Saturday, December 31, 2011

San Pedro, California...

...has gone to shit. Literally. Crap everywhere.
Dog; Cat; Bird; and yes, even Homo Sapiens
Oh, and don't forget the dopers.
Please dear Jesus, do not forget to mention the dopers;
And ceritfied Felons;
Hot damn those Felons got swagger.
Kiddie-rapers too;
Attempted murderers;
we shunt forget the ubiquitous neighborhood drunk;
two tanked lovers;
and a partridge and a pear tree...

-- All residing on my block.
-- All stutter-stepping, drunk as skunks, emboldened.
And illiterate kids, smoking weed in the canyons, setting refuse ablaze behind my house.
It's as if the lone neighbor and I are besieged by a crumbling society on the edge of martial law.
The vampires creeping in, waiting for eternal dark.
A local tweaker parked his jalopy in the driveway today -- blocked the neighbor in.
So I went down, confrontation in my sights. 'Twas near midnight, but no avail.
Nobody answered.
Nobody gave a good goddamn.
Figure he and the tribe were in the nod, enjoying Big H.
Anyways, there's trouble brewing.
I can smell it.
Feel it.

Rumblings of Nasiriyah -- just before we rolled in, the sky gray and quiet.
Wet.
Men, Women, Children, peeking from windows -- confused, scared, just wanting it to go away.
"Go away...go away...go away" (sotto voce).

Folks who wax poetically about good ole' Pedro, might want to visit good ole' Pedro once in a while.
Just on a random day.
Alone.
Alone on the many streets below Western Ave, where the peasants and prisoners spread out like water on litmus paper -- metastasizing rapidly, leaving broken windows, abandoned cars, semen-filled magnums ripped off with wanton abandon -- pooches nearly noshing the aforementioned 'nad nectar.
it's an eerie sight, dear readers.
as if the men, women, children are peeking, lurking behind computers screens, hoping to dear God,
the Outside doesn't come Inside
@ least not now.
@ least not yet.
I know there's better...
people;
places;
faces;
and pooches (the San Pedro pit bulls -- chained and frothing against chain-linked fences. Blue-eyed beasts with vacant eyes -- a bizarre mirror -- sociopathic owners bestowing prison pathos to their beloved curs and kids).
But I know...I have visited. There's still good country out there.
America.
long unbroken vistas -- a house there, horse corral here, shooting range snugged up against a granite mountain.
-- smiling and humble.

But not here -- no, no, no, not California.
Give it to Calderon, I say.
We're just visiting Sir, like most Angelinos.
Waiting, saving, and hoping for the best.

Nevertheless, I'll state it now -- get it documented and such.
one of us will be hurt.
December 31, 2011
0121.
Not sure who, but one of us.
me, her, the pooches.
LAPD Harbor Division knows about the stolen USMC flag.
the petty crime and disjointed derelicts.
tettering on the edge, waiting for opportunity.

"Such a shame," the Police Officer said. "People will steal anything nowadays."
"Yes," I said. "They will."
There was a slight pause, an exhale.
And I hung up.


Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Christmas 2011

Well it's been an interesting one for sure. Started off with a bang, reinforcing my belief San Pedro, CA has moved on to harder drugs -- the good old days of drive-by eggings and TP tapestry evolving -- replaced by the town drunk pissing on my trash can, local degenerates thieving a Marine Corps flag off my porch, and the ever-present police chopper alighting the neighborhood, searching for car-jackers, suspected hit men, and you know, you're run of the mill Los Angelino. The flag was never returned. The police couldn't give two shits. And I suppose the ghetto bird simply reacts to it's environment.

Alrighty, it's SEO blogs/military financial advice time. New years a' coming...and if you're one of the punk who stole my flag...

they drew first blood...

Annika on the catwalk

starbucks crew @ the compound -- they're special like that...

Xmas time w/the pups

Monday, December 19, 2011

the MILITARY WALLET

well, i've been lucky enough to recently join the team over @ the Military Wallet.
great website with a ton of valuable info for members of the Armed Forces.
check it out!
here's the first article of a ten part series i'll be scribing.
take a gander:





Wednesday, December 14, 2011

In Over Your Head? Bankruptcy Options for Service Members

let us hope it never comes to this.
but just in case, read my new one from Military Banking Rates.


Bankruptcy

same old song

not sure what it is, but i've urge.
it's more like a compulsion.
not like one of those -- wash my hands 346 times a day, pull out my eyelashes on the regular, or any of that boring crap.
and i can't really explain it, perhaps it deals with my time in the desert.
those years.
nights, days, watching a red, red sunrise and the cold morning steaming up, drying the sand, and lizards sunning and tortoise roaming.
i dunno.
but i can remember Kuwati morns -- all that sand and desolation.
straight outa Lawrence of Arabia.
but that's not really the desert i dig.
i like that California/Arizona/New Mexico desert.
the Salton Sea and Niland.
outskirts of the Grand Canyon and Albuquerque.
with the wayward retirees and lanky dogs on porches.
wide, way open spaces alone.
mountain ranges with hidden springs, cattails and a few errant tires.
shotgun shells cracking in the sun.
bones of some lost goat or sheep, white with giant warrior ants on patrol.
strange how most people call that hell.
most everyone i know.
you gotta be careful out there -- sexual sadists and pedo's like the anonymity.
but mostly old folks, heating up their bones.
although you'll run into a few Vets -- ancient with nothing to prove, content in the warm sun, a pistol on their hip, pooch on porch, and a baked chicken dinner.
strange world, lots of nooks and crannies.
the good ole desert...




Friday, December 2, 2011

A janky Christmas

With a wee bit o' Dios de Muerta.
But we sure make it work.