Things are a little
new traffic lights being installed all over the
city are doing strange things. The light on the
far right at almost every intersection is a fraction
of a second slower than the others. It's a little
disconcerting. Is it just me? Is it some LED electrical
synchronicity problem? Or is it something more
ominous? Something more sinister? Is it a sign
that the nine-dimensional, quantum string super-symmetry
is out of whack? Is it a small glitch in the Matrix?
just the beginning..?
October 11, 1:30am... At Dante's
I got word that a friend from the county medical
examiner's office was trying to get a hold of
me regarding a possible death of an employee.
The only person who hadn't shown up for a couple
days was Morgan. I immediately called his roommates
and they confirmed the worst. Morgan had been
found dead in his bedroom. Another heroin overdose.
October 21, 2:10am... "Frank, I'm gonna go
to jail..." A message on my voicemail from Isaac,
our friend in the wheelchair who guards "our"
corner of Third and Burnside. He was audibly upset,
and he said he was sorry and he'd see us in about
three weeks. Something about his cell phone and
how they don't want him in the "drug free" zone.
He told me to let everyone know he loves them.
October 21, 5:45am... Inside Plaid Pantry
an old, slow-moving, gray-bearded guy walked in
and started knocking the pastry displays over.
Then he shuffled over and started knocking another
display over. Then he just stood there while the
clerks yelled at him and called 911. The customers,
including myself, stood and watched. There was
no sense of danger from the man. It was almost
funny. Kind of sad. He just stood still in the
middle of the floor with a blank look on his face.
I finished buying my hot chocolate and newspaper
with a picture of California Governor-Elect Arnold
Schwarzenegger on the front page. As I left, stepping
over and around the various donuts and maple bars
scattered over the floor, I noticed the old guy
had an open fanny pack with at least three empty
prescription medicine bottles plainly sticking
out of the top.
October 21, 3:37pm... It's 81 degrees. The
humidity is 93%. That's all fine except it's almost
fucking November. The jet stream is doing some
strange things as well...
October 21, 11:30pm... Sitting at the bar
at Magic Gardens, supporting "The Arts" by watching
Viva Las Vegas perform onstage, I got a phone
call from a friend in LA... Elliott Smith, one
of Portland's most amazing gifts to the world
of music, was found dead. To the people who knew
him, the fact that he finally succeeded in killing
himself came as no surprise. Elliott was known
for his depression, his drug problems and his
alcoholism, as well as his unequaled mixture of
ingeniously simple and heartfelt writing and superbly
sweet melancholy music. But what was surprising
was the way he ended it. When we first found out,
we all assumed it
another heroin overdose. But Elliott had been
clean and sober for several months. He killed
himself by stabbing a knife through his heart.
LAST JOURNAL ENTRY:
his website www.swallowmy.com)
July 24... What an insane fucking night. It
was totally fucking surreal. What, are we in
fucking LA now or something? So Quiet Riot played
tonight and I worked the merchandise booth for
them. Fucking ridiculous hair-band from the
80s still acting like their rock 'n' roll gods?
Fucking ridiculous. All the butt-rockers came
out of the woodworks tonight. What's funny is
right about 1 a.m. as they're playing "Cum On
Feel the Noize" guess who walks right through
the front door? Vince Vaughn and Vincent D'Onofrio..."
is snubbing (Frank's friend) Alex and he's not
being nice about it. Alex ends up sitting on
the other side of me and starts talking loud
trash. He wants to give Vince a facial, shoot
his load all over his face. Vince hears this
shit, stands up and marches right out... I don't
know whether to slap Alex or laugh my ass off.
That was kind of some funny shit. Another crazy
night at Dante's. My life is a complete circus.
I wind up helping Quiet Riot do load-out...
Whatever gets these old farts the fuck out of
here faster. That trashed out blue-haired (Suicide
Girl) whore is hanging out in the parking lot.
She's talking shit about me to Stevie. I'm an
asshole? You're a fucking late night trolley
slag. Go hit the trainyards and suck a bum's
cock for a slug of sterno cunt. What a completely
insane night. Just can't wait for it to end..."
tonight I head down into the office and catch
Etta and Alana changing shirts. At first Alana
starts to freak, covering up her tits but Etta
says something about it just being Morgan, no
big deal. What the fuck is that shit? She gets
Alana to show me her tits and sweet Jesus man,
they're beautiful! I'd love to slide my dick
in between them until I shot my load all over
her sweet brown freckled face. Could you imagine
the gleaming white string of pearls wrapping
around that chocolate coffee colored neck of
hers... I've seen Etta's tits before and granted,
it's a nice rack but Alana? Fucking hell! If
she wasn't married I'd be all over her... Etta
does have a great set of chode-sucking lips
though. I'd powerblast her in a second... The
way she gets all sauced around the office, I
might have to whip it out on of these nights
and gag her with my cock. Especially when she's
dropping this "It's only Morgan" shit. She think
I'm a fucking poof? I'll show her poof when
I root that hole out raw. I would have paid
them $5 to hug right then and there, see those
big white and big brown titties smashed up against
one another, nipple to nipple. I need to go
yank myself off now. Goodnight."
his journal had a happy ending.