Peyote Coyote says "Leave the Driving to Us"

That's actually the name of one of my songs with my new band PERMISSION, which is playing it's inaugural gig this Wed. night, 10/26 @ 10pm @ The Delancey Bar's "Death Disco". Peyote Coyote (not Peter Coyote)...well you'll just have to read on. For more about PERMISSION, and the gig (which is f**kin' free), you can check us out on myspace at www.myspace.com/permissionyc... Anyway, it's 2am Monday to Tuesday, I'm exhausted and I'm writing something here for the first time in over a month. Yet again I've failed to live up to my promise here to write more regularly. It's not like I have the time, but then again it just aint easy to throw down a few notes and jots with blogger.com. Everytime I log onto here it tells me I've lost my cookies or some shit, and then past posts revert to earlier stages whether I like it or not. The good ol' frayed journal I use to draw pix in the margins of paste lil' scraps o' newspaper articles in never had the convoluted problems I've encountered here. Furthermore, this past month saw my page get ransacked daily by spam. I continuosly get these "comments" from "anomimous", "useranonimos" and "musica"(?) saying "wow, great blog. You should check out this new ultimate hair removal product I have" or some shit. What have they got to gain from leaving a comment here? Spyware and adware is seriously pissing me off. I already lost a computer to that crap (but gained a band name) a couple of months back (long story)... Speaking of long stories, I have many of 'em to spill from the last almost 2 months but can't possibly recount them all now. This particular posting is going to seem all over the place b/c of that... who cares though, right? I'm writing at least, and your glims are reading something new here finally. I've got all these scraps o'paper from the past 7.1378 weeks with tidbits of shits that add up to a whole helluva lot garbanzo beans, and at first I thought I'd excavate them here. However, I read them and now think them to be the meanderings of an idiot dying to leave town. Most of these musings were written before Ieft town in fact-I went to a wedding in New Mexico mid-September that saw me have my first spirtual experience combined with some good ol' late night hot spring skinny dipping. A strange trip indeed that was all kinds of upside down n' backwards forwards with things leading to the next that led to another thing which led to yet another and so on. This seems to be the way things have been much more of late then ever. From thinking that finally Bush will come to shove and Dickless and the G Boys will be run outa town on a rail. From the Delay indictment to the 2005 dead Americans in Iraq the end may finally be in site for this present nightmare administration. Why did we have to have them there in the first place you ask (or don't ask)? Well, this seems to be the way things are going these days-we gotta take a trip through hell to see a little help. In New Mexico it seemed like everything came full circle. Girls met in Goodwill followed us around the State and ended up doing peyote at a campfire with us and a stoned spiritual hot spring couple that knew the girl who got married-met her after she went back home when her mom passed after she was supposed to be my roomate and then showed up at a party thrown for someone who didn't come when I met her as the subway doors closed but she met her future husband there and yada yada yada. Confused? Well... yeah. It was a fantastic trip, and now it seems like everything chas some sorta reason for happenin'... though i have no idea why (obviously)... Now I told you this was gonna be a sloppy blog... Ok, what else. The White Sox are the New Red Sox. Love it. A bunch of misfits in this 1917 vs. never ever been series. The Astros'll be back, but this one belongs to the Chisox. The cubs are next... That was my liver sport report. I'm done in from a year of Red Sox glory. they folded, yeah, but to a superior team, and not the Yanks. Once the Bombers bombed too, I was free and clear from any feeligns of Sox withdrawal. the White Sox were the obvious team to root for, and my having lived in Chi for a couple years made it easy. That and the fact that Fisk played there. I also love their whole disco demolition, short wearing, midget walking, martian dropping history. Hell, I wear Black Sox all the time... ok, enough Liver Sports, I know. Don't get me started.... What else... I met a girl last week that was A-1. Been a while, and though she's outa town and has a bf, I fell for someone again for like the first time since the Ice Age... she exists. Ok, I can get laid with the best of 'em, but this was real yo... Boring, I know, I can hear you yawn. I'm yawning too at my non-clever entry here, but maybe that's the future of "Snot"-less smug wordplay and more honest journalizing. Ok, sexploits will be kept at a minimum, but I'm kinda tired writing about stupid-ass celebrites in succinct reviews that are all they're worth, and gov't corruption without interruption. Maybe this spiritual experience I had-and then getting woken up freezing by coyotes without any false notions about getting lost on the way to shangrila with manipulative young New Hampshire beauties named Nico who lock their keys in their hearts and cars-has lasted with me past the first horrific subway wait and ride I had upon return to Gotham. I have a band now that is made up of genuine cool, good people-not the foursome of cockrock creeps named Joe, Brian, Hubert and Jon that wasted my time the past few years. I also am in the midst of filming another lead in a feature-just a couple months after the last one, and it's another sympathetic everyman part that would go to an A-lister if the money was all there. Shit is good. Broke? Yes. Behind on rent? Yes. Girl I dig in Scandanavia and not in the Loisaida? Yes, but I'm likin' my chances. Maybe you can get snot off a suede jacket afterall. Oh Lenny, put down that baby rabbit, don't do yourself in buddy. I'm as jaded as the rest of 'em, but I aint gonna get all wound up and wind up dead from too many Nipsey Russels and things to do myself in with Bob Denver. "Do the do" is what my dear deceased friend Diane used to always say, and I think the the is important-don't wanna go the way of the dodo now do I? Diane, I miss you darling. You inspired me beyond belief, and I will not let you down... And Rock.