Wednesday, April 29, 1992
The Esplanade Manor News and Review (April 29, 1992 -- week of the LA riots)
Tuesday, April 28, 1992
Great Hair Day (more Esplanade Manor Era '90s crap)
2) It has a shiny, bouncy appearance, quite unlike its usual mosquito nest of dried coyote thistle.
4) Why the hell not feel good about something when everything else seems so wrong.
Sunday, April 26, 1992
Wreath Picture Story (1992)
Friday, April 24, 1992
Wreath's not human (1992)
Vocalist Ad (1992, Chico News and Review)
Wednesday, April 15, 1992
Captain's Log Re: Wreath
Ok, well, my brain and body are conking out on me anyway.
Friday, April 10, 1992
Letter to my ex co-workers at Hondo Die Supply
4-10-92
To all my dear friends at Hondo:
Well, here I am still in Chico, and there you all are. I miss you all, miss my old crappy apartment, my mail order Mexican girlfriend and that dirt-bag band I was playing with. I miss driving that piece of shit orange truck and all the big time money I was making there.
At this point, you may ask, "Well, so what?"
Good point. I miss the good times that were under my nose, but which I could not appreciate (due to sinus congestion).
Anyway, after my uncle decided to keep the house, I figured I'd better stay and make a go of it up here and so here I am, still working at Esplanade Manor, a board and care facility for the mentally ill. The pay is $4.25 per hour, but the work is kickback. One hour of work per 8 hour shift (a little mopping and trash) and the rest is reading, playing pool or eating in the kitchen.
Everyone here is nice, with the exception of Arvada, the graveyard supervisor who I work with 3 out of 5 nights a week. She has been nicknamed the Queen of Ice because of her chilly disposition. She plays her fucking country music all damn night and picks at a scab on her wrist (which is turning green and looks cancerous, or at least like an animal bit out a chunk and puked it back onto her arm).
The patients here are your average Winchell's Donut, trailer park, shopping basket, bowling alley types. They are all chain smokers and chain coffee drinkers. They would sell their soul or body for a smoke and 25 cents.
One lady watches her purse for hours on end, waiting for it to do acrobatics. Another says she's from Mars and took a crap in the dining room the other day. She's better now that they increased her meds.
Most people here just shuffle around like zombies. Glenda Stowe, a night robe clad, Bible totin' granny, yells at the top of her lungs at voices she hears in her head all day and night.
Most are delusional, paranoid, schizophrenic, manic-depressive or psychotic. Some are just drunks, druggies or bums. But their social security allotment is more than I make in a month.
I go fishing every other morning, right after work, in the Sacramento River, which is about 10 minutes out of town. I bought I kayak for fishing the inaccessible spots, and the first day I used it went great. The thing is homemade, so I worried about leaks, but there were none.
The second day, I took it out and capsized it. I had to abandon ship, as I was drifting downriver with no paddle. I salvaged everything except my lunch and my pride. I still have not caught a single fish in that river, though they leap out of the water right in front of your face.
I had to quit hanging around with Brian (what is it with people who have this name) a fellow I met in class, when I was still going. We'd watch football, drink beer, fish and get high -- which is all fine. He'd usually pay. That was also fine.
Then he began making homosexual advances and innuendos, so I had to shit can the relationship. He'd say shit when we were playing pool in a bar like, "So, you wanna go home and have some oral sex?" Why can't women ever ask me this?
Chico is a small town, so although this dude is out of my life, he still works at the Chevron downtown. I'll miss the bong hits, though.
My plans are this:
Sell my car and get a van. Save enough money for a six month U.S. tour. Find a cheap trailer park slut who wants to cut loose and then blow this town.
After the trip, we'll either return to Chico and work for a while, then save up and buy a trailer. My ultimate goal is to get about five acres of land, grow pot on it and pay my property taxes. Then die.
I'd like to get a dog, too, but that's optional. No kids. I'll probably wait until I come back to town, and then join a band. Maybe take a class or two.
Anyway, L.A. doesn't seem to be in my plans, except as a party stop along my voyage. My best regards to you all, till we meet again.
Friday, April 3, 1992
Mental Love Song (4-3-92)
Beautiful Gal (Another Wreath Love Song - 92)
I Wanna Take You On A Camping Trip
I Wanna Take You On A Camping Trip 4-3-92