Dharma Bums All

Anna Nicole Smith is dead and I feel sad because I feel like I grew up with her. I remember the old guy. I remember the jugs. I remember when, like my friend Donahue, she was one of the most beautiful women on earth.

No, I do not think that Anna Nicole Smith was the Marilyn Monroe of our generation. I do think she was a beautiful woman always trying to make life work for herself but, I feel like reality television and John F. Kennedy have kept she and Marilyn worlds apart. I believe there will be a cloud of confusion around her death for a while;I do not think a senator will ever be suspected. This will not be the same heartbreaking crisis. It will be a three ring circus, for sure, but this was not an American Sweetheart, not in the way that this can be tragic. There is already one very rich family out there patting their pockets and breathing a little more easily.

People are already saying it figures, how else would it end?

A sad, sad woman needs some rest.
Give it.

Meanwhile, a few hours later, last night, I saw No Great Society. A fabulous piece, created by Elevator Repair Service, in which Jack Kerouac is further obfuscated and explained. Someone in the play said, that what we got going on now, in all of our counter cultures, is in part Kerouac's fault.

Yeah, you crazy son of a bitch, you're why I love my car, seek out instability, have taken to drink, and don't feel the pressure to do laundry too often, aren't you?

What do you think Kerouac would say about the Internet and Reality Programing?

Meanwhile, in not a Hard Rock hotel, in not a New York City black box, on the other side of the planet, some people are scrapping on a Temple Mount about praying.
About prayer.


Walking out to my car, after the play, I noticed someone had left a pinata- in the shape of a Rhinoceros- on the car parked behind me. He was purple and happy faced. I almost took him, but then I remembered myself and thought; this is someone else's pinata.