tonight I went to my first strip club (I've been to the claremont lounge but that place is in a league of its own) the pink pony is a real strip joint equipped with at least 20 fine looking women. I was suckered into a couple lap dances from a hot young Gypsy named Bianca. she was one of the few with real tits. i got to feel my first fake tits. they belonged to a tall and stacked woman named Mimi. all in all it was a good night, good food at Dante's (wasn't it the 2nd level of lustful hell I'm doomed to?) on the pirate ship then on to stripper hell/heaven whatever. I'm a bit inebriated so I'll sign off now.

When I'm all down on myself you're there but when I ask bout sumptin kinda happy it's like.... where is everybody? Regardless I still miss you damn yankees, and who knows hodown, I may be coming your way... maybe. I'm about to make another video... one i promised an organization. It in memory of an action figure... Bruce. I lost him in Portland

PS
did anybody watch the maypop video? look at the little title opener i made for it.

Dagblastit
by Casey McKinney

Hung almost 5 times before bothering
to get to know you. I tend to avoid
looking at the work of people I dig.
So often the shit sucks (then there you are).
But as I told Ben today, I'm perplexed,
because the mix you have is just too much:
Country yet modern. Weird yet not crazy.
Pretty, but thankfully are not perfect.
Spent a year trying hard to gigolo,
not get snagged, sucked in, or whipped as they say,
but damnit, think you've done it. Another
Georgian too. What's up with that? Peaches
of death will grab my one good testicle.
They'll squeeze too and laugh - that's what I figure.


Sounds about right... but I can't be objective. What do you (e:strip)pers think? Does this poem stand on its on? and what's up with the not perfect? hah, I've been watching Dr. 90210 so I know quests for physical perfection are serious concerns for many folks. Some of those folks are nuts. This woman on there today wanted to have a big old diamond placed right under her skin on her arm, this on account of the fact she'd become more active and couldn't wear it all the time. Reminds me of Egyptian Pharaohs gettin' buried with all their things when they die. Somehow the burial before death seems worse. The doctor wouldn't do it so the woman just had some cellulite dug up with metal sticks. crazy.
here's a link to more of Casey's poetry. I don't like poetry an awful lot but Casey knows that.

This flower (Passiflora incarnata)



produces a fruit. I found one of these fruits in the woods yesterday, kind of strange finding fruit in November. I'd never seen this fruit before so I thought it was an exciting find. I thought it could have been lepracaun stool ( ).
My Mama called it a maypop. Apparently this plant helps with all kilnd of ailments, including sleeplessness and PMS .
I made my find into a video. It's a boring video, I guess. Kiah didn't like it. here's the link anyway

It strange that I get so excited from finding food in the woods. It makes me realize how capitalism commodifies the most basic things and makes naturally occurring things seem untrustworthy. Yes, I was afraid to eat the fruit but I did save the seeds. The pod was full of seeds. The fruit had a lime outside and a pumpkin inside.

I got fed up and walked out of the house. I wanted to go down a grown up path in the woods but Kiah followed me, a five-year-old in flip-flips. I told her to go back in the house but what is television compared with tagging along after your "crazy aunt Robin?" I worried about the briars and brambles finding their way into the open parts of the Kiah's shoes but I was determined to continue my original pursuit despite being shadowed by a child. She asked me, "Do you even know where you're going?" I looked down at my house shoe clad feet and I realized that indeed I did not. I asked her "Do you know where you are going?" She said, "Yes, I'm following you."