My new collection The Pussy is out. Crack open The Pussy, tear up The Pussy, The Pussy is available used, etc.
How about some positivity. Therapy’s working. Two sessions, we got to blaming my parents. I have homework, to think about how my parents fucked me up. This morning I conceived of them as ordinary people. It made me sick. I’m like them. Lower middle class tax payer. Throwaway sentence in the history books, in aggregate with other schlumps. The smallfolk dwelled in smelly apartments, paid bills, jerked off feverishly waiting for their Family Pak of chicken to cook. Still, they found meaning in love and children. Except one guy. Continue reading
As I was washing shit off my dick with the citrus almond hand soap I tried to feel bad. I couldn’t. I tried to be afraid of HIV; scrutinized my shiny white shaft under the surgical bathroom light for blood. Raw anal sex with runaway meth hookers: frowned upon by the CDC. But I was intact. What’s more, the transmission rate for the– what’s the opposite of the “receptive partner”– the guy who puts his dick in never gets it. I tried to think about hanging myself like I have at least ten times a day for a month. Couldn’t. I tried to picture my dead dad, my dead friend, my dead cat looking down on me from heaven. Shaking their heads at the boy they loved doing self destructive shit. Their ghosts were gone. I was just there in the downstairs shower getting hard again, thinking about eight minutes ago. Continue reading
Soon they’ll put my face on the money
My new collection The Pussy is out. Pay for The Pussy, own The Pussy, put The Pussy on a pedestal, etc.
Need to kill somebody today. Take my axe to the park. Start chopping up babies and old people. I pray for nuclear war. Every second of life too agonizing. This is from having difficulty with revising the page numbers in my book proof. Continue reading
Photo credit: the reptilians
My new collection The Pussy is out. Buy The Pussy, get The Pussy, tell your mom about The Pussy, etc.
If my sister reads this she’ll try to get you fired, she says. Even with the fake name. She gets vengeful about this sort of thing.
Well what can you do. What I said is true. So I said it. Maybe someone will get me fired. Maybe I should have started anonymous. Not shown anyone my shit. Not put up Youtube videos of my face for radio and voice for silent film. But: some people find me to fire me. Some people find me to fuck me. I want to get fucked more than I don’t want to get fired. Continue reading
Cover design by Matt Lawrence: mattlawrence.net
Fucking sick of this book. Which no one will buy. Sick of uploading this shit to god damn Createspace over and over. Page breaks in Word don’t translate to page breaks in the proof. The fucking table of contents– every time you make some slight tweak it wants to repaginate the whole thing. You can’t highlight just the page break, it highlights the entire table of contents. The evil spirit of Microsoft Word reaching a spindly grim reaper hand over yours on the mouse, jamming a thousand levels of complex unwanted auto-formatting that you must weed through and correct. Matching the table of contents to the digital proof that does not match the Word document, you fix one thing it breaks ten others– the only solution is: close the laptop. Go kill everyone. Five page table of contents because there are like 100 pieces in this book. All shit. I’m a terrible writer. My whole dream is a joke. People only read my shit to laugh at me. Continue reading