Midnight At The Rendering Plant

Man, I have got to get on the DSL bandwagon. I downloaded the photos for this post in seconds. I am of course at the printing plant, the word rendering just sounds better, this being the city of the stoockyard ghosts. Gotta love Google images though. I have been diddling around, and thought I'd try to get some good images of the Virgo galaxies supercluster--I'm somewhat of an alien, that is, astronomy buff--and within a page, I came up with some guys passport and Ingrid Bergman, this before a single photo of as galaxy. Though I will concede that there were several graphics and what seemed to be photoshop gaming hoohah like the map of the Star Wars galaxy I found on wikipedia (again, without even looking for the damn thing...I think I was looking up bukkake clowns, come to think of it...) Jiggers, I gotta go. My machine is calling me. Her name is Pamela Sue. I'm telling the truth...Wayne

Seen Of The Crime

What amazes me about Greg, Rich, Gary, Doug...they pull in the cabbage for their artwork and have lovely wives, better yet. But they look up to ME, the guy who keeps writing all kinds of craziness, I have no clue why. I am in aw of these guys. Hell, I should owe Greg about thirty thousand dollars on the basis of the photos he has taken of me, though I have a sneaking suspicion he is going to splice several photos into his bootleg DVD of BUKKAKE CLOWNS. Here I am, living in poverty, pretty much having to make a promise to BLOW A PONY to get some stories published, and THESE guys think I'm the cat's pj's? I don't get it, I really don't. My credo is posted, as is my version of photoshop. But I did dabble in some abstract artwork in the early 90s after my father gave me some crime scene templates. To be wacky, the lettering came from my own blood, I can get some pretty good nosebleeds if I try. Gothic Light was a magazine published out of Aurora, out west of Chicago....Wayne

About that nosebleed business, you ee, I never lie...

Elvis Has Left The Building

As I mentioned, the other artists in my Rogers Park estate were Gary Krejca and Rich Stergulz, their artwork represented here respectively. I'd write more, but its damn cold here today. I learned a good analogy today, feeling like this is being outside my body, trying to get back in, but watching the inside burn and freeze. And I have to get up at 5 AM to get to work, a rare event, but still...

Halcyon Days in Rogers Park, 1985

I received two pieces of mail today, both reminiscent of my days living in Rogers Park before moving back home after my father had brain surgery. I had three roommates, Douglas Klauba, Gary Krejca, and Rich Stergulz, all artists. I keep meaning to post a painting Rich--now living in California--had auctioned off for wildfire relief, but you can see his website on the blog links. Doug always found time from his immensely busy schedule to illustrate ANYTHING of mine for free. For the fun of it. Not because I had Kodak Land Camera photos from the Bukkake ClownFest of 1982. Peggy Nadramia of GRUE magazine wanted this little chapbook of my poems to send out to subscribers and I picked up a copy from Daniel Breen, who owns a bookstore in Chapel Hill, NC, for six bucks. I might grab a few more if Santa is good to me. The other thing, well...Gary Krejca caused me to become a victim of The Four Sticks. He called my attention to the VCR at 11:11 PM and from that point on, more often than not, any digital clock would be flashing the four sticks instead of, say 11:14. We still exchange Happy Four Sticks emails on Veterans Day. I get several royalty checks every that are for stories that go back almost fifteen years, so it doesn't matter how small they are, its for something I've done nothing for. Well, take a look at the amount on the check that came the same day as Suburbs. I have been waiting years for a check like that. Check your clocks, everybody. What time is it? (Nope, its NOT Bukkake Clown Time, that's the first Sunday of every week...) Wayne

In The Year 2525

If I had to pinpoint just one thing that totally blew my mind, it was that Jager & Evans song. I have posted my notebook from UIC, oddly the drawing of my English professor, James Stronks is missing a leg. I have no clue why this crappy drawing was never finished. But this book held the first fiction and poetry I ever wrote. Almost thirty years later, that much closer to becoming Half Century Man, I am writing in a FlyFusion notebook, then plugging the pen into my computer with a USB cable. The idea is for the words to turn to text. But then again, I'm an idiot, I never activated the notebook. It makes sounds like you heard on the original STAR TREK. In the year 9510, if Wayne's typing his memoirs he oughtta make it by then, but blah blah something something else blah blah....maybe it's only...yesterDAYYYYY (dah dah DAH dah)...in the year 1981...

Alsip, Goodbye, Alsip, You Won't See Me Cry Now

The words are actually for "L.A.Goodbye" with words by Jim Petronik, the voice behind my favorite band THE IDES OF MARCH. Most people know them for "Vehicle." I'm the friendly stranger in the black sedan, won't you hope inside my car...I seemed to have this song in my head as the bus pulled up, the Doubletree Hotel across 127th Street. The company Christmas party was tonight and I did not go. I saw no point in celebrating the fact that I've continued to work through a temporary agency for another year. An email is waiting for the production manager in the morning, and it was well thought out, I think my absence tonight helped matters. So I'll be back at work tomorrow with maybe a new outlook, whether its one of walking out the door or shaking hands with someone who means it, well, if you watch FoxNews and see a balding guy by the Cal Sag bridge screaming ATTICA! ATTICA! in a crotchless Riddler outfit, you can assume things didn't go well. Maybe I could get a job with that band in the poster...

Alsip, Goodbye, Alsip, Don't Think You'll See Me Cry Now