Book Two Part Two > 5/90 -8/90 13. Double wide trailer home. Small plastic-molded toys are nailed on the wooden support structure that runs along the ceiling through the living area. Army men, dinosaurs... lots of them. Multi-colored. I am in the bathroom of the house that is very comparable to an airplane toilet. I am showering. I am outside now in the neighborhood with relatives. Not sure who but I think my mother’s mother is with us. We are walking about. It is dark. They all walk in a group as I run about exploring. I find an old rusted tin “for sale” sign. I take it. 5/6/1990. Redondo Beach, California. 14. I am laying flat on my back when I fall asleep. Legs outstretched. Arms folded across chest. Now I am driving our Mazda. I see an orange dog just in front of me to the left. When I look up from the dog I notice a red car ahead of me that is much too close. Inside in the back windowis a nude man or woman on his or her hands and knees. This is all I notice because I have no time to even brake before I hit the car full on. The Mazda crumples into me like paper, but my legs are crushed by steel. Paralyzed as much by fear as pain, I wake up fearing the worst. It takes a few seconds for me to move and realize the situation was no longer in effect. 5/6/1990, 3pm. Redondo Beach, California. 15. I am on one side of a covered railroad bridge. There are others with me. We are waiting for a certain train to come. When it approaches from the other side of the bridge we throw up a large metal barrier—flat side facing the oncoming train, a long wedge shape on the opposite side. The barrier is mounted on the tracks somehow and moves along with the train to make the impact less severe. The following moments blur... Military men start to flow from the train car. There are many shots being fired. I’m not too sure but I believe men were going down on the hill next to the tracks. As I am watching all this happen I fall or am pushed from the tracks and land face down on the hill—which I remember as snow covered. We are all heavily dressed. A dead man lands on top of me and I stay still. Some time later I find myself in a house, not sure why. Cannot remember what it looks like. I wander from where I think I am supposed to be into another room where four people are snacking and chatting. This scene is straight out of an old black and white movie. Woman sitting on a couch, two men standing drinking and another man bringing in hors d’oeuvres. All are nicely dressed and look at me rather cautiously but offer me food anyway. I eat some but am getting wobbly, about to fall over. Someone I am with throws a handgun out into a river just at the mouth of the sea. I believe there are two handguns in the river at this point. I am telling my companion why he should not have done that—he’ll never get it back. The water is shallow and I am able to walk out onto it by way of exposed sand banks to retrieve the guns... so I do. However, as I do I am looking down at my feet and not where I am going. I wind up way off course next to a very deep, fast running section. No handguns in sight. 5/10/1990. Redondo Beach, California. 16. I am a high-school student. Shirley McLaine is my art teacher. I only go to class the first day. Near the end of the year (or semester) I run into her and I tell her that my private pursuit of art is more important to me. She hands me a report card with a “C” on it. 5/20/1990. Redondo Beach, California. Dreams eluding me these last few weeks. Too tired to get up and write them down—am not recalling the details once I’m ready to. 17. Hanging out with a figure that is human-like, but with no distinctive features. Lumpy mass. Grey. He tells me he weighs six times the average human weight, though he is of average human size. In a cable-car bar/restaurant he starts fights with everyone, then leaves me to deal with them. 5/23/1990. Redondo Beach, California. 18. Roger had moved away but for some reason I was headed over to his old house with Lew. When we get there we have to park parallel style on a busy street. I didn’t want to leave the car but after another car parked right next to us, we went in. We were met by Andy Howell (I imagine it is Andy Howell, though I have never met him) who I believe is the new resident of the place. He shows us to a room that he stays out of. I tell him that I have come to get some of Roger’s things. The room in empty in the middle—most everything is stacked on desks that are pushed up against the walls—some things, like sheets of glass are just leaning against the walls themselves. On a work table near the door I find a small doll figure carved out of Styrofoam. It has amazing detail. Close to it I find another one that is bigger, but unfinished. Then I find a smoky-imaged Polaroid. I start to fill my arms with the best or most interesting work—old sepia-toned photos under broken, jagged or yellowed glass. I circle the room collecting Roger’s things. When my arms are pretty full is when I realize that I am wearing a helmet and a Jofa mouth guard. I pop off the mouth guard in order to speak more clearly, “Roger told me to bring all this stuff,” I say to Andy Howell and a group of people in the next room—a large living area with wooden floors, big windows and an open staircase—one like a Lincoln, Nebraska home Kevin Wilkins used to live in. Now Lew and I are back in the street only the car is in a completely different area and all the doors are open. I notice the neighborhood is a bit rough—vagrants walking about talking to themselves, drunks, general loitering. I put the art in the back and Lew climbs into the back seat for some reason. I get into the passenger seat and instantly notice that the car is undamaged and instead is completely clean. Vacuumed and wiped down. Now I am in a Disneyland-styled amusement park only it is much more vast in both size and scope. I am in a Sahara Desert-type environment. Rolling dunes. Below me is some sort of gathering point with buildings. I am wanting to walk up a dunes after a small figure in the distance but I have no water or protection from the sun. I decide to go down to the buildings and get some before I start my journey. I see a white Hyundai trying to back up a rather steep, sandy hill. I realize it’s my car and I run up to see what the hell is going on. Inside are Derrick and Lloyd from Wizard. I tell them, “You’re not supposed to back up hills like this,” in a strained voice. 6/3/1990. Redondo Beach, California. 19. Kelley and I are living in a home on the ocean. It’s about a quarter mile from the water on a hill. At about sunset we are preparing to eat when I notice that just off the beach some massive shapes are coming in and out of the water. I ask Kelley to come and see. They are very large whales very near shore. I run down to the beach to get a closer look. Kelley does not come but someone else does—I’m not sure who they are but they were at the house with us. We reach the beach and the atmosphere turns from wonder to danger. We realize the whales are mad. Suddenly they push a large missile out of the water onto the beach. It’s about the size of a large tree trunk. We run. The guy with me stops and as he turns around the missile knocks him over. I keep running up to the house and I notice an entourage of cars coming. I know somehow that these are special agents coming after me because of what I’d just seen. I run into a shed but cannot find a gun that I thought was there. 6/17/1990. Redondo Beach, California 20. I am part of a group of people that have just taken a castle. Medieval times. A woman—wife of the King—is complaining that we need to pay insurance and rent even after we forcefully took it. Then I leave for some reason and do not return for a while. When I return I find everyone dead in a pile in the front room. They are covered with blankets or carpets. I lift a few blankets up to look at them. I grab an ax and sword because I feel a presence still in the castle. Sure enough, there is. I throw the ax at him and hit him in the shoulder. He throws at me and misses. I pick up what he threw at me and throw it back at him. I hit him in the shoulder blade. I am witnessing a scene at a small boat. Modern times. The boat has three of the people I remember from the castle in it. They are dressed in colorful robes. An old man is guiding the boat into a dock and commenting on how strangely the people are dressed. The three in the boat simply stare off as they are guided. 6/17/1990. Redondo Beach, California. 21. A once famous movie personality and his wife are showing me their home. He is much older now than when he was famous. In fact, he looks very fragile and sad, as does his wife. The home is very spacious—tall ceilings—and much of it is painted white. Well lit. He tells me that they will both be dead soon and that I can move into the house. I feel as if a fist is clenching my heart. My face falls and a wave of sadness crushes me. I touch his shoulder and tell him, “No... you are... not... going to...die.” knowing what I was saying to be untrue. It leaves my mouth very weakly, my hand feeling his frailty. He is mere bone. 6/23/1990. Redondo Beach, California. 22. Me and someone else are at the Poweredge Magazine office—or rather, Christian Kline’s office, which happens to be at a house. Actually, it’s in the garage of the house and the office itself looks like Rick Kosick’s at the real Poweredge—small with little prints taped to the walls. Christian is showing us a new skateboard blank and wants me to critique it while he records what I say. I pick it up and start, “Well the double kick is pretty extreme.” And is was. The tail and nose are WAY too steep. “The pressing isn’t so hot either.” There were bumps on the bottom. The stain was a deep blue—ugly. 6/29/1990. Redondo Beach, California. (drawing) 23. I am driving about with someone in what feels like a New England suburb. It’s hilly and most of the homes are multi-level. As we drive we begin noticing similarities in a few homes—the foyers are shaped like coffee and/or tea pots. We notice quite a few homes like this before I get the idea to do a photo layout for a magazine article. I write the idea down in my hip sack notebook. Now we are in one of the homes and the family (father, mother, daughter) is showing us their collection of posters, paintings and objects depicting modern pop culture in America; a painting of Woody Allen taken directly from a photograph, a huge poster of Snoopy... they seem almost embarrassed about their collection but willing to share it. I pull out my notebook again and take notes suggesting this would be a good idea for a story. 7/11/1990. Redondo Beach, California. 24. I am standing on a street. Above me an airplane is doing loops out of control. It is about to crash and take out a lot of people. I realize I am at or at least near the airport. Don Johnson pops out of a hanger, looks at a crowd and claims that he will go up and stop the plane. Just when we all realize it is too late for Don to do anything—Brian Keith is already on the plane and is attempting to straighten it out. In the cockpit the pilot is knocked out and Brian is having no luck getting anything done. Things look grim, but just before they become hopeless the pilot awakens and states, “There’s just enough time,” and puts the plane down safely on the street before dying. In the house before going out with Tod Swank, Garry Davis and Roger Bridges. They’re trying to convince me to let them cut my hair—they all have devilish grins... especially Swank and Garry, Roger is too busy running all over the house. Now we are in the bathroom and they are still trying to convince me. Swank has scissors in hand. Kelley comes in and I realize I’m naked... They ask her if they can cut my hair and she doesn’t really respond at all. 7/17/1990. Redondo Beach, California. 25. In a large building. Large room—basketball stadium sized. In the middle are a configuration of tables. From doorways surrounding the tables come many men... Asian men dressed in some sort of traditional garb. Myself as well. I am the leader of the group but I sense a rebellion. I am asked to explain myself and I begin to after I walk into the middle of the tables. While I am explaining, a group of men begin shifting the tables about violently. Fast and loud—banging them together. My opponents emerge looking at me with frowning scowls. I jump out of the table circle and try to relax—the confrontation having reached a standstill. I am feeling very paranoid. A small Asian girl comes up to me and asks for a piggy-back ride—she looks very innocent and is carrying a sewing case. I ask her if she will try to hurt me and she replies that she just wants a piggy-back ride. I turn around and let her on my back and as soon as she gets on I feel the mood swing into evil. She takes out a large sewing needle and tries to sink it into my ear. It stabs me slightly as I throw her off my back. I am delirious at this point thinking of how the needle could have destroyed my inner ear. Would my brains have leaked out had it pierced all the way through? In my stupor I find that I have somehow escaped the mayhem that used to be my domain. I enter a much smaller wooden structure—a normal house—to hide. My paranoia has not subsided at all, in fact, it has grown. I wander about the house trying to think of an escape plan. I look out a window and see Bob Osborn sitting on the porch reading. I duck and escape the house from the other side, hiding in a wood pile. Sometime later I hear children and look out from my hiding place—three kids are playing nearby. I feel safe in talking to them—I feel like a child myself. I get out and approach them. We sit around a campfire and I tell them of the evils over at the Big Building. As we talk I notice an Asian man explaining to a husband and wife that their child will be fine if they buy a certain property. I figure out the children are being held against their will and the parents are being forced to give their captors money for their safety. 8/18/1990. Redondo Beach, California. 26. It is a wartime scenario. I am a p.o.w. along with quite a few other men. I escape somehow and realize the other p.o.w.s are trapped inside fine art photography by a famous Japanese artist. I am escaping with a few other men, though sometimes I am alone and other times I am with a small girl. I scurry through battle-torn hallways avoiding Nazis. I am armed with a bazooka-like device that shoots fireball-type ammo—much like the handguns in Logan’s Run. I use it to kill quite a few Nazis at close range. There is rain in portions of the escape. Now I am with other p.o.w.s as we find ourselves back at the escape point. I attempt to open a frame that jails a fellow soldier and am told to stop, that we don’t have time, that we must run. This is when I notice the name of the photographer. The frames are plastic boxes that stand out from the wall about two inches. We run down a narrow set of stairs, photos lining them. 8/19/1990. Redondo Beach, California. 27. I am at GT checking out a demo on their new transportable half-pipe. It was very flimsy until I told them it needed diagonal cross-bracing on each side. They put them in before the demo and it looked fine, though the extension on one side was not covered yet. Anyway, a bunch of guys were riding it (not too well, I might add) on bikes and Mike Dominguez was there, only he was on a skateboard and wasn’t skating well at all. After watching a while it starts to get dark and people can’t see anymore so GT decides to let everyone into their warehouse. Steve Giberson is there giving someone film. I leave. We have to walk through a short field to get to the GT parking lot. As I’m running I jump over some heavy foliage and start falling back first, down a hole. Fast. I am totally out of control and a feeling of intense doom spreads through me. I keep falling for what seems forever, when I realize that I’ve probably already hit bottom. I think of Kelley. I think of baby Jessica, that little girl that fell into the 20-foot-deep, two-foot-wide hole and lived. I almost laugh thinking about the cameras and the big deal that might be made of me. 8/24/1990. Redondo Beach, California. 28. Bowl made out of dirt and I’m skating it. It’s kind of rectangular with rounded corners but I’m not really skating the corners because I think there are a lot of trees in the way. Bushes. So I’m skating just this one surface. Two kids are watching me and asking me a bunch of dumb questions. I remember doing this big lipslide and they said, “Did you see what he just did? Did you see that?” All of a sudden Chris Day is there talking to them and he’s telling me this used to be a race track and I say, “Yeah? That’s cool.” I look down on the side of the dirt and there’s still a sticker there that says something about what moto someone was in. So I take the sticker and keep it. Then I’m rifling through my wallet and I’m finding all these Dischord credit cards that I’ve had for every year that I’ve been a member of Dischord Credit Card Group to get records from Ian Mackaye. I’m holding one in my hand and I accidentally break it and I realize it’s my most current one. All the credit cards are shaped like little cameras. I broke it by holding it in my hand too hard lengthwise. 8/27/1990. Redondo Beach, California. (into tape recorder) book two, part threebook onemenunote