From The Moleskine .. By CrittendenIV

Stonefront Tavern March 25, 2005

Keno equals Bingo for the impatient high rollers. Watch and win without the dirty fingers of the menopausal crochet maniacs. I stand true to my statement "Old People Do Not Belong In Casinos". I watch in grotesque awe as their trembling hands insert another dollar bill. They don't need the winnings. A fortune of hard work has already flowed into their account crevice. They play for fun. They play to pass the time before they die. And, on occasion to my dissatisfaction, they win. They win my winnings. What is the point in having a stash of money; if the whole incentive is to grow the stash bigger and more? Poop on the rainy day fund. I say spend now and spend big. Purchase books and art and musical instruments. Substantial artifacts of human creativity are the last saving relics of a world gone down the shitter of shame.
When I die, or rather when I am fully grown, to quote Steven Jesse Bernstein, I will be buried with my albums, books, and guitars. All placed in a box next to me, poured full of gasoline, set out to sea, and blown to bits. Let my ashes of wood, paper and body infiltrate the last body of water on this pig planet. Everyone will take a little piece of CrittendenIV home with them in their Dasani bottled water. Artesian filtration in the most true definition.
A woman at the end of the bar recites the same story to a new bar-stool buddy. I should record it and play it over the taverns sound system. Why rehash the same shit, if you have done nothing to change the situation? People get tired of looking and lying without a clue as to clarification and consequence. You are wasting our emotions and general companionship. I would rather have a friend commit the gravest of immoral acts, then to expect my expression to be genuine; for a repeat of a recollection and gripe. Old news is old news. And it should stay that way. America needs to figure that out. Here's my wager: in two years, 9-11 will be a holiday. All state workers will get paid to get high that day. School kids will be told to play outside. And that worthless pledge of allegiance will be said in all churches and broadcast television stations. Mourn the calculation of the caucasian control denizens that orchestrated the whole catastrophe.
"I pledge allegiance to the man that rules the United Fakes Of Americana. And to this charade, for which oil stands, one nation under mind control, interest negotiable. With deniability and conspiracy for all tax payers". I omitted GOD. If God was a part of the Ol' USA, he would destroy us like the floods did to Thailand. The GODS already decided the fate for this craptinent; destroy all that makes America a power overseas and abroad. Reduce us to small plebes, just trying to survive. Make us work to find meaning for our existence. That is the true essence behind creation. Work is supposed to make a man realize a worthwhile purpose. Not the purpose for his employers pick and prosper.
Beer # 4, an unusual order, if I have the obligation to drive myself home. Oh well. Let it pour. Let drops of politics and scrutiny pull me over and dissect my intake. Nothing but art matters anymore.
I have children. Yes I do. I have been told that the introduction of my own naturally born children has not changed me or my behaviors. FUCK YOU, madman of criticism. How dare you imply that I believe my own agenda for true humanitarian artistic creation will overshadow my own responsibility to my offspring. You know very little. My kids will grow with a fire that burns brighter than Newtons mundane idea of falling fruit. Jack watches over my children, just as he watched and played over Maggie. I smile as I write that.
I am done today. Thank you Jean Louis. Thank you Babalouie. I love you. I really do.