Headz the novel » Miami

THE ECONONY OF THE SHOW

J.J. Colagrande — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 13:34:30 +0000

An economy feeding on ganja gooballs has no need for Alan Greenspan. Besides, the unemployment rate at The Show’s a remarkable zero. There’s work. Not for the sixty thousand plus from the area. They’re the custies. The twenty thousand heads who’ve dropped down on Chicago are the ones working. We work three kinds of industries: hospitality, selling food and drink; retail, kicking clothes and accessories; and entertainment, slinging drugs. You can trade for almost anything at a music festival. Three burritos and a coke for a glass pouch. Fifty valiums for a dress. A dejembe drum for a quarter sack of dank weed. Of course cash is accepted. The music fest isn’t a commune or rainbow gathering or Oregon barter fair. Headz need money to buy gas to get to the next festival and to throw down on a hotel room. Anything sold or traded at a music festival is done so at a wholesale level compared to the product’s value outside of The Lot. Geri sells apron shirts for sixty at The Show, she could get eighty online. Melody sells chillum pipes for forty at a music fest, off The Lot she could easily nab sixty. Listen to this. One summer I left New York with nothing. I caught a ride to a music festival, hooked up a kicked-down miracle, then ground-scored a gram of black-tar opium. I flipped the black-tar and bought twenty Beavis and Butthead doses. I flipped them and had money for gas and a hodie to get to the next city. Prior to the next music fest, at the supermarket, I invested the remaining money on cheese and bread. I borrowed a hot plate, generator, and frying pan, and sold one-hundred grilled cheese sandwiches at two-dollars-a-pop. I bought a ticket to The Show, weed for my glass pipe, and a sheet of acid to which I flipped ten-strips for thirty-five all day long. After ten fests along the eastern seaboard I returned to New York decked out in a new wardrobe of headie gear with an ounce of chronic, two bubblers, and enough money to pay six months rent. My boys back home, the deejays in my band; they could never understand how I could leave with nothing, party in ten cities, and return home loaded. Check it: you may not like how all this sounds, but it’s the truth. I’m just reporting the facts here, cubbie. We’re young and we want to rage and for the party to rock the drug dealing needs to get done. Someone has to do it. Then we can relax like party people in the house till the break-a break-a dawn.

REMEMBER THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION!! all these characters are in the novel Headz over there and up a little —->

CLICK HERE TO LEARN ABOUT THELONIOUS, ONE OF OUR CENTRAL CHARACTERS

THELONIOUS INTERVIEWS GERI ABOUT SEWING

J.J. Colagrande — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 03:49:38 +0000

Geri loves to sew—shortie’s always sewing. Tell me, sista—who taught you?

Before I came to sewing I first started crocheting, back in the day, before I met Curtis. I was like fourteen, living in Hialeah with mi familia. My Nana taught me.

And you dug it like what?

I dug it and it came to me naturally. What really hooked me—this might sound sadistic but I don’t care—was the time my mother’s boyfriend sat on my needle. He was a real dick, he treated my mom like shit, you know, it was so obvious to me how he used her. He was cheap, real cheap. Never springing for a dime. He didn’t even work, a lazy Puerto Rican—see I’m Cuban, we work. I’ve outgrown my prejudices against Puerto Ricans. He was just a puto. Anyway, one day, by accident he sat on my needle and it went like two inches into his butt. He had to go to Jackson Memorial and everything. I knew he was a tight ass, but, you know, however unintentional, to me it was a sign that the powers that be were trying to crochet his cheap ass butt cheeks shut. I’ve been sewing ever since.

That’s an ill story, Geri.

Yeah, since then I’ve been a member of the Crochet Guild of America. CGOA for life, baby.

You must be good at crochet.

Mostly, as of late, I only crochet tams and scarves. Mainly I’ve been sewing a lot of patchwork.

Patchwork is dope. That’s the real headie Shiite. What materials do you use?

When I make pants and apron top shirts they’re always funky with random materials. But my trademark, as you should know, Thelonious, is the patchwork I do with the kid’s bed sheets.

That’s your niche, no doubt. I was trying to get to the kids bed sheets. Your patchwork could be on display at the Googleheim or sold at Art Basel or something. It’s that good.

Thank you, papi. That’s very sweet of you. You know, it takes me back to my childhood to do patchwork, especially with say Raggedy Ann bed sheets, or My Little Pony. I used to sleep on a pair when I was a kid. And the boys, when the boys see an Aqua-man graphic on a fat headie glass pouch they go nuts. Know what I mean?

I used to have the Justice League of America bed sheets. Pop culture superhero cartoon stuff is dope. You can be a poor gal from Dallas or a prep school chick from Seattle and you’re gonna know and love My Little Pony.

Totally. No one can take it away from us. I go out of my way searching thrift shops, vintage shops, E-bay, anywhere, to find the old bed sheets I use for my patchwork.

Yo—I think you’re the bomb, girl, but on the real, what’s the number one reason why you sew?

I crochet and sew because it’s relaxing. It’s hard to explain but when I’m working it’s like I’m suspended from space and time. I’m in a zone. Like I’m pure energy. Like I’m connected to The Flow. Like you and music.

Yo—you belong in Kali with all that connected to the flow Shiite.

[laughing]

Tell it to the judge, sista-love, but I’ll miss you too, baby.

if you like this, check out Thelonious interview Melody Rain

THELONIOUS ON SOUTH FLORI-DUH

J.J. Colagrande — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 21:28:47 +0000

Miami’s ill and all but what is it about South Floriduh? There must be something in the water cause everyone down there’s fucked up. Maybe they get too much sun or something. But it’s not only the people. It’s the whole place. If there’s anything embarrassing going on in America, look for South Floriduh to host the event. Remember Elian Gonzalez? Check this Shiite out: I’m in town, r-i-i-i-ght…Curtis gets this wacky idea to get us on television. Put on an alien costume and walk around Elian Gonzalez’s Little Havana house with a billboard saying, ‘Welcome Home, brother.’ Alien. Elian. Same thing. It would’ve been great, you know, making fun of the whole media circus. A dude in a big green alien costume. An illegal Elian. Would’ve made National news. Like bigger than the Hurricane. That’s how you do it. That’s how you break on through. Curtis and me were down like what but Geri tawked us out of it. She said stoops, the Cubans wouldn’t have seen it like us. She said we’d of been alligator meat for shizz. Whatevs. Curtis and Geri won’t miss South Floriduh. They’re East Coast kids and some East Coast kids will always be down with the East Coast. Besides from Langerado, or the Ultra music fest, they won’t miss South Floriduh. What’s there to miss? Recall the election controversy of two g—centered where???—in all three South Floriduh counties. And what about Mohammed Atta and his band of Merry Terrorists? Where did those motherfuckers live? In the land of The Princess. South Floriduh’s dusted. Do you know the city of Miami spends more than a million dollars every year cleaning the water from sacrificial remains put there by people practicing Santeria? So, there is something in the water: foo foo sak pase voodoo dust. Tis true, mon—Geri told me—and she knows about tings like dat. Explains why South Floriduh-ians be so stoops . . .

If you liked this, you might enjoy Curtis’s homemade hurricane story

CURTIS HAS A LUDE ABOUT HURRICANES

J.J. Colagrande — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 21:30:04 +0000

Thelonious stayed with us during a Hurricane. We had a lil jam . . . hee, hee. Coupla bottles, some dank buds. There’s nothing else to do when there’s a Hurricane. It’s all Chicken Little sensationalism. The sky is falling. The sky is falling . . . hee, hee. Television On . . . we’re live in Lake Worth, as you can see the waters are starting to pick up, there are a few crazy surfers . . .click . . . in South Beach Frances has cleared the beaches . . . click . . . live from . . . click . . . LIVE . . . click . . . as you can see from the Doppler . . . click . . . the latest satellite images concur . . . click . . . two o’clock advisory puts the hurricane at seventy-six degrees . . . click . . . the five o’clock advisory is expected around five o’clock . . . click . . . the Future Track . . . click . . . as the outer bands creep closer and closer . . . click . . . we’re live at Home Depot where the story tonight in South Florida is one of preparation . . . click . . . Straight up. Now you know how Thelonious is in a band called Hurricane Clout, right? He’s like freaking out there’s a hurricane. He’s totally stoked. Like more stoked than if he were at a music fest. More stoked than Coachella, or Lollapalooza, or any music fest. When the storm came me and him went down to the beach and looked for television reporters, hee, hee. We found one from CBS and Thelonious went up to him with a microphone, said we represented Hurricane Clout, told him we we’re doing a documentary on sensationalism in the media. Thelonious asked the reporter what he thought about scaring the public during a natural occurrence. The reporter was so confused to have a microphone in his face. He mumbled about safety what with Katrina. Meanwhile I’m in the background break dancing . . . dreads flying. Geri watched from home. She taped it. Bryan Norcross, our old weatherman, when they cut back to the studio, he called us, and I quote, troubled miscreants. Yup, we entertained hundreds of thousands that day. All Floridians do during Hurricanes is watch television. Kill your television. After we went to the beach we played whiffle ball. You should’ve seen my curveball that day, hee, hee.

If you liked this, you might enjoy Curtis’s secret code

THELONIOUS REVEALS THE SECRET OF CURTIS

J.J. Colagrande — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 00:15:05 +0000

Let me tell you about Curt. Would it be surprising to find out that Curtis ain’t his real name? Guess what? His name ain’t Curtis or K-hole or Keiser Sosa or Shamus Heaney. Not his real name. No one knows his real name, including me. Well, maybe I know, but I ain’t tellin nothin cause Curtis is Slick Rick. Curtis is Dr. Pepper. There’s a secret society of Curtis. Curtis who can get anything you want. Curtis who speaks in words only another Curtis can understand. Colorful words meaning what exactly . . . orange sunshines . . . white peace-signs . . . blue unicorns . . . silver haze. Words with religious connotations suddenly floating through The Lot air . . . Jesus Christ’s . . . white doves . . . wafers. Delectable words eating at ears . . . blueberries . . . chocolate chips . . . graham crackers. Words like palabras word up. What of these names constantly repeated on Shakedown? Think these niggas exist? Where’s Molly? Seen Dimitri? Or Danny K? How about Dean, nigga? Curtis is the ghost of Dean Moriarty spittin random letters. We got L . . . Who need’s an O . . . How bout some G . . . OC’s? Gettin down wit nouns . . . bars . . . footballs . . . roofs . . . record albums . . . Mitsubishi’s . . . Beavis & Butthead’s . . . windowpanes. What’s it all about? Ask Curtis if you want to know. He knows—but I doubt he’s telling. See there’s a secret society of Curtis kind-a like the Free Masons but, nah. It’s a secret. Tell ya what—free Perry Mason and let him solve the case of Curtis. Nah, I got it, tell Anthony Mason to shave Curtis into the side of his head. Curtis ain’t revealing a ting…shhh…it…be a secret. Ya see—Curtis is untouchable—he’s a ghost—forever on some now-you-see-me now-you-don’t Shiite. He’s Casper—your friendly neighborhood ghost—your name can be Peter Venkman, Ray Stantz, or Egon Stengler, you’re still not busting my nigga k to the Casper.

If you enjoyed this, check out a song Thelonious wrote about Curtis or go back to the festival.

CURTIS’S SECRET POTION

J.J. Colagrande — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 00:11:00 +0000

I had a dream. A weird dream, even for me. Geri and me were at our favorite restaurant, Benihana’s, and an old Japanese man with dreadlocks served as the hibachi chef. In the dream, Geri went to the restroom. When she left, the hibachi chef started flipping oysters at my head. PAP! PAP! Oysters pelting my head. Then the hibachi chef spoke of a secret formula. Turn first lady set eye on you to tiger. I awoke, and faintly bouncing around the room, was the echo of whoever spoke. I wrote down the recipe. Of course it seemed nuts, but I had the elements: Irish Moss, marijuana seeds, coconut rum, Jolly Ranchers, and a tablespoon of magnolia sugar. I dumped all the components, as instructed by the man in my dream, in a clay-based bowl. I gave the rum an hour to break down the Jolly Ranchers. Then with a needle, I injected forty ccs of the potion into a naval orange. I had to bury the orange under the ground of a papaya tree for three days. A huge papaya tree exists in our complex in Little Haiti. Three days passed and I dug up the earth. I ate the orange with lunch. It tasted sweeter than usual. When Geri walked in the door she dropped the groceries and came at me like a tiger, hee hee hee. I’m not lying.

If you enjoyed this, check out Thelonious reveal the secret of Curtis, but sh-h-h, keep it on the down low.

THELONIOUS WAXES ABOUT CURTIS, WEED, AND DRUGS IN GENERAL

J.J. Colagrande — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 00:09:22 +0000

That’s what I love about Curtis—of course he has a code. He has to be on the down low. How many headz in South Florida do you think grow a crossbreed between the White Widow and the Silver Haze? By the way, don’t tell me drugs are bad, okay. I don’t wanna hear it, no, you’re full of shit. I don’t wanna hear it, no, you’re full of shit. Thems Minor Threat lyrics, not me being redundant. I’m trying to say drugs are a minor threat, but I’m not sure you got it. I don’t think Ian MacKaye would like what I’m saying. But I’m saying. There’s nothing wrong with creative people thinking outside the box. And I’m not saying creative people need drugs to be creative. Not at all. Creative people need to do their work—DO THE WORK. Don’t get stoned and sit around thinking or tawkin about an idea. Do it. Some of them hallucinogenics will give you a boost like what. But all you need is a boost. You have to do the rest. The creativity is inside you. We’ve seen what drugs can do, mad headz get spun, mad headz overdose or get popped or whatevs. There are fallen warriors all ovah the place. Play with fire and you might get burned, son—recognize. But don’t tell me drugs are bad, especially the ism. People might be bad, but not drugs. It’s not the drugs, son. What if your dream is to be a rock star? What if your job is to drink and do drugs and party till the break-a break-a dawn? What if you’re the one who has to rock the party all night long? Who will they celebrate? It might appear we’re a bunch of groupies following a band—dead wrong—WE ARE THE ROCK STARS—the bands follow us.

If you’re looking for a place to go, how about back to the festival or learn more about Curtis

CURTIS’S SECRET CODE

J.J. Colagrande — Sun, 05 Apr 2009 00:07:40 +0000

Curtis had a secret code to which all his customers were acquainted. He used this code at home, or at a music festival. Although not that complicated, the code could seem that way. The premise was that every letter or number translated to one letter or number back then how it appeared. In his language: A equaled Z, B equaled A, C equaled B, 0 equaled 9, 1 equaled 0, and so forth. If the word were cat, Curtis spelled it dbu. When selling weed, he was a crafty cat. Mikey the taper had to grab a pen from the glove compartment to decipher Curtis’s message. The taper had to translate “uif cfbdi bu 4 Tu BTBG” into “the beach at 3 St ASAP.”

If you liked this, you might enjoy Thelonious’s reaction

CURTIS’S SONG (lyrics by Horowitz, T)

J.J. Colagrande — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 00:16:22 +0000

Well, the weather outside is delightful

We’ll fire up some weed come nightfall

And since it’s almost time for The Show

Let Em Grow! Let Em Grow! Let Em Grow!

Oh they don’t show signs of stopping

Geri scored some pills for popping

The florescent lights perpetuate the glow

Let Em Grow! Let Em Grow! Let Em Grow!

If you’re looking for a place to go, try going here. And welcome home!!