I am writing to you, C.O.T. Agents (and Spies), from the den of loneliness and despair known as the Yreka Denny's. I have now observed TWO conspicuous convoys of girls in their late teens passing me en route to the restroom, then emerge and head straight for the exit. Me thinks they're on The Nod, using the Denny's bathroom to shoot up. Of course, I could be imagining things...I have a tendency to do that. Especially when I'm sitting at the Yreka Denny's getting a nasty buzz off drinking cups of black coffee. In fact, earlier I "imagined" that the guy sitting in the booth behind me was a G-Man sent to spy on me. He was wearing a Harlem Globetrotters jersey--that much I wasn't imagining. A G-Man wearing a Harlem Globetrotters jersey! How wacked does that sound? Wacked enough, one (such as myself) could argue, that it make perfect sense. Where was I...Oh yeah, HEROIN BAD kids. Unless of course you want to lose a bunch of weight and look sexy and have everybody think you're really cool. Alright, I don't mean that. I mean that HEROIN IS BAD. Speaking of Heroin and my supposed paranoia...one time I had a guy ask me where he could buy some heroin. Right in downtown Yreka. Right in broad daylight (across from Ohlund's office supply). I've been to three rodeos and county fair...come on, do look fucking stupid. Hmmmm...fat guy with a mullet in Yreka asks me if I know where to get some heroin. Makes me think NARK or UNDERCOVER NARCOTICS OFFICER. Derrr. Sometimes Yreka frickin' kills me. Where was I? Nowhere, I guess. Just reporting to you from the front lines, comrades. As ever, your Blues From A Gun, FELIX

¶ 1:09 AM //   

On Judgement Day Rhinestone Charley Allen will be made to answer for hooking up this goddamn BLOG...Oh well, greetings once more C.O.T. Agents (and Spies). I've just returned from the Twin Peaks-a-Thon that is the Yreka Denny's. There, again, was the retard who has a penchant for pissing himself. Now, when I say "retard" some of you might think I'm using it as an insult against someone who is not, technically, retarded. No, this guy is a bonafide RETARD. The more politically correct amongst you might chastise me for using the word RETARD. Sorry fuckers, but a RETARD is a RETARD. We can't just change the word RETARDED to "mentally challenged" because non-retards consider RETARD an insult. That's retarded. Retards, REAL retards, probably don't object to being called retards after all. I just don't get these hang-ups, seriously. ANYWAY...
I done finished reading Bill Moyers' Moyers on America--an excellent book. I'd like to be a grown up for once and talk about Moyers' book but I'm kind of weirded out by what I done witnessed in Denny's (no, not the retard who pisses himself). Denny's was overrun by punk-looking kids most of the time I was there. So what? Some of you might ponder. Yeah, except for since when have there been punk-looking kids in fucking Yreka (and least in the numbers that were present)?! I say "punk-looking" because I'm sure none of these kids are actually "Punk". One kid had a My Chemical Romance shirt on for fuck's sake. Wait, before I go any further...I'm not really that upset about the punk-looking kids not being punk. Who am I to question their, um, "Punkness" anyway. Plus, FUCK PUNK. Punk's dead (this time for sure). I think I'm just offput by one of the punk-looking kids (with a fauxhawk) calling me Sir. Sir?! What am I fucking British now? Sir!? Do I look that old now? I guess to that kid I do. It might be also because I am dressing so very very square at this juncture (for undercover purposes). I've even taken out my nosering. I refuse to wear a fucking nosering anymore when fucking everyone has one now. I can't justify myself wearing a ring in my nose and some chick who's a waitress who probably doesn't even listen to punk. See, punk is fucking dead (this time for sure). Anyway, being called "sir" (and not in that stoner-about-to-bum-a-cigarette kind of way) really whacked me out. Some good came out of my observation of the punk-looking kids at Denny's, too, I guess. It made me sort of nostalgic for when I was their age (or younger) and hanging out with like the other three people who were intelligent and brave enough to do and dress the way they wanted in Yreka back then. I'm a sentimental person. But not sentimental enough to really want to re-live those fucked up days. But they were bittersweet--then and now.
ONE MORE THING...I done went down to Mt.Shasta, too, tonight to an open mic poetry reading thing. It was alright. There were about 14 people there...not bad. The place it was at, The Stage Door, is fucking awesome. It made me kind of happy and kind of entertained but it's not my scene...yet. I don't think I'm going to find anywhere I really feel comfortable hanging out in Sis-ki-you County. Maybe that's a good thing. AND, according to Corinna a.k.a. Corinna, the REx Club has now fired its last tie to the good old days, Maggie. Corinna a.k.a. Corinna doesn't know why it happened. I must boycott that fucking place now...unless Joey Nova comes up this weekend. More about that later. Until then...as ever, your walking blasphemy, FELIX

¶ 12:26 AM //   

¶ 11:09 PM //   

Hello Again Agents (and Spies): I am perturbed as hell. As usual, my...er, perturbment (?), is my own fault. BUT, did you know it's practically fucking impossible to find a way to entertain yourself in Siskiyou County on a Tuesday night (that doesn't involve the unneccesary killing of trees or people). For fuck's sake, all I wanted to do was find a goddamned place to go sit and drink coffee and read Bill Moyers' last book (which is utterly depressing by the way). So I go to Mt. Shasta, where this place called The Stage Door is supposed to be open til 10:00...ON WEDNESDAY! Then, I go to Has Beans (another coffeehouse) that's supposed to be open til 9:00 or 9:30...NOPE! They're turning the frickin' chairs over at 8:00! Thus I had to go drink the worst non-alcoholic beverage in the fucking world at the Rex Club (back in Yreka), an amber O'Douls...DEPRESSING! Anyone who knows me knows that I used to love The Rex Club--used to! Without Mel and Del that place sucks (even though it is a bit cleaner). Anyway, I couldn't take anymore of the Rex Club on a Tuesday night (sober), so I went across the street to Denny's! But I had to leave because I was, yes, perturbed, by a retard who was sitting at the counter that had--by the smell of it--pissed himself repeatedly. All of this so I could find a fucking place to sit and read. That's my fault, partly, for moving back to my hometown. As for the rest of the blame...It's God's (or Gods') fault! Siskiyou County sucks just to torture ME, I'm convinced of it. Oh well, I am here to carry out a very important plan (which will be revealed in the next few months or years, depending). It is kind of fun driving around at 11:00 p.m. on Yreka's deserted streets listening to Pere Ubu's Dub Housing in my truck...but it's kind of not fun, because that's what I always do when I get frustrated and bored in Yreka (and I'm not drunk). ANYHOO...if'n you don't live in Siskiyou County (or someplace equally lame), I guess you don't really identify/give a fuck/whatever. Actually, I am coming to the very sad realization that there is probably no one who really "identifies" with me. I guess, on the upside, I'm an "individual". Great. Oh well, society will be made to pay for my confusion and discomfort. Just kidding. People don't find jokes like that funny, I've discovered. Especially when I'm not really joking. And people find that even less amusing. Now I must leave you, my beloved revolutionary sweethearts, to sob in my Miller Lite and listen to The Only Ones' "The Whole of the Law", the most wonderfully trite and brilliant pop song. As ever, your werewolf bathtub, FELIX

¶ 11:45 PM //   

It's finally come to this! That's right Agents (and Spies), it's...
The Church on Thursday Top Twenty*
1. Morrissey (I know) - "First Of The Gang To Die"
2. The Fall - "Couldn't Get Ahead"
3. Big Star - "The Ballad of El Goodo"
4. Kingston Trio - "Scotch and Soda"
5. Pulp - "Help The Aged"
6. Cheap Trick - "Speak Now...Hold Your Peace"
7. Dave and Ansel Collins - "Double Barrel"
8. Flamin' Groovies - "Evil Hearted Ada"
9. The Maytals - "Pomp and Pride"
10. Love and Rockets - "Sweet Love Hangover"
11. The Teardrop Explodes - "Reward"
12. Johnny Paycheck - "Barstool Mountain"
13. Shooter Jennings - "Fourth of July"
14. Pere Ubu - "Non-Alignment Pact"
15. The Only Ones - "The Whole of the Law"
16. Nova Mob - "Over My Head"
17. Mel Tillis - "Coca-Cola Cowboy"
18. Merle Haggard (and Jewel) - "Silver Wings"
19. Lorne Greene - "Ringo"
20. Guided By Voices - "Echos Myron"
* This here "chart" is based on songs listened to whilst working on the goddamned Church on Thursday website. This Top Twenty covers from June to...NOW. Maybe now frickin' Joey Nova will understand that I do listen to other music besides Merle Haggard and Molly Hatchet. P.S. Song playing this very second: Hank Snow "Movin' On". Not even on purpose. Do with this information what you will Agents (and Spies). As ever, your Jami' al-Akbar, FELIX

¶ 10:32 PM //   

Howdy again Agents (and Spies),
I done just went to that dang poetry reading I done told ya'll about. To refresh your memory, it was at Nature's Kitchen and featured Jackie McNamara, David Bell and...Jonah Bornstein. It was allright. Actually, I done quite enjoyed it. Anyway, it got me to thinking....See, I was the youngest person there. And I was the youngest person there by at least a few years me thinks. That's fine. I haven't bought in to the youth-obssessed American mall culture mindfuck yet. Aaaaaand, I know that the dang Siskiyou Golden County Golden Fair (or whatever) was/is happening. STILL, has poetry (at least in rural America, etc.) become the pastime of, er, "older" folks only? Me wonder. I know Siskiyou County is about as anti-intellectual a place as you're likely to find...ANYWHERE (and the protests from its inhabitants every time one says that is a sure-fire indication of such as statements accuracy), maybe I shouldn't judge the state of literary arts based on Yreka. Yeah, never mind, that's like trying to compare apples and....something that's nothing like an apple.
What else? Oh, to the C.O.T. Agents who have completed the reading assignment (The Man Who Was Thursday)...you good agents. You be rewarded in heaven or hell or lala land or wherever. You are also, now, on Felix's secret "top agent list (which practically guarantees you rights and privilidges lesser beings would likely prostitute their pets for in about....4 years).
OH, now I remember why I was talking about the dang poetry reading last night. My last poetry teacher, Daniel Anderson, told me once that writing is "something you do by yourself". I know he's right, but BULL-SHIT! Even though there were other people at the reading, I still felt alone. Especially when people filed out like lemmings as soon as the reading ended to go home and feed their cats or go to sleep or whatever lonely, intelligent people do. It was only, like, 9:00 for fuck's sake. Shouldn't we all drink whiskey and stagger down the streets drunk at twighlight quoting Byron poems and singing songs all arm in arm and gloriously tragicomically magnificent? No? Oh, that sucks.
One more thing my beloved revolutionary sweethearts...don't drive whilst listening to Mission of Burma's "Vs.". Especially if you listen to it over and over and over and over and over again. I have told as much to Loryn. Until later, your Cotton Eyed Joe, FElix.

¶ 9:53 AM //