image stolen from calliopepoetryseries.com
I need two million dollars so I can fuckin retire. I can make a muse. I could fall in love with a fucking couch cushion. Find a way to think the couch cushion didn’t love me back. The couch cushion is fucking other guys. I’ll never find another couch cushion like her.
Any woman can be a muse. Just like any woman can be a fuck. Just project your self hatred and inadequacy on her. In my Ted Kazcynski dream cabin I could make an elk my muse. Why won’t this elk return my texts.
Every girl I half like is a muse. Because I drive her away with neediness. What I want is: cuddle on the couch. Have babies. Cook fuckin Betty Crocker pork chops. I want to love and care for someone. Women are appalled by this. So no matter where I start—we could be talking about someone who spends money to be near me—I’ll get hung up on her. Afraid she’ll never like me. Afraid I’ll never write again. What made her like me will go away. What will be left. Clark Kent, but ugly. Gray collar small dick office nebbish. My true self.
LA to Arizona to Utah to Idaho to Wyoming to Montana to Washington to Oregon to LA, 7 days. Jesus Christ. Now what. Now I’m back. Jerked off, smoked a cigarette, took a shower. Now eat some chicken; resume normal life. Zion, Bryce Canyon, Yellowstone, Glacier, Wild Horse Island, Crater Lake. Little towns with little newspapers where a new parking statute is their 9/11.Bikers everywhere. Sturgis was this week, and some drag race in Butte. Big fat murderous bearded men and their women with faces like cow grain shoes. Been driving 8 hours a day eating almonds and beef jerky. Jerking off constantly into an old T shirt. Satellite radio back and forth from Willie Nelson’s Old Country Roadhouse to Howard Stern. One minute Loretta Lynn, the next Sal Governale pouching up old jizz in his distended foreskin. Countryside going by like the opening credits to The Shining. There’s an Isaac Asimov story where a space colony needs water for their terraformed planet, maybe Venus. Earth won’t give it to them so they go on a six month trip to grab a mountain sized iceberg from the rings of Saturn. They make it without going crazy by hanging outside the ship in the warm space suit. Stars go by; floating in blackness like sleep. This is what the car is like. Stern on the box and jerking it over and over to the wet underage bikini and jogging shorts cunt cracks you see wading the rivers of our national parks. Miles up a trail behind some fourteen year old’s pinched wedgie ass as she sweats next to her Mormon parents with their ski poles and camelbacks. Or you jerk it to the waitress in Pocatello with the tits, the waitress in St George Utah with her confused Hot Topic sexuality, the waitress in Bear Cock Montana with the black eye. Blonde hair blue eyes Randy Weaver’s daughter types. Imagine holing up with them in a cabin somewhere. Watching the firelight as the snows come in. They like you, these girls. In LA there’s a million like me. Many of them are famous. Out there you remember you’re not malformed.
Available on Amazon.
“A stunning achievement. Five stars.”
— someone talking about a different book
image stolen from nowandgwen.com
We both know I won’t make 30, I told her. What will you put on my grave. “Kiss Joy as it Flies,” she said.
She died at 4AM Wednesday morning. 36. Heart attack. Drug related. Funeral is tomorrow. I think about putting a snow pea flower in her coffin. I think about her in the coffin and I have to cry.
She’s the other voice in my internal dialogue now. I have to write about you, I tell her. I don’t know what to call it. Maybe “Goodbye Baby” but I never called you baby. Yes, that’s stupid, she says. Obviously shit like “RIP” is out; “She’s Gone,” “She Died,” what the fuck. I can’t use your name. I’m afraid your mom will read it. She’ll think I’m spreading shit that you did drugs. Well you did– you did a ton of fucking drugs. Order an eight ball at 10PM and cook it all up and then another eight ball at 3 in the morning. I had work the next day. Woken up by your douchey fucking dealer from San Diego with the spiky hair. He wanted to fuck you but who didn’t. At least he was respectful about it. Just get a quarter ounce at the start of the night, I’d say. Trying to sound cool. Like I was top secret drugs guy too. Really I was scared. Continue reading
image stolen from strollingwild.com
Fucking money. 20 thousand dollars I may never have for a thing I don’t need. I could get a craigslist car for five grand. But fuck that. No more tow trucks. No more haggling with Armenians.
It has a sunroof. Picture driving to the desert. The stars. A girl. A girl… I’m buying the fantasy. All wheel drive in snow. 4 more horsepower than previous models. Have to haggle over interest rates. They know I’m a sucker. Don’t show them your cards. Don’t tell them your mommy can cosign for you if your welfare queen credit score is an issue. Don’t tell them this, don’t tell them that. Be prepared to walk away. Continue reading
Where the fuck did you go
I’m not hurting anyone. I’m not fucking anyone. So: nothing happens.
Wake up. Eat granola. Healthy stool. Shave. My car is broken. Imprudent to spend the money to fix it. Take the bus to the train to my workplace, where I struggle to be of service to the best of my ability. 9 hours of that. Train to the bus to the walk back home. Call the cat in. Eat leftovers. Jerk off to a black man impregnating an overweight Asian woman. Read three pages of A Feast for Crows. Fall asleep. I dream that I’m drinking. The feeling is: oh no I fucked up. Continue reading
image stolen from forums.miamibeach411.com
As a personal growth exercise, please answer the following question:
How would you describe your ideal behavior with regard to dating and sex?
I want to be a human hose. Permanently coupled to a never ending mountain of ovulating 13 year old Asian schoolgirls. Perpetually blasting hot yogurty goo into impossibly tight wet adolescent cunts. On the other end, my face, a team of servants stuffs nutrients necessary to continue pumping forth oceans of crawly ejaculate. Healthy foods such as blueberries and yams. Brussels sprouts. Doesn’t have to be organic shit. I’m not fancy. Continue reading