But for the sky, there are no fences facing

1. Elaborate on your default icon.
A picture of me taken by Todd last summer in front of a painting by Jeremy McDermott of the soon to be music sensation, Coho.

2. What's your current relationship status?
In love

3. Ever have a near-death experience?
Yeah, alcohol poisoning.

4. Name an obvious quality you have.
I'm verbose.

5. What's the name of the song that's stuck in your head right now?
For the Benefit of Mr. Kite.

6. Name a celebrity you would marry:
None.

7. Who will cut and paste this first?
no-one

8. Has anyone ever said you look like a celebrity?
Yeah, everyone from Victor Mature to Bruce Willis

9. Do you wear a watch? What kind?
no, I know the time of day within 10 minutes instinctively

10. Do you have anything pierced?
Multiple ear piercings and one eyebrow

11. Do you have any tattoos?
No.

12. Do you like pain?
absolutely not.

13. Do you like to shop?
No

14. What was the last thing you paid for with cash?
A bottle of Mountain Dew

15. What was the last thing you paid for with your credit card?
I don't have one.

16. Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone?
The nurse at my doctors office

17. What is on your desktop background?
nothing. Just black.

18. What is the background on your cell phone?
I don't have one

19. Do you like redheads?
Depends on the redhead

20. Do you know any twins?
not currently

21. Do you have any weird relatives?
Yes

22. What was the last movie you watched?
A Boy and His Dog

23. What was the last book you read?
Dibbs:In Search of Self.

After Rob Brezsny's illuminating, inspiring talk, he invitied anyone interested to have books signed. I didn't have a book for him to sign, but got in line anyway. I have some photos I've been writing on and giving out to to people, so I figured I'd take the opportunity to give Rob one of them and thank him his writing over the years, and tell him I had named my muse after one of the characters in The Televisionary Oracle. I normally do not like to stand in lines, and will almost invariably have my headphones on in an attempt to separate myself from the drone of the others in line. Last night though, I left my headphones in my bag instead, and quietly enjoyed the atmosphere. I picked up a book about Bruce Springsteen to skim through so that I didn't get jumpy or impatient while the line moved slowly forward. At one point I was brought gently from my own private New Jersey by the sound of a voice directed at me."Hey, Doc Marten would you like a chocolate?" It took a moment for me to remember that I was wearing a Doc Martens tee shirt, but I smiled and accepted a chocolate before returning to my skimming. There was some casual rearranging of places in line as we moved forward, and when I was maybe five people from the front, an attractive woman with wicked awesome hair caught my eye and said, "Hey Doc Marten, why don't you go ahead of me since my people have fallen back a bit." I agreed and thanked her. My attention shifted from the book to Brezsny as I got closer. I was not surprised to see him chatting happily and attentively with all who approched him. I noticed a woman sitting beyond the end of the line and immediately my brain said, "Rapunzel Blavatsky". The powerfully beautiful woman had long jet black hair and some sort of eagle-esque bird tattoed across her ample chest. She wore black, knee high boots. I really thought she must be the person the character in The Televisionary Oracle was sculpted from. I forced my eyes from her commanding presence and turned slightly away to keep myself from starring. About the same time, I sensed that the woman who had switched places with me in line was watching me. As I usually do when this happens, I cast my eyes downward and began shuffling a bit. I'm used to being watched for one reason or another, and since there was no reason for the womans attention to be based in suspicion, I tried to put a friendly, albeit aloof cast to my shuffling. Before to long I saw the woman move to a spot directly in front of me. I could tell that she was now not just watching, but studying me. Before to long I heard her say, "Doc Marten, do you know you have absolutely beautiful eyes?"

I felt the unease of my lifelong shyness with the opposite sex creep into my essence as I raised my head and smiled. "Thank you, that's very kind of you to say."

"You're welcome.... I'm very serious", she said with a matter of fact, calm confidence as we now locked on each others eyes. She hesitated and took me in with her gaze. "Oh...not only beautiful, but very expressive."

"Thanks, really, I appreciate that," I said. I continued to shuffle and my eyes began to dart down to the floor and back to hers as I searched for something appropriate to say. I very seldom talk to people I don't know, especially attractive women. In almost any other circumstance I would have politely excused myself at that point, but I was just two people from the front of the line. The best thing I could come up with in response was something about normally wearing sunglasses.

"Yes, I can tell that you usually hide your eyes...why?"

"Well...lately I guess it's becasue I don't want people to see the pain and the anguish I can't keep from my eyes...they've things over the last couple years...I've been living in the street...I've seen a lot things I wish I hadn't."

"Why do you wish you hadn't seen them?"

"Um....it's not so much that I guess as that I wish I hadn't had to see them."

"Yeah...ok...well that's understandable, I do see the pain in there, but they're still beautiful."

"Thanks," I said again, and my eyes went down again. We went silent, but I could feel her still trying to draw me out.

"Do you like poetry", I asked, my eyes barely coming up.

"Yes, very much."

"I'll write down a web address where you can read some of my poetry and other writing if you'd like."

"Yes, please, I would like that."

"Cool."

Then it was time for me to have my audience with Brezsny. I kept the fanboy in my hip pocket, thanked him for the writing and gave him my little memento. I told him about Rapunzel, then told him I didn't have a book to sign, but that it would be cool if he could write something in my notebook. He took the notebook and asked if the first page was ok. I said sure, and as he wrote I asked him if the woman behind us was Rapunzel Blavatsky. He looked at the woman, smiled and said, "no...but I can see how you might think she was." He handed me back my notebook and shook my hand as I thanked him again. In the notebook he had written, "For LatopBob-Rowdy Blessings...May you and Rapunzel do great work together, Rob Brezsny". I sat down at a nearby table and wrote out the address of this journal and my email address, and also the time and location of the open mic I've been hosting for a couple months. Then I tore the page out of the notebook and took it to the woman I had been talking to earlier, explaining what was written on it. She accepted the piece of paper with a smile and a thank you. I said, "You're welcome, thank you...thank you for talking to me." As I backed away to leave, she blushed and curtsied, and got that look on her face that I see from people occasionally, but still do not understand....that look like I was somebody special.

It was indeed a delicious evening.

Rob Brezsny. If the name does not bang a gong and send a happy shiver up your back that ends with a mischevious smile of truth and beauty on your lips, read no further until you go here http://www.freewillastrology.com/ and study a bit. For those of you enlightened...er...empowered by Brezsny's free will astrology, or his autobio/fictional masterpiece, The Televisionary Oracle, please read on. Brezsny appeared at Eliot Bay Book Company in Seattle last night, ostensibly to read from his latest book,Pronoia is the Antidote for Paranoia:How the Whole World is Conspiring to Shower You With Blessings. Despite being under the influence of the tail end of a horrific 48 hour bug of some sort, I got myself down there in time to get a good seat. I went outside for some air about 45 minutes prior to the start of the reading, and was musing about whether or not I would recognize Brezsny if a cab or limo pulled up and he got out. As I chastised myself for thinking Brezsny might arrive in a limo, I turned and there he was walking towards me, pulling a rolling attache bag behind him. No cab, no entourage...just a tallish, slender, rather androgynous person moving with what I interpreted as a calm purposefulness. Having answered my queston of whether I would recognize him, I went back inside and settled into my seat.

Brezsny took to the small stage promptly at 6pm. He spoke for about 90 minutes I think...honestly, time was not a factor and may not have existed at all. He never picked up the book and referred to it specifically only few times. I feel slightly inadequate to describe his talk, so let me simply put it this way. It was the most amazing stream of truth and beauty I have ever been privileged to witness. If you care about yourself, your fellow humans, your planet, your universe... you WILL go out and buy a copy of Pronoia is the Antidote for Paranoia:How the Whole World is Conspiring to Shower You With Blessings

More about the reading...actually the book signing that came after the reading, shortly.

I just got booted out of my living arrangement. Because of this I've had to back out on joining The Insurgents.

Peace out

I have just signed on with Seattle rock and roll legends The Insurgents as lead singer and lyricist. I am, quite frankly, stunned at myself. Six months ago I could hardly sing in front of my girlfriend. Thank you Todd, thank you Mills... and thanks to Insurgents founder Guitar Doug and Eddie the Skull for welcoming me into their band. The Insurgents are a performance art duo-now trio, who perform from behind masks and wreak havoc on the Seattle "music scene". My mask and character wil be that of a time travelling alien. My first performances with the band will be this coming weekend during Seattle's gay pride parade.

*faints again*

Below is a link to a 14 minute video of me reading a real life story I wrote about an encounter with a fellow homeless person on the streets of downtown Seattle. Enjoy.

"Jeremy", read by the author

At the behest of normaltrouble, I have been asked to list 6 wierd/ facts/things/habits about myself...so here we go


1. I have a jukebox in my head. Always have. I cannot remember a time when there was not one song or another playing in the background of my internal thought. The jukebox holds hundreds of songs in the popular versions in real time, right down to inflections of specific words and vocal styles of everybody from Paul McCartney to Kurt Cobain. My brain started collecting songs with "I Want to Hold Your Hand", by the Beatles and continued through about 1985...that's 20 years of popular music. It picks up again for the grunge era, but holds alomost nothing after the end of grunge. I don't care for modern music, and I've got plenty to listen to. My brain also references conversations through the jukebox. For example, if somebody asks where I've been I'm as likely to say, "I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard", as "I went to the store." I love harmony and have spent hundred of hours listening to people like Simon and Garfunkel and Crosby Stills Nash and Young, mentally dividing the vocals so that I know exactly who is singing what.

2. I have become passionate about singing. When I was in 9th grade, I had to sing a little piece for my music class. I was in full pubescent voice...so much so that the teacher led the class in a round of raucous laughter. I did not sing again for a 15 years... not in front of anyone, nor by myself. To see why this was particularly crushing, see #1. When my son was born, I started singing again. Babies laugh or cry without impunity, so it was finally safe to sing again. My kid seemed to like my singing...especially Springsteen. That was 20+ years ago. I started singing in the car next...then if NOBODY was around. I was horrified by the sound of my own voice, so I always wore headphones on high volume when I sang. Slowly...very slowly...the obsessive fear of my own voice began to subside. After I quit drinking and started taking ADD meds, I did some inner child work and discovered that my eight year old inner child wanted to sing...it was destroying him that he could not...but the 15 year old inner child would not allow it. I realized that this one was one of the main reasons I had been so at war with myself for so long. I convinced the 15 year old to chill about it somewhat. About this time, one of my roomates who was a trained opera singer said to me one day..."Bob...I've heard you singing in the basement, and your voice isn't that bad...it isn't great, but it's better than my husband's(Hi Mike :)) That broke down some walls. I started singing if I was walking down the street and nobody was too close. Then about 8 months ago, I knew it was time to get that monkey off my back. I made a cd of me singing songs a-capella and gave it to my late friend Todd. Todd was the most talented musician and singer I've ever known. He lstened to it and his review was this, "you know...you sing ok, and with some training you could probably be average or better because you have do the one thing already that holds most singers back...you sing with abandon." I felt like the biblical Joshua...the walls CAME CRUMBLING DOWN. Since then you can't stop me...I sing constantly. I went through a month or so where I sang to millapants for 3-4 hours a night. She's heard me sng everything from "Muskrat Love" to "Helter Skelter"...even the National Anthem, which I do quite well, thank you. I'm still not quite there in performance situations, but if I can drop 20 pounds I'm gonna get a pair of low riding leather pants and a peasant shirt and get up on stage with a band that plays The Doors. I'll face the wall and halfway through "Break on Through to the Other Side", I will, and like Morrison I'll face the audience and not give na fuck what they think...and I will be the lizard king...able to do ANYTHING. At that point, I'll know how many roads a man must walk down, and I'll call myself a man.

3. I love to read my own writing.

4. I've wanted to be blonde since I was a small child. I bleached my hair the first time for an Amazon.com costume party that I attended as Roy Batty to my (ex)wife's Priss. I looked more like Malcolm McDowell than Rutger Hauer..but I fell in love with the blonde and have been blonde most of the time since.

5. I despise body hair and I shave mine quite religiously...neck to toe except for a bit of grass on the lawn.

6. I take the business of life very very seriously. I even take humour seriously...so...if I seem a bit pensive at times, it's because I believe that contemplation is the most valuable thing the human mind can be engaged with.

My friend Ronnie disappeared a couple months ago. Ronnie was first mentioned in my livejournal on May 1st of 2004, as an un-named "indigent person" whom I had a brief encounter with. It's a long, rambling entry about medication and ADD, and if there is anybody new to my journal I think it's worth reviewing, but I'll reprint the pasage about Ronnie here...

"I saw an indigent person on the street the other day, staggering, lurching towards me, filthy clothes. Scraggly unkempt beard and wild eyes,the smell of urine surrounding him like a sick wet blanket for half a block in all directions. For those of you who don't know, I've been a homeless person for 2 months now. As he passed me and I recovered from the smell, I turned and watched him. He sat down, picked up a newspaper and began reading. I felt my heart shatter from the empathy I felt. I had 4 dollars in my pocket-all the money I had to my name. I walked back to where he was sitting and softly said , "hey, dude, do you need a couple dollars." he looked up from the newspaper, his eyes were not wild, but sad. He nodded. I put my hand out with half of my monetary wealth, and said, "here ya go" He looked at the money and took it, looked back up at me-straight in the eye-and said, " thank you sir, thank you very much." I nodded and choked out, "You're welcome, sir" As I walked away, I was struck by the thought that with only a minor change here or there, that could have been me. That was followed in my brain by a phrase, "he may have turned left, when I turned right"....ba ba ba ba ba, ba ba ba bum....1 2 3 4 5 1 2 3 4 ba ba ba ba ba, ba ba ba bum....1 2 3 4 5 1 2 3 4 ba ba ba ba ba, ba ba ba bum....1 2 3 4 5 1 2 3 4, over and over...I sat down and wrote the first verse of a poem

We may have been on the same street one day
In '75, or thereabouts anyway,
I may have looked right, away from the sun
he might have looked left, at the sound of someone
But there was a moment
just a note in a song
where my luck stayed good
and his luck went wrong."


Ronnie appears numerous times in this journal since that day. This is the second time, from July 16th of '04. He was still a nameless, smelly bum to me, but again, he had an obvious impact on me.

"The look on his face will never leave me. He sat sprawled on the sidewalk, the concrete beneath him heated from the blazing July sun. His right leg was stretched in front of him and covered at the foot by a tattered brown boot. The faded, dirty, mustard colored jeans led up to a left leg that was not quite underneath him, and not quite in front of him. His left arm, locked at the elbow, kept him about 75% upright. It looked a bit like a hurdlers stretch when I first noticed him there on sidewalk, in the same faded mustard jeans, faded mustard sweathshirt, and faded mustard winter coat he always wears. As I got closer the scene sharpened, and as the visual became more clear, it was assisted by the first whif of the urine cloud that surrounds the man who was struggling to keep his semi-balance on the scorching sidewalk. It was a couple more steps beyond that when I heard a faint hissing sound. I felt my normal relationship to time slow as my feet continued moving me forward, while my eyes conducted their split second search for the source of this hiss. The next four steps are seared into my brain as individual frames of memory. *CLICK* Oh no....oh shit....he's pissing.*CLICK* Aw man, it's running down the sidewalk. *CLICK* no...oh god don't make me look in his eyes. Awww.....oh man, I'm sorry....god, what can I do I'm sorry man....I can't help you.......yeah, I know about the pain......no I don't, I don't know anything about the kind of pain you must have seen.......how can so much sorrow, so much pain, so much despair exist in one person*CLICK*My head snaps forward at a sound, and for an instant long enough to be recorded as a moment of memory now, there is nothing.The fourth frame is blank."

I love Ron. Many people have commented to me that I must be one tough, adaptable S.O.B. to live the lifestyle I do. That may be true, but I'm a complete wuss when stacked up next to Ronald J. Robinson. Ronnie had a tumor and a decent slice of brain matter removed close to 20 years ago. He had been living on the streets of Ballard for nearly a decade at that point. A few years later, his girlfriend, 49 cent Jane, died. He's been fending for himself since. Ronnie never asks anyone for anything, but when someone gives him something, he is always grateful and polite, looking the person in the eye and thanking them. Shortly after I wrote about him the second time, I was telling Bert about the entry, an the impact this guy was having on me. Bert told me Ronnie's story, and suggested I talk to him. I said I wished I could, but didn't think I could take the smell. Bert gave me that, "wrong answer, computer boy", look, and walked off in a huff. I was already aware of the depth of Berts briliance, so I started talking to Ron. From that point we became very close. Ronnie is a disabled person and a drunk. He's also my friend and I love him like a brother.

When Ronnie disappeared a couple months ago it ripped a hole in me that kept digging itself deeper and deeper. People like Ron...when they disappear... god, I can't tell you how much it hurts. They become the literal personification-actually depersonification of Orwell's "unperson". There's no way to find out what has happened to them, because the hospitals and/or mourges won't tell you anything unless you're family. Thing is, people like Ron have no family, so they vanish as if they've never existed. Someone told me that Ronnie had fallen on the sidewalk and couldn't get up and that, "they came and took him away". I kept telling people I was going to print out everything I've written, all the pics I've taken, and copies of the video of me and Ronnie I've shot and take them to the local hospital where they take people like Ron, but I never did it. I was afraid... afraid I'd find out he was dead,or that I'd rip the head off of anyone who refused to give me answers.

I was sitting in Tullys the other day and looked up from whatever I was doing... and there he was, just shuffling down the block like he had never been gone. I ran outside and called to him, and by the time he turned around I was on him. I threw both my arms around him and started sobbing. He hugged me back and then started laughing when I let him go and he saw that I was crying. I managed to compose myself and asked where the hell he'd been. He said he'd been in the hospital. We talked a bit. I asked what they had done for him, and he said, "Well, they cut my hair and trimmed my beard." I didn't press about the medical details I had actually been looking for. I said, "Hey, I bet they wouldn't give you any beer."

"I bet they didn't....bastards", he said with a smirk.

I rolled him a smoke and he asked for a light. "Sure...I suppose you.."

"No, I don't want you to smoke it for me, asshole". He had gotten quicker from the rest and the decent food.

I lit his smoke and asked if I could take a picture of him. The last time I asked a couple months before he disappeared he had, for the first time, refused. This time he said-almost brightly-"Yeah, sure." I snapped a shot with my digital camera and looked at it...."That's the one Ron...this will make a star out of you."

"Oh, I'm sure it will".

"I gotta get back inside, Ronnie.....man, it's good to see you."

"It's good to be seen Bob....and it's good to see you too."

Here's a picture of Ronnie from about a year ago and the one I took the other day. He looks good, and I have a feeling he's gonna be there for me to tease and love for some time.

Rock Star You scored 98%!

You damn rock star. You know all the basics, and if you got any wrong, I bet it was that stupid Traveling Wilburys question. Your friends are probably intimidated by your knowledge of classic rock and envy your impressive collection. When a classic rock song comes on the radio, you can probably identify it before the vocals kick in most of the time. You probably get good scores on the "maiden name of Clapton's mom" tests, too.

My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 70% on notes

Link: The BASIC classic rock Test written by allmydays on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

I can't believe I missed one...excuuuuuuuuse me for not knowing who closed Woodstock

HEY! No cheating! Scoll down and start with part one!

When I wrote the subject line of this four parter, it was envisioned as a single entry. Honestly, I was thrilled to feel like I had enough of a story for one decent entry. I've had the worst case of writers block I've ever known. There have been plenty of 8 month periods where I've written less... hell I've had entire years that I didn't write at all... but this was different. I wanted to write. I wanted desperately to write. I had things to write about. I knew I should be writing. It just wasn't there. If I start analyzing where the writers block came from or why it was so severe, this will be a 6 part entry, and I don't want to further slight the guy who put the sledgehammer to the Hoover Dam blocking my Lake Mead of metaphor. But I will tell you when I knew I had broken through it... it was back in part one of this 4 part entry. I felt the first meaningful crack when I typed this into my lj client-(substituting asterisks for the angle brackets used in html code)... *font color="lime"* *B* STOP */font* */b*. I felt creative stuff start to spill out the next time I used the code, *font color="lime"* *B* But...but they might have a copy of "The Man Who Folded Himself".*/font* */b* The third time I used the code, I felt a great disturbance in the force... *font color="lime"* *b* Your bag, Dummy.*/font* */b* It was as if a million voices once silenced had returned and spoke as one. Yup. My friends, she's come home.

And trust me kids...he'll never mix Star Wars and Star Trek metaphors again.

My dear, sweet muse in the lime green tunic, Rapunzel, has returned.

DEAR? SWEET? Honey they said you had writers block, not Alzheimers.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.....WA BA BALOO BOP BA LA BAM BOOM, MY MUSE RAPUNZEL IS IN THE HOUSE...ER...KITCHEN...ER....BACKSEAT

Dear god....try "ROOM" you rhymeless twit

Yes...yes...ROOM...Rapunzel is in the room...back from the muse-oleum, busted out of her tomb, her tunic is made by fruit of the loom...if she puts on the black dress she's muse of doom, with her guidance I can write a pantoum...she's come back, and not a moment to soom..

Oy, I can see already the first thing we have to do is get you back your poetic license...no, scratch that Boss...HEY...NOT THAT, WISEASS!

Whoops, sorry.

Screw the poetic license, we gotta finish this lj entry before we do anything else. Tell me about how you met Alexander, and boss.... this better be serendipitous.

You got it hon. Welcome home, Rapunzel.

Thanks Boss. Now get to work.


Where the hell was I...oh yeah. After taking a dozen or so shots of the Space Needle I walked west through the grounds of Seattle Center. I always get a strange feeling there. Some of my oldest real memories are of my first walk on those grounds in 1962, at the Seattle World's Fair. I was 5 years old. Looking back just now at excerpts from the official program of the "Century 21 Exposition" I'm quite fascinated by the possibility that these grounds may have been where much of my idealism was born, and where much of my feeling that something has gone horribly wrong with America during my lifetime are rooted..but that's another entry after a lot more research. I soon came upon the Seattle Center Mural Amphitheater. The pool of water that had been in front of the mural originally is long since gone, replaced by a stage that has been graced by the likes of Pearl Jam, Mudhoney, and Johnny Winter, as well as scores of local bands and numerous speakers. The Amphitheater was empty, but a quick perusal revealed an unlocked panel with numerous electrical outets. As I sat down on the edge of the stage two thoughts struck me...First, that this would be a cool opportunity for me to shoot a bit of video of myself reading some poetry or perhaps ad-libbing some sort of rant with my webcam that with some basic editing could be made to look lke a crazed poet vagabond shrieking to thousands, and secondly, that the Seattle Bicycle Police just beyond the opposite end of the stage might not take to kindly to some of my more radical poetry. I was trying to make lemonade, not get arrested. But since I no longer have reasons like the constant pungent cloud of pot smoke around me to avoid the Police, I just walked over to where they were, politely excused myself for intruding, and asked if it was ok if I plugged my laptop in to one of the outlets and shot a bit of video. They very casually replied that they didn't see any problem with that. I thanked them and proceeded to set up my gear.

As I was testing camera angles and lighting, I noticed a guy was standing in front of the stage with what I could see right away was a pretty spiffy camera. The days events had left me in a space somewhere in between gregarious and antagonistic... or maybe it was just a combination of both, so I looked in the young man's direction and asked if he was planning to take a picture of me shooting video of myself. He smiled. According to his weblog account of the moment, his reply was, "sure, if you don't mind." Frankly, once our eyes met and he smiled, he could have said about anything. Sometimes....dammit...I look in the eyes of a lot of people every day. This stuff about me being a studied observer of human behavior, body language, and facial expression is not something I made up to fit my bio as a vagabond poet. And sometimes I look into the eyes of another human and know immediately in a Heinlein-esque grokking sense that this is someone I would be privileged to know for the rest of my life. Such was the case with Alexander Wishkoski. I felt the obnoxiousness fly away from me, which left me gregarious...and also still quite wound up. I moved down towards the front of the stage where Alex was standing and we started talking...well...I started talking and Alex started listening.

Those of you who know me know that if you give me an ear I'll talk it off and once I get going you better be paying attention because I tend to jump tracks pretty quickly and in some fairly odd directions. In the old days when I'd get going it was known as "Chaosian", and only a storied few like Timbo, Ravdoss, and Kaplaghfinewhatever-now better known as normaltrouble would even try to follow my incoherent babbling. Thankfully the meds and time away from street drugs have helped me decrease the babbling and I actually finish a thought as often as I leave one hanging. One thing I was able to explain to Alex early on in the conversation is that I am NOT camera shy. I will admit that his presence kinda took me away from the hard edged ad-libbed rant I might have done if left to my own devices, but that was likely a good thing since the men in blue were still within earshot. I told him about the cable access show I'm taping the 25th of March and invited him to stop by Bop Street Records in Ballard that afternoon to see some of the taping. Then I took a shot at doing a couple of my poems from memory. I really suck at memorizing my own stuff, but he clicked away as I fumbled through parts of poems. Finally, exasperated with myself, I asked him if he was a hardcore fundamentalist christian. I was pretty sure he wasn't, and when he said I didn't have to worry about offending him on that level, I launched into the one poem of mine I have pretty well memorized, the ever popular, "Your God Hates You". I find it hard to believe I wrote that poem almost 2 years ago.

After that we talked about poetry. He said he wrote poetry but it sucked. I told him I didn't buy that because if poetry contains two things-passion and intimate personal emotion-it cannot suck. We talked about writing in general and photography. And then it was time for both of us to go on with our days and walk our separate paths. We exchanged web addresses...well actually he gave me his business card and I gave him my livejournal and gmail address. He assured me he would send me digital copies of some of the photos he had taken. We shook hands... I hope my smile felt as warm and sincere to him as his did to me, and he walked off towards the "Center House". I sat down and shot 20 minutes of video...I found some poems on my hard drive to read and sang a bit. If my damn audio port wasn't still FUBAR I would have edited some of it by now...but its gonna have to wait till I can solve this audio thing.

When I got back to Tullys early that evening, I looked at his company's website and was intrigued, but soon found myself typing his name into google search. From there I easily found his personal website, www.wishkoski.com Go there if you've got a few minutes...or a day...the site is full of my two favorite things, truth and beauty. Oh, and currently there's a picture of my ugly mug and a very nice-and much more concise-account of our meeting at Seattle Center, right there on the opening page.

I got the first of the pictures Alex has sent me later the same night. I don't know what more I can say about it than this...When my first book gets published, this will be the photo on the back cover.



My fingers and my brain are tired. Thanks Alex....The Mural Amphitheater is hereby renamed "Serendipity Central" in my world.

(If you haven't read parts 1 & 2, scroll down and do so now...c'mon...yer not doing anything important)

My social worker had neglected to properly schedule my psychological evaluation, so I had just spent the first half of the day in preparation and travel to an appointment that didn't exist. Stuff like this drives most people nuts, but since I pulled my car into the crazy campground years ago, I was only mildly pissed. The worst thing about my social workers stupidity was that it scuttled a chance to see my brother and sister in law, who were in Seattle for a short stay. It was about 12:45 when I walked out of the office into the bright, cold day. I was sad I had missed my brother, but happy that it was not April and the clocks were going to strike one, not 13, at the top of the hour(name that reference!). I recalled a conversation I had earlier in the week withmillapants. I had been bitching about one thing or another and she had suggested that it might be a good time to make lemonade. I had not been in the mood for metaphor or lemonade, especially condescended lemonade, as I figured I was enough of a sourpuss without it. I remembered what being a sourpuss to my gf felt like as I wondered what to do with the rest of my day, post non existent appointment. I decided to make lemonade in her honor-though not her image-as any citrus made in her image would undoubtedely be a far too pulpy false goddess. I ducked into a shaded spot to see how the space needle pictures had come out. They were ok at best, so I headed back to Seattle Center to take another crack at the Needle. After a short but educational visit to the "Center House", where I learned from a well presented exhibition about eating disorders that anorexia was the most deadly of all mental disorders, and that an anatomically correct Barbie would be over 7 feet tall with breasts that would drag on the ground in front of her, I went back to shoot some more photographs of the Space Needle. I was much closer to my subject than I had been the for the first set of photos, and before long I found myself flat on my back, peering up at the Needle through various trees and bushes. The results were much better, and while I can't really call them serendipitous, I will take this opportunity to show off the one I like the best, in untouched, enhanced, and doubleplus enhanced versions.



Arrgh...the rest of this tale deserves it's own part....hey...remember when these multipart entries had days in between? So chill...enjoy....part four will be ready faster than you can say serendipity.

(If you haven't read part 1, scroll down and get to it...NOW!)

I've had quite a few people drooling over a series of my photographs...er..digitally enhanced...er digitally screwed with images lately. They consist of fairly mundane digital photos of this and that which have had very basic photoshop functions applied to them. In two examples I turned this rather dull sunset picture

into this somewhat less dull sunset picture

and this kinda cool skyscraper picture
into this somewhat cooler skyscraper picture

A friend who has been extremely complimentary suggested recently that I apply the technique to some pictures of Seattle's oft photographed Space Needle. I said, "Ah, just what the world needs, more pictures of the Space Needle."

"I'm not sure if the world needs any more pictures of the Space Needle," she replied with a smirk, "but I would sure like to see your pictures of the Space Needle."

Well.....my heart may belong to millapants, but I still endeavour to give the rest of the ladies what they want, especially since they never ask for anything Mills wouldn't approve of:) So, as I continued my leisurely stroll towards the psychologists chair, I snapped a few pics of the Space Needle with the trusty Vivitar 3650, the best digital camera 40 dollars can buy. The momentarily cloudless day made it pretty tough to see in the tiny review screen if I got anything worthwhile, but the best thing about digital photography is you don't have to pay to have the shitty ones developed.

My destination turned out to be slightly farther south than anticipated, and I arrived a scant 10 minutes early... plenty of leeway for a dinner reservation, but since the amount of time a doctor makes you wait seems to multiply in direct reverse proportion to being anything less than 30 minutes early, I was doing a bit of powerwalking for the last couple blocks. My brow had cracked a sweat and I was breathing just a tad heavily as a somewhat blank stare greeted me at the receptionist counter. The stare became even less imbued with comprehension as I stated my name and the time of my appointment.

"Um...and whom was your appointment with?"

"I have no clue, I was sent here by DSHS."

"Oh," the receptionist said, her eyes beginning to exhibit some possible signs of understanding the situation she was dealing with, "and who is your social worker?"(At least she knew whom from who)

(My social worker shares a name with a celebrity, which I have changed to protect the intelligence of the celebrity)"Felicia Rashad"

"Aha, well no wonder", came the receptionists suddenly all knowing reply, "she screws this up all the time. I'm sorry, you do not have an appointment today, as a matter of fact, we don't even have a therapist in the office today."

I briefly considered a number of witty remarks before my brain spoke up internally, Um, Boss...you're here for a psychological examination, you might want to project an illusion of sanity to the receptionist, and save the insanity for the shrink.

Good point.

"Hmmm, interesting. Well, could you schedule me for a appointment."

"No, that has to be done by your social worker."

"The one who screws it up all the time?"

"Yes, that's correct"

"Ok...thanks", I said deadpan. I smiled and turned to leave. Then, before my brain could stop me I turned quickly back and asked, "Do you ever think you might be on the wrong side of the window?" Alas, the blank stare had returned, so I simply winked and left the building.


Hey readers, have you ever noticed how part two of a trilogy often has little or nothing to do with the main premise of the story? Well, you should have. And since part 2 of my story of the Serendipitous life of Laptop Bob has now reached 650 words without a mention of serendipity, let's just consider it a bridge between the serendipitous situation in part one-semantically circumspect as it was to some-and the sure to be serendipitous scenario to be spewed in part three. See y'all soon.

Serendipity: The faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for.

I was scheduled for a psychological evaluation last Friday on the Northern end of Downtown Seattle, and instead of checking the web to figure out exactly which bus to take to get as close to the address as possible, I just jumped on the #15 at the stop closest to the bowling alley and got off as the bus turned away from Queen Anne hill. I figured I was a few blocks away from my destination and had 45 mintues to get there, so I pointed myself in what had to be the right direction and set my walking pace to liesurely. I was a couple blocks into my walk when I passed Twice Sold Tales, one of Seattle's many top notch used book stores. I was three steps beyond the front door when my brain said STOP. I stopped, but only to admonish my brain...

"Dude, you're fairly low on cash and on your way to an address a still undetermined distance from where you are...do you REALLY need to go into a bookstore?"

But...but they might have a copy of "The Man Who Folded Himself".

"Hmmm...yeah...good call brain." I spun on the heels of Bobbys voice, "We just saw it from a different point of vieeeew". I'd been looking for a copy of David Gerrold's time travel masterpiece for months. Sure, I've read it at least 6 times, but millapants had asked me to read it to her, which I thought would be great fun. I set my bag down behind the counter and found the science fiction section. Heinlein(back), Gemmel(forward), Gerrold..."War Against the Chtoor", "Voyage of the Star Wolf".....

"EEP!!" I let out a little bitch scream that would have made Fox Mulder proud. There it was. I looked toward the counter to see the cashier looking at me quizzically. "Oh...heh...um...that wasn't pain or anything," I said as I walked towards her with my treasure, "I've just been looking for a copy of this for months." I set the book, an original "Popular Library" paperback edition with a cover price of 95 cents on the counter. She smiled and rang the book up.

"That'll be $7.68."

"Ouch...now...that's painful," I grimaced and quickly added, "But worth it." I fished out the money, thanked her, and walked out of the store. I got five whole steps away before I spun again at the behest of my brain.

Your bag, Dummy

"Boy, you really are excited about finding that book, aren't you?," the cashier said as I reached down and retrieved the bag that holds about 75% of my worldly possessions.

"Yeah, well...it IS the best time travel story ever written. thanks again." I headed east again, replacing my headphones and releasing my CD player-the one that had been Todds-from the pause position, to the sounds of the exit interlude of "Tangled Up In Blue." Next on my mix cd was another tune from Mr Dylan(surprise surprise). It was "Like a Rolling Stone", Dylan's scathing, sarcastic masterpiece that had become a song of ironic joy for me in the two years and 4 days since I had become homeless because of the chorus, which I sang with extra volume and gusto as I walked past the Seattle Center Opera house....

"How does it feeeeel, how does it feel
to be on your own,
with no direction hoooome,
like a complete unknoooown,
like a rolling stone."

It felt even better than usual.

Now....some of you might surmise that I'm stretching serendipity semantically there, but since the trip was not specifically about seeking the book which was so agreeable and valuable to me, and since this is my berloody blog, deal with it :) I'll get to something more classically serendipitous in part two, coming at ya shortly.

Heh....this is pretty cool...under "coffee shop patrons"

Your results:
You are James T. Kirk (Captain)

James T. Kirk (Captain) 70% Jean-Luc Picard 65% Will Riker 55% Deanna Troi 55% Geordi LaForge 55% Uhura 50% Spock 42% Chekov 40% An Expendable Character (Redshirt) 40% Leonard McCoy (Bones) 35% Data 34% Worf 25% Mr. Scott 20% Beverly Crusher 10% Mr. Sulu 10%

You are often exaggerated and over-the-top in your speech and expressions. You are a romantic at heart and a natural leader.

Click here to take the "Which Star Trek character am I?" quiz...

1. Honestly, are you in love right now? Yes.
2. Honestly, what color is your underwear? Navy Blue with White pinstripes.
3. Honestly, whats on your mind right now? The Beatles
4. Honestly, what are you doing right now? Sitting in a library, yoinking their wireless signal because I am tired of being the clown of Market Street.
5.Honestly, what did you do today? Talked tomillapants, went to a psychological evaluation and tried my best to fuck with the headshrinkers head, walked form the shrink to the library singing I Wanna Be Sedated, Ballad of a Thin Man, and Everybody Hurts.
6. Honestly, do you think you are attractive? Does a bear shit in the woods?
7. Honestly, have you done something bad today? I toyed with the shrink...is that bad?
8. Honestly, do you watch Disney channel? Honestly...I haven't watched tv in 4 years.
9. Honestly, are you jealous of someone right now? No...well...except Moo Moo
10. Honestly, what makes you happy most of the time? millapants
11. Honestly, do you bite your nails? Once in a while
12. Honestly, what is your mood right now? Belligerent...but in a shiny happy way.
13. Honestly, who do you want to see at this very moment? millapants
14. Honestly, do you have a deep dark secret? No.
15. Honestly, do you hate someone right now? Yes.
16. Honestly, who/what do you want to hug right now? Nothing and nobody that it would be possible to hug.
17. Honestly, do your wrists hurt? No.
18. Honestly, are you in denial? No
19. Honestly, wouldn't you rather be having sex right now? In a library? Um..no.
20. Honestly, do you like someone? Yes.
22. Honestly, does anyone like you? Only the smart ones
23.Honestly, is it going anywhere with them? I believe so
24. Honestly, did you answer all these questions honestly? Brutally.

If you read this, please accept my apology for misspelling your name in the previous entry....I think it was a fairly logical mistake :)

The Seattle Seahawks are going to the Super Bowl.