cougar, not the human female-type

yup. last night there was a stir.

big ole stir

the chickens went ape.

screaming like women.

and i went outside with ellroy.

and i felt something.

a presence.

not yer average raccoon/opossum/feral kitty-type presence.

something bigger.

with weight.

and i didn't see, no. it was dark.

but i advanced, picked up silkie; one of my chicks, and she screamed bloody murder, like some last death cry before being devoured alive.

so i approached, and this thing -- it moved slowly.

when it wanted.

because it wasn't afraid.

and there was a moment when the power changed.

when this human wasn't the top dog in his environment.

nope.

fear.

primal fear set in, just for a second, but it was there and i wished i'd taken my pistol with me that night.

because i heard something that i've only heard @ a zoo.

a ROAR.

a no-shit roar of some big cat.

deep.

resonating.

intimidating.

a ROAR.

ellroy literally jumped in my arms.

so i backed up real slow.

backed up into my house, locked the door, and went for my .22lr

-- which was probably a mistake, small caliber like that useless.

anywho, the cougar/mountain lion/werewolf/goth kid out for chicken blood, absconded.

heavy footsteps crunching away along the canyon's perimeter.

and then nothing.

nada.

it was gone and i was standing there -- 3am, holding my pistol and my pooch, wondering what the hell just breached my fence and set the fear.

Ellroy # 3

the pup has it good...

open road

think i'm gonna take a road trip this SEPT.

yeah.

think so.

head to New Mexico and attend my friend's play.

"Red Umbrellas."

written and directed by Beth Iha.

can't wait.

but i'm debating.

should i bring the Roy?

Ellroy, that is.

he's good in the car -- just cozies up on my lap and racks out.

but it's a LONG drive.

did it a couple years ago. definite adventure.

sleeping off the grid -- pulling out into some dirt road in Arizona, pitching a tent, writing in the journal, sleeping with my Glock, etc., etc.

might prove to be a great experience -- me and the pooch.

idea for another story.

we need ideas.

and i've been in need of some action lately too.

action on many, many levels...

something to get the blood stirring -- something other than bitching about the punks on my street.

ghetto bird patrols.

recalcitrant solicitors.

this time and place are theirs.

anyhow, pissed off christoff needs something substantial.

something.

can't write without it.

gotta put myself out there and get a reaction.

that's how it works for me.

and i like NM -- big wide open sky.

mesa's -- flat top mountains.

Indian's selling fireworks.

those empty stretches of road -- few dilapidated houses, general store.

characters abound.

and my friend, of course. she's there. and her kids.

the kids are cool.

can't forget the pistolas.

BAM! BAM! BAM! out in the desert.

sick Ellroy on jackrabbits and ground squirrels.

must be careful though -- rattlesnakes and the dreaded mojave green.

that's nature for you -- beauty and death.

can't be afraid to walk through the fire.

but we'll see.

i don't neccesarily trust the corralla.

just too much terrain to traverse.

a roadtrip.

yeah.

think so.

there's this lesbian thug that smokes pall malls

and she was yelling.

right there in the middle of the street.

it was 3pm.

and damn hot.

so i closed my doors and turned on the AC.

start writing.

editing.

and Ellroy's ears perk up.

twitch in his muzzle...

he rang the bell several times and rattled the door like he owned the place.

at the door, a young man.

hispanic, i think.

'vigilante,' stenciled on his shirt. shaved head, carrying a clipboard.

i kept the metal screen door closed and locked.

he said i owed him ten bucks.

the hell i did.

said he painted my address on the curb.

said he put a flyer on my door and if i didn't want my address painted on the curb i was supposed to annotate that on the flyer.

he didn't say "annotate, " though.

told him i was broke.

didn't have any money.

and he seemed angry.

didn't care i was broke.

like i offended his manhood as a major player in the curb stenciling world.

i suggested he join the Army.

"whateva," he said.

and he walked down the steps mumbling some other shit i couldn't understand.

just another product of the Los Angeles Unified School District, I thought.

nearly every night shenanigans.

last night -- car squeals wildly.

seconds later -- BOOM!

Ellroy up and out, barking like a madman.

then the ghetto bird.

WHOOMP! WHOOMP! WHOOMP!

close.

real close.

shook the house.

spotlight shining bright and the chickens went ape.

it was 4am.

few nights earlier i hear something.

kids.

kids in baggy white t-shirts and shaved heads, up to no good.

and sure as shit,

SMASH!

abandoned truck across the street looses it's driver-side window.

kids run off.

that was 12am.

they discard bags of 'flaming hot cheetos' and mcdonalds napkins on the lawn my gramps seeded over 60 years ago.

Ellroy was walking and found a hypodermic needle.

few used condoms.

and a thing called a "dental dam."

for the curious:

www.lapdcrimemaps.org

Goodbye Iraq: Last US combat brigade heads home | Nation/World News from AP | Star-Teleg...

Goodbye Iraq: Last US combat brigade heads home | Nation/World News from AP | Star-Teleg...

so i think i might sleep better tonight, knowing the war is done.

Iraq subdued.

mission accomplished.

but i gotta wonder, was it worth 4,287 American lives?

ahh...i'm just a pissed off Veteran.

glad we're out.

hope it meant something.

as soon as possible

think the best thing to do is get a boat.

40 foot with a crow's nest.

plenty of diesel reserves and food.

hotdogs and lobster pots.

good lures.

several reels.

preferably PENN gold series.

and lots of line.

you'll need weapons too.

stainless mini-14.

hollow-points;

steel core;

and hunting rounds.

find a first mate down in Wilmington.

young Mexican girl who can cook.

and likes to work.

and looks damn good in a bikini, which you'll supply.

feed her well. buy her a bike and teach her to shoot.

but get the boat ready and set sail as soon as possible.

getting to it

im puffing a cigar right now. its late. near morning.

its an a.fuente cigar from the dominican republic.

not too long or thick.

maduro dark. and it tastes good.

two 5-hour energy drinks.

i'm not buzzing, but im ready to write till the sun comes up.

done with the documentary, spare some loose change.

surprised how much time it involved. and very curious to see the final cut after the editors do their thing.

ellroy curled up, sleeping.

miles davis is playing (you ever see his eyes? pupils dilated wide and black).

sonny rollins, too.

they're all dope fiends. or were.

cocaine.

seems like alota artist-types are dopers.

big monkeys on their back.

gotta lock themselves up in a room and detox.

and the drink, too.

so far, so good for me. managed to keep away thus far.

VA prescriptions are winding down. starting to realize i'll be living with pain meds for the rest of my life.

or until the back miraculously heals.

maybe if i say enough 'hail marys.'

but thank God you can't go to the corner store and buy vicodin.

these alcoholics got it bad.

must be so damn tempting. no wonder there's plenty,

of artist-types, and regular Joe's sucking down the junk.

doesn't sit right with me.

so i'll take my meds, smoke my cigar, drink a coke zero, and get to it.

Ellroy and the Beach

down the road, rounding portuguese bend, you'll find yourself isolated and alone -- a real beach; rocky and without sand trucked in by the city.

go down a cliff. whichever. but go down a cliff and wear good shoes.

leave the sandals @ home.

rattlesnakes afoot.

and bring a girl.

a pretty girl with dark hair and red, red lips.

bikini top and daisy dukes.

@ least that's the general idea.

hell, Ellroy didn't seem to miss the girl.

happy as a clam, he was.

men without women

nights in san pedro have been pretty tame.

for me @ least.

writing;

ellroy;

chickens;

netflix streaming;

more writing;

reading;

no tina;

no vivian;

no women;

just me and a laptop (mac-book-type).

pluggin' away.

you'd think i'd be uber-productive.

all this time to focus. the drama wrung dry.

you'd think...

it's trickling. just a steady flow working across my forehead.

but hey, i found this on youtube!

"meet the breed,"

-- whaddya expect, i've been single for a couple months now...

Ellroy numero dos ~

it was in her bedroom.

Granny's.

Ellroy chilling in the cut.

scamming on the mellow.

and POOF!

i smell it.

perfume. old lady-type.

the pooch looks up, just up in the air.

ears shifting like a satellite acquiring a feed.

head skyward.

eyes bright. pupils deep deep black.

shinning.

a moment.

and then he smiles.

(least that's what i think...)

this homeless guy

has been living under the bridge for quite some time.

@ least since i've been back. six years now?

used to reside in Wilmington. had a shelter set up.

-- F.O.B. Wilmas, we used to call it.

but he's here now.

-- under the bridge with his Big Gulp.

"Blackie."

that's what i call him.

he's white, but i call him "Blackie."

-- go figure.

long stringy dreadlocks "Blackie," has.

and he's tall.

and he's filthy.

and he never smiles, not even a smirk.

he's a misanthrope.

hates people, i think.

or maybe society, i dunno.

can't help but think he's a Veteran.

course, pure speculation on my part.

but he sits under the bridge near the Dog Pound and scowls.

as if he's passing judgement on every car that cruises on by.

"Blackie."

that's what i call him.

and he lives under the bridge.

and he's been there for quite some time...

there's something about watching

a great movie.

there is something that just takes you in and never stops and you go, go, go...

been watching alota shit on netflix lately.

buncha crap with bleached-out women and buffed-out men.

sporting assault weapons,

and navigating a half-assed script.

not that i'm any better.

but i'd like to think so.

so i watched "The Exorcist."

Friedkin and Blatty.

man, even @ 10am on a SUN, it still put the fear in me.

still.

light outside.

Ellroy on my lap gnawing on his butt.

busting doggy ass.

the mestizos mowing the lawn.

and i gotta admit, i was a little scared.

we burned the ouija board a couple weeks ago.

huff and i.

he wanted to.

i obliged.

swore he saw the flames shoot from below.

i dunno.

just burned to me.

caused a stink.

but we burned the quija board.

$20 down the drain.

Tina bought it, eons ago.

anyways, no more quija board.

just a Spanish-language monopoly.

-- an accident.

Ellroy's having a nightmare right now.

growling and twitching in his sleep.

face taught.

tail wagging.

some whimpers.

think i'll wake him up.

nightmares are no good.

no good at all for a little pup