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FOURTH NIGHT is going into a summer hibernation for a much needed rest and will return in October full of roaring, honey-questing life. Enjoy your summer.

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Photo slideshow and videos from Occupy Wall Street. For Part I of this piece, which includes an intro and Tahrir photos, click HERE

OCCUPY WALL STREET PHOTOS

TAHRIR SQUARE & OCCUPY PROTESTS VIDEO

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=woIiLMDK-Mg

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TIME MAGAZINE announced last month that its 2011 person of the year was “The Protester.”  It was a perceptive, albeit obvious, choice (although the editors almost stumbled badly: Kate Middleton was one of the runner ups) . In the Middle East alone, 2011 saw three revolutions — Tunisia, Egypt and Libya — uprisings in Bahrain, Yemen, and Syria, and major protests in Algeria, Jordan, Kuwait, Morocco, and Oman, not to mention smaller protests all over the region. [skip rest of post and view this month's Tahrir Square slideshow HERE]

Though the heavy duty action was in the “Arab world,” it wasn’t exactly serene in the other worlds: in Santiago, 200,000 marched calling for more government support for education; in Madison massive labor protests spilled into the statehouse; in Madrid tens of thousands encamped in the central square demanding economic reform and a more representative electoral system; in Greece tens of thousands rallied against fresh rounds of austerity measures; in Jerusalem 15,000 gathered outside Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s house to protest growing income inequality and high costs of living.

That’s just a sampling of the global rumbling. And of course the year of protest fittingly concluded with the rise of the self-proclaimed 99 percenters and the Occupy Wall Street movement, with offshoots springing up all over from London to Oakland. Arrests for civil disobedience soon became commonplace events and with the ubiquity of cameras, no act of police aggression was left unrecorded (one of the more memorable certainly being the Zen-like composure with which a U.C. Davis campus police officer sprayed seated student protesters in the face with pepper spray, much as if they were garden weed):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6AdDLhPwpp4

Of course, the most brutal and lethal police actions are still going on, unrecorded, in the Eastern Mediterranean (Syria). 2011 may have been the year of the protester but 2012 doesn’t look to be the year of the inert. In fact, what was an Arab Spring of 2011 may prove, in a far less violent and revolutionary form of course, to be the American Spring of 2012 (the cover article of November’s New York Magazine about Occupy Wall Street was titled “2012 = 1968?“).

With the 2011 protester in mind, I thought I’d do a three-part post this month focusing on Cairo’s Tahrir Square and Occupy Wall Street’s Zucotti park, both of which I visited this past fall. Today I’ll post photos from Tahrir Square; on February 4 I’ll post photos from Zucotti Park and Occupy Wall Street marches as well as video footage from Tahrir and Occupy Wall Street.

So here’s Part I. The link below leads to a slideshow of photos I took on October 7 in Tahrir Square while visiting my friend Sean Moylan who lives in Cairo. Sean and I visited Tahrir on a Friday, the day of prayer and protest.  The protest was heated but relatively small and peaceful. After the rally we walked over to the charred party headquarters of Mubarak, which protestors had set fire to during the uprising earlier in the year.

The violence came a few days later, the night before I flew out, when we learned over dinner that a group of marching Coptics had been attacked. At 11pm the television was still showing “live” footage of the event. Finally, unable to watch it anymore on television when it was just 15 minutes away, I hailed a taxi. After negotiating a price to make it worthwhile for him, we set off, only to quickly find out that the “live” video was just a loop of replaying footage. Since the violence had ended and the roads were blocked off, there was nothing to do but turn back. The next morning I learned that over two dozen people had been killed. Upon seeing the footage (on a foreign English-language news station) of military police firing into the crowds and running over people with tanks I can’t say I wasn’t a bit relieved that my Tahrir Square slideshow wouldn’t include tanks:

TAHRIR SQUARE PHOTOS

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THE FOLLOWING VIDEO accompanies the photos I posted last month from Patagonian Chile and Argentina. The footage includes the glaciers Perito Moreno, Viedma  and Grey; Torres del Paine National Park; Calafate; and the penguin colony on Isla Magdalena (slideshow of photos HERE).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eHxCjJjNWE8

As a sidenote, don’t be troubled by the background cheering when the glacier calves off into the glacial lake: the glacier, called the Perito Moreno, is an advancing glacier so the collapsing face is a regular, ordinary event (it advances at the rate of about 2 meters per day). What should trouble you instead is the fact that Perito Moreno is one of only three glaciers in Patagonia that are advancing; the rest are receding at a faster rate than in any other region of the world.

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THE FOLLOWING PHOTOS came out of three weeks of travel through Patagonian Chile and Argentina last December. I could introduce them with the usual effusions about Patagonia’s stark grandeur but I’d rather open with another cliche, that the photos speak for themselves. They chronologically follow travels from the Perito Moreno Glacier to Torres del Paine National Park to the penguin colony on Isla Magdalena to Ushuaia, the self-professed end of the world.

Next month I’ll post a video from Patagonia, which includes footage of the face of the glacier Perito Moreno calving off.

CLICK HERE to view the Patagonia slideshow

To see some my other photo sets, click here

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I filmed the following music video in Chile’s Magdalena Island in Patagonia last December. No penguins were desecrated in the making of this YouTube.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2a4Vnsd0KT0

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**This month’s essay will be posted on OCTOBER 14 instead of October 4 

It’s the fourth night and I have nothing to offer you. But it’s August and you’re probably busy with / recovering from weddings and rooftop barbecues and beachside skin cancer sunbroils with the latest bodice ripper. So instead I have a request of you. Last month I recorded myself reading Don K’ Shayne. If you heard any of them, you’ll know I had fun. Now it’s your turn.

Pick one of the  Q&As  you like, have a shot of cornwater, and then go ahead and record yourself reading the question (in your voice) followed by Big Don’s response (in what you imagine, or would like to imagine, Big Don’s voice to be). Read two or three if you’d like. Use your computer microphone or your iThingymajiggy or the latest pro audio mic. Whatever you have. And don’t worry about whether or not someone else is reading or has read the same Q&A. The essential thing is to let your inner BDK run wild.

Send me your .mpeg recording before September 4th to fourthnight@gmail.com. You can remain anonymous if you’d like. Thanks. I now must be going as this coffee shop is about to close and I need to find somewhere tonight, preferably tic-free (I got unlucky last time), to pitch my tent. I await your performance.

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BIG DON should be read aloud. So for this July 4th entry — the sixth anniversary of Fourth Night — I include eight recordings of myself reading the first eight emails that BDK sent me. In each one I’ve tried to interpret him differently. I include links alongside each audio file that take you to the text of the email in a new window so that you can read along while listening:

To read along with “Let Me Introduce Myself” click here  to read along (it opens as a new window)

 To read Con Man! click here

To read “Seven mines ones six” click here

 To read “Five! Oh McGarrett!” click here

To read “Is Been Discovert” click here

To read “small fava” click here

 To read more of “small fava” click here

To read “da wethurs” click here

Now that you’ve gotten a taste of BDK read aloud, I ask you to offer your own voice and interpretation. Go to the Q&As and find a question you’d enjoy reading. If you’re interested, email me at fourthnight@gmail.com and I’ll give you details on recording the audio file. Whoever contacts me first gets first dibs on any particular comment (after the comment’s author, who gets first priority). Don’t be shy now. Let your inner BDK come loose.

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FOR BIG DON K’ SHAYNE CLICK HERE

I intended this post to be Big Don K’ Shayne-related but the project — a multi-media endeavor — is proving very time consuming. So I’m leaving that for July 4. Until then, I offer a love poem (unfortunately, the indents didn’t come through).

In the meantime, please go ask Big Don a question since he’s generously volunteered to stay on Fourth Night as an advice columnist and creative juice maker. Many of you keep telling me you plan to ask a question. What are you waiting for? Is it really that hard? (You see, I just asked two in about five seconds…)

THE BIKER’S INDIGNITY:

A LOVE POEM

My dear abused bike.

My bike was recently knocked over twice in one day,

backed into by oafs on four wheels.

At least in both instances they righted her again,

unlike the many times last summer when I found her

on her flanks, downed

by barbarians and left

to lie amongst her spilled fluids.

Although not on her side this time, evidence of the offense was there:

the gas stain on the concrete, the displaced side mirror, the scuffs, the bent blinker mounts,

the sputtering protestation when I turned the key (she needed 45 minutes to be coaxed back to purring life).

The second strike took place an hour later, while I was in the post office, in a laborious

unmoving

queue

that I finally ditched, muttering

anti-government obscenities

(still riled up over the earlier fiasco).

I emerged only to find a large empty space in front of my bike where an SUV had been parked

and

a postal worker covering up the gas stain next to her with handfuls of grass he was uprooting from a sidewalk tree.

He sopped up the fuel with green clods of earth as I raged:

“I left this much space!” I brayed, extending albatross arms. “Ten minutes I’m inside and look what happens! New York drivers are idiots! How would they like it if tractors plowed into their sides? Morons!”

The postal worker bent to his task, unmoved, as I paced and seethed.

I wasn’t the first fellow he’d seen

go postal.

Anyway, he couldn’t have understood my outrage

just like those miscreants on four wheels can’t understand.

Only riders understand.

Especially New York City riders, who contend daily with the monumental disregard of lead-

footed knuckle-

heads who lane change as if in go

karts and park as if in bumper cars.

It takes thick skin,

or better yet, leather

to survive on two wheels

in a world overrun

by those on four, eight, sixteen,

where the rules of engagement are dictated by bumpers, seat belts, side impact protection beams, crumple zones, laminated windshields, suspension systems, electronic brake force distribution, automatic braking, lane departure warning systems &

for worst case scenarios

A/C to stay cool

as you wait behind an airbag for the medics to arrive.

No offense, drivers, we all know that your metal cages kill your kind

too.

It’s just that we have no safety apparatus to house us.

Our only protection is our gear:

leather, like the cowman,

a helmet, like the warrior,

maybe even some armored padding on the elbows and shoulders

since an ambush may always await over the hills

and far away

or at the next intersection

(the hand bikers extend to one another on the road is a greeting, but it also carries the possibility of a farewell).

If at times bikers strike you as disagreeably in-your-face

with their roaring engines and loud colors, it’s because self-preservation demands it.

Think before you scowl

at the Harley as it rumbles by, disrupting your precious

peace.

Unlike those obnoxious muffler-removing mustang

sallies on four wheels

there are practical reasons for being

heard on a motorcycle:

most motorcycle collisions occur from cars turning left

in front of the biker’s right of way

so from a biker’s perspective

and hopefully yours too

it’s better to disturb the peace

than to go flying over a hood

into a telephone pole.

Only riders understand the perils of the road,

just like only parted lovers can know the glittering caverns of heartbreak,

or soldiers the siren song of war and the crags

upon which it wrecks them.

I spoke of indignity earlier but I should

confess that

questions of dignity rarely arise:

usually I’m just pissed off

that some asshole knocked my bike over.

Only in retrospect, under the mellowing breeze of reflection,

do I see that indignity indeed provoked my ire.

Indignity,

because it’s not just some vehicle that’s been outraged,

not some object, some mere thing,

but your steed,

the mare upon which you charge the plain,

the stallion upon which you plunge into battle

(bikes, you see, come in neutral, male, & female

and sometimes even swing

between genders depending on the circumstance).

Perhaps I exaggerate.

When you first buy a bike, sure, it’s a vehicle,

but as the years pass,

the miles pass,

the trials pass,

you grow to recognize your history in its scars & dents,

like a kind of photo album

you always carry

when you travel.

It’s bulky for an album,

especially in the digital age,

but you never misplace it,

nor accidentally delete it.

Mine holds few family photos

mostly just backcountry scenes, and records

of bang ups & skirmishes.

Here,

come out,

take a look:

See these crooked handlebars?

They’re an oldie. A decade

ago my lobsterman friend, more adept

on water than land

spun her out a on a dirt road turnaround.

As a result, to ride straight I now have to hold

the handlebars as if I’m veering to the left.

In return, he let me dock his boat

(but didn’t

let me crash it).

The gas tank

makes me chuckle. It has a

moral: label any canisters with kerosene,

especially if they usually store gas,

unless you want to gum up

your carburetors and marvel

at the quantity of white smoke an exhaust can spew

(riders too commit indignities)

The Yamaha logo

is a microcosmos of my bike, broken & superglued

(from when someone backed

into it on Clinton Ave). And that dent on the other side of the engine? Another knockdown, also on Clinton,

other side of the street.

The bent front blinker stand

is from another spill.

Can’t remember which. Same with the jury rigged rear

blinker.

The battery,

ah, the battery!

Don’t get me started. Let me merely say that phasing out

the kickstart was folly.

Here’s one last one, the latest

addition to the album:

The dried oil under the engine

is from when my bike sprang a gushing leak outside Holland Lincoln

Tunnel a few weeks ago, stranding me in impatient

midtown traffic, leaving me gloomy

that my ’82 Yamaha Maxim, which I bought my junior year

in high school off a friend for a mellow $400

($1 per CC)

and which has endured a symphony

of outrages over the last 17 years,

some of which you now know about, may at last be

in its dying throes. I was

wrong: “You have to know when to jump

off,” the mechanic said, “but you’ll still get a few years out of her.”

His words were oil to my ears.

You see, as your album grows,

your bike transforms

from thing to steed.

(imagine my indignation

when I once heard her referred to as an “old thing”)

In fact, I partly owe my fierce love for my bike

to the indignities she has suffered

for without them

our album wouldn’t be nearly as

colorful.

In the end,

one can even celebrate these indignities

for they are part of the unruly

seas of riding, much like those

of love.

As with love,

you can go from 0 to 60 in a flick of the wrist

and 60 to 0 even faster.

As with love,

there is much to negotiate:

right hand for throttle & front break, left hand for clutch, right foot for rear break, left foot for shifting gears.

You may be on two wheels but

like spiderman

you must maneuver with all four limbs.

As with love,

you deal with exposure,

hard rains, breakdowns,

& close calls

like when my rear tire skidded out briefly on the Manhattan bridge last year after fast-slowing traffic forced me to to sharply brake and downshift

(caused by my daydreaming and consequent slow reaction

but fret not, mother, I

don’t dream & ride

anymore)

As with love,

sometimes you take a bad spill,

like when I was on a moped on the Greek isle of Skopelos

and braked hard

on a slick, steep, downhill

around a sharp bend

and

the front wheel flipped out,

sending me and the rental sliding across the opposite lane into the ditch seconds before a truck blasted by around the corner

As with love,

sometimes you do insane things that you hope

never to do again

like when a friend,

during a rough spell,

dislocated his shoulder

upon striking an open car door while riding drunk

and

fleeing the cops.

As with love,

riding is a high,

the addict’s rush and relief as you open the throttle, a brief movement of the wrist,

as simple as a thumb depressing a syringe

and usually not as dangerous.

As with love,

you have to know when to let go,

or as another friend, Zeke, (who has repeatedly crossed the continent and makes me look like a backyard putterer) put it,

“sometimes you have to bury your bike

before your bike buries you,”

like when the engine of his Honda

seized up on him on Route 3,

his tires instantly locking,

his bike suddenly skidding along

on two wheels at 50 mph

(he managed to stay upright)

burning rubber the length of a football field

until he came to a standing stop,

the bus behind him braking just in time.

He then rolled the stricken Honda into the field,

removed the plate and registration,

a rider’s sky burial,

and walked away

to find a new one.

For all he knows, the Honda is still out there,

sprouting poppies.

But me, no, I still have more photos to put in this album,

My bike and I.

True, we occasionally have to part ways,

she at the shop, me at the writing desk,

both of us being repaired,

but that’s just a matter of upkeep.

Now if you’ll excuse me,

my steed awaits outside

this coffee shop,

still standing,

I hope.

_____

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*THIS IS A LONG POST SO HERE’S THE SHORT OF IT: A very funny and wise fellow named Don K’ Shayne has generously volunteered to be an advice counselor on this website. Ask him any question you want HERE. You won’t regret it. To see examples of recent questions and his answers click here. If you want to read more about the whats and whys of this, keep reading.

This month Fourth Night offers readers a unique online service. For the rest of this month, a noteworthy guest named Don K’ Shayne (aka Big Don or BDK) has volunteered, free of charge, to serve on this website as therapist, spiritual minister, sex mentor, online confidant, royal jester, and whatever else you wish him to be.

What kind of question? Perhaps you seek meaning in the giant chicken nugget rampaging through your dreams; perhaps you’re Buddhist and fear it’s in your karmic cards to reincarnate as a dung beetle; perhaps you’re an End Timer who wants to know, since consensus among pamphleteering soothsayers is divided, whether the Apocalypse will occur on May 21 or in 2012; perhaps you wonder if it’s abnormal that your nipples harden whenever the Pillsbury Doughboy is poked in the belly; or perhaps you’re just looking for a new stew recipe for your crockpot. Nothing is too strange or mundane.

Think about it. Why drain your bank account on an overpriced conventional psychotherapist when you can tap for free into the mythological wellspring and maniacal intellect of BDK? Why waste minutes scrounging for stamps and printing letters addressed to some magazine column hack when you can streamline the process at this real-time, one-stop wisdom shop.

I first received an email from Big Don on March 25 but passed over it in my bloated inbox, assuming it was spam. He sent me several more in the following weeks, all of which I passed over without reading for the same reason. Only upon glancing over the words “Con Man” in his latest message one evening did I go back and read the correspondence from the beginning. I instantly realized that something strange and hilarious and diabolically ingenious was going on.

So who’s Big Don? For one, he could be a she. But who am I to go snooping in his backyard? If Fourth Fiction taught me anything, it’s that truth isn’t always what you assume it to be – and if and when you do ever put your finger on it, it’s already gone and transformed into something else. So I take the BDK at face – or actually faceless – value as the BDK. You will too, I’m sure, when you get to know him firsthand. And to that effect, I’m appending below all of the emails he’s sent me. This is a good time for you to now go brew a pot of coffee.

As with Finnegan’s Wake, Big Don’s writing best coheres when read aloud and when given the right accent. Don’t be timid. Put some mustard on it. Perform, don’t read. If you do, you’ll enter the world of BDK and will soon be carrying his turns of phrase like contagious song lyrics that can’t be shaken off. You’ll be the weirdo talking and laughing alone on the street. And you won’t care.

After you read this, don’t hesitate to write in a comment to Big Don. He expects to hear from you. If anything, do it for the rest of us. If you want privacy (say, for instance, that the earlier Pillsbury Doughboy example applies to you) just comment under a pseudonym. I’m sure Big Don is an equal opportunity advisor when it comes to questions of identity or lack thereof.

In his first March 25 email Big Don had yet to fully come into his own, into his lilting literary voice. I initially intended to leave the email out of this compilation but changed my mind. His intro, while tamer in style, does wean one into his diction, something which he may have intended.

On occasion I interject commentary between the emails to clarify the context. And for those more intrepid readers, I’ve also inserted links, videos and photos that relate to some of BDK’s cultural references. If by including them I’ve robbed you of the joys of self-discovery, I apologize, but you can be sure there’s plenty more to dig through on your own.

So here he is, the one, the only, the big, Don K’Shayne:

______________

Don K’Shayne to me – Let me introduce myself – Mar 25

Con Man,

Dig this…

Now..what I gots to say may be hard to wrap yo mind around at firss, but you gots to hit the ground runnin an fall-in, cause I ain’t goin to short bus this shit for your sore ass. Dig?

No remedial motherfuckers allowed in dis here Cad-lac. Dig? Alright, sit yo ass down and hole on.

Now lookie here…

My name is Don K’shayne, but anyone, or anything, that knows me past a good morning knows me as the Big Don.

Ya welcome.

You more than anyone should know the sticky power of the un-clever nickname.

Everyone’s always grateful once they know me, not just Mister Wayne Newton. Dig?

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uUryeDLpY_c

Now lookie here…

I am what you call Inspiration. If I were to take on female form, I’d be wass you call a Muse.

Now, I pride myseff on my work anna I ain’t goin nappeal to your sorry ass through mere sexuality. Nah man, that shit’s too easy. I take pride in my craft so I likes to make my work more of a challenge, so to speak.

Ya see, I reside, currently, in your mind.

Dass right.

I have made my home inside that rocky calcium deposit you call a skull. I say currently, because I do not obey the laws a time or space as you do.

My tomorrow could be your yesterday or your day after next, dig? I can bounce around to any time I want since I am not bound to your seemingly linear eggsistanss. I come an go as I please.

So if I feel that my message ainna coming through yo hifi, I just FedEx my ass to the next mutha who may have a more welcoming ear. I needs a comfortable bed, ya dig?

I ain’t above sending yo un-listenin, un-interested, un-equiped ass back to the Sleepy’s store.

That being said, I on’t upack my bags til I know my word will be heard. Follow? Mind you, I don’t have belongings in the knick-knack paddywack sense of the word, I’s just making an example.

Now, keep up, son, I get deeper than this so take a deep breath and less dive on furrer.

Nah, look ahear…

I’ve been trying to get thru you, but damn if you don’t pay attention to the signs, man. Now, I know’s yous been awkappied with yo impenndin move and all, so I been trying to be payshunt.

Now, I think I should ansah your biggest queshun… why does my Imagination speak like an East St. Louis Pimp?

Firssafal, I ain’t YOUR muthafuckin Imagination. I AM Imagination, I am universal an shit. I come an go as I please. I blong to da people, you entiled muthafuck.

Second, I speak like I do cause it is entertainin as HELL to talk like this and I know for a damn fact it is fun as three hos in a bagga Jello to read. Am I right? Shit! How else am I to capture yo attenshun.

So. To my point, cuz I do have one.

So yeh ask. Why have I not juss appeared to yo ass?

Muthafuck, I tried! But issah hard as a mutha to compee in dis ere day un age gainst tellvision, innernet an all that. Dig?

You juss wern lissn! So I got this gee mail to tawk yo ass. Plus, muthafucks won’t let a muthafuck do dah twiddah.

So. My poin is. Be receptive. Keep an open mine. Lissen! An maybe, I’ll decide a sticka rown an help yo assout a bit mo wi

Till next time, keep an I open.

Big Don K.

You’re welcome…..

Sent live, bedside, from the broke ass depths of yo skull. Word.

______________

Don K’Shayne to me – Con Man! – Apr 7

 

Geevenin and shit…

Con Man, why you gots to make an abstract consepshul mutha like Supreme Maj-Nation work so damn harr fo yo abstrack inteleckshuns, man?

Eyes juss tryin elighten you an ennertain myseff, biggun!

That was one mutha offa prank with all em fo-letter karrackers writtin yo ass off! Fo sho.

Ennway. What’s goin on?

I’s juss inneressed inne gowins on o yo grey matter. Wass on yo mine my vertical brutha? Enquirrin mines wanna kno!

Man, diss aumatic spell check makessit a pissah to type like a muthafuck wanssa muthafuckin type!

So…. whirr muthafucks wasseye?

Rite! So looka hyuh!

Affer my lass temp at reachin fru you, I cided take a high 8uss from envadin yo mine.

So looka hyugh ….

Sin lass we spoke, rect that, sin lass I spoke to you cause I ain’t a gotten blip one on da gee mail, I susessfla iffultrayded tha mine offa lil mongrill mutt I sawr and I convinss it ta proseed an nestroy da signer shoes offis ownas gurl.

I dont say master n account I fine it be naproprat.

Enway….

Inner rage, she nugletted a see that er shoe dee-bree wa stroon bout inna eggsact replica uh Fra Fillipo Lipi’s Da Annuncia Shun.

Iss unnerstanble…  who looks forrat shit?

Fo reels…. dass how untouchable my shit is…. Werd.

Now… Magine iffa had axess to a human mine! Dig?

Think bout it… juss think….

Yous an I cood reck sum havoc on the unsuspecktin minds offa masses!

So… eyesah gone give ya seven days an accept my creativ invite fore I discard you an moov on.

Dig?

Respects!

Sent live, bedside, from the broke ass depths of yo imagination. Word.

___________

Don K’Shayne to me – Sev mines one’s six – Apr 8

Snarky Marky Mark the Con Man!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sj3joGzdyqk

Yessum. Wassup Issanbull?

Dis ere is day one. The begin o da end. Dee-a numero ooo-No.

Sept jours et tout c’est fini! Dig?

Lass chance to jump owna nite train to Magicville…. yessum, da countdown isaapawnuss!

Diggit Foo!

So looka hyuh, Con Con!

I caint compurr-end yo callous an contrariun stance to da magicul happenstans dat be my kolosall an cosmic colishun dat beelies common supahstishun!

WOOOOOO!

I bees legit man!

I ain no tiny dansah, Tony Dansa, Sancho Panza!

NAH surr!

I’s Voltron, Megatron, Optimus Muthafuck Prime all in one disembadeed concep!

I’s da Rocketman! Man! BALLAH!

Dig?

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1GAKOLOnfV4

I’s one hunned puhcent stone cold co-fuckin cane fo yo ninja brain!

Bruce Lee dis shut! HuWAHHH!!!

I juss wawnna Hoodini you mine open an break yerass free a awl dat edcashun dass keepin yer ass from truly goin Kraka-fuckin-Toa on dees muthas.

Ya kno? Co-labrate!

NO BULL!

I juss wanna work wiff yews, Istanbul not Conssansinopull!

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gi0Rt0slfy4&feature=fvwrel

Fo sho!

Sadly affur danite, I’s retirin da pimp voice, alees as fah as yer ass is concernt.

I gots six days a get thru you. An I gots to try all means nessary. Malcom X diss shit.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4DlfEQ7cyk&feature=related

Dats incluein droppin ma favrit modality a ma tonality an possibly speakin like a genlman.

It’s possible, but I find it strictly appalling.

DAMN! That even tayssed blan as fuck ritin it!

Doen gnore me fella! Less work agether!

Fellater!

Sent live, bedside, from the broke ass depths a yo imagination.

Word.

______________

Don K’Shayne to me – Five Oh! McGarrett! – Apr 10

Anuffa day dat passes issa notha day without hearins frum da Con Man.

Iffa eye had feelins,  I’d be hurtin like a mutha.

Butteye ain’t sad. No not a bit.

Evens tho wees on McGarrett Five O on our countdown!

Nah I’s readying myseff fo nutha mutha offa missaventure.

Dassrite! Yurrs truly, the Big Don, has ackwired surrin innellekshal propahtees.

Dass rite baby!

The Big Don is doin it like the Jeffersons! An I ain’t tawkin bout stickin it to Sally in Monny Chello!

Hell No!

I’m talkin MOVIN OWN UP, baby!

TO A DEElux APARMEN in a sky high brain dass gone ennertain ole Big Don an my suggessionatin an resonay-tin.

Dig?

Ya see-  I had hurrd dat der wassa vaycansee at the house of Sheen not too longs ago, ya see. But if ole Miss Chief hadunna planta her fine ass in señor Charlie’s head fore Big Don culda inffatrate!

An lemme tell you she’s ain’t no angel for that Charlie and he’s a got it bad got it bad got it bad, he’s a red hot for teacher, baby!

Hoooo-wee!

Any a ways, ole Miss Chief hassa deecide to cum to Big Don hissef an ax fo sum cunsultin work as it be.

So I’s gone be occupie fer a hot ass minute. Miss Chief can be damn purrswaysuff. She’sa got de damn finess ass I ERR seen!

An Big Don’s a seen em all Baby! Dis ere ass issa purrfecly circular.

I means it baby! Damn Mursaydees Benz enginears could kalabrate der insrumentation on dat ass!

Fo sho! Youssa coulda derive pie to seven digiss jussa lookin at it!

FREE poin Wan fo Wan FEYE NINE Too!!

Aw hell! All eye know issa there’s got to be GOT TO BE a fine sissynine in that pie fo ME!

Hoooweeee!

So I’msa sayun chow fo now. But I ain’tsa forgots bout da Con Man for a secon.

No mo worrin bout dees lass few days leff on the seven I said youssa had leff. Enjoy yo seff!

Want SUM? Get SUM!

I’ssa be back, beleev dat!

Knows it!

- The BDK

Sent live, bedside, from the broke ass depths of yo imagination. Word.

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Only upon receiving the above email did I realize that Don K’ Shayne was the real thing. I decided to respond in kind, and since Big Don reminded me of Fido, I emailed back in imitation of Fido’s style:

Constantine Markides to Don – Re: Five Oh! McGarrett! – April 10

a big dunkeschöen to the Big Don K’Shayne! are you my brutha from anutha mutha or my mutha from anutha brutha or maybe just my sista from anutha mista or more like my muse who’s here to abuse? damn yo, this mangy mutt is trippin’ on the depths of your imagination cuz he didnt browse his houndsnout through the first messages and thought he was just gettin’ some green eggs and spam, but now he knows you be the real ham, thank you ma’am! cause yo know about fido and his fellow fo-letter karrackers and about my being awkappied with impenndin moves and so on… damn, this blind ol’ dog is bitin’ at his chomps to find out who’s flashing these pork chops at him, at who’s the trickster conning the conman! i’ll tell you, yo, i’m glad you’re not hurtin’ like a mutha and dont take no e-ffense at my e-gnoring your e-mails cuz this ol’ mongrel has been yowling his words into the ragged night for twelve lousey years and all he’s gotten back is his Echo. and you can take that straight to your bedside Psyche. but even so, yo, un grande dogeyed pardonemwah for not responding earlier, i got outtrickstered that’s all, and that’s what makes the world go round and the big bang go boom so don’t retire yourself yet, my mind is open like you asked, i accept your creative invite, you’ve got my dogeared attention even if I’m missin’ the signs. so I’m just gonna curl up here with my bone at the doorway, listenin’ and waitin’ for your FedEx return.

p.s. and what’s this about the mine ya successfully iffultrayded? speakin’ of grey matter, you’ve got mine goin’ pop goes the weasel. e-word!

______________

Don K’Shayne to me – Apr 11 – I’s Been Discovert

Atlass! An I dont mean that big mussel mutha holin up the planet.

I means finelee! At lass!

Whitney Houston the Eegull has muthafuckin landed!

Done expeck this ere respawnss by fedex, man.

UPS, Con Man!

You PEE-ess! What can Brown do fo yerass?

Dig?

Now lookie hyuh!

Iss answa time!

As far as ma ginetick linage. I’s whatevess you needs my ansessree a bee.

Brutha, cousin, whassafuckevah! Tho all evidens says I’s a real mutha!

Whoooo!

Brutha’s good tho… fo starrers. No nee fo no Big Don, SuPREME Maja nashun jussayet.

Henneway, no nee fa pall gizin. I’s unnerssan sat na-days yews gossahav eyes like a, like a ka-million. Caint be too carful deese days, baby.  Dig?

Nah looka hyuh!

Henneway…. the mine I’s iffultrayded turnsoussabee a reel lame ass mutha.

Damn unimajnive reepubcan peessa shit.

So I’ssa goen Hall an Oass it an Say No Go!

Hells Naw!

Dat an that Charlie turn outta be a stray po-lah mutha! No helpun that.

So…. colabrashun! You goss sum ideeus or ar youss ready a rap yo surbellum rouns the Mine-a-mite dis ere Alfreh No Bull’s gown lawnch acher ass?

Dig?

Fo sho.

-The BDK

Sent live, bedside, from the broke ass depths of yo imagination. Word.

______________

Don K’Shayne to me – small fava – Apr 12

Con Man,

Lissen… howsa bouts you doos Ole Big Dons a solid fava?

Sis kine uff mbarassin an all… buh here goes…

Iss cozee as hells uppin hyuh in yo skull an all but… well.. I’s tryinna warch my Dominikan novelas onna TV an all, but syo foe-ludge sis innerfurrn wissa reecepshun, chief!

Parsah wha caughts ma- tenshun bow choo was yo verricality brotha!

Yo melons a good spot furra nareul antunna. Dig?

So howsa bouts you do me a solids an gets you legs a displace yous a nearess barber?

Juss a trim ya hyah? Nussin drassic!

Issa Fo o Fo now. Iffa you cans get it fo 8 I’d preshate it. Dat Josefeena sho is a site ta see!

Mo affur ma novelas! Oh, an I’ds awso preeshate iffa you keps ma viewun habiss to yoseff, please.

Don’t git sassy…

Sent live, bedside, from the broke ass depths of yo imagination. Word.

______________

I replied, once again staying in character with Fido:

Constantine Markides to Don – Re: small fava – Apr 13

da-amn, don k’shayne! ya better live up to your name and tell your korean girlfriend marcy bo koo to also send me some lovin’ thanks my way cuz i done gone what you begged of me. you better have savored yer dominikanation fannylicious pootang cuz this ol’ mongrel’s tossin’ and turnin’ and yearnin’ for his mutthairs back. shee-it, homey, I’m tellin’ you and every mr bo’ diddly fo’ diddly mutha out there that my poor little corpus is itchy as all hell and on fire like them sorry ass souls stuck down there in hadesville behind old three headed cerbie. see, coupla hours ago i stuck my snout for too long into a vat of rye firewater and then got all misty in the head for what big ol’ don k’shayne asked of me and I went to a polish barber and just told him “yo bro shave me dawn just like i was the juicebox of a 21st century pawnstar” and now I’m just a bald little chihuahua whose burnin’ and turnin’ under the sheets. shee-it, without my furry flesh I’m just as naked and miserable as when my mamma squeezed me all blind and hollerin’ and drippin’ out of her udder. but shee-it, at least I’ll be able to swim like a muthafucka manana! sent to you live bedside from my bald ass depths of my epidermis nation. word.

______________

Don K’Shayne to me – Re: small fava – Apr 13

Koreens!? Whedju gits dat eyedee-us Con Man?

I likes er name tho!

Not dat Big Don dont dig on ayshuns, iss not data tall baby!

Issa juss dat ayshuns tenna be onna smalla side, an dey done calls me Big Don fa nuthin baby!  I nees a woman who can hannels hesseff rounsa creecha of sirrun mass.

Dig?

Wiff ayshuns Ole Dons gots to double up! Yunnersan?

Lass time I’s wiff ayshuns wassin Hon-loolass. I’s der soekin up da rays, yunnerssan, an deese two fine sissas star flirrin wiff Ole Don, ya see?

Dey wurrn sistahs inna Foxy Brown sense. Nah. Dey were sissas inna gin-neck mutha dawtah sissah sense, dig? Deys famly,  yunnerssan?

Hennway….. I done member days names… but I calls em Mooch Ass n Grassy Ass onna count one wassa hoola dansa an otha wan took ma favra sunglassa un daint giffum back! Dig?

Hennway…. I hain seen the new cutta yo foe-ludge owna counss I’s hain been ousside aday.

Big Don dones do rain baby…. an I curr hears dat thunners lass nite.

Ole Thor’s an I’s gots a grudge goes ways back. Lass thing I wants issa boltsa litenins and thunners frum Ole MaJoelamurr ruinins my nite.

Tho I ains bleevin you gossa lots a herrs cut owna counts da rucepshun own ma novelas wassa cepshunlee grizlee lass nite. Tho it cudda bins owna counts a you drinkin dat derrs farrwaters dat made thins fuzz up.

I’s diggin yo Sirrbus reffunce. Tho, dass wan uh ma innervenshuns dat got outsah cun-troll, ya see?

Issa nots errdays yous russponsible fo starrin a ho metholojuss.

Ewassa cup thousun years go, ya see, an I gots diss ideus fo a new arrissic mooment. I’s bin drinkkin heffalee backssen yunnersan? I ain’ts prouds offits, but dass wha whens down.

Henneways, I’d juss polish offa cuppa dozun botulls o lowcull medtrainin wine, ya see, an thins starr gowins fuzz like. Immajuss dublin and tripplin up in my mine’s eye, yasee?

I’s drunkass I’s err been.

I’s seein thins frum multpull purspeckiffs awla wonce, yunnerssan?

Juss enn, dis lil mongrull doggie no bigga yo arm came un starr likin on Ole Don’s face. He wussa sine mentsa keeps Ole Don’s in chek!

Hennaway…. ness day, I’s awokes witha one mutha uffa headayk….

Dat vurr day, I swo off gettins drunk. So…. to co-memmarays ma new soburr-eyeatee I’s cided a co-mishun an artissic repsentashun a whasseye saw. The artiss was purr good, buttee juss cudn acuralee potray wasseye’s sayin. So the harmluss lil doggie came a multi-heads monsser.

An a rest assay-say is hissaree..

It tooks me nutha cup thousun yurrs a finelee gets my vishun reelize.

 

Issa call cubissum deese days baby! How you like?

So… I’s hopes I’s enliesens you a bit…. esspannen yo whirl view….

Keep up yo howlins intoos a nite baby. It mites souns likes a eckos, but iss juss otha dirry ass dogs howlins back atchuse!  We’s juss farraway…. yunnerssan?

Keep dat leash loose baby….

-The BDK

Sent live, bedside, from the broke ass depths of yo imagination. Word.

______________

Don K’Shayne to me – da wethurs – Apr 16

Con Man!

I cided a venshur outta yo mines a bits ons wessday an agins yesseday an enjoys sa nice wethurs. So I apollo geye fo nah been pressen a hewps wicho tasses, yu procrasinay lass minah mutha! Serrslee!

HoooWEEE!

Henneways… looka hyuh!

Assalway happuns onna firss day a nice wethurs, awlsa gurlies acided a sho a lil skin, yunnersan?

Sho wuss a seye dasee! Ains nuthin lika seye a fresslee shay legsa gits a creeaff juices a flowins!

Evwhars Ole Big Don turns darwarsa fine yun ting a struttin like sheessa puttin soussa fires!

I tell you wass! Da ladies aparels is come a lone ways since hot pants, Fuh reels!

Con Man, lemme tell yous, dis citiss chainge! Datsa downseye a bein a neeternuls ennitee a createevatee, da peoples an places da matters an arr nears an deersa yo harr starsa issapurrin!  Iss sad man!

But I ont gits chokes ups baby! Too muchsa do agits sadsabous times passin.

So withsa wethurs beinas nice sitiss I wenns walkabous lika hossrailyun!

I wenssa fines my ole somppin grouns.

I wens lookins fo Unner the Volcannus wers I ussago wiss my bud Maccoms whens hes visstins frum Vankuvass. But it was gones. Ginger man wasill crossa street, tho.

I whens lookins fo da Nackerr Narwall whers I gav ole Herma da ideus fo Queeweh,  but sa Nahwall’s gone too! I mussa done sonem rite do, cus deres Stahbuss errweres! HoooWEEE!

Thins chane too fass suhties fo Ole Don’s a hannel. Buh lika says, canssa get too nossagic, ess yu miss da magics o da pressen! Werd!

So… I’s juss wrinin a lets you kno, keeps yo eyes opens, an neff let yo creatif side go astrays, baby. You ne’ers kno whensa wethurs goins gets rainna an clouss yo vishun, dig?

Like tonite… diss wethurs da Suck!

Werd.

- The BDK

Ya welcome!

Sent live, bedside, from the broke ass depths of yo imagination. Word.

______________

I warned Big Don that I’d be able to search his IP address if he posted a comment directly on Fourth Night. This was his response, in a comment on my website no less:

______________

Fido then jumped in (this time the real one, not just my impersonation of him):

Fido to Don – Comment: “Go For a Swim, Qaddafi” – April 17

da-AMN, the dankeschoen is in da dank house and s/he aint scared of no beware of the dawg signs! s/hee-it host, big don just dropped a big ol’ dookie in a plastic bag by yer front door and set her afire, and then don done gone pushed the ding-dong! easy there, host! don’t go turnin’ yer porch into a poopstoop! but here, since sniffin’ out troubles and snuffin’ out fires is right up my messy little alley, let me check her out… peeYUUU! smells like big don’s been eatin’ some big ol’ chile dawgs and i aint talkin’ bout my street slinking brothas and sistas down in that long suramerican pais, pah-lease! hellz, no point in checkin’ no IP addresses with the big don cuz he knows how to get all up and tweaky in yer head. he’ll just leave you insane in the membrane and barkin’ up the wrong bark.

now, Big D, you lend me your dogear and listen close, cuz this ol’ mangy mutt’s gotta tell you that last night i was out hangin’ with hairy host and his sassy sissa vassa visa and some hobolicious homies and HOOyah we were singin’ all yer emails out loud and laughin her up so hard that we near busted a coupla ribs and windows. da-amn, host can’t even keep up with you, yo, tho we gotta cut the brutha some slack cuz he’s sick right now in all sortsa ways, little sick in the heart, poor fella, little sick in the head, tho he’s always had a touch of that, and a little sick in the good ol’ fashioned flemmy way if ya dig what I’m hackin’ up. but really what I’m coughin’ here, big DK, is that you’re up in all kinda sistas and bruthas heads right now, ya hear? mr. dalvin klein, dig it or not, you’ve become some cult indie celebrity, or maybe i should say cult injun celebrity seein’ hows you yap like my ol’ misssissippi trippi granpy hucklyberry and jumbalaya jimbo except more blackface. hellz, yer so up in the broke ass depths of their minds that a coupla brothas think ol’ fido here is big don! cause you know how this here hound’s got a drop of cunnin’ stealin’ troublemakin’ blood in him, just like my bro coyote and loco loki i know how to subvert the moral code and pervert the oral code like doggone big dong, if ya doggie-style what i’m sayin’.

but shee-it i’m no big donkey. i mean, hellz, yeah, i got some chameleon blood mixed in with my dogblood so i know how to bust it out like the BDK if I wanna but the big con is from the big don, if you can double up what i’m sayin! Causa looka hyuh, lemme tellee, issa truth dat dis ole dog can sounda lika Ole Big Don if hes gots da yurnin fo it. Issa like in my geneticks tadoo dat, yunnerssan? Taint fa nuthin dat deys call me da tricksta, if ya ketch ma drift. Issa not dat fido is da ole don, issa not data tall baby! Fuh reels! Henneways…

whooWHEE! who needs wheaties when you got the early bird Special K! just one bite and yer down the K-hole, yo! hellz yeah, don’t call me fido no more, call me lazarus or shee-it call me hermes melville cuz i’m feelin’ resurrected as ishmael when he come whooshin’ out all smelly n’ jizzed up with whalejuice from the belly of the beast. it’s like i just come crawlin’ out of hibernation and am alive once more. free at last, free at last, thank dawg almighty, i am free at last!

whooHEEE, feels good, yo, to be howlin’ again into the moonnight! next time some questionarrio asks me to talk bout my personal hero, I’m puttin’ down Don K’Kong. hellz, I’m almost in the mood to go scramble up the empire state building like King D’Kong and start singin’ “Will the real slim k’shayney please stand up, please stand up, please stand up” except i aint gonna cuz i like my shady characters layin’ low.

word out from the BK. WOOF!

______________

After several days, I received the following email from Big Don. It turns out he had posted a comment but, as the website filter had flagged it, my approval was needed:

Don K’Shayne to me – Post ma Post! – April 20

Con Man!

I gossa cup a quessins fo yerass. Firssafal, how lons you gotssa takes sa gets my commens possed on yo commens on yo intermess page? Issa lie been fo days o somen! Moderashun? Diss aints drinkins an drivins baby! I dain’t reelize dassa fourthnight ments how longs issa take-a pose on you’s interness page!

Wha? Are yous all hungs ovars fromma passova sayda? Or is you is all flemma still frum yo illnassus?

NESS QUESSION!

Wha the fukisup wiss da weathus in dis city, Con Man? The weathus is da true con man coninuss awl!

Hots cold hots cold!

Issa maykin Charrie Sheen look wella jussed!

Why, I’s luvin the ladie’s leggie leg leggie show, fo sho juss da otha day! Now issa cole an gray as a golen gurl ree-runs!

Am I’s rite? Damn stray!

Nah, looka hyuh! Anna paya closa senshun cuz I’s abousa gess com-catus on yo ass.

Curran evenss.

How you feels bouss tha news outsa NASSA dass theys gots photos of a black hoe swallwins a star innis dyins lass momens? Coo photis too! Iss notta furss time dass happens, an idaint’s juss NASSA gots photiss like dass eitha. You rememmers Divine Brown anna Hue Grant?? HAAA! Dass right baby!

Alrigh Con Man! I’s goinna leave you bee fo now.

All this curran evenss hassa gots me a mite sleepa. I’s a gowenna curr up inna creviss tween da two hemsphurs o yo melon. Dig? I’s gonna nap.

Ya welcome!

Sent live, bedside, from the broke ass depths of yo imagination. Word.

______________

I received the above email on my phone while heading to an evening Arabic class. I said I’d approve the comment once I was back at my place. His reply:

Don K’Shayne – Re: Post ma Post! – Apr 20

Kool and da Gang!

Say hi to Aladdin and da ayatollah fer me.

That turbo headed mutha still owes me a harrum a hoes fer some ghosswritin I did fer his OPEC ass backina day.

Werd

______________

And here is the comment which, for whatever reason, I had to approve:

Don K’Shayne to me – Comment: “Go For a Swim, Qaddafi” – April 18

Dayums fo reals. Con Man! Dis houssisa danka danna chursh baysamens owna…owna ka’sina nite! Fo reels! Opens a winnahs or sumn.

WHOOO!!! Bingo!

Is you issa tryinna gro da mushroos in diss ere place? Truffuss sho are spensif!

I thins sombaees leff a rottin corrs in hyah!

So! Arr co-mewnikays issa owna vurge a goins veyeras? Coo! I’s ready fores a Don K Outbrakes!

Whip oucha paniceilins!

Gladda hear yowes kin foke apurrshate oursa co-mewnikays! They mussa be peepas a cepshunaw quawltees an inneleck.

Con Man, you gossa sassy sissa? I figurrs yo parens gave ups affer ey had you! No senn makin dat missake twice!! HASSARYE! HAAA!!!!

I’s juss playin wichoo Con Man! Shurree she a luvly hueman been like you.

Assafars as cuttin you slack. No wurrs baby! Big Don knows yous is all kines sa sick! Fo sho!

Remembess do, dass essacly the storrs you shoes be writins bouss baby! Ders aint’sa been a singa sickna a da hueman harr da hassen been worthiss a pen to papah. Dig?

So… reersa back… takes a deepass breff ans yous ee’rs had, and lonsh a biggus wads a flemmuge on the page baby! Lets it oussayewe! Coffit UP! WHUTHAW!

Let sat spitooey an illnuss fills up da page baby!

Fo reels. I aintsa goin a judge… naw! I hase a judge.

Tay you time. I’s a bee rouns.

Werd!

-THE BDK

ya welcums.

______________

Fido then replied to BDK’s post. You can read it HERE

After a lull, BDK emailed again:

Don K’Shayne to me – Tornaduss – April 29

Conn knee chee wah Con Man!

Done tinks you’s in da cleahs juss yet baby! The Big Don ain’tsabowssa figgeta bouss you yets!

I’s been busys. That Josafeenas really owdid heseff diss week on my novelas. She an Marias gotsintoo a scuffa ovah a tall tan rasclee mutha offa dude name a Faleepay. Those gurls really gots intos it too. Dey letsum do a lots a dem’s owns stunn work in tv derr in da Dee-Are.

I’s seen youssas poesed a notiss one yo innermess site nouncin a lil sum’n sum’ns goinssa go down owna forf a dis upcommin.

Whachu gots cookins Con Man? Is I is or is I’s ain’ts a gowenns a be surprised?

HOOOOOOooooo!!!! Didje see da messes made down Sout lass few days? Dats whass happens when Loki and Miss Chief bote gits loadeds on muscadine wine an corn watars, djesee?

Now, looka hyuh!

I’s tell you what Con Man… I’s gots to make dis ere brief. I’s gots ta broker a release fo ole Miss Chief. Seemsa while she n Lokis was owna tare, deys bussed up a cabnet o chochkiss an niknacks at Thor’s crib. I’s goinssa gots a lobbiss wit Odin hisseff!

Good thing I’s used to babe sit his ass backinaday.

Dass rite.

Laters on Con Man!

Stay juicy.

- The BDK

Sent live, bedside, from the broke ass depths of yo imagination. Word.

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On April 29 I wrote to Big Don asking if he’d let me post his writings and if he’d offer his ministerial services to readers. His reply:

Don K’Shayne to me – Re: Tornaduss – May 1

Con Man!

I’s honors an shit dat youss sallow me a make a mess ah yo innermess site.

It’s on baby! I’m down!

Ain’t no worries bout findin out who I am. Cause I ain’t lied to you. I’s the BDK! I’ve knowed yer ass since your verricality was floor bound an yous crawlins round on all fours baby!

I’s there whenchoo graduated from pickin yo nose wiff yo index an starred usin yo thumb!

Dass rite!

So done go fryin yo melon figren out who’s I be. Iss poinless.

Relaxan joy da ride!

Caint waita see ma posts!

Walk tall baby!

- The BDK

Sent live, bedside, from the broke ass depths of yo imagination. Word.

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If you’ve made it this far, you’ve got a comment or a question in you. So go ahead. Juss ass da Big Don HERE

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