Monday, December 12, 2011


DAUGHTERS OF COURAGE newly released!

This is a novel about a butch dike who starts her own women’s lib organization. Great descriptions, realistic dialogue—excellent plot. Now fer’ sale CHEAP on ebook!

DAUGHTERS began as little church gatherings-- in their hotel room with Valiant preaching-- and finally, became a radical feminist organization, The DAUGHTERS OF COURAGE. We are introduced to a number of interesting women. Sappho Witch, Kenyetta Nyrobi, et al. More & more disfranchised women pour into DAUGHTERS OF COURAGE. The organization rapidly grows; they get their own meeting hall; hold events: “We used our welfare checks to pay for it!” Some of the poorer members yelled, in a toast, clinking soda cans at the celebration. Bare floor; 2,000 square feet stretched out before them. The few folding chairs the church owned by now had been moved in. “And the bourgeoisie pays for it all!” A dyke hollered with glee.” True to the Arobateau style there are many humorous passages. Also, amazingly, amid all the action there’s still time for some sex scenes!

PS. The dedication page of DAUGHTERS OF COURAGE reads: “In memory of Valerie Solanas.” Valerie Solanas; madwoman, creative artist, and would-be assassin’s last earthy address was the Bristol Hotel, not but a stones throw from the San Francisco branch of RED JORDAN PRESS who provided this Book Report in 2005.


So back to my journal--like I describe it was the poverty years of an Old Man, who had once been young.

This city is a cruel mistress, she governs by greed. Every landlord raises their rents sky-high to the limit. Each restaurant overcharges for increasingly small portions. The meat section in the cheaper supermarket is exorbitant. If it was not for charity, and handouts—he’d be a dead man.

The horrible reality—why this city is not free, is that the rents keep going up every time a tenant moves, so one on a fixed income dare not move even tho their situation might be horrible. We are not free. If we were, people could move here & there, testing the waters, & gradually make their way into a neighborhood more conducive for their lifestyle—but this greed rears its ugly head & blocks the way.

I think all of our spirits are moaning & groaning for God(es). After our pets, our spouses, our friends are prayed for and their deliverance given up to God in prayer—then the spirit inside us wreaths, in its hunger for God. Its uncertainty. We are Israel—we who believe—whither we are born Jewish or not. Israel means—wrestling w/God. And we are wrestling. Humans are Gods finest creation. I have seen a picture of the surface of Mars, Dr. Sam showed me—it has hills, rocks, and what looks like was once a shoreline. It looks amazingly like earth—and it gave the Old Man confidence that soon people of earth would be traveling all over the galaxy—and finding new homes on new planets. He knew God wanted the Space Program to continue----and tho the current Administration in the White house has discontinued our USA Space Program—it is being picked up by millionaires and billionaires in the private sector, and by corporations too.

We will soon be traveling thru space!

We’ll getting back to God.

95 million Americans—1/3 of our nations population—not only watching American Idol on TV, but were so engrossed they took the time & voted for the stars; they have lost themselves in a Hollywood dream—while the rest of our planet is in upheaval. We are being displaced as Number #1. The Middle East is in the throes of awakening. The environment is moaning in travail—global warming is here; settling in w/mega holocaustic weather patterns, fires, floods, tornados, volcanoes, tsunamis; wreaking havoc. Many of us are frantically digging out a place for ourselves to endure the oncoming Armageddon. Cousin Carlos has his digs, a condo in Madison, WI, Monsieur Hugo his cabin on the Mesa, the Good Doctor Sam working at a trade which has been 20 years in the making… soon to get some kind of housing ownership I bet… and me… an Old Man in a dry season—waiting for enough art revenues to secure his tent, as the winds begin to howl…

Well Van Gogh had his letters to his brother Theo, and I got my Journal.

Go buy Red Jordan Arobateau’s books on;; his art books
w/paintings & text at, and his fine arts prints at
All material copyrighted by Red Jordan Arobateau. 2011.
Excerpts from his ongoing Journals.
(See to get a copy or read some of it for free on Google.)

Monday, November 28, 2011

Great News --Red’s e-books! Books Cheap!

The sun had been shining but now there is rain in the air & it got cool. —Blowing in from the Atlantic Ocean. Old people walking round saying what happened?

To this economy
To this nation
To this world

The old man thought: I made my empire out of absolutely nothing.

T looked around at his small world—thank You God for giving me what I have. It was an increasingly compact Zen world, his green plants, his parrots, his grey cat, his few personal items, his many, many, many, many, many book boxes, and canvases. He was ready to roll if necessitated! He could go anywhere!

How many artists have died w/all their work in their room? Their attic, or basement, or storage locker?


Well now, Dear Friends, here’s the head’s-up on my ebooks. RED JORDAN PRESS has constant new e-books going up on Amazon as we are OCR-ing the old typewritten manuscript, doing a minor editing for computer text glitches and releasing them on e-book! You will see the new ebooks online! Books Cheap! These books weren’t available just 6 months ago. And the goal is to have all 93 of my books digitalized. This includes some of the old old ancient vintage works such as BOY CENTER, And the Scavenger Trilogy (GARBAGE CAN SALLY, ASHCAN BETTY, FLEAMARKET MOLLY). Here is a list of those latest old novels, scanned, & newly released:


Finally, here’s a key to seeing which of my long growing list of ebooks is a novel—and which is one of my Journals. The novels are all priced at $9.99, and the Journals are all priced at $8.00 or below.

Happy Reading!

Go buy Red Jordan Arobateau’s books on;; his art books
w/paintings & text at, and his fine arts prints at

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

The Latest RipOff!

The Latest RipOff!

Lifelong neglect wears down the most brilliant spirit.
--Garbagecan Sally, circa 1979

I have fought for a seat @ the table & now their taking away the table.

Aw shiet! Just got this email from;—Amazon Advantage Program--Where I sell my lousy little books on line!!!!!!!! AURRRGHHHH!

For well over a decade, the Amazon Associates Program has worked with thousands of California residents. Unfortunately, a potential new law that may be signed by Governor Brown compels us to terminate this program for California-based participants. It specifically imposes the collection of taxes from consumers on sales by online retailers (including RED JORDAN AROBATEAU!!!!!!!!)

This means all my carefull book presentation over Amazon will disappear! AURGH! Been building that site fo’ ten years! AURRGH!!!

Nothing more to say for now! Heads up Dear Children! KKKapitalism is encroaching upon—in the form of Socialism now! A wolf in sheeps clothing! Stealing the pennies—and I do mean pennies of revenue from the poor!!!!! Aurrrgh!!!!

All material copyrighted by Red Jordan Arobateau. 2011.
Excerpts from his ongoing Journals.
(See to get a copy or read some of it for free on Google.)
Buy Red Jordan Arobateau’s books on;; his art books
w/paintings & text at, and his fine arts prints at

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Resuming Blog After Long Absence!

Lifelong neglect wears down the most brilliant spirit.
--Garbagecan Sally, circa 1979

I have fought for a seat @ the table & now their taking away the table.


There is a thing called Justice. This concept was imparted to the dim minds of human beings @ least 5,000 years ago—or much more. It is a spirit sent from God, (Goddess, Allah, Shema, Great Spirit, Higher Power, The Light, et al.) This is a most precious, and powerful spirit. All throughout our nation America, we see the grey stone courthouses of the city, state, & federal jurisprudence, dedicated to administering the law, in the pursuit of Justice. Sometimes, Justice is circumvented---prevented from materializing itself, because of corrupt lawyers, or judges, or witnesses to the case who have been bribed, intimidated, or other roadblocks. We should cherish this spirit, we should weep for her, love her, uphold her honor, —this Justice! The day Justice disappears from the land, it will be like the sun going behind a permanent cloud, never to shine fully again, leaving the land dark, gloomy, and unfruitful—and remaining so, until once again Justice appears to show her shining face!

My Dear Children, 500 years ago we, The People, were talking in secret of how to depose Kings & Queens. Today, it’s the Korporate Kapitalist Military Complex, The Rich, and Dictators whom we must depose for they are anti-life.


Ok, well, enough of the serious stuff, now, here’s a note on the lighter side. I remember the Great Sex Club Raid. Here is that story of the Flaming Cake:

Him, & his partner of those days, Jasmin, went out for the night; they drove across the Bay Bridge headed towards the Big Bright Lights of the City of San Francisco—and their destination was a Women’s Sex Club. It was a floating club a dike held @ different venues, most owned, or leased by Gay Men for their own sex parties, which the dikes would take over for one evening a week-- in the SOMA (South Of Market, warehouse district). This was the second time the couple had attended this particular location of the club for it moved around frequently. A floating Sex Club. The couple was in for a shock as they went up to the entrance for there on the street, some dikes told them: THE POLICE ARE GOING TO RAID THE CLUB—THE POLICE SAY THIS CLUB IS ILLEGAL! Well Red wasn’t having it, and grabbing Jasmin’s hand proceeded to stomp all the way up a long flight of stairs of the old warehouse to the club on a high-up second floor. Near the top a line of women was going in, paying their admission money to a leather dike bouncer. Once inside, there was a thick throng of a few hundred women milling about in a common area; there again they heard this rumor that the cops had been thru earlier to tell them the club was being shut down—because of a Fire Marshal ban—and Red was pissed. This sex club took place on two levels. The first level was a general space with lockers down a hall if you wanted to check your stuff. There was a stage in back w/bawdy entertainment. All the serious sex play was up one more flight of stairs. Up there were several huge industrial-sized rooms. The floors covered w/dozens & dozens of mattresses, and women sexing on them in various positions & doing various nefarious acts. In one wall of these rooms, windows faced the bleak hollow night of the factory distinct outside. Upstairs here, a few couples and groups had begun to play, but the majority of women were still back down on the second floor; a great amount of them, still walked around in a state of uncertainty, due to the rumor. A strange sight could be seen outside the parameter of the milling crowd of lesbians talking, gossiping, making plans for what & who they intended to do later that evening; -- against the wall in a corner on a tiny triangle size table was a miserable cake. A sad, 2-layer fallen cake, w/icing sloppily applied—pink, turquoise & yellow. It had a handful of candles stuck haphazardly in it, which were on fire.

A crowd of women had gathered around the young owner to question her about what was happening, about the Fire Marshal and the police and the threat of a raid. She said:

Aw hell, just ignore them! They’re just posturing! They won’t arrest anybody! They can’t! It’s a trumped-up charge! I’ve got my business license—its right over there! It’s hanging on the wall over that cake! The police want to shut down all the sex clubs in the City because of HIV-AIDS. So they sent the Fire Chief up and he says there’s not enough fire exits, but I think there’re enough. If there was a fire there’s the front stairs, a fire escape on the side, and you can jump out of the windows in back onto the roof of the place next door to escape. Its just a harassment tactic. The fire department & the cops hate lesbians!

But they’re saying this sex club is illegal!

That’s why were not calling our event a sex club!

Your not?

No! We’re calling it a Birthday Party!

A birthday party?

Yeah! See that cake in the corner!

And there was the sad miserable cake, it sat, slowly it’s candles were burning down, everyone was ignoring it, and nobody was singing Happy Birthday.

The girls were talking about this police raid business, nervously shifting from one booted foot to another, aimlessly slapping their riding crops against their chaps; however many of them, duffle bags of toys slung over their black leather jacketed shoulder begun to make their way up to the 3rd floor to begin play.

And there in the common area, this pitiful cake is sitting all alone by itself against the wall; and here’s hundreds of women carrying handcuffs & chains, and clanking around in big boots & biker caps, trying to figure out if they should stay & play, or be cautious and leave, & just go down the street to a dike bar & drink themselves silly. Then in back, in the show room, on stage the show had begun —it was a Fisting Demonstration, so called but actually it was a Fisting Contest. A helper was passing out lube & gloves. The first contestant climbed up to the stage, took off all her clothes until she was naked but for a pair of orange sox, then pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves, made a fist w/one hand—thumb under fingers-- and making quite a production of slathering lube on it, & began fisting herself.

Then the next contestant climbed up, and then another one, and soon their naked bodies contorted on stage gyrating & groaning accompanied by garish music, like a circus, like a Fredrico Felinni movie. So the whole crowd who was left, who hadn’t gone upstairs to play, had rushed off from the front, back here to watch, abandoning the sorry cake and its flaming candles—when suddenly a loud commotion broke out down in the street, some gals rushed up front and gazed down the wide staircase, a crowd of dikes downstairs was hollering:


A phalanx of police officers—in blue uniforms—including a lot of female cops came storming up the wide front steps 3 abreast, women were squealing, hurrying out, running back down the stairs pressed against the banisters, but no cops attempted to stop them. Line after line of cops charged up the stairs; about 50 of them, they were prepared for trouble. They marched into the common area, grabbed the owner & cuffed her, and read her her rights. By this time the entire floor of women was pouring back down the steps swinging their toys, floggers, accouterments, racing back out into the night.

–The police didn’t buy her story that it was anybody’s birthday party! –Not to mention 400 women inside w/another 75 milling around downstairs in the street—all for one little cake!

So that’s what they got the owner on charges of running a disorderly house, being in violation of the Fire Marshal code—and creating a fire hazard by having an untended Flaming Cake burning against the wall!

Am so exhausted editing HO STROLL, and neglecting daily NOTES —& that’s how I make a living! Urrhguhh! A pile of ‘em sitting waiting to be typed, worked, edited, & added into the chapters of my Journal—currently, BLOSSOMING #3. Aughrrrughhh!!

All that writing all those years, technology has caught up to me. Release my work en-masse. Now all that is needed is to raise money, bit by bit, to OCR/PDF all those remaining manuscripts typewritten prior to 2007, & turn them into digitals. 53 of ‘em. More or less invisible & unknown, and the world must be facilitated in seeing them—on ebook--cheap!

All material copyrighted by Red Jordan Arobateau. 2011.
Excerpts from his ongoing Journals.
(See to get a copy or read some of it for free on Google.)
Buy Red Jordan Arobateau’s books on;; his art books
w/paintings & text at, and his fine arts prints at

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Out Of Hospital!

Dear Readers

as some of you might know, have been in hospital, then back out, then back in, then in again, and now out!!!!

Am full of meds and oozing about town in a daze like a plhatmosgoric entity--whatever that is. Check out my latest books on ongoing Journal. Here are some titles:

Days Before The Yoke
In Paradise!
Sacred Journey

We had a great reading last nite @ Brother Tracy Jones deal, and was good to see folks there. I read from my way-fabu poems, including I LOOK LIKE THE MASTER RACE, yes Dear Children--a Race Poem. I also read from my previous blog--PIES!!!!! concerning the kkkapitalist konstruct in thinly veiled symbolism--them pies--I also had a big paper shopping bag in which I hoped the audience would put money--but nobody took the bait!!!!!!!! rats!!!

Nothing more to report, am busy working writing, but can't get it together to paint for a while. See you all soon.

Oh, this thru the fog of my brain, Brother Aaron Lawrence is having a SOLO show @ Space in May was it? And he will fill up the whole place!

John Felix Arnold is soon having a show--in SF this time, at Queens Nails I believe.

David Young V is going crazy prepering for his Whitewalls show--or Shooting Gallery or somethihng, but not in gallery 3 as his last 2 shows there have been. Saw a great work in process by him @ Tracy Jones and I'm sure we will see more of the same.

Megan Wolfe is having a SOLO show soon--will report more on this later. Dear Meg helped me do my laundry several times! --w/coffee which is the best way, especailly since she payed for it!

Aurrrrgh! Gotta get back to painting!!!!! My painting brain hemsphere is not pleased w/this absance from the canvas!

Look @ my art prints on and

Over & out,


(Red Jordan Arobateau) Buy* My* Book*!
on, Art prints @ and