F a t h e r L u k e ’s dot Blawg

So tell me again? The point of life is to have more than anyone else, or have less, or what? Because between all the letters I get, and the phone calls from lawyers, and the amount of time I have to spend at work, I mean
f u c k !

I got a call from a friend of mine, and he wants to build me a desk. So I will actually have a desk rather than sitting on the floor with the keyboard balanced on my lap. It’s really a fucked way to have to write. I mean my legs - I have Restless Leg Syndrome, which hurts like a motherfucker at times -
just can’t take it for long periods.

And okay to all that.

I work from 2 until 8:30
I leave the house at 1:00 to catch the bus
I arrive home at 9:00

Eight hour day. I get paid for six and a half of those hours. Eight bucks an hour.

Then I work from 9:00am until 2:00 on Saturday. Not much of a weekend.

Am I complaining? I don’t think so. I’m just taking a spot check inventory. I mean there a lot of fuckers out there not working who want to work.

An attorney in town referred me to another attorney in San Diego - hours, and hours away from where I live. How these guys work is another mystery. I mean, if I live in Santa Cruz wouldn’t you think that a local guy would be preferred to someone that far out of town? Or am I being old fashioned?

Lawyers
Courts
Publishers
Poker Tournaments

Who would’ve thought I grow up to live in a world like this. . .

- -
Okay,

Ode to Joy is playing. More precisely, Symphony No. 9. The part before the singing, where the famous Ode to Joy famous chords first come into play.

The Promotion/ Raise thing at work was just a switch to another campaign. No money involved. Not yet.

I get email from friends from long ago who have found my website,
F a t h e r L u k e .com ,
and it’s weird. Weird because email wasn’t around when I was a kid, and weird because I haven’t seen any of these people in years. Years. I mean like not since the internet was invented, like the late seventies type late. So it’s weird not having been in touch.

Oh. And I’m being sued. A while back some fucktard used my credit card and ran up an 8 thousand dollar bill. I called the credit card company, and they told me to go fuck myself because my name was on the card. So, here I am. I’ve earned in my lifetime what these guys will earn in a week, and they want my wages. And, they will get them. I’ll end up losing simply because I haven’t a clue as to what to do in a court of law.

Welcome to another beautiful day in paradise. . .

- -
Okay,

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…