Dream Number 5

18 Oct

I had a dream that Isolde was pregnant. We were roommates. She was Mexican instead of Filipina. Some discussion that it might be mine. But she’d gone from not showing to a medium size bump instantly. She’d be about 4 or 5 months, we decided. So it was his. He was in the picture before me in this dream. She was wearing a midriff shirt. I could see the belly. Her being Mexican it might have had some downy hair. And she asked if I wanted to stay and take care of it. Continue reading

Reader Mailbag: You’re an Old Loser

12 Oct

Sure. But that’s not what I worry about. I felt like an old loser at 22. Of course I look back now, see a picture of myself– I look like a baby. I feel like an old loser now. When I look back at 65 I’ll laugh at how stupid I was. I know this. Knowing this does nothing. It doesn’t help at all. But then hearing it from you doesn’t hurt. It does nothing. I hope it helps you. But you’ll wake up tomorrow needing to leave mean comments. I’ll wake up feeling like an old loser. It’s just genetic. Continue reading

Dasha’s Movie

9 Oct

I’m in the lobby of the doctor’s office waiting for my cancer results. My FWB Isolde who looks like a 15 year old Filipina prostitute is going to the West Coast premier of Dasha’s movie. At the Los Feliz 3 with one of the other dudes she’s fucking. I forget if it’s the one I’m trying to not be threatened by. But it has to be. I took her to the Marine Mammal Care Center. They rehabilitate sick pinnipeds. We saw a female elephant seal. She’s hot– Isolde, not the seal– and she smells good, and when I look at her I can sense myself start to catch feelings. I let it pass. Continue reading

Prostate Nodule

11 Sep

I can accept death. But not the mechanics of it. Nothing else in my ass, ever. They found a nodule on my prostate. The prostate is a walnut-sized gland under your colon. Nodule is a synonym for tumor. Per Web MD a knuckle-like hard protrusion. Knuckle-like. Of course it’s H.R. Giger. Knuckle-like protrusion twitching under gunmetal-color Berlin college girl face with steel fangs and no lower jaw. She quaffs hydraulic fluid from ridgy black intestinal tubes, tangled nightmare quasi-organic hoses pumping ooze from disembodied black chrome tits on some Satanic Contra boss apparition… Nodule means tumor. But “tumor” just means swelling. It’s nothing, he tells me. They’ll check my PSA. Some chemical you make when you have cancer. Confirm it’s nothing after I fast, get my blood drawn, go back for his next available appointment in 2032. Until then put it out of your mind. Continue reading

Alaska

31 Aug

Coming over some mountain pass in the taiga and reception comes back on the radio out of nowhere, it’s the classic rock station playing Led Zeppelin’s All My Love, and it comes on as John Paul Jones’ wizardly baroque synth solo is playing, and you crest some big height in the road and a valley opens up before you vaster than anything, Roger Dean green mountains with 10,000 foot waterfalls climbing up forbidding dark crags above the treeline, glaciers snaking over them as it transitions to Jimmy Page’s answering guitar solo, simple phrases on the nylon string, and as Robert Plant’s vocals kick back in, he is a feather in the wind, you remember it’s about the guy who killed his son in a car accident and you’re going 140 in a 3 ton rental truck. Continue reading

Not Long Now

31 Jul

California ground squirrel - Wikipedia

The blog will suck for a long time. Many things happening. Nothing I can talk about. Some go in the book. The book won’t be out for years. Maybe 2025. I’ll be pushing 50. One hopes I’ll have lost my testosterone and can just Netflix and die, feed the cat. Continue reading

This is a Problem

6 Jun

Don’t read this if it’s about you. Continue reading

The Beating

30 May

Pic unrelated.

Someone left a mean comment that I’m getting old. Stop Muay Thai, start jiu jitsu because I won’t get good at striking. Which is true. But I don’t plan to book a fuckin cage match. It’s just fun. Something to get better at. I pay a man to beat me up and praise me. Clinch work, he cranks my neck down with freakish monkey strength. Later I can’t beat off because the smell of another man’s hair gel won’t wash off my palms. If something smells like a man within 20 feet I can’t get hard. He tells me the bars are good again, there’s pussy. The only manly thing I can talk about. But I can’t drink. I’m on Hinge looking at age appropriate Southeast Asians. Because Michelle Malkin and Stephen Paddock’s wife look good to me. 15 months of quarantine. 
Continue reading

The Shower Drain

8 Apr

The shower drain used to work. And I used to not notice it. Then some ball of fat got stuck in the pipe by the sewer connection. One out of three showers I’ll hear the toilet bubbling and the drain will back up. I’m standing in an inch of lukewarm shit water I have to tiptoe in. Wash my ass and armpits fast and get out of there.

And now when it does work I’m grateful. Watch the water spiral down. Perfect little cyclone with its silvery throat. It’s not backing up today. And I think: I love this shower drain. I have the greatest shower drain in the world. This is why women love a drunk.

Brain Damage Diary

14 Mar

Rain at 2AM and one big thunderclap. Brain damaged from sparring. Brain and face damaged. My instructor whose day job is at an elementary school, who cheers you hitting pads like a kindly dolphin trainer– he wore shorts for the first time. Calves like cinderblocks. Veins thick as gas hoses snaking over them. He has 15 lbs on me and was a professional kickboxer. He went easy. I’m brain damaged. Driving home. Each stoplight had to relearn I was sitting in a car I needed to operate. Thinking ten times did I miss my turn. Is that McDonald’s supposed to be there. Continue reading