They Could Never Tear us Apart...

I was standing.  You were there.

Two worlds colliding.

And they could never tear us apart.

Remember those parties?  They weren't at your house or anyone's you knew.   They were at some strange person's place who didn't really exist.  You faintly remember a putting great in their front yard.  A fight between a guy you barely cared about and a guy who was almost a legend but upon remembering better he was practically a gas station attendant.  Yes.  Those were the times.  Fairlawn/West Akron/Cleveland Suburbia/Cantonia.... Ravenna/Kent?/Ha!... how did you not get a DUI?

Same goes everywhere else.  I remember (this is ironic) waking up and saying to myself... one... two.. fourteen... days straight of blackouts... and each night my car was backed into my garage space; perfectly...

Load your head

Blow it up

Feel Good Baby....

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8/4/2007: Associated Frotuss Press Wires:21:43:33:  This Bullshit seems to be the quotation everytime I log in to update this webaddress....  You know what I do?

Nothing.

You know what they can do?

Suck it.

When they actually do something, then I'll call them on the phone and talk to the gorgeous sounding French girl.

In other news... I'm thinking of famous quotes that might actually be my own but they'll surely get you slapped, kicked or given some type of cold shoulder.  Why not, right?  This website sure could use a cold dose of humor since I've been doing nothing but being forlorn and intent; a drama-site all the sudden; thanking the 9 corners of earth and and the several tentacles of space and thanking God who grants me trespass each day on this blue/green planet and now that I have an offspring of my own and another on the way I am beyond grateful for said opportunity.

Now.  Without Blinking, I will enjoin a purpose that is within my mind's frame since last evening when I visited a local chinese eatery and my wife ordered food and there were two people w/ my name and I picked up his food and apparently he picked up mine.  Mine was super, super spicey.  It makes me drink more beer.  I went back and the beautiful woman of the far asian persuasion made me get on a tangent of the most awful kind..........

Bad Pickup Lines:

How would you like to be pregnant?

Analyze it:  You can't get much more to the point than this.  It doesn't only tell the woman that you'd enjoy foreplay, intercourse and afterplay but would enjoy a long entanglement together that means giving her money for at least 18 or 24 years or so without so much as slipping on a banana peel or standing a little too close on the public transport.

As much fun is this line is to repeat in your head, it only works with a woman after you really already have her or with a simply good natured female who probably knows that she's the object of a lot of attention and potential affection and erections.

Have you ever made a porn?  I think I saw you one time.

Analyze it:  Even if it was true she probably was paid a lot of money to do it.  And if you watched it, you probably don't have enough to pay her to duplicate it because the odds are it was an FFM scene and honestly, you'll never live up to your own expecatations.  Don't even tell her that you're hung like a porn star because telling women how your hung only works in pornos even if it is true.  Strippers wil encourage you to brag etc, but you should also notice that you're paying them 400.00 hour to simply rub their boobies across your face and give your pant-burn to the soft backside of your penis.  Not smart.  Plus you smell like a perfume barn of the worst kind.

Part II.... Coming.... Soon... (Yes, pun intended)

Goodbye Primitive Man

7/25/2007: Frotuss Press Wires:  Ahhh... So long primitive man!  Or so I like to think. 

The cave man Geico commercials are such subtle reminders of what the civilized world has to endure as we ramble along through the mire attempting to live our normal lives; getting children off to school; getting mom into a comfortable place so we can drug her up until death readies the scythe.  The cave men are the ones who would use sharp or blunt objects to sever the rest of us from our selves.  I am scared and ashamed to know that I am but 1 degree of separation from the the Doctor whose wife and daughters were murdered in Connecticut this past week.  It was so frightening that after the story; reading it; I told my wife to make sure that she turns the alarm on during the daytime and then to find out that the convicts who perpetrated this slaughter made the mayhem 3 doors down from the judge who had convicted them... such near randomness... every day is russian roullette.  Honestly.  We must wake up and decide to just do whatever we want anyway because if we wake up or just wake and work or wake up and kill ourselves; I mean, it's a fifty/fifty everytime; just because you land on heads every day for the last 16000 days doesn't mean it will happen tomorrow.  Cherish these days.  Cherish life.  Cherish love.  Cherish that jerky fucker at the cinema who just wants to upsell you on the popcorn and soda or the telemarketer because it's all part of this antiquated little old society that somebody several hundred years from now will yearn for and wish that they lived in; something like China.

Cherish it all because Primitive Man would love to come along and bash you over the head.  Primitive man is sitting there wanting to assume the economy is going to decline; assume that we never change and we never learn as a conglomerated yet independently acting society; that we'll never get beyond ourselves; that some how the world's money and economies are all doomed.  That some little Arab sitting in a well in Pakistan is going to crash the stock markets and wreak havoc yet again; that somehow we're not carrying a stiff jaw in the face of pissed off petrol dealers.  We must walk firmly through the ghetto with a smile on our face and ready to help solve riddles in the world.

So many sayings... You can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink.... You can give a man a fish and he can eat for a day or you can teach a man to fish and he can eat for a whole lifetime... Please ponder as I refuse to give to the panhandler; the fat panhandler; the fat drunk looking panhandler.  Red in the cheeks from too much sun, smiling there on the street's median's end at the Floridian stoplight under swaying palms.  I have more respect for the northern bums.  They sleep on the sidewalk in zero degree weather; so they're even crazier and should be allowed to go and live and work on a farm somewhere; take the homeless all to a farm.  Let them live, learn, and eat for life.  That would not be primitive.

These bullets to the heads... These sharp and blunt objects... These primitive, primitive things.

Let us not discount the primitive good, like some sex and some drugs and the primitive animilistic force inside of us just driving us all somehow a little mad, but the primitive bad must be overcome through education and understanding a most of all... sharing.  Sharing of culture and of the soul.

I vote that we start a new club and since PETA is getting so much pub due to an American Football Player that we should take even a higher road and start a club dedicated to the ethical treatment of people.... PetP anyone?

People for the
Ethical
Treatment of
People.....

As in no killing for any reason... if you're government tells you to kill... you say "no" and as in if your religious leaders tell you to kill you say "no" and as in if people tell you to mistreat or act unethically in anyway whatsoever toward another human being because that person is another human being you say "no"!

Sounds really simple doesn't it?  Sounds like a brave new world in which governments and religions are no longer necessary doesn't it?  Simply amazing that ethics in general isn't a larger part of the worlds' view.  There should be a "WEO" in Geneva, Switzerland, I mean, there's a "WMO" or a World Meteorlogical Organization that's entire body is made out of self-heating glass, so why shouldn't there be a "WEO" or "World Ethics Organization".  I guess the United Nations is supposed to be that in some regard but the UN seems nothing more than a library that collects periodicals and a lot of money (I used to have a pass and could get into it whenever I wanted) so to me it seems like it's worn out its use....

SO, YES... that's what I've been working on for the past several weeks... a world saving game plan... called ethics and PETP... A simple notion called "DO NOT KILL".  I believe it was a commandment and a basic tenent of all religions and all governments yet somehow along the way to the party some people got drunk and were able to convince some other less-smart people that killing was not only "okay", but actually a "good idea".  Really so amazing, that people desperate enough will actually go out and kill their neighbors or girlfriends because they don't have such essential items as "money" or "respect".   I guess America takes the blame on this one becaue we put out so much crap claiming to be the best that eventually it's just pissing people off both inside and outside the borders.

Primitive man cannot get beyond his own penis.  He will not reason beyond what he is told to believe.  Or will he?  Does he know what ethics are?  Would he stand up for them in the face of what he believes is wrong and going on against him? 

Just press and question primitive man whenever you see him.  Perhaps he will listen after some frotuss.

The Syd

(Frotuss Press 07/07/007)  One year ago today one of the Godfathers of the psychedelic underground and founding member of Pink Floyd died.

Written about for being an obstinant character and a charismatic, often childlike person there's a certain bond that I share with Roger Keith "Syd" Barrett.  Syd took drugs, notably LSD, in excess during the 60s.  It was inspiration to this artist but unnecessary.  He was already a creative type and was already "out there".  Unfortunately, for him, he never returned from his hobbit like world about which he often wrote and based many of his songwritings on; it enabled The Floyd to lift off and it's easy to say that they've never really looked back since they replaced him with Dave Gilmour and the band that he basically started left him.

Fuck the world news

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 22:00:00:3/July/2007)  Fuck the world news and bloggers, too (no offense, none taken).  Turn on the news.  Visit every single national headline reporting world news agency and guess what: I've covered this before: same 7 fucking headlines!

No good news, obviously.  No news that's actually "NEW".  Obviously, the morning "BLOWUP" is reported.  That's what we have world powderkegs for.  Obviously.  We stoke the flames in those furnaces by keeping "THE SHIT" "THERE".  That's the point of Iraq, and the Balkans and Northern Ireland and Palestine, parts of Malaysia etc.  Wherever there is unrest.... let's have them keep it there and at the end of the day what is exactly reportable and newsworthy about that?

In America, we have the same thing but on a smaller scale.  Sad.  But I'll admit when I read the local paper and I see someone got shot, I check to make sure that the person was a gang member and it was gang related.  Happily, that's a relief to me.  When Caucasions start getting fired upon for driving expensive SUVs for no apparent reason, I begin to worry about buying a fucking prius due to my Gas Habits or strip club tendencies (ha).

Seriously.  Drugereport.com has the headlines, typically, first.  But everyone else has them soon after.  What's the point?  What am I gaining?  Am I gaining stress and thereby gaining weight thanks to the latest in medical research that says that stress causes fatness?  If that's the case then I'm going to strictly stick with Porn because nothing, I mean absolutely, nothing makes me happier than a couple, three, four lesbians engaging in happy licks and all the better if they're hot.  One dude, and two chicks!  Great!  That's the guy I want to be right this instant.  Nothing makes me happier than two gorgeous chicas arguing over the head of my... you get the point (sorry sincere, lady readers for this rant... but I'm making a "racquetball point here" where the point is actually buried somewhere in the corner behind me but I took advantage of a crack in what is proper to take several steps into my natural inclination towards hedonsim... thanks for your kindness)...

Oh, back on point.  Why not just create news and not like in some "Onionion way".  What good is being incredulous and ripping decent people at the same time.  Granted I engage in it sometimes but never in a way where the newsmaker doesn't deserve some sort of ribbing.  (See all old news archives above).  Seriously, what's so fucking fascinating about the news?  The local news is nothing but tragedy and awkwardness. 

(Cue Beatles song:  "It's getting better all the time")

Honestly, the world is improving on a daily basis.  The world loves to ridicule America.  We're Rodney Dangerfield in so many ways because the more populous we become the more redneck assholes we spawn as well as other types of assholes.  We have all kinds the world knows little of.  The rednecks are funny but I liken them to many of our eastern european brethren.  They're bold as hell and somewhat more educated and I love the hell out of them.  They're compulsively... uhhh... Friggin' Borat... Ohkay, he's an exxageration (sp?) but it's true.  I've been all over Europe and I run into them here and there and they want to make me the second class citizen whenever ladies are involved and it is a riot.  It's not the fact that they forked over the 300 Swiss Francs to get us in the wierdo club, it's the fact that they paid for me to get in, too, and then they want me to leave because my addiction to (once again, excuse me ladies) pussy, is every bit as all consuming as theirs  (was.. I think... married now...). 

Where was I???

Oh, Lost in point... Yes, yes, the news.

What was it that I did in my lifetime that inspired this insipid hatred from various factions of the worldover?  Is it my consumption of mass quantities and rapacious use of refuse?  Is it my inability to fully absorbe a foreign language?  Is it my 500 channels of television (yes, this is probably it)?  Is it my broad appeal to foreign women due to good teeth, good hygiene and genetically modified foods making me a big tan, blonde musclehead bulging in all directions? 

No, no, it's none of that bullshit that is easy or not easy to believe.  It's the news.  In foreign countries where the government literally controls the press and they take to the streets in an uproar over what "The FUcking NEWS" told them well, then they are just parrots and chimpanzees acting on command of the "BIG FINGER ON THE BUTTON" and guess what, in Europe and America, South Africa and Japan and China and India and even in my favorite country of Australia (the free-est, I think)... they're just regurgitating the corporate news philosophy.

Here we are.  We finally have grassroots, literally at our fingertips, and our laziness forgoes our acting in our own self-interest for the betterment of all mankind by simply writing what our free minds think on our almost-free websites and simply reporting what we see, feel and think to the world.  I'm very proud that Frotuss.com is read on every continent (by the few and the cool!).  It shows that there is at least a percent of the population likes being talked to by someone who isn't a sellout and is creative and loves his fellow man unconditionally and someone who just like them, maybe likes to frotify and smile.  At least smile.

Thank you in Brasilia!
Boston!  You whackos!
Thank you in Denmark!!
Thank you all over Switzerland!!
Thank you in Finland!
Thanks in Bakersfield, CA!
THanks in D.C.!!
Thanks in FL, of course!
Thanks in Paris!!!!
Thanks in PA!
Thanks in Galveston, TX!
Thanks in Germany!
Thanks Bellevue, WA
Thanks in London!
Thanks in Dublin!
Thanks in Cananananananada!!!!
Thank you San Jose, LA, San Fran (my people)
Cleveland, Brooklyn, Pittsburgh, Philly, Jersey
Espoo, Finland you rock!

Last but not least, Thank you Amsterdam!!!!!!!!!

I'm truly amazed, actually, as I just found out the other day, of how international this website really is.  Thank you brothers and sisters of Frotuss... the code word for Weed... Pot... Cannabis...Grass.. Sleepy, Sleepy...

Even if...

Late,

Go get fucked up.  This is what we do in America on this date in the year... It's a non religious holiday... it's what makes america kind of cool... no matter what you are, you love the non-secular holidays as a people because we get to take the day off and try to find something irrationally exhuberent to get into... Women, get drunk.  Yes, women get drunk!  (That's an order!)

Frotify, and smile.

Really no news...

Frotuss Press Wires 1-July-2007:  There's really nothing unusual going on, save, for the long weekend that will actually be an entire week long with July 4th coming on a Wednesday look for this to be the laziest week of the year outside of Christmas.

Monday: planning for Wednesday
Tueseday: planning for Wednesday; half day
Wednesday: no work.  laziness.  fireworks all night from every angle around my house
Thursday: late to work; getting over wednesday
Friday: half day, getting ready for the weekend.

Look for CNN and Fox to report on deadly things happening in Baghdad and possibly London and possibly New York.  The New Yorkers won't stand for it though and somebody will get beaten if they even try that car bomb shit.  They'll go looking for your momma.

It's summer and time for the Doors....

And we laughed like soft mad children smug in the wooly cotten brains of newborn infancy...
Enter the hot dream... come with us... everything is broken up and dances (hello, LSD).

Insane in the woods.... The young folk... Led by a King of Kings.... An impossible sea when the dog barks... I am a death bird... Bird of Prey, Bird of Prey, Flying High, Flying High, in the summer sky... gently pass on by... Am I going to die...

Indians scattered on Dawn's highway bleeding.
Ghosts crowd the child's fragile eggshell mind...

(Thunder)

(Bass guitar... Synthesizer... Rain... more thunder...)

Riders on the storm....

Into this house we're born...

When Morrisson or Shakespeare refer to "This House" they're not talking about a house per se.  They're talking about "A constellation"... the house of the dog... belt of Orion...etc otherwise known as a tail of unfortunate events not to be undone by anything earthly; a pre ordained destiny of ill-fortune... possibly.

Gotta love your man,
take him by the hand.
Gotta love your man.

(Go with God)

You know I love you...so...

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 06/30/2007:20:59:52) "And it was all yellow... for you..."

(Coldplay: Trouble circa 2000)

O no, I see,
A spider web is tangled up with me,
And I lost my head,
The thought of all the stupid things I'd said.

O no, what's this?
A spider web, and I'm caught in the middle,
So I turn to run,
The thought of all the stupid things I've done,

And I never meant to cause you trouble,
I never meant to do you wrong,
And I, well if I ever caused you trouble,
And oh no, I never meant to do you harm.

O no, I see,
A spider web and it's me in the middle,
So I twist and turn,
Here am I in my little bubble,

Singing out loud, I never meant to cause you trouble,
And, I never meant to do you wrong,
And I, well if I ever caused you trouble,
Oh, no I never meant to do you harm.

They spun a web for me,
They spun a web for me,
They spun a web for me.

I Am the Walrus...

Frotuss Press:  What's probably most striking about Bill Clinton in case you haven't noticed is that he could probably be a leading man or at least a number two at the worst.  What's even scarier is that I'm afraid I'll look just like him some day.  I was in Geneve one late night in 1998 trying to score hash and these drunken frenchy motorcyclists that I thought I could score from who couldn't speak Anglais said to me.. "YOU LOOK LIKE BEEEEL CLEEENToN... COWBOY..." 

That stuck w/ me.

I'm pretty sure he's coming back somehow.

If I ever was myself, I wasn't that night...

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 20:00:00:06/23/2007) Got the Bob Dylan Blues and the Bob Dylan Shoes and my hair is in all but a mess...   The land in silence stands...
The land in silence stands...
The land in silence stands.

Okay, now that we've had our ode to Syd Barrett, my father, for lack of a better misunderstood or misguided guide here let us sit here and try to understand the yearnings of the gifted, middle-classed. 

We look to those that have broken out from the norms and have shattered the tentacles of the subordinated universe.  It's a wage war at first.  We look deep within to find that which is unique so that we may become the next Syd Barrett or the next Jim Morrisson or John Lennon or Paul McCartney.  We're born with the natural sensibility to relate to the general public.  We've got that basic disinterest down by the time we reach nursery school, man.  It's only natural to hate, love and move on.

To Be continued...

Great Gatsby!!

22 June 2007:

Oh, If we don't find, the next Whiskey Bar, I tell ya we must DIE, I tell ya we must die...

21 June 2007: The Awakening:  Summer is Born.  Young and old alike are burgeoning from their springlong rut.  Summer loving, as they say, floats through the air like a wasp angry and ready to sting those foolish enough not to walk around in the proper gear.

Who must I be this summertime?  The summer of 89 was so long ago.  Thirteen going on thirty-three.  T'was a fortnight ago, twasn't it?  These are the days I forget my age.  Drug addled  self-induced cave man commercials beget this non-twitchy me.  Those 1990s and my poor, poor genes.  Such boastful, pragmatic genes; macho as it were/is (lest I forget) leading me to this ultimate of Marlboro Man (TM) commercials: a blog wherein no one can speak back.  Why have someone else's opinion tainting my own?

Imagine walking into a party where everybody has heard about you and everybody has had wild times but your wild times have been retold amongst them with such vigor that your presence casts shadows on their faces.  They wait.  Waiting for you to make the next move... because you always make the next move... you are a cat... biding his time... racing through whiskey, gin, racing around the room girl to girl.  The setting is familiar, but this time their guard is up.  You are no longer directing this musical, you are lead banjo and monkey's on the symbols and the triangles can't keep a tune if their lives depended on it.  Your head grows heavy and your grin begins a  mirthy creep out to the side of your face just so that you can support it that way by balancing.  Eye contact with one off-limits vixen here; a brush up against another one.  All along your friends know you so well they tell you that all women want you, jokingly, but somewhere inside you know it's possible.

The booze mixes and the smoke mixes on.  You find time to pick a friendly arguement.  Proof is never found for or against and that is your point.  Not point A being right or point B, but that somewhere off in the mist middle there is but truth and you ask if it is okay for everybody to get more wasted because it seems about the right thing to say at this time.  It is afterall, only 10:30.....  It is the time for reckoning... will enough fun be had here or shall I seek more misadventure and the addition of friends unknown to me at present.  You pause.  You stick with the current plan.  You will overcome their  biases and surprise them with a new plan, but now, you're older and you can convnince them that very little done was indeed something quite unexpected.

I go to these parties, less and less under those jolly old pretenses and moreso nowadays as an outsider- gasp- business man, and a responsible one at that.  Mildly taking in.  Often sponsoring and often keeping my profile low.  Outrageous claims are still part of the deal but with loud dimple and a turn of the head.  "A beast caged in the heart of the city."

Take up thy stethoscope and walk...

15 June 2007:Frotuss Writing: Funny how we take the Bible so literally in one vein and in the next it is really trying to say this or that according to interpretors.  Interpretors have made it what it is to this day.  Having gone from sanskrit to hebrew to greek to english and having gone hundreds of transformations and dropped books betwixed and betwiddle there really is no reason to place more than 50% of your faith in the ultimate translations or even that much.  Has God forsaken us for the past 2007 years? 

Little have the writers of the bible written since then.  Little have people lived since in the beginning of the bible when they lived for 300 or 600 years or so.  We're so diabolical that we're lucky to make 30 years despite modern science and knowledge of earth's curvature or little facts like the earth being 4 billion years old rather than 10,000 years (nevermind dinosaurs and fossil fuels or even nuclear energy).

Yes, yes, despite all my pretenses I still believe in an afterlife because why not?  At the end of the day it still makes sense that we could possibly be one large science project.  One very capital intensive science project.  Especially, if we could overcome such minor things as physics; E=Mc Squared  and  other such notions (which turned out to be true).  There are more formulae to be found and God is waiting.  This is what shall create the afterlife afterall.  Being worthy still makes us divine in our diminutiveness.   What is funny is that if you  read a little about Jesus as a human being you can see his vast foresight into such scientific schemes.  He is Forgiving.  Hmmmm.  Probably not that forgiving.  Are you?

I've always found that common sense goes a long way in determining what is sensible.  And what is sensible is that out of a billion possibilities of a circumstance taking place and being given several billion chances I find that my odds are improving.  What is left for me is to make my mark here on this civilization or at the very least leave trace elements so that I may be reincarnated for the sake of science alone and perhaps in my 7 or 8 millionth phase of lunacy reach back and immortalize this person who writes such basic melodrama on his scarcely understood type-machine we call a PC... Who knows?  After the 9 billionth rock that has hit earth and its nonexistent atmosphere people may begin to look to the past for simpler remedies and begin using their light speed to pick us up.  I'm standing here with my thumb out.  Take up thy stethoscope and walk...........

The Gospel of John, (literally, According to John; Greek, Κατά Ιωαννην, Kata Iōannēn) is the fourth gospel in the canon of the New Testament, traditionally ascribed to John the Evangelist. Like the three synoptic gospels, it contains an account of some of the actions and sayings of Jesus, but differs from them in ethos and theological emphases. The purpose is expressed in the conclusion, 20:30-31: "...these [Miracles of Jesus] are written down so you will come to believe that Jesus is the Anointed, God's son — and by believing this have life in his name."^[1]

According to Trinitarianism, (see also Trinitarianism— Scripture and tradition), of the four gospels, John presents the highest christology, implicitly declaring Jesus to be God.^[2]

Compared to the synoptics, John focuses on Jesus' cosmic mission to redeem humanity instead of the earthly mission to teach, cast out demons (which is not mentioned), and comfort the poor.

Since the "higher criticism" of the 19th century, historians have largely rejected the gospel of John as a reliable source of information about the historical Jesus^[3][4]. "[M]ost commentators regard the work as anonymous."^[5]

Your Love Gets Me Going in the Morning

9 June 2007: (Thank Heavens for Rufus Wainwright)..... Do I dissappoint you?????

Desire.

It's just me being lonely.

Am I just one of the elements?

Why does it always have to be.... DESTRUCTION?  MmmmmmmmmmmmmMMmmmmhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmMMM????

Tired of being the reason......

Do I dissappoint you?????
Desire.

Bonjour

5 June 2007: Associated Frotuss Press Wires:  It is as though fictitious events fill up our mundane lives with stories on the news.  We wonder what fools must be lurking beyond our walls.  I choose to lock my doors and turn on all alarms should chance grab hold and strangle me to my knees.

It is confusing, too.  One headline invites pure snickery, "Paris Spends First Night in Jail".  Perhaps she can open a new line of Hilton Hotels for the low end customer where the customer can stay as long as he or she wants as long as they're willing to perform menial tasks like do the laundry, make license plates and/or "donate" kidneys, lungs, hearts etc., like they do in Chinese prisons while making their Target and Walmart items in slave camps to fit in all of those 4 inch thick boxes of varying widths and lengths.

Florida may be one of the worst locations in North America for crime.  A short time ago my baby-sitter's friend's dad was shot.  Paralyzed.  Then later died as a result by the (follow me here) baby sitter's friend's older boyfriend.  And she seemed like a sweet girl, too. 

Alas, I have just decided that it is a bad place as well a good place.  I read in an email from my boss (of course we must read those emails) that we are 15 times more exposed to negative reinforcement than positive.  So the news is going to be filled with more the horrowing types of developments and with so many people packed inside such a small area it is bound to seem like these strange, horrific events (Paris aside) seem to happen right in our own backyards (previous story did have helicopters searchlighting... my backyard). 

Nevertheless, on with the Murder, Deceit, Debauchery, etcetera, etcetera:

Today's stories as discussed by the Palm Beach Post:

Man shot outside his home near Intracoastal

Before suicide leap, ex-cop left trail of deceit, rage

By Jane Musgrave

Palm Beach Post Staff Writer

Sunday, June 03, 2007

He hobnobbed with Gov. Charlie Crist. He hosted an election fund-raiser for Mayor Lois Frankel. He sipped champagne at Mar-a-Lago, trading small talk with Palm Beach's finest.

But according to those who befriended Helder "Sonny" Peixoto, he was little more than a con man. His claims of a pedigree background were as phony as the Louis Vuitton suits he picked up used and cheap from the stuffed racks of the Goodwill Embassy Boutique - the charity's incongruous outpost on the wealthy island.

Peixoto (left) and Kozak More local news Latest breaking news, photos and all of today's Post stories. Share This Story digg del.icio.us Fark Newsvine reddit Technorati Facebook More What are these?

"He told everyone, 'I've got millions,' blah, blah, blah," said Leslie Linder, a real estate agent who once welcomed Peixoto into her home but grew to fear him. "He would crash any party. He was good at it."

"Sonny showed up at a lot of parties - lots," Frankel said. "All Palm Beach parties, charity fund-raisers, political fund-raisers, very respectable parties. He seemed very charming."

But she said she soon discovered he had a vicious side that chilled her.

"He really spooked me," she said.

For 29-year-old Amity Kozak, the warning signs apparently came too late.

In a bizarre chain of events that played out like a script from a bad made-for-TV movie, Peixoto jumped to his death Wednesday from the 11th floor of The Slade condominium in downtown West Palm Beach. Later, when friends went to his garden apartment near the Intracoastal Waterway searching for a suicide note, they discovered Kozak's bloody body.

He met the attractive Georgia native in April, her friends said. She became his obsession.

"He was calling her at all hours - 3 in the morning," said Ashley Swain, one of Kozak's close friends. "She felt sorry for the guy. She was a smart girl. But she had a savior complex. She wanted to believe in people. She wanted to save people."

But, Swain said, Peixoto proved to be too much for even her tenderhearted friend.

On Wednesday, when Swain last talked to Kozak, her friend swore she'd had enough.

"He's torturing my soul," she said hours before her death.

Guilty plea in fatal crash

Some of Peixoto's more magnanimous friends use the same words - tortured soul - to describe the 34-year-old who arrived in West Palm Beach from Boston roughly four years ago. With an easy smile, a firm handshake and a gift for cocktail banter, he hit the area's social scene.

He told some he met that he was a former cop. That was true.

He expressed an interest in politics. He had twice run unsuccessfully for a seat on the Cambridge City Council.

What he didn't say was that he had left his job as a police officer for the Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority after pleading guilty to vehicular manslaughter in connection with a January 2003 traffic accident that left a 79-year-old man dead. He was sentenced to five years' probation and lost his driver license for 10 years.

Even before he was involved in the fatal crash, he snared headlines for his police work. He was investigated several times for alleged excessive use of force and making false arrests. In 2001, the FBI declined to press charges against him for using racial slurs against those he arrested a year earlier at a Dominican beauty pageant outside Boston. All of the charges against the patrons were dropped.

Three weeks after the FBI cleared Peixoto, he was back under investigation for threatening his wife's former boyfriend and a Boston police officer outside a Suffolk County courtroom. He was ultimately suspended from the force for five days.

Political campaigns fizzle

However, his professional troubles didn't curb his political aspirations.

Even as he was being investigated and disciplined for wrongdoing, he announced his candidacy - for a second time - for the Cambridge City Council. His 2001 campaign Web site shows a smiling young man looking slightly uncomfortable in a business suit. Describing himself as a "pragmatic progressive," he pledged to "help create more affordable housing, to enhance our neighborhoods and to work for social and economic justice."

Oddly, the Web site includes a picture of him in Miami outside the home where the young Cuban Elian Gonzalez was living during a highly charged showdown between the U.S. and Cuban governments. Posing in front of a TV news truck, he is standing alongside a sign: "Pray for Elian."

Robert Winters, a longtime Cambridge civic activist who helped craft the candidate's Web site, said Peixoto's pleas for prayers for Elian and his promises of progressive leadership belied his behavior on the campaign trail.

Sometimes flashing his police badge, he threatened business owners if they refused to post his campaign signs, said Winters, a mathematics lecturer at Brandeis University. He attacked other candidates viciously.

As happened in his maiden campaign in 1999, he was trounced in 2001 despite the advantage his Portuguese heritage should have snared in the city's heavily ethnic working-class neighborhoods.

He had little command of the problems facing the city, Winters said. He spewed meaningless phrases. His campaign slogan, for instance, was "The Time is Now."

But Peixoto also seemed interested in the celebrity elective office would provide - a thirst that propelled him into high society once he moved to West Palm Beach.

Charity bid backfires

The prize - the chance to be mentioned in an upcoming James Patterson novel - was too good for Peixoto to resist.

Mingling with Palm Beach glitterati at the Brazilian-themed March of Dimes Glitz at The Breakers, Peixoto bid $10,000 to be named in the best-selling Palm Beach crime writer's next book. He never paid - just as he didn't pay the $300 it cost to get into the annual charity gala. He had no known job.

When Linder called him on it, he became incensed, she said. She said Peixoto began leaving threatening messages on her phone.

Frankel had a similar experience. Claiming he was a former cop living off a huge injury settlement, about a year ago he offered to co-host a fund-raiser for her March reelection campaign. She agreed. Afterward, he asked her for a job as a neighborhood liaison with the city.

"I told him I don't just give people jobs, you have to go through HR (human resources)," she said.

Shortly after, he began peppering her with nasty e-mails, accusing her of being a crook. Then she heard he was working for her opponent in the mayoral race, former City Commissioner Al Zucaro.

Zucaro said his relationship with Peixoto was short-lived. After repeatedly offering to help raise campaign money, Peixoto invited Zucaro to an El Cid neighborhood meeting.

Once he arrived, Zucaro said it was clear he wasn't welcome and he quickly left.

Ironically, Zucaro said, "I felt like a party crasher" - a talent Peixoto honed to a fine art.

Internet reveals past

Peixoto also trained his venom on Frankel's longtime political nemesis, City Commissioner Kimberly Mitchell.

One day in March 2006, when she was contemplating a mayoral bid, Mitchell opened an e-mail from Peixoto.

"Ms. Mitchell your behavior is ODIOUS!!!!" it read. "Now you must put up or SHUT UP. We dare you to vacate your seat!!! The free ride is over opportunist!!!!!"

The e-mails got progressively nastier. Mitchell forwarded a particularly vicious one to Frankel. Despite their political differences, Frankel said she was outraged by its tone.

By then, both Frankel and Mitchell had gone on the Internet to learn more about this guy who had come to the city and immediately inserted himself into its political and social life. Both said they were shocked by what they learned. But both kept their mouths shut.

"He kept on showing up at parties," Frankel said. "Sometimes I wanted to go up to the hosts and ask them what he was doing there."

Instead, she said, she just kept her distance from Peixoto, and he kept his distance from her.

Mitchell said Peixoto is emblematic of a certain breed of people who have been moving to Palm Beach for decades.

"It's been happening in Palm Beach since the '20s," Mitchell said. "There's always been people who come down here and reinvent themselves. But now you can Google them."

Unfortunately, Kozak didn't.

Weekend raises concerns

Kozak, who had worked as a stripper at Rachel's nightclub on 45th Street about four years ago, moved back to Palm Beach County about six months ago and threw herself into her new job as a marketing representative for Flagler Title Co.

Pat Kozak said she was shocked when her daughter brought Peixoto to her home outside Atlanta two weeks ago.

"When he looked at you, he looked right through you," she said. "He looked like a mobster."

While she never asked her daughter what attracted her to Peixoto, she said he claimed to own two mortgage companies and land in Portugal and Florida. He painted a picture of an idyllic life of children and travel - two of her daughter's passions.

Kozak also accompanied Peixoto to Massachusetts last weekend to visit his family, friend Ashley Swain said. When Kozak returned on Memorial Day, she wanted to end the relationship.

Conversations Kozak had with some of Peixoto's family members and jewelry he gave her that appeared to be stolen made her question his integrity, Swain said.

For two days, he called Kozak incessantly at her home in Hypoluxo at all hours of the day and night. His messages got increasingly abusive.

Concerned, Swain encouraged her to reschedule a planned Friday flight to New York City to Wednesday evening. Kozak never made the flight.

Peixoto flung himself off The Slade about 5:15 p.m. Wednesday. Kozak's body was discovered several hours later.

Pat Kozak is convinced Peixoto is responsible for her daughter's death. Investigators told her Peixoto drove her daughter's car to The Slade. In it were her purse and keys.

West Palm Beach police have released few details. They have not labeled it a murder-suicide. They have not even officially released Peixoto's identity.

However, his mother, Lorena Vicente, said she has been notified of his death and the circumstances surrounding it. Her other son, Samuel Peixoto, a Palm Beach County sheriff's deputy since April 2006, was en route to the family home in Cambridge, she said.

Mother notices stress

In a small voice on the verge of tears, she said her son seemed stressed when he was home last weekend with Kozak. But, she said, he didn't discuss any troubles.

She said he was treated for depression after the 2003 crash that ultimately cost him his job. Her ex-husband, Peixoto's father, also struggled with mental illness, she said. Later, she called back to say there was no history of mental illness in the family.

A close friend, who asked not to be identified, said Peixoto once told him his father had been institutionalized for schizophrenia when he was growing up. Watching Peixoto swing from affable to awful, he wondered if Peixoto didn't inherit his father's ills.

While Peixoto left behind a trail of misery, unpaid debts and unanswerable questions, some said they never saw his dark side.

"He had a kind side," said society photographer Christopher Fay. "I don't think he was looking to screw everyone over. He wanted to maintain an aura of success. I guarantee that most of the people he turned on had money and when they turned off the valve, that's when he turned on them."

Still, Fay said, having known Kozak and having found her body, he is struggling to understand the man he remembers as the life of the party.

"Amity," he said, "was such a treasure."

Frotuss Review:

Definitely premeditated.  Definitely another reason not to make too many friends in South Florida.  You're thinking, nice guy, ex cop, a little kooky.  Next thing you know is that there he is skydiving from the 11th floor after taking a hammer to a beautiful woman??? 

This cannot be real.  I've never had the displeasure of encountering someone like this or who has the fortitude for such actions but it is ghastly. 

It brings me to such a paranoid, almost delusional state where I begin thinking that this whole thing cannot be real.  The sky.  People.  History.  Television and the people on it.  It's a set.  These must be robotic automotons walking about under some supersubsonic remote supervision.  Am I the only human?

Yes, I understand how chemicals imbalances... etc.. leads us back to science... etc and at the root we are a brutal, brutal species that corrals pigs, and sheep and animals of all types just that we may slaughter them and then package them up neat and tidy and organic in celophane and guiltless and guileless we walk into the freshly mopped, empty at midnight (oooh, beware near midnight) supermarchets with neon bulbs blasting their carniverous hummm underneath pleasant odes by the Beatles muzakked... yes, yes, yes I understand we are brutal.  But.

I do not feel this.  At midnight should I walk into the food market I feel for that poor, gentle soul in his or her smock at that cash register standing there, chomping on gum looking up at me, rosey-cheeked-me with a million cajillion crazed thoughts pulsing through my head(or not) (ahh chemicals, and too many words, books, booze, boobs, experiences not to be believed).  I feel that gentle soul softly, stirring, seemingly... but I wonder is that really who's there in that simple, simple facade that life has placed in a box marked with an 8 1/2 at Payless no longer even asking me anymore if I'd like cash back?

I'm scared of him/her, too.

"How are you today?"
"Great.  You?"
"Doing all right.... tired."
"Did you have a bit too much fun last night?"
"I wish."
"Your boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife/family must've had you out/up all night."
"Ha ha ha."

The Priveleged

13 May 2007: What does it take to be one of the leaders of the free world?  A silverspoon is likely a good starting place and a seat at the Ivey league lunch table or Oxford or Cambridge most likely.

When is the everyman going to get a crack at leadership?  Some irrereverent Jacobian from the dregs of San Jose State, San Francisico University, Boston University, Florida Atlantic, Ball State, SUNY, IUP?  They produce plenty of millionaires; people who make more money than the presidents and free leaders of the world. 

Perhaps that's the source of one of the problems accompanying the perceptions of incompetence: low pay.  Make these jackasses brokers.  At least legitimate brokers.  Their getting padded via the beauracracy anyway so why not just comp them on the deals they set up for corporations anyway. 

America's government wasn't created to be anything but a boudary keeper anyway.  It's become too obtrusive and such an entity that was never it's creators' intention anway.  Politics was to be left to Europe.  Our politics was to be little more than the post office handing out the mail and making sure the rules were being adhered to.

I'll leave my hope for simplicity there.

Enter the Dragon

Frotuss News: April 28th, 2007: This seems to say it all.  You can't keep a good man or woman down.

The spy buried in the heart of each man wants us all to be really rather more important that each one of us really is.  Since I already know that I'm not really that important I listen to spy music on shoutcast.com.  It gives me many of my ideas for new music.  Often it's not that new at all. 

Walter Wanderly is something I discovered and he's an old organist from Brazil, and from the 60s.  Walter led me to Luiz Henrique and his "Blue Island".  Luiz impolores us to "Take My Boat... Take My Boat it Sails in the Morning... Dawn to Dusk and on into Evening... Come Along We'll sail the whole night through."  I then use my Napster account to download whatever I damnwell please whenever I damnwell want it.  Forget going to the store and forgetting what the good heavens I walked in there for; I simply click from one tab to the next and find and listen to my heart's contentment.  Magical; really.

I was so inspired that no longer am I thinking of retiring and moving to Greece or of just having a place there, I'm thinking Brazil or Guyana, Suriname, French Guiana and Peru has some great wine and mountains, too.  Never too early to begin planning.  Planning is what I do.  I got a blasted microchip in my brain that never ever lets me sleep because I'm so busy plotting and planning.  It's like the microchip is radioactive and it's wet and it drips all over the place in my head.

Cheers

Frotuss News: April 27th, 2007

“Well, you see, Norm, it’s like this. A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. And when a herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd because the general health and speed of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members.

In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Now, as we know, excessive intake of alcohol kills brain cells. But, naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells making the brain a faster and more efficient machine. And that, Norm, is why you always feel smarter after a few beers.”

Church of Sponge Bob

April 26th, 2007: Frotuss News

Sponge Bob is my religion.  I sing his song to my 2 year old son.  We enjoy it.  When I've sojourned home from a long day of work and after I've eaten my bread we rejoice in the notion that the little immortal Sponge man in tie, belt and neatly accompanying shorts, socks and shoes will be joining us on 2 stations at 8 o'clock.

My son can hardly talk but at 7 he says, "Sponge Bob?"

Yes My Son.  We Will Sing in Praise of Him (and of Patrick, too, of course.)

Our mundane lives are in need of life support.  The news and real religion are too dire.  The internet breeds more internet reading but it is that gleefully innocent Sponge Man and his friends that gives us joy of joys and teaches us to forget.

I show up and worship faithfully, while praying in my mind for more important things that have more important consequences.

Been Locked Out!!!

Excuse the lack of Frotuss Updates Humble Readers of the Cannabis Leaves.  Today is 4/16/2007.

I'm listening to the melodies of:

Röyksopp and the band "Reminds Me" of a commecial where a cave man is walking down a people mover and it shows an ad that says "So Easy a Cave Man can do it!"

Anyway.  They're kind of ok.  If you like drugs.  Or have liked them in the past then their tune "EPLE" will get under skin and make you scratch yourself, but "Remind Me" despite it's "commercial" success is pleasant and rhythmic and all things good that lack vowels just like the freaky deaky Norwegiens themselves that write the null symbol through their "o"s.

America is such a country.  I thought about writing a few books today.  Thinking of titles is tittitlating.  "Scorpio 1" came to me while my wife was watching jeopardy, then "Gemini II" occured to me. 

I could write an opus (I must write an opus, it's in my DNA) about how we are God's scientific experiment, but we're the bile; where all the non-good do-badders and God has chosen America as the ones with the finger on the eraser button of the world!  A paradoxical dichotomy of "tryst and trusts".  Citizen Kane meets St. Augustine as St. Patrick drives the snakes from Ireland and the Volga meets the Mississippi in China on its way to an Indian Hashish Ceremony (The Monks of India revere Marijuana as a traditional herbal medicine) on the Ganges.

I can hear your mind thinking that it sounds good!  Ahh, yes.  Indeed!  Like a pastry nipple!

Transformers!!! More than Meets the EYE!

April 3, 2007: La La, La-La-La, La, La, Luh-La-La-La... This is Pam and you should never cook on the skillet w/out her.  She might be sticky but her greese will loosen up your vegatables.  If you know what I'm saying.

Transformers is coming out at theatres and I didn't even know it but the other night I had a dream that collossal robots were floating in over our cities and taking over like "War of the Worlds" and they were going after us.  I think that I must see this upcoming film because I had a dream about it or something like it before I even saw the commercial.  I also had a dream that I was dead already. 

It goes back to Egyptian beliefs in The Book of the Dead whereby we live two lives.  One here and one in our "Ka" or spiritual body.  The diagram in the book of the dead is almost like there is a kite string connecting us to the kite "way up there".  Remarkable how similar various religions can be.

Getting back to our picture...

I'm going to have to put the over/under on Pam Anderson's celebrity deathwatch at about 7 years.  Why?  She is really looking for attention by having a photo-op act "as if" she was unaware of it so that she could show of her new "bazangas".  Honestly.  Do they have to be that big?  While fun and cool to look at, when you see a woman like this in public she has granted you permission to stare at her cleavage by having so much work done to it.  So much so that it must mean an awful lot to her, and she must make a lot of money off of it.

%^