The Average Dude Circa 1975

Hunter S. With a Few Last Words as We Leave February Behind

"Buy the ticket, take the ride [indeed]."

Bano de Sapucay

Average Dudes Blog

Average Dudes Blog

X Poems

These are poems sent to me by X. Excuse me X if I got the format wrong, but I had to reformat all the poems as the hotmail system fucked them all up. I particularily appreciate Butane Ligher, After the Walk, and the drip, but they are all excellent in my opinion. I used the Lonliness poem to enhance one of my lessons on Catcher in the Rye.

When Poetry Confronted Me

"Do you remember me?
I was there when you looked,
and moved, a tear cascaded down your face.
You were looking straight at me
like a child mystified by the presence
of something that can’t be placed.
You were so shocked
that your heart thundered
as I entered your being;
and ever since
you have had me with you,
so thank you!" X



Autumn Leaf

As far as you go is as far as you belong
as far as the search for some reassurance
don’t seek it
just circle like a hawk
and gyre into the center of the whirlpool of existence . . . X



For My Pad > >
When I come home >
there's absolutely nothing >
but objects that keep me company: > >
there's the bed I left undone >
and the open book's expectant page >
and a silence that nurtures >
the ideas it conceives, > >
there's the bill I haven't paid >
and what I have to do tomorrow >
and what I dream to do >
and the fact I need to behold > >
for it is in this given realm >
I can best perceive things, >
in the company of solitude >
where all seems possible. > > > >

For my Butane Lighter > >

You son of a bitch, >
you let me down >
when I most needed you, >
when I needed the warmth, >
the reassurance and brightness >
of your presense, >
of your purpose, >
because that's all it comes down to, >
purpose that doesn't need >
to explained, reassured, >
but executed. >



Hermit Crab Song >> >> >> >> > >
It’s painfully obvious I must change,
I must go, in order to securely return,
so once again I show my true nature,
my weaknesses, innocence, and core,
but that’s when I am most vulnerable
that is when spirit and temperament are obvious to the world’s predators,
but if I remain I will truly suffocate,
so I unfasten my calcareous garment
and show my true self to the world
under a cold silvery full-moon eve,
but not for long for I must conceal myself,
lest I become misunderstood. >> >> >> >> > >










After a Walk >> >> >> >> > >

Thoughts, feelings, emotions,
form a semi-precious string
that stiffens the flow of existence.
Visions, vistas all along make it clunky and desirable: >> >> >> >> > >

The old man walking,
sees the edges of the blue sky,
how confident young birds are,
how the clouds careen one after another,
unique in strength and motion, darkness, shininess, heftiness. >> >> >> >> > >

This old man who has no illusions
or who doesn’t dare have any,
sees the cut grass
and the neatness it brings to the surrounding spaces
he travels for therapeutic reasons,
feeling empathy for users,
for frightened stray dogs
which he has never harmed that squirm away from him,
searches among the twinkling constellation of coins in his pocket
for two shiny worn out keys on a flimsy hoop,
enters his flat with his hat on,
looks for the peg,
hangs his shirt,
folds his pants,
and looks at the clock. >> >> >> >> > > >> >> >> >> > >> >> >*********** >> >> >> >> > >

Loneliness >> >> >> >> > >

In this crowd
hundreds of heads bob
like tulips in Holland’s summer wind,
each one a similarly unique gesture,
each in accord with who knows what. >> >> >> >> > >

I look around and see we have nothing in common:
They are remote among each other,
dying flowers in the urn of the world
who assent in the wind. >> >> >> >> > >

But I will not settle for vase or garden
I will sprawl my thorns in the wasteland
and rename myself over and over again
until precious death acknowledges me. >> >> >> >> > > >> >> >> >> > >************* >> >> >> >> > >
The Drip >> >> >> >> > >

The drip of the faucet
pings like a string,
little high pitched plucks,
as if they were made
with a tiny hammer over thin filed copper. >> >> >> >> > > >> >> >> >> >

The old man is sitting
listening to the drip go pluck,
plick like a mockingbird,
is it the drip or is it the birds? >> >> >> >> > >

But it is too early,
birds must still be asleep
dreaming of worms and fetching twigs,
is it too early or is it too late? >> >> >> >> > >

The old man reaches for the glass of water,
his body warns him >> >> >> >> > >
the leaning is too hard,
is it too hard or is it too easy? >> >> >> >> > >

The drip brings him back,
The glass of water is shattered
into a glassy bloody puddle,
so he listens to the drip, is it plucking or piercing? >> >> >> >> > >

The answers are not given,
they are searched one by one like an unsettling drip
making the surface of water
become a living instrument. >> >> >> >> > >

The old man kicks the bucket
because his tired of the infernal repetition
of the everlasting drip keeping him alive,
is it alive or is it avoiding death?

Daffodils Look Lovely

Fortunately we have the freedom to choose what we look at. If only we could choose what we smell as well.

Culocam

Free Association: Ricky Williams

Should I Be Selfish?

These days, it seems the only people with whom I am able to discuss philosophy are Christians and Mormons. For all of their delusions, at least these people are willing to have philosophical conversations, and as I am a bit starved for these kinds of discussions I have been attending a house church and inviting Mormons into my home.

These recent moves have satisfied my need to be challenged on some of my philosophical stances, which is why I attend the house church. So far, I've attended three, our hours sessions and I must say that I'm pleased with the mental stimulation that these meetings provide. It is not that I expect Christians in general would be able to challenge me, but that this particular house church is made up of seminary professors, students and hardcore intellectuals. I'm fascinated by how these well educated people can embrace something as narrow as Christianity. One answer has already presented itself. These people have little to no knowlefe of any other philosophy. They are well educated, but have only really studied Christianity. I noticed one professor has nothing but Christian books on her bookself. Wait there was a copy of Anna Karinina too.

As the only nonchristian in the group of around 12, I have plenty of challenges. As I expected, none of these challenges have changed the way I think yet, but it has been fun watching the Christians get worked up when I connect what we are studying in the bible to Taoism or existential philosophy.

The few that are able to keep up with my connections (by few I mean two or three), say that Christianity encompasses all other philosophies rather than merely being part and parcel as I tried to point out.

Last Sunday I introduced to them the idea that one must first be selfish, before one can be beneficial to humankind in any real way. They did not like that word, "selfish," at all.

One argument they presented was that an author who only writes for himself does not benefit anyone but himself. That produced an Iceman "Well..." Of course I brought up Kafka, and how he only wrote for himself, by himself, and how he was the best writer in the world because of it (in my opinion of course). I went on to say that people who are not initially selfish are hollow followers who have no authenticity and therefore are good to no one except tyrannical dictators like god seems to be in the old testament. Then I pointed out how paranoid Moses and his followers always are because people are being swallowed up by the earth for worshiping other gods, being impaled in the sun for fornication with the women of Moab, being stoned to death for picking up sticks on the Sabbath etc.

I think one of the biggest, maybe the biggest problem with humanity is that most people are afraid to be selfish. One German woman in the group actually agreed with that. She is the wife of a seminary professor, and she agrees with me more than anyone. She said that it is easier to blame failure on people who told you what you should do rather than to blame ourselves for failing at what we alone decided we should do.

Speaking of "should." I told them that "should" is only respected by the fearful and insecure, which is what Pollo, X and I came up with over winter break in PR. They are still having a rough time with that one. None of them have been able to articulate why that quote is untrue, but yet they say that it is. This is where I brought in "The Grand Inquisitor," which NONE of them had read or heard of. Wow, I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but I thought Dostoyevsky was required reading for Theology majors.

One last comment. These people of whom I speak are extremely open-minded (for Christians)and genuinely friendly. They would have to be to allow me to be a part of their group. If any of the members stumble onto this blog, I really hope they are not offended, for that was not my intention when writing this. My intention was to perhaps provoke some discussion from my brothers, the average dudes.

Analysis:

Christians loath the word "selfish," while embracing the word "should."

P.S. Only two members have left after I began attending.

Average Dude Poem by X

Average Dude
Don’t undermine yourself,
to be misunderstood is human fate,
act as an independent body of water
demarked by your true self,
contain deeply what you believe,
don’t try to fit in the world,
let the world fit in you
if you decide you may so;
hold on to what you feel,
grind your steps into the ground
and take an educated stand.
X

Love in a barrel

The following takes place between then and now and is the sole of Shag's feet and his most intellectual of all property (which is completely pointless, though fun none the less):

"Love in a Barrel" -A Song;E-A-B/something or other; music by NQLund; audio to follow, sometime in the next half decade-

She loves me tender
She loves me true
She loves me baby Like I love you
She loves meYeah, yeah Yes she do
She loves me babyLike I love you
Oceans of love
Oceans of blue
Aimless drift
Soggy shoes

Some folks sing their love in carol
I just put my love in a barrel
Love in a barrelLove in a barrelLove in a barrelLove in a barrel
It goes around and round

I think I love youYes I do
I think it’s ‘cause I’m Afraid of you
I cannot tell youWhat is true
I just don’t love youLike I do
The comets shoot across the sky
Thought it strikes mePokes my eye

Some folks sing their love in carol
I just put my love in a barrel
Love in a barrelLove in a barrelLove in a barrelLove in a barrel
It goes around and round

Killing me softlyWith this song
Loving you whollyLoving you long
Loving the whole nightLoving the rain
Love in the bathroomLove on a train
The stars in the heavensThe light shining through
The gravel road’s dustyThe car was blue

Some folks sing their love in carol
I just put my love in a barrel
Love in a barrelLove in a barrelLove in a barrelLove in a barrel
It goes around and round

Love it hurtsLove it bleeds
Love like thisLove that needs
Love the wantsAnd love that feeds
Love that’s hiding In the reeds
The moon like a heart That’s big and full
Gravity’s yankingGravity’s pull

Some folks sing their love in carol
I just put my love in a barrel
Love in a barrelLove in a barrelLove in a barrelLove in a barrel
It goes around and round

Image above from link below:
http://werple.net.au/~corajune/640/

The Brothers J and Moco Joe

Yesterday was day eight of my ongoing battle with persistent cough, etc. I awoke to the sound of our maid doing the dishes around 8:30 am. I knew I had to leave or be shuffled around in my miserable, intolerant state, so I headed down to the Stone Arch, a comfortable cafe in downtown Minneapolis owned by the Brothers J, known in these parts as the band Best Fight Story.

The first thing I did when I arrived was lock my keys in the truck with my lights on. Upon this instant realization I uttered a Pollo "Phaaaaaack," and with nothing I could do headed into the cafe where I was warmly greeted by one of the Brothers J. He was very empathetic and gave me a cup of outstanding joe from the hills of Indonesia.

I called my wife who had the extra key, but she was tied up in meetings for at least the next three hours, so I knew I was going to need more help. This is where Cuz Ed came into the picture. As usual, it was Cuz Ed to the rescue. He came down and gave me moral support.

Eventually my wife showed up with the key, and of course the battery was dead by then. Fortunately some dude named Dan came on the scene with some jumper cables and great intentions, but unfortunately the great intentions fell short as he was unable to jump the truck successfully.

A cloud fell over the Stone Arch at that point as the Brothers J were sure that if Big Dan couldn't jump the truck, there were more serious implications. However, I was not convinced.

Then Cuz Ed suggested that I give him a ride to his meeting and take his truck to buy jumper cables and go back to jump my truck myself, which I did successfully. The Brothers J were surprisingly not that surprised and seemed to rejoice in the fact that they now had something to give Big Dan shit about.

I went to pick Cuz Ed up with his truck, we drove back to my truck, but I felt I owed Cuz Ed for driving his gas guzzler all over hell. So I offered to buy him some drinks at the nearby Terminal bar. Of course Cuz Ed did not decline.

After a half hour of drinks and 70's game shows, we finally parted, and I went home and promptly passed out.

Upon awaking, I could not help but notice that I could not stop coughing. Moco Joe had mocos streaming from his nostrils and kept looking at me helplessly, until finally my wife came to the rescue for the second time in one day. She insisted that I go another round with the doctors. Since I couldn't stop coughing, I thought it just might work.

This time I went in with determination to not suppress my monkey, and to not leave without the "good stuff."

This time I got a male doctor, which for some reason I thought to be a good sign. I also mentioned that I was a teacher, which seemed to get me instant special treatment. Then the time for the scripts came and it was the usual plain old cough medicine. That is when I let Moco Joe out of the bag. He sprung on the doc immediately demanding something with codeine. Of course the doc mentioned the robitussen with codeine, but this was not good enough for moco joe this time. This time moco joe demanded satisfaction. So the doc went out for a special book to see if he could find anything that had pure codeine in it. As the doc was looking through is stupid book, Moco Joe let out a cough that sounded like Tussenex, to which the doc responded, "oh yeah, tussenex, that otta do the job."

I was amazed at how easy that was. Apparently all I had to do was tell the doc what to give me. Then the doc said that when he gets teachers in there, he doesn't mess around. He just gives them the good meds and sends them on their way. Good to know for future reference.

Analysis:

Days of illness cause brain damage.
Never go to the doc without moco joe.
Keep buying Cuz Ed cocktails.
Hang out more often with Brothers J.
Give wife the sex she deserves for saving me twice in the same day and not demanding sex in return.

X, mark your spot

Greetings From Cleveburg

Amigos, Que tal? Well so much for Spanish one. This is a wonderful opportunity to share observations and expeiriences of ones travels throuhg the cosmos. I will figure out what one needs to do to go to the guay and will post it when I figure out how to do it. A chance to sharesome stories of everyday life. My first story will be about today's visit(in about an hour) to the colorectal doc. Just imagine the possiblities.......Oso blanco

Tell me if you think it's tru

sdsddgsdsdssssssssssss

In the south of america
in the big sur
in the wave of a little hand
in the search for the cure
in the way that you hold my hand
in the way that you're sure
In the south of america
in the big of the sur







On a way to another land
on a horse with no name
on the back of a caravan
on wits and on brain
on top of old smokey
on top of its cheese
cliche' rides the thermals
kitsch provides the breeze

Common mistakes made while taking a shit

Sometimes the gallery is hung upside down for effect. This is not good. There are those who would say that time is on our side. That would not be good either, if it were true. When considering the push, as it makes its way to shove, one should always keep to the right of left. With that in mind, veer recklessly off course and see what happens; it couldn't get much worse.

Turkish Cigarette Holder

Turkish Cigarette Holder

My friend wrote to me about a Turkish cigarette holder, seemingly identical to the one known to so many Hunter S. photos and caricatures, that he had recently acquired. He shared that one could do anything while smoking with such a device. He told me stories form lawn mowing to snow blowing. While I neither mow my lawn nor blow snow, I felt a desire to have one. You see, my friend is an average dude, and so am I.

I rarely ask my friends for anything (I do, however, greedily enjoy their time), yet I asked my friend to bring a Turkish cigarette holder to our recent reunion. As an average dude, he complied sin falta. I inspected it gleefully, snugly inserted an Lucky Strike, and smoked. At the time, I wasn't needing to do anything else but sit, smoke, and talk, all of which can be executed smoothly without a Turkish cigarette holder, but I enjoyed it all the same. I then carefully removed the butt and nestled my gift deeply and securely in my backpack, in a pocket inaccessible to drunken chickens. I could not lose it, but I did not use it.

Soon after, while waiting for the Heinekin chicks at an average gentleman's club, I popped open a Coors Light and lit up a Lucky. I felt instant shame as I noticed my friend's eyebrow raise while I lit the Lucky. "Dude, where's your holder?" he asked innocently.

Deceptively, yet honestly I claimed, "I put it where I can't lose it, man."

"Not to use it is to lose it," he reminded me gently. Whatever I answered, for I cannot remember, vaulted my insecurities into public view and provided evidence of Ignorance Not Lost. You see, my vanity had gotten the best of my modesty.

I have since returned from our reunion, and I enjoy the Turkish cigarette holder every day as I sit Poolside in the evenings smoking, drinking beers, and thinking. AS I have nothing else to do Poolside, I have found enhanced freedom with the holder although I don't mow or blow. For example, while getting settled Poolside, the placement of the ashtray is no longer a priority as I have a good four to five inches more radius of reach. Also, my fingers no longer repulse me at 4am when I lay awake at night, resting my hand near my face.

Finally, my friend's prophecy came true. I was asked to retrieve something from the cabinets by the quincho (a massive built in BBQ consul commonly found in Paraguayan backyards)right after I had lit a Lucky. Initially I thought, "Phaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack! Balancing so much cig in a Turkish cigarette holder on a small ashtray is going to suck..."

"You can do anything.....," echoed my friend's voice against the back of my skull. Sure enough, I accomplished the task while lightly and effortlessly placing the holder between my teeth without any smoke burning the fuck out of my eye. I smiled to myself and to my friend, who was, and is, a hemisphere away.

I continue to smoke every Lucky in the holder. Sometimes, many times, I just sit Poolside and smoke, think and drink a brew. Other times, like now, I enjoy a Lucky and write to my friends. All I need now are four walls of plywood well within reach to shelter me from the brewing storm.

The Guay in July

Dudes,
I have to wait until April to purchase the tix to the Guay, because I will not know until then if I have a job to come back to or not.

Like X, I would like to know what special paperwork, if any, will be necessary to complete before heading into the Guay.

X, considering Pollo's present problem with wheels and cockroaches in his house, he among others would appreciate a posting of your "Hysteria" poem.

Evening has once again decended upon the land of ice, and the cough persists.

Script for iceman

Iceman,
this is an easy one....codeine causes severe stomach cramping and such in many a patient...that is why they came up with tussinex...vicodin is way mellower on the stomach...explain to moco joe, and tell the doc. you cannot tolerate this shit anymore, as it creates more discomfort than before....
if that does not work, move to paraguay and bring your cell phone. it is rumored that with seven bucks and a cell phone, one can get just about anything in that place
pollo

Doctors Be Damned

I awoke yesterday morning to find my condition far worse than I had feared. My head was throbbing, my throat a cascade of mocos and pain, my body on the level with any man in his mid nineties.

I knew I needed codeine quick, but how does one attain this "dangerously addictive narcotic" while living in the suburbs of a Minnesotan city?

Go to the doctor and pretend that death is near. This is about the only way, and still it's precarious at best.

Of course I take my chances, as the only alternative is to lie around in agony wondering what would have happened if I would have taken my chances.

I grab a book of Strindberg plays and climb into my freezing truck with full intentions of going to the nearest clinic to wait and read until a doctor agrees to see me.

On the way, however, I realize that my breath may still reek of last night's home remedy: brandy, lemon juice, and honey. I start to think that it may be difficult to convince the doctor I'm dying if he/she smells liquor on my breath, so I go to McDonald's and eat a sausage and egg biscuit, washing it down with a coke.

Now I'm set, but I have an urge to smoke a cigarette. I give in of course and smoke it down, trying to find a gas station where I can find some kind of mints to cover the scent of smoke. Afterall, I'm supposedly dying.

I finally score some Halls and head to the clinic.

As I enter the clinic, I'm slightly amazed to find hardly anyone there. I wonder if this is luck or its antithesis. I fill out the papers and sit down with my Strindberg. As I begin reading, my mind drifts off into thinking, "What kind of a dying man sits in a waiting room reading a book?" So now I only read a few lines when I think no one is looking.

After all that nonsense is over, I find myself in the doctor's office pleading my case.

"It's been days of sleepless nights, coughing, headaches. I just have to get some sleep." I say this while thinking I'm pretty clever because my hungover appearance is the perfect proof of my story.

The doctor just says something like, "yeah, it's going around."

"Oh, yeah" I say.

"Yeah, have you tried cold medicine?" the doc asks clinically.

"Oh, yeah" I say "I've tried all that stuff, but it never seems to work."

Then I look over and see that the good doctor is writing a script for Robitussin DM. Without being able to contain myself at all I scoff, "That stuff won't work."

"This is what I recommend." the doc responds.

Inside I'm screaming and just as I'm about to unleash my crazed monkey, the doctor continues with, "I could give you Robitussin with codeine if you want."


Thoughts and stories are racing through my mind at this point. My panic is slightly reduced, and eventually I realize that this is as good as it's going to get so I say demurely, "yeah, that would be better."

"Be careful though. It may make you drowsy."

"Oh yeah, of course. " I say. All the while I'm thinking, this shit is so weak I'd probably have to slam the whole bottle to get any effect at all.

Then, the doctor abruptly rises and heads toward the door, but before leaving turns and says, "you should stop smoking."

I just sit there with my lame scripts and think, "God damn, why did I even bother with these fucks."

Nevertheless, I got my script filled, downed three or four tablespoons and drove around for a half hour waiting for relief that never came.

Now it is day two, the bottle is almost gone, and I slept four hours. So much for "may cause drowsiness."

It looks like it's back to home remedies.

Analysis:

A) I look like a dope fiend and will, therefore, never get any decent scripts from doctors around here.
B) Doctors around here are scared morons who thought that going to med school was a good idea at the time.
C) It's time to take a trip to Bolivia to make sure this shit never happens again.
D) Don't even bother with doctors as a general rule.
E) All of the above.

Iceman Tries to Rescue Beaner from Window Well

Here is a picture of me trying to take care of nasty business before the goddamn snowfall. Minnesota sucks in the winter.

That is my daughter Beaner, seemingly trapped in the window well. Yerba mate brewing in the backgound.

October or November 2005 (maybe December)

Why Read?

"A book must be an axe for the frozen sea inside us."

Franz Kafka 1883-1924

Once one understands the true value of books, a door begins to open leading toward self-discovery and with that an authentic existence may emerge, paving the way toward the maximizing of one's potential.

Books expose the collective mind and bust the reader through the wall that contains the collective mind. Outside the wall lies freedom, but loneliness. Why seek the outside of the wall, if possible pain lies on the other side? Well... once one busts through the wall that person has an advantage over those who remain inside, the advantage being choice.

Inside the boundaries of the collective mind, one's potential is frequently if not always suppressed, but outside the collective mind lie infinate possibilities. Here is where the extraordinary can be accomplished. Here is where one is able to be authentic.

Although those beyond the wall are almost always misunderstood by those within, there is much freedom and satisfaction that comes with it. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "To be great is to be misuderstood." Misuderstood by the masses he meant. Without those who have ventured through the wall, nothing would remain in the world but unconscious robots who cry for reasons they can never understand.

I've heard many Americans say, "love it or leave it" in reference to the United States. At first this angered me, then I thought it pretty funny, but now I almost pity these poor, unconscious souls. I mean how much awareness does it really take to project one's thought process just enough to catch a glimpse of what the country would be like if everyone who ever fell out of love with the country left. First off, it wouldn't even be the US, but rather an extention of England. Second etc. we would be nothing but cogs in a great machine with no comprehension of the words "I" or "freedom. "

So the tremulous pontification begins.

Calling All Average Dudes

Calling all average dudes, wherever you may be. You now have a new venue for tremulous pontification and/or any average dude observations that you may want to share.

An average dude is somewhat difficult to define, as time=change=life, and as labels negate individuality; but in general, an average dude is basically an honest dude with slightly too much integrity and consciousness to be accepted by the bougeoise philistines who lurk in every corner of the world.

The Average Dude Blog welcomes authenticity, creativity, and philosophical discussion of any kind. As average dudes generally have few people with whom they can connect authentically (sometimes no one at all), I have created this blog to let average dudes everywhere know that they are far from alone.

Since average dudes seem to be somewhat scattered in an ever shrinking world, I thought of making use of one of the only legal anarchies of the world: the internet. With this venue, we no longer have to sit in our bunkers drinking warm beer and smoking cheap cigarettes, wondering which will come first, death or understanding.

Average dudes write, because that is the best way they can understand themselves and be understood by others. So Write on Brothers!