our irreality

Let's keep this simple, OK? Right now multiple flows of fake experience and misinformation compete for our attention, mostly to sell us stuff we don't need and is bad for us and the world.




Eye and ear candy 24-7-365 and more hands in my pocket than money. Even money's fake now.

This glob axes the question; how do i live a real life in a world of layers of FAKENESS?!?!?



SEND A POST TO rvehill@yahoo.com and ATTACH A jpg or gif IF you want pertaining to the theme and i'll post it as long as i can. maybe even if i can't. i am an actual convicted criminal.

Or if you want to comment, i may post all or part of it on the next blog.



and now a word from our sponsor;read a review of Operation Patriotic Toilet Seat HERE, an Espionage Thriller Comedy by Titus North from Enlightened-Pyramid,

Stolen from someone else's blog;

Born to paranoid hippies in a mob hospital on the southwest outskirts of Chicago..I lived thru the 70's without too much damage...entered the 80's with a chip on my shoulder...wandered most of the 90's in some weird daze which included time in Calcutta,India finding myself and my faith...now the 2000's..hmm..gee..they're almost over huh?I spent alot of my first 23-24 years of life..locked in a box of my own making...Now..I live on a Mountain...a captive of Mountain Time...I still get confused when watching cable and they say " Standard or Eastern"...I wonder
where i fit in cause they never mention ' Mountain Time..'...so I always end up looking for something scheduled..at the wrong time..Carrie Ann Warner


photo by Joe Butoh




From Tropikal Epilepsy, by Knut Krondstadt:

Monday, October 22, 1984
I woke up to the stound of voices. Nik was talking to his girlfriend and her roommate. I had had a dream about playing "Sound of Silence" really fast on the guitar. Yesterday I had a dream that I got in an argument with Mom and Kathy, and they turned into seagulls and attacked me. But they weren't very scary. The four of us ate breakfast and walked downtown to a bank where Nik and I changed money. One by one the two girls went to work (they were nurses) and Nik and I went shopping. Later we went back and ate and I slept for a few hours. After I got up I was fortunate enough to see the Finnish coverage of the Reagan-Mondale debate. I got on the train at 9:50 and

talked politics for some time with a German guy who I share a compartment with. Now I'm watching two Finnish girls knit. 50FM



Tuesday, October 23, 1984
When I awoke, the compartment I was in was getting crowded. At Helsinki station, I took my time gathering my stuff, and while making my last check I found that someone had left their hat and gloves. I waited around for a while to see if the owner would show up, but he didn't. I debated taking them to the lost and found, but Ive lost a number of things, so I decided to keep them. They're very nice and I like them very much. [I still often wear the hat 25 years later.] I walked around Helsinki for a while doing the usual (food shopping, looking for peanut butter),
and after a while, not knowing what else to do, I took the train to Turku. It was a nice trip, although a drunk guy on the train kept offering me things. It was raining in Turku; nonetheless, I decided to walk across town rather than wait a long time for the six minute train ride to the docks. When I finally got there, I had another hour plus wait to get on the boat. It was great. It had a big duty-free store, two discos, and a casino. The older folk were taking advantage of their disco, which had a live band complete with uniforms, but the young folks showed up in small numbers, and seemed interested only in nursing their drinks while putting on a bored "cool"
facade. I asked one girl to dance, a small, young looking blonde, but she declined without a word. In fact, the whole time I was there she never moved except to flick her ever-present cigarette. I moved, a lot in fact. I decided I would not let these people spoil MY fun, so I danced by myself. Of course, I danced better than those tar-lunged, disinfectant-brained Europeans ever could! 50FM







From Vato Maldito; My Life of Crime, by John Gallegos

At the age of 12, I delivered papers on my bicycle. But I began car prowling, selling the loot to various people.
When I was about 13 years old, my sister had aboyfriend. Dube was his name. I thought at the time that he was the baddest dude I had ever known.
He was a safe-cracker. So I started my career as a burglar.
At the beginning of our association, I would seek and find businesses that had safes. I would be his lookout man. We did a half dozen or so jobs,during which I was able to observe how he would crack open the safes. One night, he shot a rival gang member in a dispute, and wound up in jail. He needed money to pay an attorney. So in order to help him,I went out on my own. I was able to help him with his lawyer's fee. Subsequently, he was aquitted by a jury and freed. From that point on,we didn't work together anymore.

photo by Joe Butoh

I had a small group of buddies with whom I worked cracking safes. Soon though,the police learned of my activities and came after me. At the age of 15 I was busted and sent to reform school.I served a one year sentence and was released. I was 16 years old then.
I was on the street for about 2 months and was busted again for safecracking. I was sentenced to an indefinite to 10 year sentence.


photo by Laura Chenault

More Blog Theft:


It was me...i passed out..the smell of leather and sweat.was not something i was used to yet....i got mid way thru the room..spun..and went down..the big guy that was kinda protecting me at the stage.had followed me..scooped me up..and off the floor..i made it up to the first landing and puked...Mark (?) grabbed me.and got me to the weird little ... Read Morecreature that used to lordess over the bathroom...she gave me like 3 sheets of toilet paper ..to 'clean myself up with'...threw some water in my face..called me a bitch(cause i didn't tip her..how the heck was i supposed to know? )-Carrie Ann Warner

...i went back downstairs and proceeded to wreck my hearing for awhile more..without passing out..it's funny..recently watched a documentary about the Ramones on Sundance (?)...and told Shaffer that story...about seeing Johnny get off a Clark bus...then for the rest of the show..me trying to get his shoes untied...and getting my fingers stomped on..over...and over...I got to see the farewell tour out here..their last show ever..at the Ogden theatre in Denver...in 95?...I remember thinking of you that day...and telling Nancy the shoe story...


i'll end with this; i told a friend of mine who's editing a movie that it'll take twice as long to edit a movie than he thinks it will. It always takes longer. He thanked me for the encouragement. i looked up the word 'art' in the dictionary; 'skill aquired by experience,study
or observation.' no, that's not it; 'the conscious use of skill and creative imagination especially in the production of aesthetic objects'. closer. how about this, Webster?; 'using a medium to communicate something extraordinary.' but why do it if it's inherently fake? I found a fork in the road, smashed by a semi, and each prong twisted and curled in a strange way, more beautifully than any sculpture ever could. i heard a bunch of dogs howl with a fire engine at a chilly windy
neighborhood sunset, more thrilling than any choir. Wild beauty happens everyday more often on accident than on purpose. it's a nasty megalomania that makes me try anyway.


Remember, instructions for posting are near the top of the glob.......