lampshade

perusing huffpost.

clicked, clicked, clicked away and came upon Life.com.

found this.
sick strange world.

?Ellroy numero cinco...o es de seis?

nonetheless, the lil' guy's growing. inch by inch, day by day. a dachshund shnoz ; a long lean torso; stubs for feet; and an omnipresent tail -- waging @ hyper-speed. tad rambunctious as of late -- SOP for pooch's packing pint-sized prairie oysters, ya dig?

memory trigger

i was up near the front, walking through a palm grove near the tigris.

or maybe it was the euphrates.

high on the banks, above the flood zone.

with reeds and brown dirty water floating past.

few jarheads peeing.

taking a piss in the tigris so as to create fond memories, i suppose.

and up on the banks, this house, these little old ladies, and a small contingent of Marines were taking cover as artillery impacted all around.

it's an old story.

told many times before -- even in this blog, i believe -- years ago.

nevertheless, despite the little old ladies crying and sitting and looking up with their jack-o-latern smiles, i forgot an essential detail.

frogs.

frogs and dogs.

this house -- more like a compound, had a large pond that flowed down to the river.

down, down into the murky brown.

everyone knew their part.

Marines clearing the house.

little old ladies crying.

artillery whirring above.

i took a moment.

minute or two.

to bend down, look, and see these weird looking frogs.

big flat heads and grayish-green.

kinda like kermit.

a war-torn kermit, with black pin-head eyes and --

BAM!

a shot rang out.

and this dog -- your prototypical Iraq mutt, went skidding across a walkway -- wounded.

wounded and yelping like dogs so often do.

hauled ass across the grove, never to be seen again.

nobody cared.

me neither -- last of my worries in the march of 2003.

but later that week, or day, or month -- i dunno, things seemed to have blurred in these seven years -- but later, another shot rang out.

BAM!

i didn't see it. just barely heard it.

but another mutt got shot.

hell if i remember who the shooter was -- for some reason i keep thinking it was a zero.

some squid getting his licks in.

my master gunnery sgt. -- a damn good man -- told me a dog got it.

a dirty dead dog.

i was pissed.

but then again, i was always pissed.

anyways, we stopped on the outskirts of Baghdad, near a nice little house -- a Christian house, with crucifixes and Michael Jackson posters -- this kid; this Marine; this peasant with an M-16; heaved his boot into a pup's gut.

i mean -- didn't this guy read books or watch movies?

who the fuck kicks a pup during a war?

the bad guys...

weird.

seen alota dead people thus far.

dead and blown to shit.

hair and teeth and ears where they ain't supposed to be.

i checked this kid; this Marine; this peasant with a M-16; against our Hummer.

his face was gonna meet my fist.

but our Lt. -- one of the good guys -- interceded.

fist did not meet face.

i had forgot.

forgot about that entire incident -- until today.

a random conversation with Annika -- and i remembered.

a memory trigger, i guess.

and i wonder.

i wonder if i survive to be old n' gray.

wrinkled.

with my sword cane and comfortable shoes.

an old lady by my side.

and Sgt. Mandia -- just a few faded photos hidden away between the pages of Walden.

talking viagra and adult diapers.

i wonder...

will it happen again?

Still Questions About Ronni Chasen Murder

Still Questions About Ronni Chasen Murder

now this is interesting...

ellroy et annabel en action

ellroy and annabel in the heat of battle.

no really, they actually love each other.

really...

if you zoom in on ellroy, he looks a bit...possessed by the devil.

WikiLeaks founder Assange has encrypted Guantanamo documents, will release them if arrested - NYPOST.com

for some reason i feel manipulated...by both sides

WikiLeaks founder Assange has encrypted Guantanamo documents, will release them if arrested - NYPOST.com

as the rain poured

we went below deck and hunted ghosts on the Queen Mary.

luckily, we only found one another...

first blood

he had a penchant for gnawing on surplus MREs and dropping deuces on fine linen.

and that baby butt soft wool.

a mouse -- mus musculus

disease spreading house mouse.

with little yellowed teeth and fleas.

and it was slain today.

Ellroy -- my boy -- done got some.

a confirmed kill.

(lets hope dogs don't get PTSD...)

hunting wabbit

up in victorville, cotton tails and jack rabbits abound.

and it sure made Ellroy's day...

last night

he called her a 'whore.'

she said something about his family.

he told her to 'get the fuck out.'

she did, i think.

@ least she stomped off yelling and screaming around 3AM.

oddly i wasn't bothered by any of this.

but i did stick my ear to the wall and listen to these random people hurling insults @ one another late last night in victorville, ca.

you gotta wonder what the hell they're doing with each other.

drug fiends?

pimp/hoe?

or just complacency bred by familiarity?

Bill met Cassie @ A.A.

it was all bullshit, they said. so Bill and Cassie headed to the first gin joint off the interstate.

he may have bought her a shot of the hard stuff.

rot gut brown.

and she may have taken it like a champ.

let it roll down her throat while Bill nursed a Bud and stared @ her breasts.

they went home.

did boom, boom.

little Destiny conceived and Bill and Cassie tied the knot.

right down at the justice of the peace.

but last night...wow.

shazam!

they sure hated each other.

sure lashed out with vitriol.

came close to knocking the snot outa each other.

but they didn't.

she left, yelling and screaming about his family.

and his broke ass.

i kept my ear to the wall.

ellroy licking my toes. wondering if this grimy wall-paper was gonna give me scabies.

but Bill didn't say shit.

not that i could hear.

because the sound of my breathing filled the room.

inhale.

exhale.

Bill coulda mumbled under his breath.

about his time in the Army when his future was bright -- diesel mechanic with a steady income.

and a fat pay check on the 1st and 15th.

anyways, i went to bed real late.

in a real stupor.

my .45 nearby.

and the pooch @ my feet.

watching, guarding...

woke up this morning and they're going @ it again.

this time real simpatico.

nice and cordial -- but still yelling (no, they do not appear to be sicilian)

he 'never drank so much.'

-- not in a while.

and neither did she.

-- in a while.

i think i heard a kid too.

shit.

a kid.

but i'm just rambling.

total speculation.

i wish her the best, i really do.

the best.

anyways, i hope they don't read blogs.

especially mine.

out on the road

it's 15 degrees and there appears to be semen stains on the bedspread.

here @ the red roof inn, in victorville, ca.

but that's to be expected.

gotta great deal on the cheap.

ellroy's on the bed beside me.

and i can hear cars zoom by, chugging up the 15north.

headed to vegas, probably.

the room has two beds and big ole fridge that CLICKS rythmically.

a chair is wedged against the door.

a pistol lies loaded and ready.

just ready.

because the crowd here ain't exactly... refined.

matter of fact i've gathered many folks here are dopers and/or booze hounds.

just a feeling.

nevertheless, i'm here; writing -- oddly unperturbed by the ruckus caused by these tweekers.

that's good, yep.

got my template.

an outline.

notes.

and more notes.

-- gleaned from USC and those wunderkinds.

and Sid Field's book.

and Final Draft staged and ready.

but there's something else.

have you ever been to Griffith Park under a clear night sky?

up high, overlooking Los Angeles.

and the City of Angels shimmers with a million points of light?

well...that's what her eye's look like.

Conspicuous gallantry

glad guys like these are still around...

FOX, Detroit

Vets Producing 15 Minute Documentaries

Vets Producing 15 Minute Documentaries

hey here's something cool

tribune article

interesting article care of the san diego union tribune:

click here

kyle, clint, mandia

The Academic Front

several months -- nose to the grindstone.
great team -- on the ball.
two badass Vets -- Aaron Huffman & Daniel Wong.

take a gander.

my first real deal documentary.

standby for PBS!

THE ACADEMIC FRONT

directed by Chris Mandia

produced by Brave New Foundation

Huff and Operation In Their Boots!

on Veterans Day...

Flight attendants union upset over new pat-down procedures

Flight attendants union upset over new pat-down procedures

there's a particular hate i harbor towards the TSA.

and apparently i'm not alone.

regret to inform

i won't be attending the Operation In Their Boots premiere tomorrow night.

and i truly hope everyone who was planning on seeing it, see's it.

we did some great work.

i'll spare you the intimate details of this malady, because well, they're just plain ridiculous.

the Doc's over @ the Long Beach VA suggested i stay put.

least for two weeks. then the pack goes back on.

crooked smile n' all.

figure sometimes you're swimming, pushing along and up comes a big ole' white shark.

and she takes a bite.

no real rhyme or reason, but she takes a bite.

how is your heart?

by charles bukowski

during my worst times

on the park benches

in the jails

or living with

whores

I always had this certain

contentment-

I wouldn't call it

happiness-

it was more of an inner

balance

that settled for

whatever was occurring

and it helped in the

factories

and when relationships

went wrong

with the

girls.

it helped

through the

wars and the

hangovers

the backalley fights

the

hospitals.

to awaken in a cheap room

in a strange city and

pull up the shade-

this was the craziest kind of

contentment

and to walk across the floor

to an old dresser with a

cracked mirror-

see myself, ugly,

grinning at it all.

what matters most is

how well you

walk through the

fire.

How Will '127 Hours' Be Defined?

How Will '127 Hours' Be Defined?

i really want to see this.

bell's

such a silly, silly, stupid, stupid, disorder.
it's just not fun when life has to go on hold...

santa catalina

near the isthmus the water was like they say -- glass.

great panes of blue, slipping past one another forming giant swathes of reflective space.

and it made for easy spotting up in the crows nest.

thirty-feet up.

two of us.

a Coors apiece in pre-drilled holes.

and a rifle, of course.

always a rifle.

ruger 10/22 loaded with hollow points.

and a shit-ton of ammo @ our feet.

half expended, buzzing under our boonie covers.

just kids. 19/20.

kids.

we talked swap-meet latina's/great white sharks.

i had seen one years back -- the fish, that is.

big 'ole female.

fat and eyes still, black, black,

the boys put her on display a few days later @ the Fisherman's Fiesta.

in a booth, filled with ice -- looking bloated and real dead.

eyes clouded and three to four teeth gouged free by some idiots.

names carved in her belly.

i came to see her quite a few times.

until she stunk.

nevertheless we scanned the big blue -- lots of seals, losts of seaguls.

even a couple sunfish.

with their giant unblinking eyes to the sky.

shot one once.

just one shot and she dove.

an elegant escape.

the skipper chastised me, then broke it down:

never shoot a sunfish; bad luck.

never shoot a dolphin: they save sailors lost @ sea.

never shoot a seal: within hearing range of others.

the afternoon got dark.

near a day had passed in and around the san pedro channel, and no luck.

no swordfish.

pebbly beach to anchor for the night.

then...it caught my eye.

a fin.

actually two fins; a dorsal and tail.

"that a shark?" i asked.

bino's up and focused.

a moment.

and the evinrude diesels kicked over.

"get yer asses down here!"

and yep, it was a swordfish.

xiphias gladius.

and she never saw us coming.

(not me, Zane Grey)

Neanderthal genome yields insights into human evolution and evidence of interbreeding with modern humans

Neanderthal genome yields insights into human evolution and evidence of interbreeding with modern humans

there's gotta be a great movie in there...

.

the little guy

had a good day.

and i even blinked my right eye.

Californians reject legal marijuana - English pravda.ru

Californians reject legal marijuana - English pravda.ru

probably a very good thing.

want medical grade ganja?

get a license.

simple.

a hooch in 2004

it's pushing me towards Jesus

this 'bells palsy,' i gots.

-- reticent to post a pic. just might though. stand by to gawk. warn the kiddos...

not sure if it's right though.

besieged with ailments, then turning to Jesu Christi.

reminds me of those jailhouse conversions.

or fighting hole revelations.

soon as i'm better, out goes the Word.

until another fulsilade of pain.

just dunno.

"go where the universe pushes you," someone once told me.

-- yeah, it's cliche.

but i've tried to live it.

really have.

the plays and the writing and film.

red carpet premieres.

kennedy center.

nicholls semi's.

screenplays.

stage plays.

doing as much as i can.

funny thing: buddy of mine is a big Jesus freak.

recent convert.

wants to be a preacher.

respectable gig.

and i'm even curious to a certain extent.

just can't get over the redneck misinterpretations.

the snake handlers;

filipino cancer healers;

Jesus campers;

and catholics -- geez -- went to Mary Star a few days ago.

sat in the back. way in the back.

few blue-hairs; couple well-fed kiddos; old guy with a limp; retarded girl subued by her furious father; an old maid (maybe she was raped years ago...i sensed she was hurt. hurt bad. it never healed right and she comes everday, just hoping and praying God will fix her. make her right.)

she still kneels.

everyday.

and of course, me: looking like quasimodo.

essentially i fit right in.

the priest did his thing.

verbatim, rarely looking up.

hispanic bloke.

couldn't really understand him 'cept for the prayers.

'our father;'

'hail mary.'

myself, i said a few personal prayers. things i haven't said since 2004.

since fallujah.

because that's when i stopped.

remember the exact time.

night.

when the mortars and rockets came.

by this time, i didn't really give a good goddamn if i lived or died.

so the mortars are dropping, few Jarheads are yelling.

walk over to one of those concrete bomb shelter thingys.

inside: a female Marine.

lil' thing.

lil' tuff girl, she was.

glasses, bootcamp issue.

tiny, tiny lil' sausage fingers;

teacher back home, she once told me.

real gung-ho and i felt very disconnected from her at that time.

but there under the concrete barrier, lil' hardcore female Marine was sobbing like a baby.

like she was supposed to.

like any human was supposed to.

i hugged her.

nothing sexual.

not even intimate.

homo-sapiens reacting to their environment.

saber-tooth tiger in the cave.

titanic hitting deep blue.

737 barreling towards the tower.

(don't ya just love my metaphors? cooking with grease now...)

but we hugged and the impacts ceased shortly thereafter.

Marines hooted and hollered @ the insurgents.

sent out the QRF.

and me and this lil' girl parted ways.

a Lance Corporal.

we never spoke again.

don't remember her name.

walked back to my hooch real numb.

disjointed/nihilistic.

sat on my bed and drank some whiskey my cousin had sent me in a bottle of listerine.

caught a buzz.

right there on the outskirts of fallujah.

far from the tigris and euphrates.

middle of nowhere iraq.

the dirt very dry and the town itself like a bizarre tiajuana.

my right hand on my M16 A2 service rifle.

left on listerine Jack.

drinking.

breathing.

paging through an old Hustler.

wondering what's next.

when you're strange

so now my eye is jacked up due to an old war wound via in the Corps.

surgery @ the Balboa Medical Clinic 2002...i think.

now, docs @ the VA Long Beach told me it should "completely resolve itself within 10 days."

we'll see.

it's paralyzed.

literally just sitting there looking stupid.

corky mandia.

it's given me plenty of time to write, which is a good thing.

i guess...

Operation In Their Boots premiere is NOV 9th.

hoping to go.

really hoping to go -- little beauty I'd like to bring.

but if i'm like this -- gotta cancel.

don't want to,

really don't want to.

but thus is life.

funny 'cause i live a pretty healthy life.

no tobacco...for the most part;

no drinking...for the most part, lol;

no hard drugs;

veggies;

fruits;

swim;

bike;

yoga;

vitamins;

back is a bit better.

goes to show you, if you're fucked...you're fucked.

and 2010 has been rather fucked period of my life.

especially me health-wise.

career-wise, muy bueno.

pissed off christoff is getting old.

i'm still alive.

i'll survive.

add another caveat to my writing sensibilities...how it feels to be paralyzed and look silly.

but hell, i've got it good.

ever seen some of these Iraq/Afghanistan Vets?

WIA -- know what that entails?

not fun.

not funny.

at. all.

me, just a minor glitch...knock on wood

Ellory and the Park

he's a digger

outside La Crosse

it's a long lonely road.

pitch black, mostly.

up comes a bend.

a cryptic glow from nowhere.

a creeping orange-yellow glow among spiderwebbed pines.

it's a house.

with a barn and a john deere tractor out front.

few cows -- one dead. legs folded beneath it's massive shanks.

sheep.

corn.

lots and lots of corn. dry now, just beige and old black.

but it's night, so you cruise.

a steady pace; tentative, watching for deer.

saw @ least half a dozen, i believe.

eyes twinkling under the moon.

and headlights.

gotta be careful though.

they'll kill ya.

step right onto that long lonely road and...

SPLAT!

either you or bambi.

and sometimes bambi got antlers.

and sometimes bambi got a body like dumbo.

nevertheless, down the long lonely road, tiny villages decay away.

never catching on.

never hitting that vein of silver.

the kids all gone.

women sparse.

men drinking Blatt's.

Wisconsin reclaiming its turf. green and red and yellow.

winter approaching -- the Amish clop, clop, clopping along side us.

they don't look too happy.

but when have you seen the Amish look too happy?

smiling on the inside, i suppose.

good people -- they'll dress your deer for $35.

i didn't kill a deer. so off we go.

tail-lights fading, shrinking, condensing.

then gone.

just like that.

a memory.

mandia and the pips

no, i was not high.

Gray Eagle

gave me this -- he's a Vietnam Vet.

'gives you peace,' he said.

'thank you,' i replied.

an old city

it's an old city, la crosse.

old and cold. dive bars line the strip and the road is brick; cracked and gummy.

but it's a nice place.
above the bars are large rooms.
some for rent. others abandoned.
red lights under red umbrellas.
and when people look @ you, they aren't scowling.
mostly smiles, mostly.
i walked around a bit -- it was night, checked my 'six.'
ALL CLEAR
kept plodding on brick.
passing bar after bar -- watching the people inside.
and in the bars, these old gin joints, there were...Women.
few blokes.
but Women.
odd because in San Pedro (that's where i'm from) the dive bars are mostly filled with men.
mostly.
on occasion a black transexual.
she goes by 'tina-for-free-ah.'
she hasn't been seen since 2003.
-- just before the war.
nevertheless, downtown La Crosse seems like my kinda haunt.
five bucks gets you a never-ending mug of frosty booze.
pabst blue ribbon.
don't knock it, especially in Wisconsin.
but it's been a long day.
a long back-breaking day.
discs definitely distressed.
jacuzzi a must. twenty minutes max.
then rest.
good rest in an old city named La Crosse.

WI, 2010

off to Wisconsin under gray sky.

an echo chamber.

tankers slow today, but you can hear them, still.

when the car stereos aren't vibrating my windows.

the VA Creative Arts Fest 2010. hosted in La Crosse, WI.
friend of mine; Mike McCann, collaborated on a short film -- we won the gold.

drama writing...or something like that.
should prove interesting.
lots of Vets.
lots of stories.

mostly true.

from California

just a normal day

@ the compound.

the black and white ones are called, barred rock.

and the big tan thing, that's a tortoise.

too short

but i had to come back.

here's some pix...enjoy with a fine pinot noir.

update soon.