Seven Hundred Days

Was winter when I fled
To the land of sun and no green
I sheltered and sought a chance 
To catch my breath
In the wastland 
I had feared and hated 
All my life

I lived among the Bikers 
The cookers and tweeks 
Five acre homesteads full of whitetrash militia
Actually small groups of ignorant men 
Frustrated with federal policies 
They perceived as 

'Counterproductive to a White American's 
Life, liberty and pursuit of happiness'

You'd hear them plugging away day and night 
Targeting cans, junk cars 
Household appliances of all types 
Guzzling warm Meisterbrau
Hoping tomorrow would be the day 
The lid blew off the melting pot 
And open season declared 
On niggers, spics, jews and faggots 
And anybody else they felt 
Might be a little too soft on 
Or in collaboration with the mud 

I once overheard this toothless cretin 
Holding court in a bar

'We aim to preserve the integrity Of our White Culture 
BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY!'

Jeezus, I thought 
I'm witnessing history 
The birth of the Toothless Riech 
The tattooed ubermensch of the High Des!

With the first two fingers of my left hand 
I make the magic scratchy scratchy 
Next to the ten dollar bill in front of me
The barmaid brings me a double 
I knock it back 
She goes for my change 
I go look for Kalifornia Uber Alles 
The jukebox doesn't have it 
Nine Inch Nails has to do 

I play Closer 
One, two, three times for a dollar! 
And walk out the door 
Any means necessary, indeed 

A chatty neighbor told me later 
That the toothless dictator of dollar drink night 
Actually has two personal slaves
A black woman and her seven year old daughter 
The child has never been to school 

May have been a rumor 
But are rumours scarier than truth?
Rumors of that type are symptoms 
Indicators

Little town, heavy aired 
With tension and paranoia 
And no matter how much I brushed 
I couldn't lose that taste of hopelessness 

The Tweeks 
Spun porno driven zombies 
Seekers of the Bag 
Feared everything whether real or not 
Made no difference if it was delusional 
In daylight they ran from white cars 
After dark 
The black helocopters follow 

All the way to Havasu, Man!
An' when we crossed the stateline
It just stopped n' turned around
No bullshit! Tell 'em, dude!

Yeah, it was weird.
Hung back so's it looked like a star
Slowes' damn helo Ah never did see!

Such exchanges usually indicated
That the good shit was in town 
Or at least passed through (on the way to Havasu) 
Dropping little bags of mania 
Upon the chosen Spun Immaculate 
Who would cease being 
Who would become doing 
Who would touch the Zen Nexus 
Of Meth Monsters 
Obsession 
Loss of self by any means possible 

KIll all the lights 
Run from window to window 
Room to room 
Peering through the mini blinds
We called it Guard Duty 
It could go on for hours 
And actually seemed to intensify 
The drug's affect 
Until finally the compulsion to remain high 
Overrides the compulsion 
To creep around in the dark 

The Magic Powder 
Smells of litterbox and burnt matches 
Fries membrane like Drano 
As it cakes up on the scar tissues 
Of the sinus cavity
Where, hopefully, it dissolves 
And enters the bloodstream 
The bitter drip 
Can be foul enough to cause vomiting 
But if you puke 
You don't get as high 

When things finally calm 
And those who are Spun Mighty 
Look as if they might sit still 
Another tray of ice drops from the icemaker 

Oh, shit! There they go again! 

I knew this tweek chick 
Thought she found bugs on her arm 
Dissappeared into the bathroom 
With an exacto blade 
Removed the little critters 
Bloody one by one 
No bugs when she came out 
And damn few freckles 

Her mom freaked 
Over the hack marks and freckle craters 
Decided to rush out for bactine 
Bandages and a twelve pack 

As she dismembered her smelly thrift store sofa
Searching for her car keys 
She turned and looked at me 
Eyes like two holes burned in a sheet 
Green eyes, flooding 
Overflowing 

'What am I gonna do?', she sighs 

There is a loud rattle from the kitchen

'Jesus!' I say 
'You could start by fixing that fucking icemaker!' 

Bikers and cooks share a common ancestry 
And a long tradition of symbiosis 
They fear all police agencies 
FBI, ATF, DEA 
And any strangers in town 
Especially curious ones 
They appear fearless 
But avoid at all costs 
Any contact with officials of the realm 

The stranger will never 
Know they fear him 
They'll get him drunked up 
Then take him out and introduce him 
(maybe re-introduce is more accurate) 
Yeah, reintroduce him to the food chain 
And just a couple links lower 
Than all those questions
Was comin' from 

Little town, heavy aired 
Mom and Pop worry about gangs 
Worry about dope dealers 
And perverts and pornographers 
The churches have mobilized Christian Action Committees 
That they might engage the Dark Factions 
Of the California School System 
And the Godless Homos who control it 
Fighting the Good Fight 
To preserve ignorance and intolerance 
For all time 

Just say no. Thank you very much. 
Quit it, boy! Make you go blind! 

Paranoia The High Desert Epidemic 
Everybody got a dose 
Major symptoms always the same
We all pick our own secondaries 
Thats the spice 

Imagine how boring it would be 
If we all had the same delusions 
Fuck, we might have to agree on something 
I don't worry too much about it 

If all the symptoms of Paranoia 
Appeared only in the form of say
A rash 
What do you think the odds are 
That two people welt up 
In the same connect-the-dots pattern?

Yeah. All the way Havasu 

Heavy town. Little air 
My body sings blisters 
The rash covers me 
The rash of seven hundred days 
You have heard my chosen Pox 
From the land of sun and no green 
I sought to bind my fear 
IT bound me                     
Drained me
Tried to enter me
So that it might truly taste
The flavor of my defeat

There is a Thing
That draws the hopeless 
Not to be killed or consumed 
The Thing needs them alive 
Because it feeds on their futures

Standing on Forever's edge 
I held tomorrow over the abyss 
And begged release 

Month after month 
I could find no one who could hear me 
So I hid away that part of myself 
Night after night I slept 
But I had lost my dreams 
And so I let them go 
Day after day I could not write 
I thought I had lost that too. 
Came the moment I realized 
I had lost everything 
Except the dark, distant stirring 
Of the Thing Ravenous 
Far below my surface 

Three weeks later 
Nearly mad with indecision and frustration 
I stood in the darkness 
And cursed the stars with every breath 
Finally I broke and sat sobbing 

'What can I do?'

There was a twist
A breaking loose inside me
And I heard the quiet voice 
I had once known so well 

'Do what you want to do', I said . 

10 November, 2001 
29 palms