Acid Heroes

March 20, 2018

The Good Old Days

Filed under: Uncategorized — Ace Backwords @ 6:18 pm

Image may contain: one or more people, drink, closeup and indoor



I’ve concluded that THESE are the Good Old Days. And that today — March 19, 2018 — is a Good Old Day.

In fact, verily as I speak, I’m feeling wistfully nostalgic about some of the things I experienced and felt earlier in the afternoon.

Those were the Good Old Hours!!





March 18, 2018

Well, this is a tricky issue, theologically speaking. The guy was praying to God to intervene. But what if the lion was praying to God for some supper?

Filed under: Backwords from Ace,Uncategorized — Ace Backwords @ 9:02 pm


Alec Ndiwane, a Zion Christian Church prophet, was attacked on a safari while trying to show that God would save him in front of fellow church members in South Africa’s Kruger National Park..

February 27, 2018

Twisted Image #24

Filed under: Backwords from Ace,Uncategorized — Ace Backwords @ 7:12 pm

Twisted Image #24



This was another Twisted Image cover from November of 1990. Its just a parody after I was described by no less than CREEM magazine as “incendiary.” (I had to look the word up in the dictionary. “Incendiary.” I wasn’t sure they meant it as a compliment.)

February 26, 2018

Feral Cat Crime Blotter

Filed under: Uncategorized — Ace Backwords @ 9:26 pm



At approximately 7 AM, February 26, 2018, the suspect was first spotted lurking in the vincinity of the Backwords Campsite in the Berkeley Hills.  The suspect was described as a gray, male raccoon, approximately 7 years old, and weighing about 25 pounds, with a distinctive black mask covering his eyes.  According to eye witness reports, the raccoon stole a considerable amount of cat food from two different cat food dishes. According to police records, this raccoon is a repeat offender and should be considered armed and dangerous.



February 22, 2018

Back in 1996 I used to hitchhike back and forth from Berkeley to Arcata every month

Filed under: Uncategorized — Ace Backwords @ 7:46 pm

Image result for humboldt "101 north"


Its weird how certain songs can be like time capsules that transport you back to the time to when you first heard the song.

I remember the first time I heard that Dolly Parton song, I Will Always Love You, it was back in 1996. I used to hitchhike back and forth from Arcata to Berkeley every month. And this one time I happened to get picked up by this black man.

Now when you’re hitchhiking around and you get in some guy’s car, you’re usually a little paranoid. Because you never know who you’re dealing with. So you’re sort of checking them out as you’re talking to them. To make sure they’re cool. And I was a little more paranoid than usual. Because I rarely got picked up by a black guy in my travels. OK?

So we’re chatting back and forth as we drive up 101 North, about 100 miles from Arcata. And in the course of our conversation he mentions he’s the father of a young son who suffers from some kind of physical disability. I forget what it was. Parkinson’s Disease or something like that. And for the first time I noticed his son is sitting in the backseat of the car. He’s about 5 years old. And I can tell he’s seriously physically impaired in some way. But he’s quietly sitting there and he’s otherwise doing OK.

So at that point I realize the black guy is OK. He’s a loving, caring father who’s taking care of his son. So I relax and I’m no longer paranoid.

Image result for humboldt "101 north"

Then the guy decides to play some music. So he pops a cassette into the cassette player. And its that Dolly Parton song, I Will Always Love You. Which is the LAST think I expected some black guy who picked me up hitchhiking would play. A Dolly Parton song. So this ride is just getting weirder and weirder.

I’d never actually heard the song before. But as the song was playing I couldn’t help it. I started crying. Maybe to some people its a corny song. And maybe it is. But I was so overwhelmed by the emotion of the music and the weirdness of the moment. I turned my head to look out the window. So he couldn’t see me crying. You don’t want to cry in front of some other guy. Because that’s sissy stuff. Plus. the guy might start getting paranoid about ME. Some stranger he let into his car who is now publicly weeping over a fucking Dolly Parton song. Sheesh.

Later I would hear the Whitney Houston version. And I cry when that one comes on too.

But EVERY time I hear that Dolly Parton song I flashback in time to that moment. Riding in a car on Highway 101. In 1996.



February 20, 2018

A Presidential story for Presidents Day

Filed under: Uncategorized — Ace Backwords @ 9:55 pm


My first memory of a president was President Kennedy. Ironically, I heard about him for the first time on the day he got his fool head blown off.

I was 7 years old at the time. And I was sitting at my desk in my 2nd grade classroom. When this older kid came walking into the classroom. He talked to my teacher for a few moments. Then he walked over to me and said: “Your mother asked me to get you and walk you back to your house.”

So that was weird. We left the classroom. And walked together down the streets of High Bridge, New Jersey. The streets were completely empty. Because everyone was

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either in school or at work. So it was like walking through a ghost town. And I kept thinking: “Am I in trouble?” And I tried to remember if I had done anything bad lately that would cause me to get pulled out of school.

When I got home my Mom was in an ultra serious mood. “Somebody just killed the president,” my Mother said. “That’s why we took you out of school.”

“Oh,” I said.

“It could be the Russians are behind it,” said my Mother. “And they might start launching atom bombs at us.”

Image result for kennedy dallas motorcade


“We may have to go down to the cellar and stay in the shelter,” said my Father, gravely. “And wait it out until all the radiation is gone.”

We had this crude, make-shift “fall-out shelter” in our basement. It was basically just a room with a bunch of canned foods and bottled water and flashlights.

I wasn’t sure what “radiation” was. But it sounded like some deadly form of invisible cooties.

Then we huddled around our black-and-white television set. Men were rushing back and forth apparently doing important things. It all seemed really SERIOUS but I had no idea why.

I went up to my bedroom and played with my toys. And I don’t remember anything else about that day except that i was probably happy I got out of school early.



February 16, 2018

Two Generations of Hate

Filed under: Uncategorized — Ace Backwords @ 10:15 pm

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This is a painting that I commissioned from the street artist Johnny Rev (also known as John Dammit and 8-Track).

I call it “Two Generations of Hate.” Because the guy on the left was this young gutter punk named Hatred.  And the guy on the right is this old street person named Hate Man.

I still got the painting stashed somewhere in my storage locker with all my other junk. Probably some day the painting will get sold off at an art auction for a lot of money.  But me and Johnny Rev probably won’t be around to collect any of the dough. That’s usually how it works in the art business. Art is a great field of endeavor.



February 12, 2018

Watch “A tour of Telegraph Avenue with Ace Backwords” on YouTube

Filed under: Uncategorized — Ace Backwords @ 2:19 am

November 8, 2017

Miss LaPointe



I remember my freshman English teacher. Miss LaPointe. Man she was hot. She was red hot. She was a very attractive woman. Even her name was hot. Miss LaPointe. I think she was French. Talk about being “hot for teacher.”

Nobody ever cut Miss LaPointe’s class. The room was always packed. People would be fighting to get front row desks. There would be people lined up in the hallway. Standing Room Only. Hoping to get a seat in the classroom.

Miss LaPointe wasn’t TRYING to be sexy. But she was so beautiful she couldn’t HELP being sexy. She’d wear these conservative 3-piece suit kind of outfits. But with the first couple of buttons of her blouse unbuttoned. Just enough to give you just a hint of her cleavage. And every now and then she’d bend over to get something from her desk. And for a split second you’d think that one of her breasts might pop out. And there would be an audible gasp. And every male in the class — as well as several of the female lesbians in the class — would be riveted with our attention. It was a classroom learning experience for all of us.

But the thing I most remember about Miss LaPointe. She was a great English teacher. Every book she turned us onto was a classic and well worth reading. Stuff like Steinbeck’s “Of Mice and Men” (“Tell me about the rabbits, George.”).

But the thing I most remember was this one classroom writing assignment. “OK,” said Miss LaPointe. “I want everyone in the class to be silent for the next 15 minutes. And I want you to write down whatever thoughts happen to randomly pop into your head. Whatever you happen to be thinking, just write it down ”

That seemed like a pretty novel approach. And I would spend the next 40 years of my life as an artist doing exactly that.


July 1, 2017


Filed under: Uncategorized — Ace Backwords @ 3:30 am

Acid Heroes

I’ll sometimes hear writers talking about “writer’s block.”  I have no idea what they’re talking about.  I’ve never had that problem.  My problem is I can’t stop writing.  I couldn’t stop spewing out all this verbiage if I tried.
I started keeping a daily journal in 1993.  Twenty years later I have boxes and boxes of the things.   Hundreds and hundreds of these notebooks, every page, every line, filled with my feverish, scribbled scrawls (I’m told within 20 years “cursive writing” will have become completely archaic, so a lot of good the things’ll do me since nobody will be able to read the damn things).  I just find something really satisfying about taking the garbled chaos of my daily life and stringing into together in a linear form.  I might not know what life is, or what life is about.  But at least I can kind of…

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