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They've got the guns, but we've got the numbers.
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| On the Goodbye Kiss |
[22 Mar 2009|01:30pm] |
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music |
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[jerry garcia & david grisman - off to sea once more] |
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The goodbye kiss is a fantastic thing to witness. It can easily be viewed, that is, the human equivalent, in places of departure in a human's unnatural habitat; the city. This would include a train station, bus station, or an airport... I'd imagine that the goodbye kiss varies from culture to culture, hell, I bet the Nords don't even HAVE a goodbye kiss, seeing as how the Finnish & Swedish languages don't even have the word 'please'! Latin & Anglo cultures, however, will always practice it, with Latins winning the prize of best kiss. I've never really been to Asia, so I really can't comment on them... in Latin cultures some will take photos of the kiss, or accompany it with the entire village singing songs of departure, followed by a thorough applause. It just occurred to me maybe the village was so happy to get rid of the suckers that THIS was what they were celebrating, not the goodbye kiss.
Anywho; an anecdote; I was sitting on a bus waiting to pick up the next set of pasejeros when I noticed a couple playing some tonsil hockey. I mean, these two kids were REALLY going at it, literally deep-throating each other, hands all over. This single goodbye kiss probably had been going on for the last week and I just so happened to catch the tail end of it. Anywho, the bus had to leave and the couple had to separate in some sort of Aristophanic division by the Gods, at which point the young lady turned to an older couple who I then realized had been her parents (who were standing right next to snog-fest the whole time), gave each one of them a single peck on the cheek & was off.
This is a prime example of the differences between goodbye kisses, even within a culture. The lover's goodbye kiss will always be the longest, followed by parent to child, followed by grandparent to grandchild. Then there's the friend to friend which in Latin cultures will ALWAYS consist of a kiss, regardless of gender, whereas Anglo men will only hug and fuck all if they don't smack each other's backs during the hug to symbolize how goddamn masculine they are. This is followed by the acquaintance to acquaintance goodbye kiss which will still even exist in Latin cultures, while the Anglos couldn't give two shits.
In closing, if you've ever in doubt that true love really exists in the world, and that we're really all going to Hell in a handbasket, stop by your local place of departures and rest assured its more likely your faith in humanity may be restored. If at least for the next few hours...
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| Haikus on LSD |
[11 Jan 2009|10:01pm] |
Wrote these last summer, just found my old notebook;
#1
The sun will come out
The little girls will not pout
But the sun brings drought
#2
We all hate our jobs
Whether president or cook
All Jims; take a look
#3
Every particle
Has been forged within our sun
We are peace of light
#4
Haikus for dummies
Even counts on his fingers
Is that seven?
#5
Sunsets are the most
Psychedelic things on Earth
One for every night
#6
Drugs drugs drugs are fun
One after another yes
I could for more
No more haikus, just regular poetry now;
#7
"What'd you do last night?"
"Got shitfaced."
"And the night before that?"
"Got hammered."
"And before that?"
"Shmammered."
"And before that?"
"I went to the Town Council Meeting."
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| On Environmentalism |
[09 Jan 2009|05:21pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 stoned |
] |
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music |
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violent femmes - gimme the car |
] |
Plant a fucking tree. Make a fucking hydroponic garden in the middle of the fucking city. Organize roof gardens, and free classes on how to grow your own food. Chain yourself to a fucking bulldozer. Fucking fuck in a treehouse. These are ways of achieving environmentalism. Sending a white rich man a piece of paper hoping he makes that piece of paper into a law by asking a bunch of other rich white guys if they want to make it a law or not when none of them good really give two shits about you and your poor friends and then crossing your fingers and telling strangers about it is not fucking environmentalism. It's futile. Anyway, I have two new jobs.
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[08 Jan 2009|07:40pm] |
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mood |
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unimpressed |
] |
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music |
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MUSIC IS MY AEROPLANE |
] |
Got a fucking pointless job. Hooray environment activism. NOT.
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| Last Updated 88 Weeks Ago. |
[07 Jan 2009|04:18pm] |
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mood |
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 anxious |
] |
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music |
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Al Green - Love & Happiness |
] |
Happy '09
Happy 4:20
The general stuff.
So, what the fuck? I'm a graduate. I'm a vagabond, ramblin' man. Graduated in May, worked on Block Island until October. Fell in love, had my heart broken, standard summer. Swam a lot. Stung by jellyfish. Blunts & Sailor Jerry. I fucking love Block Island, it'll remain it my heart until it sinks beneath the ocean waves. Flew to California. Worked on a weed farm in Ukiah. Will Facebook let me host pictures?
Met amazing people. Danced, sang, smoked blunts, ate amazing food and hugged and kissed and fell asleep under the stars in the Redwoods. Discovered a new found love for Balkan dance music. After work was done, I ran into a friend from home in San Francisco. He was stationed forty minutes north in the Coast Guard, was getting restationed to Key West, was driving home to Rhode Island in a few days. I caught a ride, drove through Nevada, Wyoming, Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois, Michigan (By Accident), Ohio, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Rhode Island in three days. I hitched rides around New England, I stayed in Connecticut, Newport, Providence, Boston, Portland and Farmington. Tried to make it to Bangor but couldn't and instead went back to Rhode Island where I caught a ride with the same friend south to Miami. We drove through Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia to Jacksonville, Florida in twenty four hours. Spent some time in Jacksonville. Spent some time in Miami. Took a train to Tampa. Spent some time with my father. Flew to Austin, Texas, where I am now spending time with my mother.
Fuck taxes. Fuck careers. Fuck white picket fences.
My plan now is to find some random fucking job to get me paid until the end of February so I can have some cash while I travel through Argentina, where I'll stay until I get bored and want to return to Block Island. Just me, my pack, and my tent.
What have you been up to?
Oh, here are the books I read/am reading;
TAZ by Hakim Bey
Days of War, Nights of Love by Crimethinc
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn
Post-Material Scarcity Anarchism by Murray Bookchin
Stars & Planets by Petersen Field Guides
2012: The Return of Quetzaquotal by Daniel Pinchbeck
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[30 Apr 2007|01:18am] |
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Where will you go when the Earth's magnetic poles switch & the world goes to shit?
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[30 Apr 2007|01:10am] |
I recommend hallucinogenics in the middle of the woods with plenty of beer and live music. It's the perfect escape from the fascist pigs that run each and every town in America.
Oh, by the way. I can see the future. And sleep is overrated.
Ouch.
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[23 Mar 2007|02:05pm] |
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Sometimes I have trouble distinguishing the dream world from the real one.
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[14 Mar 2007|12:33pm] |
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THINK HAPPY THOUGHTS
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[11 Mar 2007|03:34pm] |
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The dream world is always better than the real world. Always.
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[06 Mar 2007|09:57am] |
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music |
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Ben Harper, because I'm wearing the sweatshirt. |
] |
Ethics. At 8am. And now I'm so reflective. I wish I was taking more philosophy this semester. It's so helpful. I mean it. It makes me feel so much better that dudes hundreds of years ago were having the same problems as me. Except, well, we haven't solved them yet. So that part sucks. But it's nice to know I'm not crazy. Unless the old dudes are crazy too. Then I'm crazy. Oh well. Crazy is objective, ain't it? It is. Objectivity. Man.
I'm going to be 21 in a month. A month after a lady who will be 20. We're old. I was drunk the other night and I met a guy who was 26. I shouted JESUS CHRIST. It sucks to be 26. I don't want rent bills or electricity bills or have to worry about the health of my parents. This last month is my last month of non-adulthood. I've been away from teenagerdom now for a year, and well, imagine this, time keeps moving on. So now I'm getting closer to my 21st trip around the sun. And she's ready for her 20th. I remember being 17. That was like, last week. How am I junior in college now, with internships and responsibilities and phone bills already? When did that happen? When did I actually want to make a commitment? When did I actually start wanting to make life plans?
What's nice is that plans continue to lay themselves out for me. I recently was invited to go to Iceland to work on a documentary on their sustainability. And I could just, up and do that. I also got the opportunity to just live on a boat in Block Island for the summer. And both are thanks to the same childhood pal who's been around since I was 9. It's amazing I look back and I see I've been doing things for so long. I've been smoking weed since 8th grade. That's 8 years. I now say "when I was in high school" on a weekly basis. I remember when that was something I was amazed to say. And now I give advice to college freshmen about what classes to take. What the fuck, you know? How long until I'm giving my own children advice? How long until I have a mortgage payment? Crap. Maybe I do need to go to Iceland, it can't be much colder than Farmington.
Oh. By the way, hi.
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[27 Nov 2006|10:16pm] |
My piece I'm writing for Advanced Novel Writing. Enjoy. It's not finished, mind you.
( The Docks )
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[27 Nov 2006|09:56pm] |
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mood |
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 satisfied (for now.) |
] |
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music |
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the velvet underground |
] |
wake up hit the snooze go to class scrounge for food go to class go to work get stoned eat dinner get stoned go to bed wake up hit the snooze go to class scrounge for food go to class go to work get stoned eat dinner get stoned go to bed wake up hit the snooze go to class scrounge for food go to class get stoned scrounge for food go to class get stoned eat dinner get drunk get stoned go to bed wake up hit the snooze.
this is my fucking life for the next three weeks. it will go by before i even know it. then i will (hopefully) have an amazingly mind expanding drug induced vacation spent all throughout new england and maybe farther south. i have been learning a lot about drugs, including one found only (naturally) in brazil that apparently is the natural trip in the world, it's called atuahaya or something. i read a book called the naked truth about drugs, i want to try mdma, cocaine, lsd, and mescaline if i can get my hands on it. since going to d.c. for the legalize drugs conference i've really grown a new found respect for the anthropological necessity of drug use for humans. and i've also learned that most of what the government has told us about ALL drugs, not just marihuana, are lies.
john leavitt wants to open an office in farmington. a legalize weed office in farmington, that i would run myself and could like pay people to work at. what? this is fact.
i had a lame day, a lame weekend, my dad is sick again. more surgery. i don't even know where to begin with that. i realized a shit ton of things about myself during my ten day sabbatical from school. i also found out i'm getting a d+ in my psych class! guess i should participate! but it was all fixed by a delicious home made pizza i made for myself, a blunt, a few boston lagers, and the velvet underground.
mike.
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[21 Aug 2006|01:37am] |
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mood |
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 loopy |
] |
Note to self: You can get Vicodin for a "cornea scratch".
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[12 Jun 2006|10:38pm] |
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mood |
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 disappointed |
] |
what happened?
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| To the Editor of the Newport Daily News (version 2.0) |
[01 Jun 2006|08:14pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 defiant |
] |
Recently I had an unfortunate run-in with the Middletown Police Department. One may have noticed my name in the Police/Fire section; Michael J. Simpson arrested for possession of marijuana. Unfortunately, they left out some facts in the small report. The report states; “…officers arrived, they smelled burning marijuana and found Simpson and several other people in the back yard.” So these olfactory heavy officers smelled burning marijuana from the front yard, one hundred fifty feet away, when the two adjacent neighbors, who were both outside, some thirty feet away, smelled no such thing. On the grounds that they smelled marijuana, the officers split up, surrounded the house, neglected to even approach the front door and made their way directly into the backyard. This backyard has two fences enclosing the two adjacent neighbor’s yards and eight or nine eight foot tall pine trees in a line, parallel to the rear wall of the house. While there are no gates, this backyard is definitely enclosed and definitely private property. The backyard is definitely curtilage, and is granted with the same amount of protection as a house or home. The officers dismissed this fact and entered the premises without permission or a warrant; clearly defying the Fourth Amendment, which used to protect citizens from illegal search and seizure. The officers then, instead of asking us to explain ourselves, immediately demanded ID. When asked why the female officer required identification, Officer Mitchell, the female officer, told me to “shut up”. When I asked politely who called in the complaint, Officer Mitchell again told me to “shut up”. When I asked if all of this, the questioning, the demanding of the IDs, etc… was standard procedure, Officer Mitchell again for the third time told me to “shut up”. Had I been a forty year old citizen sitting on my own back porch, this would have never happened and if it did, there would be absolute cause for disciplinary action against the officer. Why should it be any different simply because I am twenty? After the third time I was told to “shut up”, I became agitated, as anyone would had been had they been told to shut up repeatedly. I would have never exercised my rights of questioning had I heard a “please be quiet while I conduct these questions, sir” or “can you please quiet down a bit, I’m trying to do my job”. But instead we received multiple disrespectful “shut ups”. After the third time, I stated to the officer “don’t tell me to shut up,” Officer Mitchell immediately spun around and faced me. “You smell like marijuana,” she stated, “stand up.” I stood. “Oh yeah,” she said, “You reek.” She thrust my hand behind my back, I pulled arm away and said “I’m sorry I don’t consent to any search.” “Too bad,” said Officer Mitchell, “I have probable cause.” Immediately her partner jumped on the deck and pulled both of my arms behind my back while Officer Mitchell searched me, eventually finding a small baggie of a gram of unused, un-burnt marijuana. I was henceforth arrested, handcuffed, and taken to the station. Please note that the officers claimed to have smelled burning marijuana and used this evidence to gain grounds to the premises, and yet they never found any burning marijuana, or any contraband. From the looks of it, the officer smelled the gram of marijuana in my pocket from the front yard. Now that’s impressive police work. Let me ask you, citizens, were my rights violated, was I given the respect of a typical citizen? Did I deserve to be arrested?
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| To the Editor of the Newport Daily News; |
[01 Jun 2006|01:37pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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defiant |
] |
Having recently been taken advantage of by the Middletown Police Department, I feel compelled to describe my story to my fellow citizens of Aquidneck Island. Tuesday, May 31st, in the Police/Fire section of this paper, one may have found my name. Michael J. Simpson arrested for possession of marijuana. Unfortunately, the small report only told the police’s side of the story, as the police write them, and the Daily News prints them. The report was 100% truthful; however, important details were left out. I assume this was not the first time important details had been left out, as the police would never want to make themselves look bad. The report states; “…officers arrived, they smelled burning marijuana and found Simpson and several other people in the backyard.” The neighbors on either sides of the fences, thirty feet away, didn’t smell any marijuana, and yet the two officers, one hundred fifty feet away could detect the smell. The officers made their way into the enclosed backyard, sans warrant. This backyard has two six foot high fences on either side enclosing the adjacent neighbors’ yards. Parallel to the rear wall of the house are about eight or nine eight foot tall pine trees. The space between either sides of the house and the fences is less that three feet, while there are no gates blocking the backyard, it is most definitely enclosed and private property. The two officers split up and surrounded the house and came from opposite sides. The first officer, Patrol Officer Gamache, approached the house from the eastern side of the house and immediately demanded IDs after stating that he had received a report we were smoking marijuana. He deliberately walked into the backyard, without any respect for the Fourth Amendment, which used to protect citizens from illegal search and seizure. I asked Officer Gamache who had made the complaint, as it’s usually procedure to let at least the homeowner know who had made the grievance. Gamache brushed me off and continued reviewing identification.
The second officer, a few moments later, appeared behind us, not saying hello, but opening the conversation with; “Who does that beer belong to?” The beer, which was warm, turned out to belong to the homeowner. He merely forgot to bring his beer in from the night before. This is not a crime. Officer Mitchell did not care about this fact and was determined to punish someone for the beer, afterwards telling the homeowner’s son, Ben, had he not taken responsibility for the beer, she would have “gotten” his little sister instead. “Wow, you really snuck up on us there,” I said, in response to the “sneak attack” by Officer Mitchell. Her response; “That’s my job.” Is it? Her job is to sneak up on young adults and trick them into giving up their rights? She’s certainly doing a bang-up job. After questioning her a few more times, with questions in the realm of, “Why do you need identification?” and “Who made the complaint?” she told me to shut up. Officer Kelly Mitchell told me to shut up at least three times. There are six of us who can attain to that. Would she have done that if I was forty years old? Never. But since I’m young she knows she can take advantage.
The scene in front of me was six youth lawfully enjoying their time on private property, when out of nowhere two officers appeared and began demanding ID, and asking questions upon questions. I asked Officer Mitchell if this was all standard procedure, and she again told me to shut up and let her do her job. I may have raised my voice at this point as it was the third time she told me to shut up and I responded; “Don’t tell me to shut up.” She immediately whipped around and faced me, “You stink like marijuana,” she said. She told me to stand up and as I did she said; “Oh yeah, you reek.” She grabbed my arm and put it behind my back. “I don’t consent to a search,” I said. “Too bad,” she said, “I have probable cause.” At that point, Officer Gamache jumped on to the porch and restrained me while Officer Mitchell went through my pockets, eventually finding an unopened bag of unused, unburnt marijuana. How in the world did she smell that? Amazing sense of smell these police officers have. Or is it that they know they merely need to say they “smelled marijuana” to gain “probable cause” which allows them a search?
Scenarios like these happen daily, with the police taking advantage of their power to arrest otherwise law-abiding citizens, especially the youth. While we are the former students of your high schools and middle schools, current students of your universities, lauded by teachers, professors and counselors for being all around good kids and positive influences, this is not what police officers see. When one of us asks politely why our rights our being violated, the police officers do not see a taxpaying citizen worried about their civil rights given to them by the Constitution, they merely see a cocky, young, teenager, who doesn't know any better. To them, we are guilty until proven innocent rather than the reverse. It's a shame that the youth of today, the D.A.R.E. generation, has to FEAR the police, the men and women who are supposed to protect and serve seem to only intimidate and detain. Beware, citizens, the police force is looking for you. You may not be breaking a law now, but they’ll sure enough find something to charge you with. Beware, citizens, beware.
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| An e-mail from the Public Safety Chief |
[17 Dec 2005|11:12am] |
Well Mike,
I want to know why you have been going into the student center, radio station, and cafeteria even after being told that you are not to enter. Plus, why were you there eating stolen ice cream in the radio station?
Edward J. Blais, Jr.
Director of Public Safety
University of Maine at Farmington
251 Main Street
Farmington , Maine 04938
207-778-7033
Fax 207-778-7032
- Very professional, right?
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| The Mysterious Call That Begins It All |
[04 Dec 2005|06:40pm] |
As the trio of moons rose above the horizon, Albert peered out at the night sky. The moons illuminated the landscape and Albert realized what a privilege it was for him to be where he was, breathing his oxygen. His class, the UPs, were the oxygen-breathers. You see, here on the moon, the UPs had poisoned the terrain of the moon so much that it no longer was able to grow enough plants, which in turn would create oxygen out of hydrogen. Albert’s class, the UPs, had created a domed, enclosed, and artificial environment community. Basically the size of Earth’s Manhattan, it was home to just over one million oxygen-breathers. The distribution of oxygen was controlled by the Department for Oxygen Control, a branch of The People’s Democratic Republic Nation of the New United States (PDRNNUS). The more money one’s household donated to the Lobbying Committee, part of the Department of Social Affairs, another branch of the PDRNNUS, the more oxygen was pumped artificially into their homes via vents in their floors. The more oxygen one breathed, the healthier they would become, and the more money one had the more oxygen they could have to breathe. Hence, the wealthiest here were also the healthiest. When an oxygen-breather left their house, they had to bring their oxygen tank with them, because while there was enough oxygen to breathe in the domed community, it was much too polluted and just didn’t taste as good as oxygen fresh from the tank. Besides, it was a social faux pas to be seen anywhere without an “oxy-tank”. The UPs lived a seemingly happy existence within their domed, enclosed and artificial environment community, but outside the miles and miles of thick plastic and rusted steel lived another community, the LOWs, who weren’t so dependent on oxygen. In fact, they didn’t need it at all. The LOWs were previously known as the Athletes, groups of individuals who were known due to their extreme capabilities involving manipulating gravity via jumping, throwing, and running. Known as the Arts of the Athlete, these capabilities increased the health of the Athlete so well that their bodies were able to completely adapt in just one generation to not depend on oxygen. The Arts of the Athlete were long lost to the UPs who had forgotten all about Athletes after the Department of Social Affairs declared that Athleticism was a threat to UP society and accordingly prohibited any sporting events, professional or amateur. All being unemployed and considered criminals, the Athletes moved outside of the domed community and were forbidden until the end of time. They set up camp just outside the dome’s walls and became self-sufficient in just under two years, by planting a bizarre hybrid of vegetables that could grow without oxygen, called squamataytoes. A small area of fertile land remained, which was heavily guarded by the LOWs, as this was precious to not only them, but also to the UPs were constantly looking for some land that they had not poisoned. On this fertile land the LOWs grew cannabis sativa, an herb they considered to be the most useful of any of the UPs’ plants they kept in their arboretums. The LOWs used it to make rope, clothing, and used the oil from its seeds to keep their fires burning and to power their vehicles. They also made massive sheets of canvas from the fibers of the plant and made their shelters out of it, which were modeled after Earth’s Native North American’s teepees.
Albert lay back on his couch and smiled as he admired the scene in front of him. The moonlight lit the small LOW village in the distance; he could see fires burning in the teepees. In the dark night light, the village looked to be alive, a hub of activity in the middle of a barren landscape. Suddenly, Albert’s pod began to vibrate. It sputtered and spun in circles until it came towards the edge at which point Albert swiped the pod of the surface of his brown mahogany coffee table. A nifty and useful tool, the pod was the modern day’s version of a cell phone, television, computer, thermometer, music player, translator, calculator, and compass, and it even told time. Shrunk down to the size of playing card, it weighed less than a pound and could fit easily in one’s pocket. Albert glanced at his pod’s viewing screen to check the caller’s ID. He was taken aback. The number was 3 333 333 3333. Shit, Albert thought. That’s a lot of threes. He immediately pressed the green button on the left side of his pod.
“’Allo?” said Albert.
“Hallama hallama hallama” said the pod.
“What?” said Albert.
“Hallama hallama hallama” said the pod.
“Hello?” said Albert.
“Aggida aggida aggida” said the pod.
What the crap? Albert thought. The noises continued while Albert stayed silent and listened. Eventually, they succeed and the pod went back to sleep. Stunned by the event that had just happened, Albert picked up his pod and searched for the phone number on the Universe Wide Web. Unlisted.
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uncountedchickn's journal
