x-x-x-x-x. Politics of Sex, Drugs and Depression

| | | — | | Ever mention K.C. who owns Fat City in Charlotte, North Carolina? Homeboy is a nut. Self-described redneck fag who probly used to deal drugs and shit and party like an animal. He opened Fat City where there was nothin’ but crackheads and hookers and some would say, single-handedly transformed the neighborhood into the “arts district”. What he got the government to pretty much give him ten years or so ago, is now worth like a million dollars.

He’s like, “I’m gonna do this in another area of town now and get the rights to a bunch of properties and when that place is gentrified I’ll sell ‘em and buy a mountian in South America. Then I’ll sell the water from the mountain and eventually save up enough to build my own prison.” There’s an interesting business venture. And let me tell you. If I had to go to prison, I’d pick K.C.’s any day. ‘Cause homeboy is super sweet. All the musicians love him, his employees, boyfriends, customers…

So a few years ago there was this cat Josh at a show in El Dorado and he gave me a bunch of money and shit for some CDs and he was real cool. Just the other day I was wondering whatever happened to him and if he still gets my emails and stuff. We had hit it off ‘cause he was hip to my friend Mike Dillon (who’s playing with Les Claypool’s Frog Brigade now). Dig this. Last night he comes up to me at the club in fuckin’ Charlotte. We talk for a while, catching up and in a little bit I’m talking with my man Eric who moved down here from Hoboken a few years ago and I introduce them and Josh’s like, “I know you. I used to live upstairs from you on Magnolia.” So of course Eric’s like, “Yea.” And bla bla bla and it’s so beautiful. What a small world. I’m wondering about a long lost stranger and meanwhile he’s been living right upstairs from an old friend in a fuckin’ gated community in Charlotte, North Carolina.

Eric’s wife’s job is finding jobs for disabled people and she was telling some funny-ass stories. Like the guy who wouldn’t take any job ‘cause he wanted to be a brain surgeon. And another one who wanted to be an astronaut. That’s like probly how some people look at me wanting to be a rock star. Like, “Dude, just face it. It didn’t happen. Now like, join the real world, get a job?!” Ha ha. Through sheer thick-headedness, I shall rock the fuckin’ earth. And Mad Happy and NyQwill and BlesteNation and all of our underground iLL-Rock will be like comets whipping through the atmosphere, making the 4th of july look like a bunch of fireworks, burgers and buns. Where my dogs at? mike |

26/03/2001