I got a need to go buy some new records. I think i'm going to get the mamas and the papa's one hit album. There's picture of the four of them in a bathtub, as the cover art. It's a faded color-looking image. Faded eastman color 1960s California. Just the way I like it. My folks had that phonograph, when I was just a wee little thing. Even back then I was struck by how everday-looking those four were, crunched together in an old tub, like you'd see in an apartment in Berkely. geeky looking guys with sideburns. Chubby, loveable gals. That'll be good. It'll go with the house.

That's the vibe I'm into, at least when I hang out in the front house. Or drive around in the Cutlass. There's a spot somewhere
on the map of time,
I try to divine
I'm hypnotized by this place. I can't stop toiling. I polish surfaces as would a monk. Nothing I do seems to put much of a dent in it. Trees are overgrowing every roof gable. The gutters are full of leaves and gack. It's not an issue now, but when the rains comeit sure will be. I've left this trench in the front driveway half-full of gravel. I see potted plants there some time, or maybe some exotic, wispy grasses. But now there's no time. Fuck.

Gotta just buck up. Life feels vulnerable sometimes. But then I'm still here. It turns out there was nothing to worry about after all. And if the basement floods, then there it is. It's all just phenomena. I wish I could run out in the street and share this with everyone.

I saw a guy driving the van I want. It's a mid 60s Ford Econoline, cab forward pickup truck. It was one of those small American delivery vans that tried to throw down with the Volkswagen Kombi. But anyway, a lot of guys have hot-rodded them. They lift the rear-end way up high, and paint the whole thing primer-black. Remove the tail-gate and get yourself some glass pack, flowmaster whatever inner-city pipes you want... And you've got a Cheech and Chong, *East Los* special.