Straight from the edge of ruin.

See, morey is not, as is, some who are. Not at all. morey is what is as morey, and not at all restrained by what is, or protruded by what is, or confined by what is, human. The morey bothers humans because he shows no respect to them, and no respect to the things they respect, and all humans have that one thing they respect which, if one should disrespect, a little button is depressed in that person's head and they go into anger mode, like when you're a kid at school and somebody disses your mom and you have to fight them for it. You don't know why and you're getting mad, but you're building that anger, it isn't exactly there but you have to put it there because somebody just insulted the woman you love and you know not how to react... Like when morey disrespected Hemingway. That could have bothered me because Hemingway understands what it means to have light shine through leaves outside quiet cafes, he understands the drink and the insanity and the smoke, the gun and the fist and the horn; Hemingway knows the silent moments in which man is imperfection incarnate and is dipped in a selfish solitude that makes God grasp at him with a curiousity akin to the God in Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions who just had to know what his human once in a world of robots would say when he came sliding down the mountain to wade below in the river spring. But the disrespect is not grounded! He doesn't know Hemingway, but morey knows know and is of not knowing that which is unknowable, so that he can paint and ride bikes and smile queerly to the derelicts of worldly 'burbs. Anywhere, anyone, any time, morey can drink in a character and like it without ground. See, he respects nothing. No value or tradition or religion or constitution, but if morey likes you it is for something as simple as a chemical cocktail and a series of events, an acid flashback and a circadian mistep, sugar you didn't want in a coffee you can't return because you're already at work, but it turns out being the best coffee you've ever had. And on that groundless ground in the wake of uncertainty, morey, that flittering thing likes and dislikes without reason, just passion, dividing heaven and hell on a cunt hair decision and riding insanity to divine inspiration that is the lohan. Be so enlightened as to see without seeing, to take texture from afar the way you take colour, the way your eye extracts it from a distance that could only be spoken of in a paranormal tongue by the born blind that hasn't the concept to take colour from distance. Live and let live. Do not understand morey, but hear him, the way you walk out of a hairdresser with the same haggard trot after she guessed your sign and that of your friends, told you how you fuck up and why and when, things nobody could have known, and nod to astronomy but pass it by, take and absorb and move on, like what you must do to the teachers and cops and faculty if you know who you are, and accept the morey as a commodity. Cause I've thought it over and that mother fucker ain't human. Nightrious Sat, 09/06/2008 - 09
Dec 05
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I lived in Los Angeles when I was in my early twenties. I was in film school and paid my rent by working as an extra in movies and TV. If you wanted work you called any one of a dozen or so casting agencies and there’d be a recording telling you what they needed. 21 to look fifteen, 28 to look 21, age group and then look, street, beach, clubber….If you fit what they needed then you called another number to talk to an agent and get details. All the agencies would have Polaroid’s and stats of you. I worked a lot for an agency that specialized in off-center types. I was a punk rocker and at that time almost every show wanted a punk rocker somewhere in the scene. It was a novelty, and there were ten or twelve of us who always got the punk work. One Christmas vacation though I needed something full time cause I was pretty short on money. I couldn’t even afford a suitcase of beer much less a night on the town, and my diet was strictly Ramen. Driving to the beach one afternoon I passed an empty car dealership with a huge help wanted sign hanging out in front. I turned around and pulled in. It was a big parking lot with nothing parked in it but an old Cadillac and a trailer. An old guy came out and introduced himself as Red. We would be selling Xmas trees he told me. He said they’d be really busy and needed sales people, but if I wanted to start early I could come in the next day and help with the set up. So I did. My fellow employee was this surfer kid a couple years younger than me. Red gave us a sledgehammer and a lead pipe and instructed us to start poking holes in the asphalt parking lot. The holes had to be in a grid. Sticks or whatever was going to be put in the holes, and then rope strung between them. This was going to be where some of the trees would be displayed. Others would be put up inside the old showroom. I told my father, who was an actor, about Red and he said he had been a famous stuntman in his day. Red had to be in his seventies now but looked really fit. He was tall and wore a cowboy hat, so did his girlfriend. The girlfriend was almost as tall as him and both were leathery tan. After the parking lot was prepared I was assigned to work inside where we prepped trees. I’m from here,(Michigan), where you buy a tree, stick it in a tree stand and put it up. Not at Red’s lot though. We had all these wood X’s with red plastic bowls stapled to them that we’d hammer into the base of the tree. Every tree was supposed to be near perfect in shape so next up was drilling holes in the trunk where there was any gap. We’d put glue in the hole and then stick in branches from a pile that had been cut off other trees basically for the same reason as the transplants, shape. Next step was the dye job; every tree was either sprayed green or white with gold glitter. No tree left the lot in its natural state. I quit the job after my arm swelled up while hammering dishes into the tree bases. I went over to Red to show him my arm, which upon later consideration was ridiculous, considering he was this grizzled old stunt man. I was trying to finagle myself into a sales job but of course he wasn’t sympathetic, so I just left. I did go on one tree delivery before quitting. We had a twenty-five foot monster of white and gold glitter that was headed to a house in Beverly Hills. We rode with the tree in the back of a migrant style truck. The house was a huge colonial with a curved staircase in the front hall. We put the tree up next to the stairs and the lady was thrilled with it. I’d like to make fun of her crassness but I can’t. Back in my apartment I had my own three-foot tall white and gold, and mine wasn’t even real.

I lived in Los Angeles when I was in my early twenties. I was in film school and paid my rent by working as an extra in movies and TV.
If you wanted work you called any one of a dozen or so casting agencies and there’d be a recording telling you what they needed. 21 to look fifteen, 28 to look 21, age group and then look, street, beach, clubber….If you fit what they needed then you called another number to talk to an agent and get details. All the agencies would have Polaroid’s and stats of you. I worked a lot for an agency that specialized in off-center types. I was a punk rocker and at that time almost every show wanted a punk rocker somewhere in the scene. It was a novelty, and there were ten or twelve of us who always got the punk work.
One Christmas vacation though I needed something full time cause I was pretty short on money. I couldn’t even afford a suitcase of beer much less a night on the town, and my diet was strictly Ramen.
Driving to the beach one afternoon I passed an empty car dealership with a huge help wanted sign hanging out in front. I turned around and pulled in. It was a big parking lot with nothing parked in it but an old Cadillac and a trailer. An old guy came out and introduced himself as Red. We would be selling Xmas trees he told me. He said they’d be really busy and needed sales people, but if I wanted to start early I could come in the next day and help with the set up. So I did.
My fellow employee was this surfer kid a couple years younger than me. Red gave us a sledgehammer and a lead pipe and instructed us to start poking holes in the asphalt parking lot. The holes had to be in a grid. Sticks or whatever was going to be put in the holes, and then rope strung between them. This was going to be where some of the trees would be displayed. Others would be put up inside the old showroom.
I told my father, who was an actor, about Red and he said he had been a famous stuntman in his day. Red had to be in his seventies now but looked really fit. He was tall and wore a cowboy hat, so did his girlfriend. The girlfriend was almost as tall as him and both were leathery tan.
After the parking lot was prepared I was assigned to work inside where we prepped trees. I’m from here,(Michigan), where you buy a tree, stick it in a tree stand and put it up. Not at Red’s lot though. We had all these wood X’s with red plastic bowls stapled to them that we’d hammer into the base of the tree. Every tree was supposed to be near perfect in shape so next up was drilling holes in the trunk where there was any gap. We’d put glue in the hole and then stick in branches from a pile that had been cut off other trees basically for the same reason as the transplants, shape. Next step was the dye job; every tree was either sprayed green or white with gold glitter. No tree left the lot in its natural state.
I quit the job after my arm swelled up while hammering dishes into the tree bases. I went over to Red to show him my arm, which upon later consideration was ridiculous, considering he was this grizzled old stunt man. I was trying to finagle myself into a sales job but of course he wasn’t sympathetic, so I just left.
I did go on one tree delivery before quitting. We had a twenty-five foot monster of white and gold glitter that was headed to a house in Beverly Hills. We rode with the tree in the back of a migrant style truck. The house was a huge colonial with a curved staircase in the front hall. We put the tree up next to the stairs and the lady was thrilled with it. I’d like to make fun of her crassness but I can’t. Back in my apartment I had my own three-foot tall white and gold, and mine wasn’t even real.