the black guy from sliders? i actually watched that show when it aired on regular tv as well as syndicated on the scifi channel. the bastard just doesn't get it. stupid brain, pick better reoccuring subconscious cast members. dammit!

—the bastard