This shit really happens

In the Sanctuary in Oakland with my main men Big Scott and Johnny Frizzle. Today we tore the house up to try and find my passport. We all had different vague recollections of having stowed it away somewhere in the house, but it turns out I left it at a completely different sanctuary up north a bit. My mind is playing tricks on me.

I find myself feeling quite sad about a homie of mine, real old school. We had big issues earlier this year. He stabbed me in the back for a string of flimsy reasons and my crew made moves to reconcile the whole thing and it ended up that we met again and forgave each other. I suppose i had to forgive a lot more than he did. My brothers came through for me and no real damage was done to me. But now my old school homie is floating about and none of my crew wants anything really to do with him -- because he stabbed me, but also because he is a wild card. Leaves me in a weird space. I feel responsible and sad. Responsible because I made my brothers deal with this shit and sad because the shit involved an old school brother. I had hoped to merge crews and see a unification of minds. But in the end i stand alone at the bridge and I got to turn my way and do my thing. So thats that.

I had a dream last night that left me shaken. I went into a brothel to visit a girl I knew. She was in love with me and treated my visits like bright shining lights of hope in her sordid life of Johns and Pimps and otherwise bad men. In my dream, I took advantage of her love just so I could get some. We had sex and she told me it wasn't about my dick, that it went so much deeper than that. Her sadness was the old stale sorrow of a love and a life almost snuffed. I observed and catalogued this face of hers, just because it was a human experience i knew i could recall and perhaps insert into a story of mine. Three black men came into the brothel and demanded her. They wanted to inflict physical pain on this defenseless woman and at first I tried to defend her. But this was one of those dreams in which my blows glanced harmlessly off of them and they laughed at me and threw me aside.

This is where it gets brutal and horrifying. So don't read any more if you don't want to hear what really happens in brothels like these.

They took a stick and started shoving it in her anus, slamming it and jerking it and breaking it off. She started screaming in pain. I heard the screams and they were so real, so raw, so dumb and drunk with pain that it no longer was a dream, but a dimension in which Sascha the man in this world was awake and subjected to his own cowardice and his own complicity in the act. She screamed and i ran out of the brothel and i felt the stick in my chest and the screams became my own and they said

this shit really happens this shit really happens this shit really happens

to women all over the world.

I read once about a prostitute in China who had been murdered by some pimp, He killed her by ramming a toothbrush up her nose. Once, as a courier for a travel agency in Frankfurt, I delivered tickets and cash to a brothel and saw a big German beat a little Thai woman because she didn't want to work anymore. I once saw a young prostitute in China shed one big tear and whisper just inside of ear shot that she didn't want to lead this life.

Wo bu yao zhezhong shenghuo. I dont want this life.

This shit really happens.

Blogger up in China!

Well i'll be damned. After all this time, China has decided(?) to let blogger do its thing. So i am visible in China. This is a good thing.

I am in shanghai now and chillin with my man Ferchak. I love his house. And his style too. A true gentleman scoundrel of the most elegant and sordid sort. Last night I went around Shanghai and enjoyed myself. From Attica on the Bund I smoked la and gazed at the skyline with my man Rizlee and his woman Candace. He has been the food writer for this area for years. Now he is headed off to Thailand -- or maybe south america -- to continue being a food critic (Q, if you read this, i know your dream).

Its hard work. eating, writing. thinking. eating. writing. maybe some drinks. thinking ...

Shanghai is very interesting, but nothing for me. There are thousands of foreigners here -- many of them very very young -- and it seems like a big college town on friday nights. reminds me of nights in Minneapolis drunkenly chasing drunkeness down the sidewalk to Santana's for burgers and fries. Shanghai has good burgers and fries at a place called Beaver that also has Rogue Beer (from OR) and Dead Guy Ale. But Shanghai aint got santana's.

There are beautiful women everywhere being targeted by a growing force of pirates, bush pilots and aces.

Its like if San Francisco were a football and you turned it inside out, so the Asians in the Bay were the majority ... but not as chill. So young. A very young city. A wanton woman in her 20s, defiantly throwing her skirt up at the male gaze.

yeah.

i actually encourage all young kids to roll through china and have as much sex and fun as possible. I did it. and now we pass each other in the revolving door of shanghai as i exit stage (P-town foo'!) west and they enter stage east.

i head back to the Dirty Du tomorrow and start bidding farewell. On wednesday i start working on the torch relay convoy.

prince

maybe its just because i stood next to him once at paisley park .. maybe its cuz i rocked it so many times at his club first ave .. maybe its just cuz he's a pimp of the highest most spectacular order. even that 1990s shit diamonds and pearls was cool. i got this dvd of all of prince's videos. oh lord controversy is hilarious ... he was always with the times -- whatever the zeitgeist was, prince dove in heels first and dropped it. givin the camera the EYE and givin all them ladies soakin panties.

and when doves cry is one the finest love tunes ever. he truly knew how to put a man's passion out into the soundwaves and show women what is up. he was the master of the sensitive man's impassioned plea. and you know his body temperature rises to lord knows what when he gets naked with his woman. maybe thats why everybody thought he went both ways ... when all it was was his ability to drop his love down in a vulnerable way. when his voice went high, men were like .. damn that fool is a batty boy and women were like .. ooooooooo ... when his voice dropped low men were like .... damn that fool is a superpimp and women were like ... ooooooooo ...

"don't make me chase ya, even doves have pride ..."