Thursday, December 4, 2014


There is an under current to everything I think, these days.
Everything I do, each step, each breath, each moment.
It comes mostly as a whispering little voice in the back of my head, that just won't stop.
I'm guessing it never will...
"We live in a nation where a man, selling loose cigarettes, can be murdered by the police, as he begs for his life, and they will walk away, unscathed."
There is a fear in that voice, but much louder is the shame.
The horrible shame.
We have let ourselves become the monster of our own nightmares.

Saturday, November 15, 2014

Bar Whining in New Orleans; or, Funny You Should Mention That.

All of this recent talk about banning smoking in all bars & public places in New Orleans has brought back a flood of memories from my days tending bar in the French Quarter. Memories, specifically, of all the people who didn't know how good they had it, and still cried about shit anyway.

I was behind the bar at Sin City that night, one of the tours had left, about 90 people tipping a total of 10 bucks for making each & every one of them a drink in about 15 minutes. Needless to say, I wasn't in the mood for any bullshit.

It was still pretty crowded, and I realized it was one of those nights when the surrounding city was going to send us some emissaries a bit different that our usual rock & roll, black leather crowd. At just that point, three twenty something young women careened in the door, threw themselves against the bar and demanded drinks, as they "were having a hard night". Forgoing the obvious pun, I got their IDs (after much eye rolling and heavy sighing), saw that they were all mid 20s, and began making their drinks.

The girl in the middle was very blonde, and a hair flipper. From her eyebrows, I'd have guessed she was really blonde. She was also strikingly pretty, and well built, more so that the two on either side of her, who were browner of hair, and obviously minions of this particular Cheer-ocracy. I called them her 'Support Ho's'.

They were practically fanning and fawning over the pretty girl in the middle, who was loudly whining that "so many people wanna buy me drinks! Can't they just stop?!"

The Support Ho's clucked and whimpered as though she'd lost a limb, egging her on to levels of whining I thought were reserved for Christians in Hell (it must be a big room). Finally, as I handed them their cups, I couldn't take anymore.

"Look lady," I said as I picked up their money to ring them up, "you should probably learn to enjoy the generosity & attention while you can. This shit won't last forever."

She looked directly at me, stunned.

"What... what do you mean?" she whimpered. Looking right back at her, totally dead pan, I said, "Well, I used to be a pretty young blonde girl, and look what happened to me."

As I turned to the register, she burst in to tears.
Some people are just waiting for an excuse to cry.
About anything.

Saturday, November 1, 2014

'A Day At The Store' or 'Take The Shuttle'

So I'm checking out at Mardi Gras Zone. The cashier is a young man with a large beard, wooly cap and big fur collar, sitting on a stool, talking on the phone.
"Take the shuttle. It's two dollars." he says, in to the phone.
I pile my items on the counter, and slowly, one by one, he bar-code reads them.
"No. Take the shuttle. It's two dollars." he says again, into the phone, making obvious progress, at least on that front.

Finally, I am rung up. $28.05.
I hand him a twenty and a ten.
"No. It's only two dollars. take the shuttle." he says in a convincing monotone.
Victory is no doubt within reach.
He closes the register.
I reach over the counter to get a bag, and begin bagging my groceries, as he watches each movement, sitting on his stool, with his phone to his ear.
"Take. The. Shuttle."

"My change" I say. "$1.95? My change?"
Never moving the phone, he nods, and takes a minute to figure out how to open the register. His nails are a bit long and seem polished.
Shiny, shiny nails.
He finally hands me my change, sort of dumping it into my hand. He offers a grimacey smile thing, and starts back at the phone.
"Oh, nothing. So, are you going to take the shuttle?"

As I step away, the next person in line (there are now several) is just standing there, staring at him as he talks on the phone. I leaned back towards the customer, and in a loud stage whisper, say, "Shhhh... He's on the phone!"

As I turn back to walk out, the cashier finally speaks directly to me.
In his own stage whisper, he says, "Thank you".

Saturday, October 18, 2014

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

The Secret of My Success

"I survive largely on narrow escapes from my own recklessness."
 - LD

Saturday, July 19, 2014

Common Denominator

Today, like many days, stories of the beauty of life play out against stories of abject sorrow.
But who sees these?
It is the consciousness that looks out through all of our eyes, divided only by the ego, the disc operating system for the human incarnations we inhabit. Be that consciousness, and hold fast to it, lest the illusions of separation crush you with despair.
Treat every life you touch as you would your own.
Love is the common denominator, here on battlefield Earth.

May it spread like the air, into all of us.

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

New Orleans People Project

DAY 412 | LORD DAVID | Shadowy Cult Figure

"I'm an artist; of words, images, music, life. I make my living by creating, restoring or salvaging beauty, depending on the beholder's eye. I believe we are all connected, and that life is precious, strange & full of wonder. I believe there is magic everywhere, if only we would take the time to coax it out."

History: Lord David was born feet first with teeth, stolen by Gypsies & raised by Pirates. After being captured by The Evil One during the War with the Giant Rats, Lord David escaped by drawing a window seat third class bus ticket on a cereal box top, and jumped ship in New Orleans.
Artist, writer, bartender, hot shot guitar player, ex-punk & rock singer, late night pub philosopher, general layabout & vagabond, he can be found doing whatever pays or entertains.
He is also the founder & host of the Skull Club.

About My Name; I once spent some time in the company of one of two Succubi, who allowed me to accompany her to ungodly places, as long as I plied her with nights of wild dancing and plenty of beer & chocolate, and allowed her to bite me until I was often covered in bruises in all manner of places.
Finally, they cast me, like a dried husk, on to the road side, and noted my ability to handle their debauched company by giving me the title, Lord David the Dissolute; meaning one who has mastered the art of living without moral restraint.

While this is not necessarily something to be proud of, it is etched forever in to my soul, and my burden to carry through life.

My Job Description:
"Almost all non-literate mythology has a trickster-hero of some kind. . . . And there’s a very special property in the trickster: he always breaks in, just as the unconscious does, to trip up the rational situation. He’s both a fool and someone who’s beyond the system. And the trickster represents all those possibilities of life that your mind hasn’t decided it wants to deal with. The mind structures a lifestyle, and the fool or trickster represents another whole range of possibilities. He doesn’t respect the values that you’ve set up for yourself, and smashes them. . . . The fool is the breakthrough of the absolute into the field of controlled social orders."
   - Joseph Campbell (interviewed by Michael Toms), An Open Life, p.39


This official 2014 NEW ORLEANS PEOPLE PROJECT photograph is being made available only for publication by news organizations and/or for personal use printing by the subject(s) of the photograph. The photograph may not be manipulated in any way and may not be used in commercial or political materials, advertisements, emails, products, promotions that in any way suggests approval or endorsement by the 2013 NEW ORLEANS PEOPLE PROJECT or Photographer Gus Bennett, Jr.