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.......

mORe UnSAniTY

This blog gives a unactual place to post what happens in our heads and selves now that the gadgets and teknology of misinformation have proliferated and diversified to the extent that nothing is real. in our smellphone drivethru starbux cineplex download clusterfuck finacial meltdown invade the mideast gps chip implant satellite superspy world noone smells the coffee or looks in your eyes when you buy a micowave burrito at 7-11.

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.



WHERE HAVE ALL THE PUNK ROCK STARS GONE?!?! Ronald McDonald



Book review:

Operation Patriotic Toilet Seat

made me laugh out loud despite he gravity of the subject; cold war and post cold war US military/intelligence hegemony and violation of our personal freedom. Yeah it's a espionage thriller comedy, hilarious but deadly serious.

Here's a synopsis;A drunken late-night promenade through a former CIA Director's living room makes young Joe Retard a suspect in an international intrigue involving a high-tech spy toilet seat. The U.S. military chases Joe to the ends of the earth in an effort to keep a lid on their toilet seat.

Without giving it away Joe is entangled in comedy and intrigue which kind seems a weird amalgamation of the Wrong Man and Dr. Strangelove, on the East Coast and all over Asia with nods to the Opera Salome. Sound confusing? It wasn't. North crafted the plot very skillfully and it reads smooth. I finished it in 48 hours leaving work undone to get to the next good part and the next and the next. The ending had an unexpected emotional punch too. i got it at enlightened-pyramid.com


Frederik Husar at work>

Drag City recording artist AZITA has a new release, How Will You? She SINGS with a voice filled with raw firelight over a spare arrangement of piano bass and drums.Azita @ Drag City! performing Thursday, March 12;
Bloomington, IN Buskirk-Chumley Theatre (with Bonny Billy)



from Ignacio Balangatang's novella Ratboy:

Finally, as both Jive and Dirk
crescendo-ed into a frenzy, Margie faced Jive, removed her top, and tossed it over the drum kit onto Jive's head, where it remained draped. Bare back to the audience, Margie broke back into New Year's Eve's distinctive bassline. Dirk jumped back up on stage and approached the mike, although for dramatic effect he refrained from picking up the lyrics for several measures, during which time Margie remained with her back towards the audience, much to Jive's obvious delight. As Dirk did his best rendition of U-2 singer Bono's screem leading back into the lyrics, Margie turned around and the place erupted. It was a powerful part of a legitamately moving song anyway, but the particular events that transpired during the song created a rock star kind of excitement that the band had never yet experienced.

Nor would they ever again. For this particular evening, two bigwigs from Disney's Musical Operations Division were in the house to check up on how Loni was managing the night club, and were obviously displeased at "activities detrimental to Disney's family- oriented reputation." Battery Club's 15 minutes of fame were to last only 20 seconds. Suddenly, the power to the amps, the P.A. system, even the stage lights were cut. Jive, thinking it was simply a technical problem, kept up the beat with his drums until the D.J. finally cut in with the dance version of "Who Let the Dogs Out".


Dirk, however, immediately knew that there had been no mistake. He looked up and saw Loni heading towards him with Chris Mokihana, the club's burly, surly bouncer. While Dirk was a tae kwando blackbelt and more than able to defend himself with bare hands and bare feet, he did not want to tangle with Chris Mokihana in close quarters in the nude with both the management and the law on Chris' side. Dirk put down his guitar and looked around for his clothes. Jeepers! With the stage lights off, there was no way he could find them before Chris Mokihana closed in on him. He jumped off the stage and instinctively ran to the table at which just 45 minutes ago he had been conversing with Kim-Marie and the others. Ethyl, and especially Blanche, glared at Dirk as he approached, while Kim-Marie sat with her face buried in her hands and her hands buried in Roger's shoulder. However, Roger's eyes were a more than adequate surrogate window to Kim-Marie's soul, and Dirk realized that his lover felt more than just shocked and disappointed, but even betrayed.

Dirk could only pause for an instant, for Chris Mokihana was within ten feet of him. Dirk knew that there was no hope of making it through the front door, so bolted off towards the kitchen, in the hope that the back door was unlocked. As luck had it, the cook had left he door wide open in an effort to keep the kitchen from overheating. Dirk bounded out the door with the bouncer in hot pursuit. The fleet-footed guitarist ran in a counter-clockwise semi-circle around the building, widening the gap with his bulky pursuer. As soon as he reached the front of the building a group of teen age girls screemed with ammused surprise and pointed at him. Fading into the crowd was not an option, not without any clothes, at least, and Dirk turned heel and raced down Kuhio Avenue. However, the streaking caucacian attracted far too much attention on the well-lit main drag, and Dirk decided to cast his luck with

a dash down a side street towards the beach. If nothing else, the surf might hide his nakedness until things calmed down.

However, wouldn't you know it, there were two uniformed police officers sitting in a patrol car eating microwave burritos that they had just acquired from the local seven-eleven, and when they spotted Dirk they threw their car into gear and raced after him.

From Arnie Saiki of Honolulu and Smellay CA. re; R Vehill's novel Hawaii Punk avaialable at Amazon and http://www.enlightened-pyramid.com


"Raoul is a hero! He gets to speak out and tell his version of the Hawaii-everyman-archetype. His indelible vision for posterity is much better than the gum stains on the sidewalk in front of Queen Theater which was proof enough of my own existence. Now, here we have the chronicle that at long last reveals everything that the everyman has been running away from: attempted suicide, visions of family members chasing us with murderous intent, unrequited love with prostitutes and heavenly delirium in stink urinals."