F a t h e r L u k e ’s dot Blawg

I heard a woman at work tell someone this:

Talk to the right person, because sometimes you’ll get good advice.

Shit I love manics.

I’m winning Poker Tournaments like a mother fucker.
It seems I can’t enter one and lose?

Here’s the thing:

I’m retarded when it comes to numbers. Seriously all thumbs in this dept.
But . . . I’m intuitive, and I’m lucky.

Here’s an example of my luck:

Three guys go into a store and buy two lottery tickets.
Each guy gives me one.
The one that each guy gives to me is a winning ticket.

I’ve seen it happen time, and again. Over and over, and over again.

But. . . I can’t rely on luck.

Poker isn’t luck.
Not entirely. It’s a skill.
Dr Zen is teaching me the basics.

I got called in at work today, and told that I had been given a raise. Fuck. All I do is go to work, and do my job. Are there so many people not doing that these days?

By the way? I talked to a woman on the phone while I was selling papers. She told me she’s in the real estate business.

“How long you been in the business, toots?” I asked her.
“Over twenty five years,” she said.
“Ever seen anything like this shit we’re going through?” I said.
“Kid,” she said. “I’ve watched the market for a long time (she was sixty years old). This is the worst I’ve ever seen it. And you wann’a know something,” she said. “It’s gonn’a get a whole lot worse.”

Happy depression everyone.
- -
Okay,

Two ten in the morning.
Just got in from San Francisco a few hours ago.

Bill Roberts, Soheyl Dahi, Jordan, Jason, Kim . . .
all memories now. Memories of a weekend in San Francisco.

I’m listening to the fan blow behind me. It isn’t particularly hot in here, truth is it’s rather cool here on the coast. I just like the sound of the fan.

My legs hurt. I have Restless Legs Syndrome. The skin bubbles with the movement of the muscles underneath… I suffer without any worries. I’ve had this my entire life. I hardly notice the pain anymore. However, at times the pain becomes annoying.

The people I hung with this weekend all have real lives. Real pay checks. Last year I made $8,000. The year before that I made $1,200.

I’m beginning to see that there are people who make what I call a year’s income in a month of their working, or even in just a week. No one I know only makes $1,200 per year. I just don’t get it. I don’t know how I got so poor, and how I stay this way. I just don’t get it.

Tonight I’m left with good memories, exhaustion, sore legs, and the sound of the fan.

So.

What if Blawgs were actual online web journals?

What if the people who closely associate the author with the Author’s work suddenly were made privy to the basic in and out, day to day, thots of the author? How closely would the thoughts and actions parralel the work the author does?

What if F a t h e r L u k e dot Blawg were to suddenly be a web-log (blog), and a journal?

Here goes. . .

Sunday, May 11th 2008
Woke up naked in San Francisco in Kim’s bed. She’s still sleeping.

We fell asleep watching Harry Potter last night. The first one - The Sorcerer’s Stone. I’d seen it before. She felt me stirring, as she slept. Want your clothes, she asked. Yeah, I said. She reached over in her sleep, and grabbed the clothes off the floor, and dropped them on the bed. I put them on, and told her I was gonn’a go write. She said she wanted to “dangle” a little bit more in sleep.

I went to the Bukowski Forum to see if there was anything to moderate. Naw. All quiet. Since mjp updated the software there has been relatively little bullshit to deal with. People, I imagine, have no idea what a moderator’s job is, or what they do, so I will say a little bit about that. Basically I delete spammers, and spam poasts. And that’s pretty much the end of the fucking story.

Kim got up later, and I told her I was hungry. We decided to cook something instead of going out to eat. We had organic, home grown vegetables from her garden. Simmered with some garlic she had grown up at the Lucas Skywalker ranch. I may be getting that wrong, it’s just how I remember it.

I’m remembering that Mortimer, at Media-Underground.net, once told me that I was wasting my webspace, and that I should use it. Well, I did. Now I’m using my Blawg to Journal. Oh. Have I said that? So wut. I repeat myself, and ideas become concrete. Sue me. Everyone else is.

I’ll be watching a couple more of the Harry Potter films today. It was that or Short-Cuts by Altman. I’ve read Ray Carver’s stuff, so I’ll be waiting a bit on the Short-Cuts. I was surprised to hear the Lyle Lovette plays the baker. I was picturing some hairy, fat guy. It will be an interesting experience to finally watch the flick.

Later on I’ll be in Berkley to go to some poetry reading with Bill Roberts, and Soheyl Dahi. I think it’s in Berkley. Kim is driving. It might be in San Francisco. I can’t find my ass with two hands. Fuck do I know where it is . . . ?

Merle Haggard is singing as I write these words on Boot Liquor Radio.

This was from a recent tournament.

Seriously, can you imagine the size balls that fucker has to have pull crap like that? I see it all the time.

My friend, and mentor Dr Zen, is taking me under his wing once again, and this time he’s learning me up the Poker Life.

I’m sure I looked at least half as retarded as that guy trying to steal the blinds up yonder before Zen got a hold of me. Hell. I’m sure I still do, but he’s doing his best with me.

Anyway, I’m having fun. Wish you were here… .

Amazing what you can find on the web.

I didn’t even know this shit was up on the internet
The guy who opens the clip is my brother.

The woman on the bicycle is my mother… about 20 years ago. The kid with the long blond hair is another brother, Nicholas, and the guy on the lawn is my brother Chris. Chris is the only one who can still make me laugh more than anyone else I know. I don’t know who the old guy is, but Kudos to him for hanging out with my family. Blue Ribbon for you, old guy. A million of them.

Thanks to my Brother Zar for putting this shit up on the web. Zar is the guy who opens the show, and the one who hoists the old guy up, and gives him the the airplane spin at the end. I don’t know who the kid running toward the camera is, or I’d give him credit. Thanks Sappie, for bringing this to my attention. Tell them all I say hey when you go over there tonight.

If you thought I was weird, here is what happens at home when I’m not around…

Dear Father Luke,

I hope your day in court was fun.
I know that having your credit card stolen is not a cake walk. But it will work out for you. You know, these things always do, don’t they?

Dear Friend:

They never even showed up to court. The Cunts.
I mean, I get out of bed early. I walk to the court house. I strip down, and bend over in the security to get =into= the court room. Then I get lost…

(have I ever told you about my sense of directions?
Here “http://fatherluke.com/directions” and here “http://fatherluke.com/welcome-to-lovely-new-mexico“)

I get lost in the court house. Even the bailiffs can’t help me. It seems as if the department I am =supposed= to be in, printed in black ink on white paper, has been vacant for nearly 12 years.

The bailiffs direct me to the clerk’s office to check for sure.

I hustle out the exit, and across the way.

I stand in line.
Wait.

Then I’m told to go back into the court house and look for a completely different department.

I hustle back across the way.

Strip, and bend over once again.
Get into the department.

My name is called after a brief spell.
They are not there. My date is reset for July when my Lawyer will be out of town.

So.
Yes. Actually I did have fun. But I have a weird sense of fun.

Hope you are well.

- -
Okay,
Father Luke

Rent:
541.00

Phone:
5.00

Internet:
32.00
________
578.00 - Monthly expenses

578.00 - per month
X 12 months
____
6,936 - Yearly expenses

578 (monthly expenses )÷ 4 (weeks in a month)
= 144.5 - weekly expenses.

Working a 37 hour work week . . .

144.5 (weekly expenses) ÷ 37 (hours working each week) = 3.90 hour

Total Expenses:

144.50 per week
578.00 per month
6,936 per year

I need to make 3.90 per hour working a 37 hour week to survive.

So.
There it is.

Your money or your life?
As Joe Dominguez says: I’ll take both.

- -
Okay,

Everyone hates my taste in music.
Here is another reason why. . .

The Avett Brothers - Talk On Indolence

heh.

You bet your fuckin balls I’m seeing them live

- -
Okay,

Teen Killed Dad For Banning MySpace

From the article. . .

A teenager who confessed to killing his father last month told police he hated his dad for taking away his Internet access, according to a police report released Wednesday.

Hughstan Schlicker, 15, called 911 on Feb. 6 and told the dispatcher he had just shot his father in the head with a 12-gauge shotgun.

“I hate my dad, couldn’t take it anymore,” he said, according to the report.

Schlicker expressed remorse during a police interview, telling detectives “I wish I didn’t do this,” and “I miss Dad.”

Schlicker was charged with first-degree murder and will be tried as an adult.

- -
Okay,

I don’t talk about politics. I’ve explained why.

I also don’t talk about Religion.

PART 1 in a TWO PART SERIES

PART 2 in a TWO PART SERIES

Here is why I don’t talk about Religion:

People lie. All the time. They do it because they like to. There is no other reason.

People want to be lied to. People believe lies because they like believing lies. There is no other reason.

I write fiction. I do it all the time. I write because I like to. There is no other reason.

People either hate, love, believe, or disbelieve my fiction because they want to. There is no other reason.

When I’m telling the truth, you will know.

Am I telling the truth ?

Happy April Fools Day. . .

- -
Okay,