1984 Christmas Card From the Notorious Carreons, by Charles Carreon
HOLIDAY SPECIALS WE CAN: Obtain money for your pain & suffering O'Keefe's face can be lethal as well. The problem will only get worse. But there's a way out.
Less ALTERNATIVE The good citizens of L.A. cordially invite you to A THAI RESTAURANT the Freeway Concerto for trombone and cars the death of the charioteers Chicano and Mexican music the shine of sweat on male and female alike, hordes of rumpled citizens walking the streets, glassy-eyed and slack-jawed chanting "Koyaanisqatsi" in a deep, booming whisper
And think how twisted we are, the troupe has always dangled from the competitors the collective anguish hell and damnation stink bomb capitalist the classical tradition devilish talent reading, preaching and converting the crowd bicyclists mix with rank amateurs enough to induce vertigo in the hardiest cross between W.C. Fields and Nina Hagen Bring a friend I wanna go. parking limited Merry X-mas from L.A. and the NOTORIOUS CARREONS! LUV-2-ALL
2 AM Swim At The Sunset Cliffs, by Charles Carreon
Pizza slinging done for the night -- After-hours Budweiser consumed. Close the back door. Silent dark streets, ocean roar off to the right -- Japan, China, Hawaii, over there. Beach condos, occupants asleep. Dark waves rolling in. Walking down the sidewalk damp with mist, My shadow goes first before me, then behind, slave to the nearest streetlamp. Cut down from the well-lit cul-de-sac, Squeeze between a wall and some barbed wire, Follow a sandy track to the base of the cliffs. Dark, calm sea, a slopping wet hugeness Clawing softly at the shore. I strip and roll my clothing up, Wade into water black as pitch. The sandy shelf tips sharply down I feel like a pencil about to roll off the edge; three or four steps And the wetness closes over me, limbs floating in a threatening womb, Fathomless, pulling, down, down, deeper -- Appalling to the inner ear; I try to float, abandoning effort, weight, and thought, but I can't Do it. Clearly I see a gleaming knot of twisted iron. That's me/it's death. Back in the land of the living -- My wallet, My pants, My glasses. I'm wet skin. Walking with shoes on back to the travelall. Down the freeway under serials of arc-lamps.
There was a man who had a band And a pocketful of sand He took my hand And in my eyes He looked to find Another kind of mind there
It was an Ahi Sandwich moment A real tantalizing torment to realize we'd never make it to the moon Might even work until we jerk Upon the end of the hangman's rope Ah you could hope Like the fellow at the Owl Creek Bridge Never to wake From the last dream
All Along the Spine of the Siskiyous, by Charles Carreon
It's a soft-focus night, moonless and mute. Truck-light on the freeway filters through gentle rain drifting from the mountains, cloaking the valley.
In the upper reaches of the valley, a southward-running ridge, a finger of forest reaching into the drylands of California. Winds stream by, Stirring the tall trees, Bearing a harvest of clouds. To the north -- coolness and moisture. In the south -- valleys filled with dry grass. There is tension between the two. They lie next to each other, all along the spine of the Siskiyous, everything touching, licking each other with tongues of clouds. In the morning, The fruit of their love is fresh-fallen snow.
A tiny man of flesh and bone Wandering over the frozen dirt That glitters with countless crystals Of frozen water, Will gaze about him and Beneath him And discover A lack of tethers, A great silence ready to respond With echoes only to his any word. Tree bark, lichen-patched stone, Blades of dried grasses Rimed with frost-- One need only forget To be utterly lost.
Residing on a spinning ball We cannot depart from But only fall into, We forget the cliff, The abyss of no experience Into which we will tumble When death pulls his abrupt And exceedingly impractical joke.
Nevertheless, all rise, The sovereign lord appears, Speaking eloquently with Ten million warming rays To bathe, caress and possess All the numberless creatures Born of boundlessness.
Ambu Baba and the Forty Thieves, by Charles Carreon
(To the Tune of "Rhymin' and Stealin'" by The Beastie Boys)
Well, drivin' Buddhists crazy's what she's all about, Talkin' so straight that they have to shout, No sweet muffin with a daisy in her belly, She's never once been called Cin-der-elly. Liberating mystics of their counterfeit money, They're chokin' on their bliss, lookin' pretty funny; She got sixteen Siddhas on a dead man's chest They're smilin' like their hopin' that she'll do the rest.
Plum crazy girl -- goes straight thru the ceilin', She'll keep talkin' till they cap her -- She's rockin' and reelin'. Rippin' at the reins -- breakin' down the gate She's got your wagon, it's a jail break, She's got the warden with a sock in his mouth And she's headed for the badlands way down south, Breakin' out bandidos from their stinking jails They got no badges and they're off the rails. They're loyal to her They're loyal to fun, And they got her back When she has to run.
It's Ambu Baba and the Forty Thieves, Ambu Baba and the Forty Thieves Ambu Baba AND THE FORTY THIEVES Ambu Baba AND THE FORTY THIEVES.
There ain't no words to end this story. She's bound for freedom, fame and glory, With hell on her trail, With God payin' bounty They'll hang her in the middle Of Bumfuck County,
Ambu Baba and the Forty Thieves, Ambu Baba and the Forty Thieves Ambu Baba AND THE FORTY THIEVES Ambu Baba AND THE FORTY THIEVES.
Well they say she took out for Apache country, That there was smoke in the sky and very dusty, Thunderheads risin' and tumbleweeds rollin' The priest locks the church and the bells start tollin'. And every now and then the children chant The magic words that their parents said they can't, Hopin' and prayin' Singin' and playin', Feelin' so naughty That they just gotta say it,
Ambu Baba and the Forty Thieves, Ambu Baba and the Forty Thieves Ambu Baba AND THE FORTY THIEVES Ambu Baba AND THE FORTY THIEVES