Oh my goodness! Racism on Craigslist!!

So me being the bored, sober fucker that I am, between work and time with my kids I have a lot of free time. So when I'm not working on fiction, posting on facebook, riding my skateboard or bike, and generally fucking off I like to surf Craigslist. I find Craigslist to be a great barometer for the decline of our culture (whatever "our" culture is- that's kind of vague to me too.)

Anyhow- I being a guy spend a little time surfing the girls looking for men ads seeing if by chance one sane, intelligent rational human being somehow took a wrong turn and ended up in that shallow gene pool of superficial motherfuckers. Usually I find that things are as they always were- just a bunch of assholes clinging onto each other. I mean- what kind of idiot would possibly expect anything but shysters and serial rapists on that site anyhow? (yeah- I know- color me naive. The 1% of my psyche that isn't completely jaded and misanthropic is naive and romantic, hanging onto a glimmer of hope like a life preserver as I bob in a sea of shit.)

Anyhow- I find a LOT of ads on the Honolulu Craigslist from women who say "ASIANS ONLY". I find it kind of reminiscent of that Johnny Rotten book title, "No Blacks, No Irish, No Dogs." Very Selma Alabama in the nineteen-fifties.

Anyhow- I did post a few that asked why these lovely girls didn't just NOT mention their predilection for boys of the not white persuasion, arguing that then boys who are asian and NOT racist bigots could have a chance to date them. My suggestion was that they seperate the letters into two piles, the pile from the anglos getting "KILL WHITEY" responses while the Asian pile gets culled through for prospective future dates. Needless to say these postings were flagged and deleted posthaste. Nobody likes a smart ass- not even our inscrutable local klannish yuppies, god bless them right up to their pointy little hats.

So this morning I tried a different tack, just for fun- I posted this:


Asian girl seeking same. - 28 (Honolulu)

Reply to: pers-cynxd-1163779431@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]
Date: 2009-05-10, 7:19AM HST


I am as Asian as Asian gets. I eat with chopsticks and am great at math, am one dimensional and fairly pedestrian in conversation, conservative both politically and spiritually (loving Jesus) and I think it's safe to say that my world view is "concise". I'm looking for someone along those lines- a Christian guy who conforms and fits into the parameters of what Asians in Honolulu represent. My prospective other half should have conservative hair (dark though Chappatsu or highlights are OK), drive a late model import, wear no primary colors (bonus if you wear either all black or all white to happy hour (it would be so cute if we matched!) though between your clothes and your Honda that's about the only white I want in my life, thanks)- it's okay if you have a haole friend or two (bonus if he's the rare white fireman or cop who is under 30) but generally it's just better if we keep to our own. You know.

Anyhow- if you fit this description, drop me a line. Please no white guys- Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Hmong, Vietnamese and Thai okay (Thai boys make me hot!) but white people are icky. If you're yellow you're my fellow but if you're white it's just not alright. Aloha- Misty

* Location: Honolulu
* it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
















































Of course I had no idea that anyone would take this seriously. I like Asian girls just like I like all kinds of other girls- I know some very nice and sweet and intelligent people of all races, creeds, colors, persuasions, whatever- I'm cool with whatever. Seriously- I thought the parody was thick enough to penetrate even the dimmest bulb's consciousness. Much to my surprise, after going to my Sunday morning meeting and doing some grocery shopping, I returned to fin 30 odd responses to my ad in my inbox- mostly romantically inclined Asian guys apparently willing to ignore "Misty's" "yellow-supremacist" leanings in order to get their little chinchin into her simmering lotus of love. I also got a couple indignant replies from some corn fed assholes in pointy hats. I don't know which is more or less acceptable- I'm really a little surprised these chimps can type much less turn on a computer.

Here's some great samples of the responses:


First up, Michael on an email on AOL.com says:


"your nut case"

Well put, Michael. I am a nut case- a nut case that uses punctuation and capitalization- and any girl who posts an ad on Craigslist looking for men is also pretty fucking whacked. Thanks for contributing.


Next up, a local boy from Maui showing much Aloha to the racist girl from Honolulu:


Aloha ,
I would love to go surf with you and hang out at the beach and go get some ono
grinds some where.I hope we can be friends. You look like you know how
to have fun.I
have just move to Oahu from Maui and are looking for a beautiful lady
to go do FUN
stuff
with.I teach surfing and do sales in the day time. I look forward to
hearing from you
soon..........much love and aloha KIMo

He even included a tiny little photo of someone pulling into a nice left hander. Surfs up Kimo dude!

Third in my cornucopia of future dates to the Klan rally is this beauty, PAA Paul on Earthlink:


Still looking?
let me know if you like my pic.
Paul

Brevity is the way to go on these things, and Paul has it down to a science.

Desi Shedrick gets the honor of posting the first response with a picture larger than a postage stamp. And another concise exchange that says volumes. Yay Desi!:


U are very good looking
































Next up, Chris Ota says:

Good morning :]
I will give a little about myself and if you are interested, email me back? I don't want to write up a bunch of things and get no response lol. Anyway...

24, mature, Japanese, 5'4 , 145lbs, fit (swims) but not buff, d/d free, drives (350z), doesn't smoke, drinks on occasions, into music, cars, art, and no baggage (gf, wife, kids, etc.) haha. Born and raised here on Oahu.

Anyway, have a good Sunday!

Chris













Yay to Chris Ota for not one but two pretty stellar photographs. Aloha Brah! Domo arigato gozaimasu! With such imaginative use of both black AND white in your entourage's wardrobe you are definitely a contender!!!


Lornefleming busts some science with merely a word:

Icky?

Loving Lorne already- truly a matador amongst matadors! Yes- if she were real, Misty would be icky personified! Of course we all know that Honolulu is the land of aloha, and it's all super friendly here- no racism here folks, nothing to see- move along, don't look under the rug.....

Next up, Dwight Shimoda on Hotmail posts:


I came across your listing on craiglist. I see you are a Christian. Nice to meet another Christian. Well I am Asian and Christian as well. One of my Favorite Scripture is Psalms 23. It is what Col. North used at the hearing on Capital Hill to get him through his sessions. Anyway hope to hear from you.

Dwight
In His Blessed Name

Wedding Invitations
http://yourinvitationplace.com/blueprintsgraphics


Mighty Christian of you, Dwight- and thanks to the link to your workplace. A great biblical quote attributed to a truly great Anglo-American hero who was instrumental in getting guns to the Contras and helping to make cocaine cheap and plentiful in South Central Los Angeles. The spirit of free trade makes me all giddy inside!

Psalm 23 (Kings James Version)

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.

I think it was Bob Marley who said (and I paraphrase liberally here- but it was on the PBS Carribean Nights video about Bob Marley), "I dun think King James put anything in dat bible to benefit da black mon."


Next up, Jin tenryo aka tenkennotengujin on Yahoo said:

hey wassup, im a japanese guy looking for an asian girl. you sound like fun. wanna go out and meet up?


I am fun, Jin- and not beef chow fun either, so don't eat me bro!!!

How about Chi Cam from Miami on fiu.edu:

Hi just saw your ad on Craigslist, Im a Vietnamese from Miami looking for a job since I just graduated. Just thought I get to know someone over there while job hunting at the same time. Anyway, this feels weird doing it online but might as well give it a try. Here's my pic.

http://i24.photobucket.com/albums/c27/lywuan/key.jpg







Next up is big Brenton Roldan aka BossyB808 on Yahoo:

hi there,

my name is brent. i am 32 years old. i am japanese/filipino. if you are interested in meeting up let me know!

sincerely,

Brent


























And how about Antonino Gagliardo on Yahoo with the nice ride:

Hey what's up I'm not Asian but im puerto rixan I weigh 180 I don't drove a Tuner any more I got a jaguar now well if u wan a real man email me back


I said Asian, dorkchop- Puerto Rican is kinda Latino, yeah? But who knows- there's no accounting for chemistry. ;)

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a contender! Alan Schantz from Aiea on Roadrunner must have been pretty incensed by Misty's ad- either that or just plain aroused- I"m having a hard telling what emotion he's actually trying to convey here:

You are so cute you could poop on my chest and I wouldn’t mind.
Your little ass needs to get filled with some hard white cock. Sorry, icky white long thick hard blue veined, not some Jap wiener that you have to ask “is it in yet?”
I would pump you full of sperm so when you stood up it would be dripping down your legs.
I will think of your pretty yellow face when I am tossing off today.
I bet your pussy is super snug and slippery with sweet smelling girl butter and smells tastefully like fresh fish, man is that a turn on. I would love to lick your pussy and all the way to your butt hole.
Your cute perky breasts would be also fun to suck on. Big breasts are not required, more than a handful is a waste. Got any topless pictures?
Yes I am disgusting, must work on my lady skills, can’t seem to keep em.
Please delete this and empty your waste basket.

Alan my man you need to work on the old homonyms. You're/your, yeah? Anyhow- you're quite the sick twist, aren't you? "WOW" is all I can say! WOW! Poop on my chest? Holy mother mary and Joseph! That's graphic! And on mothers day no less- did you kiss your mom with that mouth?!! Or just poop on her chest and rub man butter all over her English muffin?

Here a link to an article with Alan:

http://archives.starbulletin.com/2006/10/17/news/story04.html

And a picture!



















Anyhow- yeah... Good luck with that, and best wishes towards a speedy recovery.

After that parade of icky goo I think Karlos Basa should have no problem bringing this back to not-so-sick-and-twisted-ville with a simple, "you soooo funny wish I could meet you and be your friend ! have a wonderful day"

Thanks Karlos- we needed something less sociopathic to get us moving forward again (away from Alan's Aiea trainwreck! ALAN- GET HELP!!!!)

Leighton Uchimura on Gmail says:


Hi im a japanese guy livin in honoluu what do u look like?

Leighton- with a name like Uchimura I kind of assumed you weren't German-Irish- but thanks for clarifying. What do I look like? Cute- super cute- ask Alan. He wanted to pump me full of sperm! (yech!)



Ma Kin @mac.com said:

What's the problem with white guys? Can't you handle a big cock on a big man? This is America if you didn't notice, and the white man made America. Go back to zipper head land where you belong, lil bitch!









Ma- or Kin- whatever it is- it's PARODY. I know- a lot of people seemed to have missed that- go figure. You know, I have some Asian friends who claim to be hung pretty impressively. Now we Irish on the other hand.... But at least we're charming! ;)

Now rasdaniel7620 at Gmail.com said, "I promise you if you try black you'll never go back(to those small dicked asian boys you think you like)........give it some thought."

I'll be giving this some thought: How do all of these men know so much about the size of other men's penises? Seems like an unhealthy preoccupation.

Here's Alithras Moonson and his late model Acura saying, "Japanese Oahu born and raised, never married, no kids, D/D free. And I own a late model Acura import. :)"







Some people took the car thing so literally. I mean- come on- has an Acura EVER been a deal breaker on a piece of ass? PLEASE- tell me it isn't so!


Ryan Oshita on Roadrunner says, "That's the funniest ad I've seen on CL. Are you from Japan? What do you do?"

Ryan- you think that's funny? You should have read the one I wrote about the girl in Queen's Psyche Ward a couple weeks ago! And you know what? I got like ten responses. It's a sick, sick world we live in.


Shane Fujio aka "ShaneShoken" on Gmail says, "I saw your post in craigslist and i wanted to reply back. Um i'm 5'7" pure japanese i have a full time job write me back if you want to know more."

Actually Shane I'll need you to verify your "pureness". (eye roll here.)I'm scottish and Irish but there's a little of everything thrown in back there away back far enough that we can't really verify. My family can't quite trace it's roots back to the cradle of civilization, y'know? (I hate these ones with no pictures. Just sayin'.)

Matt Shon on Gmail said, "hi im matt. im asian 25 and christian. i would like 2 meet u maybe go church or someting email me back atfXXX@gmail.com or call 3XX6970"


I'm betting this one is a bot. But what the hell, right? In for a panny, in for a pound.

Matt- baby- what's a nice Christian boy like you soliciting such an obvious bigot for? Seems a bit...ummmm... un-christian? Well- actually- I guess not really. There have already been some pretty convincing precedents set. As you were.

Kevin Pirates aka mr Stewart on Yahoo asks, "What's wrong with white guys?"

Well Kevin, I dunno. I'm white, and I kind of like myself Ok I guess. I saw about ten white guys yesterday that fit that derogatory term people use (wiggers) who were kind of embarrassingly contrived and derivative. I mean- what kind of subculture hinges on buying lots of corporate bling and flaunting it?

But yeah- nothing wrong with white guys- that was kind of the point of this little endeavor. I myself really find a ton of Asian girls pretty cute and nice, all in all- as well as girls of all other races. I just can't stand the bigots so much, which is what makes this so darn much fun.

ANOTHER POTENTIAL WINNER!!!

SurferHo@aol.com says:

Hi Misty,

I thought that your page was cute, creative as well as poetic and so genuine that you must be real. I am a local born Asian (Chinese/Okinawan), 40 yo who has lived here all my life because I could not find anyplace that compares to Hawaii. I am a professional with a steady job, a late model SUV and my own place in Honolulu and am a devout Christian which meets some of your prerequisites. My hobbies and interests include working out, financial investments which precludes being in touch with the current affairs that affect the markets, fine wines, the arts, surfing and snow skiing. I've surfed here all my life including the North shore but of lately have replaced that with snow skiing which I do a couple of times a year in the Rockies and Canada. I occasionally enjoy a good steak dinner with a fine bottle of wine. I am not into clubbing because I think most of the people there are fake but prefer a nice dinner and movie with someone special. If this interests you please reply.

Have a great day!
Tom

P.S. I tried sending this with a pic of me but it was not sent because it exceeded the 150KB limit as noted below. I'll reply with a pic to your e-mail if we hook up


Hey Tom! Nice letter! Smooth, direct, with lots of info about what a successful sporty guy you are! Nice! I especially like the part where you say that my page was cute, creative as well as poetic and so genuine that I must be real. I am real, Tom- real fucking tired of racial prejudice! ;) Anyhow- how's the skiing? Lots of white people on those slopes (ack! Inadvertant double entendre! and I said "slopes"!) I appreciate that you don't club because you feel like most of those people are fake. What are they doing- pretending to like white people? ;) Har- just joshing you Tom. (That is such a haole name it's almost unsettling.)


Troy Hipolito aka Troygwapo on Yahoo said, "Hi, just wondering if you are still interested in looking for someone.. im 5'11, 29yr old filipino. send you pix when i hear from you which im hoping to.. take care.."

Some purported bigots are so boring.


Okay- I love love love Jeremy Kemper on Yahoo for saying, "Aloha, Just a friendly FUCK YOU from the white guys in the world. I hope your shallow heart and mind impede's you from ever finding happiness in life! Mahalo- Asian"


I'm with you, Jeremy. Sorry to ruffle any feathers. Just playin'. ;)


brentontom on Yahoo sent this in from his phone:

"Hello, saw your post and thought I would drop you a line to see if you are interested. I'm Chinese/Japanese, 5'8", 160lbs., 31yrs. Old and fit the following traits you are looking for. Let me know if you are intestrsted in finding out more.

Sent from B's iPhone"



Boring again. I really enjoy the photos, the sappy ones and the invective. So shoot me.

JJ aka h_mobius on Yahoo asks: "What if I'm only half Japanese, is that okay?"


Which half? I really liked this one. Thank you.

Sean Sabal on Hawaii.edu didn't say anything, and instead sent in his myspace address. There's probably SO MUCH material in there but I'm getting bored of this.

Anyhow- it's here: http://www.myspace.com/sean_srs

But it's set to private. Here's his photo though:








Paul Pestilli aka korean1972 at gmail says, "I fit the bill" in the subject line and just "Hi Misty" in the body.

Do guys really think that will work without a photo and a huge sack of cash? Please.


Derek aka dkalani001 at roadrunner says, "Is your AD real? If so, you are the girl I've been waiting for =)"

Yes Derek- it's real. You're not dreaming. It's a little scary that the ad I wrote including all of the parodied racism has you saying that I'm the girl you've been waiting for. Zeig Heil. Have a great day.


Alex Gonzzalez asks, "im from panama im not white so do i past the test let me know you are nice...."

If it weren't for the periods I'd say Alex might be Panama's answer to eecummings. Yes Alex- you are not white. Misty is nice- she's a comfort to have around.

NEXT!

john jacob says, "Hi! Was browsing through craigslist and stumbled across your ad. Never really responded to any personals on craigslist, but thought I would give it a try. As for me I'm 33 years old. I'm half Japanese the other two nationalities are Hawaiian and Filipino. I'm 5'10" about 200lbs. If I'm not at work or hanging out with my friends, I'm usually in the gym working out. Well if you want to know more just email me back and we can go from there."


Well, John- Shane Fujio is PURE Japanese. Hard to beat that. We're all "less than" because we're not "PURE" (Sound familiar? The white supremacists like to tout that "PURE" bullshit a lot. Pure my ass...) Anyhow- yes- you're still a good person even though your parents have different racial backgrounds. I myself think hapa kids are just naturally better looking than a lot of other kids (but I'm biased- my kids are hapa.) I'm not going to post your picture because you're so damned sincere and seem like a swell guy (and plus I'm getting lazy.) Thanks for playing.

Paul Pestilli at korean1972@gmail.com is back with a second response! (hello bot?):

Hi Misty,

I am still chuckling over your ad. You definitely get your point across. I tried to email you with outlook but it crashed while sending so just in case I am resending. I definitely fit the description of what your looking for. However I do have an Italian last name because I was adopted and grew up in Boston Ma. Been living here in Hawaii for 17 years. I can use chopsticks but prefer to twirl spaghetti around my fork. I will try it with chopsticks if you teach me how. I am elated to know that you are a christian woman. After all christian is my middle name. Call me ok, my cell is 224-9157. Maybe we can meet for coffee or better yet I want to go see angels & demons.

Paul

It really bums me out that you're a bot, Paul-bot. You could have been a contender. Who's phone number is that?

Jason Ishizuka at Roadrunner says, "Hey whats up,

I'm Japanese 28years old. I have a great personality and I love to go out and party with my friends. I pretty much love to wear black, most of the time all black. I have my own business and I bought my house when i turned 23. I have 3 cars and they are all white haha. I have a 05 dodge ram with 22 inch chrome rims and and bodykit with everything on it. I hope this will interest u as I think your really cute"



Jason busts out the bling! Jason- brother- Dodges are total pieces of shit- always have been, always will be. Should have put the money in your house (houses appreciate as a rule, cars don't- as a rule.) Nice that your cars are white and you wear black- you have verified that you fit a stereotype. Think about it. :)


A Ramos is brief when he says, "Thats a funny post you published."

Glad to be of service, mi amigo.

Ross T on Hotmail sent me this:


"Hi there, interesting ad you have here. Well about me, 30 local Japanese male, police officer. So I think that's a plus if I'm reading your ad right. ;) Ummmm drive an import SUV. So let me know if you like cops at all?

=)"

Actually, Ross- I don't like most cops. Honolulu cops are about the most unfriendly assholes I've run across, as a rule. They certainly seem to dislike white people a lot. But hey- I'm white- maybe they hate everyone and I just don't know it. I'll keep an eye out for you though- I will definitely get a laugh when I see you. Trust me- I wont introduce myself. ;)


"Simply Intrigued" got it. Nice. He posted:

"I don't know what to make of your post.... If it's satirical then I find it hilarious and I have to say that I'm 90% unlike what you described. If you're serious then, really I have nothing to say and you shouldn't continue reading...

So here's how I am asian as described by your post: I'm ethnically asian mixed... Ok, that's it...

How I am not: I'm tall and in decent shape. I only use chopsticks when I have to. I suck at math but I write well. My interests vary widely from liberal political views to sports to genetic engineering. I'm spiritual but not really religious. I don't drive a late model import and never owned one. I do wear a lot of black actually... but only shirts. I was a college jock. I listen to just about any type of music. And last, I don't get bubble tea. It's not worth the $5."

He has my respect and thanks for not being bitter about my use of stereotyping, and my admiration for being far from one (a stereotype- or at least any I can come up with from reading his response.)

Thanks for giving us hope, Simply Intrigued.

James Drevick says, "Hi do you like to go to a dinner and a movie ?
:-)

Sent from my iPhone"

Emmanuel Guevara says, "Well i'm not good at this online thing so if u want give me a call and we go from there i'm hispanic, blk hair, light brown eyes, tan skin, 484 5XX 7XX6"

Probably bots, these last two.

Snow-man says, "Ok, so you might wonder about me. Well im working in construction in kahala, I ride a motorcycle, Im pretty mello and im also a workaholic. My friends all say i need to get out and meet someone. But i work so much i dont have time so i check here on the computer. Hopefully it works. I love kids, very family oriented, like movies, going out to the beach (doesnt everyone right) umm and im a big cuddling person. Like watching movies in or just kicking it. I hope i got some chance. Anyways if ya want to know more, just lemme know. And i ride a motorcycle.
Tony"

Picture withheld because he seems like a decent guy.

wehoboiii asks, "hi misty! what kind of asian are u? japanese? korean?"

?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

I'm tired- it's been a long day. These questions make my head tired. 100% pure Japanese Lithuanian Carpathian Hmong-Irish.


Wesley Chun says, "Hi there,

Do I pass the test? To make it short and sweet, let me know if you think I might be your type. If so, from there we chat more."










j paradise on Gmail says, "hi misty, i know not looking to chill w/ any white boys, and that's cool. i just wanted to say i really enjoyed reading your post. it made me laugh and i really liked it... "

and posted a pic:










Gary Lee posted a response titled, "Yellow Fever" which said, "hi misty,

which asian are you? that pic can't be you, cuz i'm pretty sure i've seen her in a k-drama. what do you consider as primary colors? what you think of someone younger than you?

i'm chinese, 23.87 yrs old, mech engineer. does the car really matter? if so then i'm driving a silver 2000 celica gts 6 sp till the end of the year, then new car time.
i'm into tech stuff and shooter games.

-gary"

and followed up with one that said simply: "forgot http://www.myspace.com/g96818 also has a hint of next car"



Pyllett007 asks, "What about brown asians, chinese/fillipino?"




James sr Bond says, "about filipino ??"

I fear bots are afoot here once again.


Derek (Dkalani001@hawaii.rr.com again) says, "Is your AD real?
If so, you are the girl I've been waiting for =)"

Again with the bots.


ANOTHER WINNER! Kinda.

Darathien Caerdusianal says, "I bet the white boys will be very, very upset with you over that CL Post.

Your post almost bordered on beyond Asian pride and almost into nationalist-nostalgia. Yes, I must say I find you provocative. Unfortunately, I find the construction of an Asian masculine identity as construed via an import car to be stereotyped and overdone as well as somewhat material-driven. Not that I drive a shitheap, but yeah, it seems immaterial to me."

The way he puts that para together I'd have to say he's onto me but is being cautious and playing both sides of the fence. No need my friend- you win- you got me. Thank you for restoring a little of my waning faith in humanity. Aloha- Misty


Yet another- the perceptive people must be waking up.

Rob Ward titled, "So much for being a Christian" and the body says, "Nice way to show you're a Christian. "white people are icky" ".

I agree- kinda tacky. Thank goodness I made this stuff up- if this were the true sentiments of real people in Honolulu that would be sad and pitiful, right?

I guess I have to quit this somewhere, and so this is it. The rest are probably bots, except for one guy who I can't decide whether I like a ton or cant stand, but I probably like him a ton, and so will leave him and his Acura and family and life plans off of the blog. The girl in the picture I used was too pretty- of course a lot of guys will be dorks because of that. We use our dicks for compasses, right?

So basically that skews the whole deal and it's back to the drawing board. But man- that one Alan Schantz guy was SUPER CREEPY!!!!!

Dancing Girl

You walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht.
(Name withheld because it’s pitiful to quote _arly _imon.)

I walked up the stairs and into the club for the first time, trailing two girls from the Mercury who really just wanted an escort through Chinatown to fend off the panhandlers and chicken hawks. My first impression was that it’s just like every other place I ever liked- half-finished, well worn, dark, with decent music and a decent crowd of people having a good time.
Even so, there’s always that apprehension entering new territory for the first time, and the old habits kick in as I stay on the periphery and keep an eye out for trouble. Pleasantly enough, none materialized. You must know that feeling of walking into a strange place for the first time where everyone seems to know each other but you. I’ve always been a solitary guy in some respects, and the isolation is a little bit comforting, my mind wandering from the fact of my surroundings to a fiction in my mind as I imagine myself some kind of a mystery character from something well worn and familiar that was only released in black and white.
The girls break off and disappear into the crowd with some friends and I ditch the guy that was with me as he orders a Guinness and works diligently to get the number of the cute, friendly young girl behind the bar. I’ve seen this diorama a million times, and it never really was my cup of tea. Sometimes I think I’m too old for this shit, but a little human contact is sometimes comforting and I love the music, the interaction, the physical touch, some intellectual stimulation.
The young bartender hands gives me a smirk with my pint glass of ice water and the thought crosses my mind that they just can’t fathom how lucky they are that I’ve shelved my bad old ways. Back in the day I would have been drinking whiskey and Guinness and I would have been a pain in the ass, fighting or getting arrested, probably never even leaving the Mercury until they threw me out. Tonight I’m a day or two older and a little bit wiser, the hard lessons are still fresh in my memory. I’m happy just hanging in the shadows, nursing my water and leaning back against a column at the edge of the dance floor with my eyes closed, my body keeping a vague cadence with the music, my mind completely immersed in it.

A great flame follows a small spark. (Dante)

Hanging there in the shadows I find it comforting that in this new environment I feel somewhat at home, the familiar melodies of the Cure and Siouxie here and there hammering their cadence back into my soul, surrounding and enveloping me and taking me home to a place and time that no longer exist. I’m at peace there in the dark, thinking about nothing, floating around inside my head, operating on psychic cruise control.
I open my eyes and there she is in front of me, an apparition, alone and beautiful, so obviously and completely content to be dancing she captivates my attention immediately, dancing as if dancing alone is her sole means of life support. She is beautiful and lithe there in the half-light at the edge of the stage, eyes closed, more a part of the music than of the crowd or the room around her, more a product of the melody than the motion.
There was a certain irresistible quality to her presence, so visibly happy and content, making more sense there in the middle of the music than anything ever has. I watch her for a long time, afraid that to talk to her would break the spell and somehow ruin it. Watching someone so happy in what they’re doing is something like looking at the absolute best piece of art that ever existed, and it’s impossible to deny the yearning hope that if you get close to her maybe some of it will rub off and you too can immerse yourself in the warm, even glow that comes when one is part of the music and the music becomes part of you. It’s really easy to fall in love a little with that particular sweetness, especially when someone wears it so well.
It’s always a little disappointing that the night eventually has to end, all the mice and pumpkins returning to their secret lives away from the dance floor, the glass slipper lost down a storm drain somewhere- but that’s just the way the script is written. Like the life of a butterfly the beauty is fleeting, brief- and it’s only a matter of a chance passing that we witness it at all. To try and pin it down, to somehow capture and hold it would be to remove its natural beauty and leave just an empty façade.
Walking along down the empty streets of Chinatown I still see her dancing in my head, and I think to myself how lucky we are to get these little flashes of brilliance every now and then that make life worth living. I’d be lying if I said she didn’t cross my mind a few times well after the sun came up.


In this world there are only two tragedies: One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.

Oscar Wilde

Sisters.

Two headed hag
They push him away
Spiteful, heckling and laughing.
“Where’s your mother, little boy?”
“Where’s your family?”
“Where do you belong?”
"You'd better go find them!"
He climbs into the back seat and accepts his position,
Head bowed and bracing for the next blow.

Bunny

“I really like her use of color. This piece really excites me.” The woman with tall hair pushes her bifocals up an the bridge of her nose with a bony forefinger, squinching up her face and leaning closer to the painting hanging on the wall in front of her.
The man in the guacamole colored suit flicks ashes on the floor and takes a dainty sip of his Lemon-drop, careful to not smear his makeup as he dabs at his lips with a napkin. “It’s truly dramatic the way the reds run to black. I think this is a statement about our society, and the reds represent the West while that pink cottage cheese bit is the middle east, and those potato things there are the people, caught in a situation they did not ask to be in.”
The mute dwarf woman nods her head and grunts in agreement. “Ungh.” With a sudden urgency she pulls a pad from her pocket and scribbles a message on it, holding it in the mans face first, and he pulling it so that the woman with the tall hair can read it also. They all nod in agreement and the woman’s tall hair quivers like jello as she laughs out loud. “By god we may have another Basquiat on our hands! I must find out what the price of this piece is.” The three turn to look around for the agent who is already moving their way. Agents have a certain sixth sense that tells them when someone has set the hook on their own.
She ushers the artist over and there are introductions all around. The woman with the tall hair doesn’t mess around with small talk, but rather turns to the artist, a small blonde girl of 18. “I love this piece- it speaks to me. Can you tell us something about it?”
The artist smiles pleasantly and nods, setting her bottled water on a nearby table.
“Bunny fell in the blender.”

Going To Say Goodbye

Thursday, May 26, 2005. 7:30 PM
Sitting in the bar, thinking about a beer. The only plug in the airport is in the bar. Life is like this. Sitting in the bar at the airport waiting for my 8:45 flight to Los Angeles, where I’ll disembark at 4:45 a.m. and board another plane to San Diego that lands at 7:30 a.m. in my hometown. San Diego- slow death- a town that doesn’t mean a thing to me anymore. It hasn’t been my home for over twenty years and I walk off of the plane and drive the streets and nothing is familiar to me. No one is left. Everyone’s gone and no one sees me, no one meets me at the airport, nobody recognizes me and asks me where I’ve been. No one does and no one cares. God knows I don’t care. That town never did me any favors and practically anyone here now wasn’t here back then anyhow.

Going to say goodbye to dad. Dad’s been gone for over a month but this is the soonest we all could be together, I guess. My step-mom was tired from caring for him and she needed some time to fall back and regroup and get ready. All of us were tired from the stress of not knowing how we could help or what we could do for him. Truth be told there wasn’t anything we could do but wait and hope he’s comfortable and tell him that we love him and hope he hears. I love you dad. Dad’s already gone but from such a great distance it’s difficult to tell. He’s been gone now for over a month but still I can listen to his messages on my phone and hear his voice. God knows the longer I wait to erase them the worse it will be.

The barmaid has been eyeing me for a while now, watching to see if I’m drinking or if I’m just taking up space in the bar. There are a couple glasses on the edge of my table from the customer before me and it’s busy enough here that she can’t be sure, but I think I’ll have a couple beers before my flight anyhow. I am a terrible drinker, but what the fuck else do the Scotch-Irish do when they’re going to one last time say goodbye to their dads? And lord knows I hate to fly- everyone that knows me knows that. I hated to fly since the first trip but you put one into the ocean and all the sudden it all takes on a new, pressing reality. Shit happens. Hope it doesn’t happen tonight.
Bob Marley is playing in the background, and over the normal bar sounds he asks me, “Why should I bend down my head and cry?” Tonight I don’t think I’m really the one to answer that.
The beer tastes good. Two max, tonight- I can’t afford to be a lush right now, and god knows I’ve been one in the past- and I haven’t drank a beer in weeks so two really gets me all looped before my flight anyhow. My little brother told me when I dropped him off for his flight two days ago that we all would toss back a couple beers together after the funeral, and I agreed that yes- that seems to be appropriate for some reason. That ought’a be rich- bunch’a Scottish and Irish guys, crying in their beers, missing their dad or uncle or whoever dad was to them. Actually that sounds beautiful. I haven’t cried enough yet this month- not nearly enough as I should’ve. I never cry when I’m supposed to- especially when I don’t drink. Jimmy Cliff is on the house PA singing so sweetly that “You can get it if you really want.” I suppose Jimmy would no as well as anyone.

It’ll be nice to be surrounded by the people that I’ve known and that know me- mostly the siblings and cousins and old friends- and it’s comforting that all of us with all of our idiosyncrasies and each of our individual troubles- we all just love each other a ton and care about each other an infinite amount. Of course we all can stand each other for a couple days and feel a ton of warmth and comfort and love but god knows if it were more than a couple weeks we’d pick up just where we left off barely post-adolescence and we’d be at each other’s throats in no time, sick to death of each other and ready to do something irrational. Even so- it’s just so warm and fantastic to think about a couple days with all these people I love and who used to be so close with myself and my family, and maybe I’ll be able to have a proper cry about it and maybe I’ll be able to put dad to rest- and maybe I’ll quit thinking that he’s just off away somewhere, that sooner or later the phone would ring and I’d hear his voice telling me he’s Robin Hood or Sherlock Holmes or some other minor literary figure gone awry. God I miss him.

Friday- May 27th
Landed in San Fran at 4:30 am. I’m afraid I pretended to sleep the whole way and convinced even myself. Two Tylonol P.M.s and a couple pints may induce hallucination under duress. Zombie walked off the one plane and onto another, perfectly happy I could miss L.A. just now but a little apprehensive about one additional takeoff and landing. It’s all about the percentages.
Landed in San Diego at 7:45. The rental car radio is playing an “80s resurrection weekend” and it’s almost like I never left. Same station, same DJ, same music. It’s a comfort and I feel for a second like I’ve come home.
Drank a pot of coffee and visited with mom for a bit, went to the places where I used to love to go. Balboa Park. Spanish architecture and Art. Got fed up with mom’s constant pushing and her animosity towards dad and left early for North County. Made my way through the city on autopilot, somehow managing after my twenty year absence to make the trip without getting lost once.
Picked up fresh fruit at a stand I always used to go to on Del Dios Highway near Lake Hodges. Strawberries, Bananas, Avocados, plums and apricots, homemade tortilla chips, a bag of homemade enchiladas. Stopped at a little Mexican place I found by accident and picked up lunch for everyone. Headed way up into the hills to the Kaczynski manor to meet up with the lot of them and see what needs to be done and how everyone’s faring.

Saturday- May 28th 2005.
Dad’s Memorial- dad's place- Kaczynski Manor. I think I’m the only one who calls it that. I’m a terrible son. As dad approached death his hair got longer and longer, wild- but truth be told he always reminded me a bit of the Unabomber- and I think he’d be able to laugh at it if he could hear it today.
Dad's always liked it away from people and he always was kind of the professor- super smart. Nearly a photographic memory for anything he read, surrounded by books, no TV- thank god he was like that- a tiny bit of it rubbed off on me. Not enough so anyone would notice, but enough to keep me from being some sort of bleating sheep, a drone or something along those lines. Greatest gift ever. Thanks, dad. I love you.
Spent most of my day hiding behind a camera. It’s an easy way to detach myself from a situation and pretty well hide from my feelings. It works for fear as well as pain, FYI. I’m sure a psychologist would find it food for thought, but whatever- sometimes I just don’t feel like feeling pain. Go figure.
I busy myself in running to town and getting supplies. When I get back I take beverages into the fridge at the back of dad’s shop and as I look around me I realize I may never be able to immerse myself in the comfort and safety of dad’s shop again. The familiar smell of wood shavings and 3-in-1 oil. Dad is everywhere in here.
I set up my laptop and break out my camera and proceed to shoot hundreds of photos, first in the dark with no flash- then in the light, filling two memory cards no problem. I am hurried as I only have the day and work with the realization in mind that I’ll probably have to touch everything up later but try to get the best stuff I can.
I turn on dad’s radio and am not surprised to hear National Public Radio, and as the radio drones on I look at life through my camera, and I see dad busy in his shop, building and tinkering and adjusting- maybe building his workbench that he always wanted to build.
The time draws near that I have to accept the loss at face value and I deal with it with my eyes forward and my head up. A whole lot of handsome, talented people around the house with serious faces and eyes that look like they’ve been crying. Most people here I haven’t seen for twenty years. My cousins- that whole musical clan from Long Beach- they never leave that place and the weariness shows on their faces and in their eyes. They’re all super talented musically and plan to sing and play some of my dad’s favorite songs during over the course of the afternoon. I hug a lot of people that I used to be close to, and I feel numb, detached, isolated.
I sit with my cousin Becca and talk for a while- she and I have been close since we were small kids and no amount of time apart can keep us from instantly feeling like we were just together yesterday. Mike looks great- so does Steve. Their kids are beautiful playing guitar and harmonizing in a back bedroom. Kitty and Vicki and Travis are there, and Travis and I fuck around with this beat up Gibson six string someone left on the porch. I have a beer and a little tension seems to slip off of me. My brothers look good. I just saw Russ days before when I dropped him at the airport- Saw Will at Christmas. Lots of dads friends here- most of them I haven’t seen since I was a teen and they all look good.
The ceremony starts with Amazing Grace on pipes and Drums of Scotland. Then my sister starts stuff off with a brief introduction followed by Hugh Peterson. Hugh’s cool- I have always liked him. He speaks a little and reads a poem. Then it’s my dad’s friend Sean Brennan singing a favorite of my dad’s and then a song he wrote for him.
Aunt Christie tells a poem and talks about how much my pop was her anchor in life- the one male component of her life that was always there for her amongst a sea of disappointments. She cries, and pretty much everyone has tears in their eyes.
Cousins Mike, Becca and Kitty sing a song. My aunt Cathy tells us how my dad was her only sibling after their brother died at five years old and then she reads one of her own poems titled “A Life Ends” which nearly kills me.
Hugh Peterson reads a Poem titled “The General Dance”. Hugh has been around as long as I can remember, a lifelong friend of my pop’s. Walt Richards and Paula Strong play guitar and Mandolin and sing “The Parting Glass”. Frank Stites Reads a Poem entitled “Do not Stand at my Grave and Weep” and then Walt and Paula do “River”.
A couple other guys I don’t know- a friend of my dad’s named Nick from Junior High in Oakland reads “We are the Mirror” and then a guy who I never met before who was my grandma’s boyfriend a long time ago and who helped raise my dad after my real grandpa abandoned the family- he said a few words.
My cousins sang “Morning has Broken” and then I had to get up and read a poem and say a few words:

“I had sincerely intended to spend some time on the flight over or before the memorial writing something clever. Instead I slept through half of my flight and spent the rest of the trip chewing my nails. I did manage to run to town and get beverages and ice and trash cans and helped out around the house. Then I holed up in Dad’s shop and took a whole lot of pictures. I’m sorry to say that I didn’t really get around to writing much at all.
But I got a chance to think a lot about things throughout that time and the basic message I would have written- what has been going through my head for the past month and certainly the entire time I was in dad’s shop and since I left home to fly to the mainland with the sole intent of saying goodbye to dad was basically as follows:
It’s just so great to see everyone here together for the first time in twenty years- we all live so far apart and get to see each other so seldom and I wish it were on a happier occasion and I love everyone a ton.
Living 2800 miles out in the middle of the Pacific I don’t bear the brunt of the realities that plague everyone who live closer together and have to deal with these things head-on, face to face, in real-time.
To me Dad’s just away from the phone and otherwise occupied- out working in his shop or out mowing down the weeds under the avocado trees. He’s busy right now doing the things he does, and just cant get to the phone right now. It’ll probably be like that for me for a long while. I’m stubborn like that- but hopefully we can all hang onto him like that for a long time in the future, and maybe try to not be so sad.”

Then I read the poem- “He lives in Wisdom” from the Bhagavad-Gita- loosely translated. After a brief pause my step-mom tells me from the front row, “You can keep going as long as you like.”
I suddenly realize I’ve said all I can say today, and I laugh and tell her, ”Nah- that’s pretty much all of it.” And then to everyone, “He knows how bad I am at poetry so he gave me a short one.” As always it seems with me- everyone laughed, everyone cried. No remorse- just goodbye.

After that pretty much all of the musicians in the family got up and played “Red River Valley”. Sam Taylor read a poem entitled “The Lord Bless Thee and Keep Thee” while we all stood there and listened, and then everyone played “Amazing Grace” and “Keep on the Sunny Side”.
The cool thing about it all- well one cool thing- is that dad- aware that he didn’t have a lot of time left- made up a list that included most of the songs and poems- and I’m almost certain he left a list of people he’d like to have read and play and sing, and a list of people to be contacted. He also got in contact with many people and buried a few hatchets- he didn’t have many- and made amends where he felt amends needed to be made. Basically he had the chance and he took care of business, wrapped up his affairs and got about the business that he had to get about at.
Standing outside with my brothers before the memorial we three boys had a beer together and talked quietly a bit about stuff. My Brother Russ and I were at home in the islands the day Dad died, but Will- the middle brother- was about to leave for the airport to board his flight. He mentioned to me that I was lucky to get my letter to dad and to read it to him over the phone at the time I did. Timely. Lucky. He also said it gave him some amount of comfort to get here while dad still lay in his bed but that it was odd seeing dad as just the lifeless shell of the man we once knew.
I too find that strange and an odd thing. We stood there under a pepper tree and drank a beer together with nothing much left to do or say and looked at the bedroom window and I wondered at that- at the man being gone- the spirit and the life drifting off into parts unknown and just the physical, lifeless body left to be attended to and each of us hanging onto his spirit and our love for him and keeping him alive however we can within our hearts.

Sunday- May 29th 2005- 3 am.
Woke up and ran the hot water over me for ten minutes in an attempt to feel human again. The beer didn't do me any favors but I'm not really so bad as I stopped drinking by five and was in bed by eleven. I stand in the doorway to the bathroom drying my hair with a towel. I had a little trouble finding my phone charger last night and now my crap is strewn pretty much throughout the hotel room. I dry off and brush that dry, gritty film from my teeth.
My flight leaves at 6am and I have an hour drive and the rental car to return and so I’ve got to get going. Packing in silence I run my schedule through my head, hoping I don’t miss my flight as I’ve been here long enough and need to be home where I feel safe and stable. I pack what’s still folded and fold a couple things more and then stuff the rest in on top and squash the suitcase closed and zip it shut. No matter how orderly things begin somehow they always end up in a mess.
I really want a cup or six of coffee but have high hopes of getting a nap on the flight and so drive by Braille, images in my head of Alex De Large of a Clockwork Orange- eyes propped open by sheer will instead of toothpicks- windows open as the Air conditioning blasts icy air on me and the eighties resurrection weekend continues from the radio.


All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places
Worn out faces
Bright and early for the daily races
Going no where
Going no where
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression
No expression
Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow
No tomorrow
No tomorrow
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles its a very very
Mad world
Mad world

Running on autopilot nearly 90 miles per hour down foggy highways that I hardly recognize. Windshield wipers keep cadence with cracks in the pavement, tail-lights materializing out of the fog in front of me and whipping back into the dark behind me as I pass, out of sight out of mind. I keep an eye on the rear view for the inevitable Highway Patrol cruiser but they never materialize. God must figure that I’ve already had enough.
I feel the rear wheels slip a little as I navigate the interchange from Interstate to interstate, and again one more time- but I don’t really slow down and instead just roll with it, accelerating out of the turn and into the straightaway towards home.
By the time I reach downtown the fog has lifted and I cruise the surface streets navigating solely on twenty year-old memories. I make one wrong turn but quickly right myself, managing to get into the rent-a-car return lot. After a brief exchange with a bleary eyed agent I find myself standing alone in the darkness for twenty minutes, waiting for a shuttle that it seems may never come.
It feels good to not be driving- to have someone responsible in charge of my well being. I’m so fucking tired and we’re all just sheep being herded from one gate to the next, through turnstiles and checkpoints and onto planes where we’re packed as tight as if we’re in some sort of space aged cattle-car heading out to pasture or off to the slaughter.
I decline breakfast or coffee and drift off to sleep, waking in San Francisco where I disembark and get a quick bowl of bad Donburi at a Japanese take-out place in the airport and then board my flight home.
I get settled in the cramped little space they have allowed me, no room to work at my laptop and too tired to read. I opt for two sleeping pills and drift in and out of consciousness the entire 2800 miles, pretending to sleep as if I can fool myself into relaxing. I feign sleep, eyes shut and breathing well metered, trying to ignore thoughts of midair collisions and pictures of me strapped to this little chair, hurtling through space towards some dramatic impact with the surface of the hard, cold earth.
I land in Kona- home. Two days and everything’s just the same as I left it. Not even time for dust to settle on my dashboard. The lawn is the same length, and as I pull into the driveway I silently wish I’d mowed it before I left. Same bat time, same bat channel. Same old shit. Life goes on.

Monday March 30- 6am in the morning.
I dial dad’s number and his voice comes on telling me that I’ve reached the answering machine and to leave a message. I love his voice and wish there were some way I could save it on my end. He sounds so confident and strong and alive- in charge of himself, just away from the phone for a minute, out making everything okay. In a way I wish someone had answered, but still it’s really nice to hear his voice again.

Saying Goodbye

The sun made him squint as he shifted hard from third to second “BAM!” a solid downshift to slow for an oncoming intersection. The front-end shimmies, threatening to pull the entire truck onto the soft shoulder of the road. The glare off of the windshield’s tint threw a funny shadow across his eyes, making his skin look blue above a perfect line across the bridge of his nose. He shifted hard again as he left the intersection for the safety of the open road, and now that he can relax he remembers how they carried his friend off in a clay urn, just ashes, to be thrown into the sea outside of what he once called his favorite surf spot. He won’t be calling it that anymore.
Another friend- a guy he respected, and mutually friendly the three of them were together, though they were rarely together- he got up and spoke at the funeral. Just a brief eulogy, about how he hadn’t shed a tear yet since they’d discovered him laying there on his living room floor, too young but his time came just the same. He hadn’t shed a tear, but now he couldn’t seem to stop them. He told how the guy had called him just a week before, and he’d told him that yeah- he just called to tell him that he really loved him and his family, and that’s all he really called to say- that their friendship meant a lot to him, and that life’s better, for him, because of it. Then he pushed his glasses up onto his head and wiped the tears from his eyes, and just said that he felt really lucky to have a friend like him at all. He looked at the sky and the sun filtering down through the Keawe trees and he just set the microphone down and walked to a seat and sat down, and that was all.
The time was past for this man to be making eulogies, and he’d never done it that day because he knew he’d never get through it without just breaking down and crying like a baby, and no one would be able to understand and they’d all shift in their seats uncomfortably and hope that he’d soon be done and take a seat. So he didn’t get up and speak, though it didn’t really bother him any. He’d already spoken to this dead friend, and he wa secure as to what they were to each other in life, and what they were to each other in death. Still it hurt a lot that he didn’t get a chance to say anything at all before it happened so suddenly, and he once again gets left alone to face life on his own.
He shifted hard into forth gear and put his foot into it, wiping a tear from his face as he reaches for his phone to call a friend just to say that he thinks about her. Just in case, he supposes.

Out on a Limb

I went way out on a limb for you
and for a while it was the sweetest thing
you sitting out there with me, too.
I guess I can see
how dreaming that big could scare you
pretty soon I found myself
out there on that limb all alone.
It was a hell of a lot sweeter
out there holding hands with you
After you left I got a chance to look around
pretty soon I noticed it's a long way down.
Some of the hardest lessons in life
are the most painful.
All in all I'd have to guess
that just between you and I
Well- I'm the way better tree climber.