I have been taken down to the level of something I am not.
I don’t know why; I don’t know where or what some people are what they are or why they choose to interact with others.
Interaction can be an exercise in futility and falsity.
I am me. I have never tried to take advantage of anyone. I am a protector. Yet, I consistently and constantly get dragged into drama that I want nothing to do with.
I have been called things. I am tired of being guilty by proxy for bull that I have absolutely nothing to do with.
I try my damndest to avoid the drama on here. I have one screen name - my real name. I post my real visage. I talk about my real life and write my fiction proud. I post my phone number and address and that has got me in trouble from time to time. I have never harassed anyone about phone numbers of anyone - the once that I was persistent it regarded a friend going to visit someone - and this friend I know and love wanted to visit a stranger and I needed to be protective.
When I have talked to people from here it has been by mutual adult consent - Heather, Kristin, Big Chris, Hook (you’ve called but I have not been awake), Jenn, Shibari, Reba, Gloria, Macey, and my friend from reality - my best friend on earth beyond Lady - you know who you are.
I am me - I have NEVER lied or deceived. Even when I have been taken out of context I have done my best to explain why and how without pushing the truth or my defense so hard as to hurt someone.
I have no need for driving it all hard and making my point and fussing and feuding, my friend.
I am me.
I am true. I am who I represent. I can get flirty and sexual with friends who know who I am, but I never seek that out amongst strangers that I have no time talking to.
I am a lonely fellow. I work third shift and my friends live far away - I have no car. I am a lonely guy. When I look to talk or chat or interact it is a mere and meager desire to have friends and interaction with those beyond my cats. I am sorry to anyone who has misinterpreted that.
I am me and here to be honest with all.
I shall not be crucified for my honesty or my integrity as I have never deviated from that with anyone here.
And yes, Lady knows all of what I speak as our relationship is beyond open and giving to each other with no secrets and full of the most amazing love found on earth.
Go ahead and hurt me, try to attack. Bite down hard with your toothless grasp …
‘You can’t bring me down, you can’t bring me down’ - Mike Muir, Suicidal Tendencies:
The strike is impending; the talk and gossip are insane.
The Socialists battle the Fascists and I feel it beyond my immediate touch via the Temasters strike against the Orange County Transit Authority - my buses aren't running right now. 'Bretheren' strength breeds insanity by proxy.
I hate unions, so much so that I won't bother everyone with it all of the video links and political points that I could mention. Hell, I could even scan in union fliers and post them in this. I won't because I am over it. I am not even going into this due to the bummer and debate that would spawn from it - this I don't need.
One can only hope that life works the way it shall.
Florida - I want you even though I hate your humidity.
I have been moved by something greater than existence could ever provide one man.
I am going to promote the ever-living-hell out of this man, this movie, this existence.
Politically, I can not say where I stand on this in regards to the liberty of personal destruction versus the sanctity of being protected from yourself by your fellow man.
I know that while the ‘Overture of 1812’ echoes, the phosphorescent glare of magnesium explosions deem blinding and thunderous guttural reactions, the hotdogs are eaten gluttonously (hopefully kosher, but it is not my place to enforce that; hence the weird poli-dichotomy), while the cheese melts like fire faces from ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ on the meat of the grill; this man should hold a place in all of our minds as a haunting reminder.
A reminder of someone we know, someone we want to save, someone we wouldn’t piss on to douse the flames of their demise, someone we can’t bear to behold, someone we see, someone we hear, someone we pass, someone we could be, someone we would be, someone we should hope to never be.
Everyday is such a trapeze act of the flimsiest of strings that are strewn together in such a manner that spiders drip piss from their webs laughing. In a second, a blink of an eye; in half the time it takes to get to the middle of a sentence (especially one of my infamous run-on ones), life can flip over and snap it’s neck and wish you into a chair of motorized redundancy that only illuminates that stagnation that may truly be man’s best friend.
The 4th of July always reminds me of food, Tchaikovsky, Ron Kovac, beer, BBQ smells, explosions, tattoos, smiling children, James Madison, powdered wigs, cobblestones, sparkler waving, fried seafood, lobster, hot necking in the humid shade, deviled eggs, potato salad, swimming, and big fat sweaty bellies. Today my mind can not travel too far from the image of Mark David Allen.
Since I watched the film ‘Drunk In Public’ last Friday night, I have not been able to erase these haunting images from my mind. I have asked everyone, EVERYONE, I know if they know him, have heard of him; if they maybe have seen the film.
You see, I know this man. I have heard him sing, I have watched him panhandle, I have heard his rap through earshot had face to face.
I have never spent a lot of time in Newport Beach, as I do not like saltwater or the shore by any stretch of the imagination or by any necessity of any coastal boundaries. Living in Costa Mesa for a long while, I have found myself, from time to time, at this neighboring community of surfers, heads, and glamorous beach bum banditos (much like a New York County dweller finds themselves in Manhattan from time to time but may not find it to be a mandatory rite of passage). On these travels of brevity, I have found the experiences to be far from pleasing but interesting to say the least. I do have a fondness for what I have found there but have never needed it to be a slice of my pie. This man and film, however, has raped my soul and left an impact on so many levels that only M.C. Escher’s staircase could carry me across and beyond the levels that it has touched.
Here first is the website that can elaborate on this man, Mark David Allen - known in the writings of it’s content as MDA. There are many avenues to dwell down on this website, like an investigative version of Jack the Ripper cascading through the shadows of the night trying to drive out maddening images and redeem oneself through interaction; may you take the higher road not sought after by madman Jack:
It is worth note that an instructor of mine at the Academy Of Defensive Driving (A.O.D.D.) in San Juan Capistrano, CA, named Dr. John McCready (who has discussed the possibility with me of me, R.E. Knowlton III -reformed abuser of ALL substances within partaking’s reach , taking on the position of counselor and actually teaching a class or two) is cited with a letter submitted to the producer, filmier, documentarian named David J. Sperling. It can be found down the avenue of FAQ’S. I suggest a heavy read of the letter written by Dr. John in order to elaborate on any misconceptions had about 5150’s, 5250’s, and 5260’s (all mandatory psyche evaluation procedures that one would immediately leap to upon hearing of the Mark David Allen case/situation). The FAQ section also rounds out any of the common responses had by anyone who grows familiar with the case and, of course, the film.
This is a five minute lead in to the film, a trailer if you will. If you are ever going to waste five minutes of your life (internet or otherwise) this is a grand opportunity to do so. YOU MUST! Please, if you have any compassion, ridicule for the indignant (self imposed or otherwise), contact with the abusive or abused, or interactions with an addict; WATCH THIS! This may (and probably WILL) lead to your purchase of the film, which you will thank me for afterward. I am a destitute fellow by any ‘survival of America’ standards, but if you are troubled or know someone troubled by anything that I have touched on in this and can not afford a copy of this film (it is 19.99 plus some shipping), I will do what I can to help you out in the viewing or purchase of this movie. It is IMPERATIVE that anyone that may even think this implies to them watch this film. I can NOT stress this enough!
This is an outtake of one of the many song renditions that Mark tended to supply peace officers with. He is in a holding cell (drunk tank) at the time and is in his early to mid 40’s. With his arrest bracelet and lock up blankie (yes, I have had both of those), he battles out, with a heavy lung blast and heave, his stupendous rendition of Cheap Trick’s ‘I Want You To Want Me’. Mark was infamous for these jail cell renditions of famous top forty numbers that we all know. I actually remember him singing numbers at the pier in Newport, this is where I remember his smelly, self deprecating, destructive, dysfunctional ass. As the grunion run the wave wakes of Newport Beach, Mark David Allen would serenade the glistening tide while peeing on the sands that teens had called their ‘lust blanket’ just minutes before. Creepy, to say the least, but this was MDA; this was the man that I knew growing up (guised under many monikers and motives and crutch), the man I could have been - the man that I was trying to avoid being but almost became.
It is all very sad. It is all very creepy. It is all very surreal. Lower lip puff up, idle eyelids, finger waiving song gesture of guidance that could never form under the regiment of actual leadership and example set. Never once left to know what would happen but only told and reminded of it’s omniscient presence and power - how, no; when, most certainly dear - even if it was not looked forward to.
Manifest Destiny is a bitch!
Remember, ‘emulate’ is one of the dozen; ACA will tell you that in a heartbeat. I fulfill 5 of the roles discussed at those meetings. To bad I am at the other meetings - yes, the ‘other’ ones. Just like the wheelchair ridden fellow with the oxygen tank at the Dead shows with the t-shirt that reads, ‘Don’t Try To Sell Me Drugs’; why am I here?
Happy 4th of July!
Go blow shit up!
Eat a deviled egg.
Get wet to dull the heat.
Mark David Allen is doing all three of those things everyday.
Many Blogstream members are there
already! Quotes from members: "It's like blog lite!" -- "I like the instant
gratification!" -- "Stop spectating, get in the game!"
If you have not joined in, you are really missing out!
