Can’t look at my Sedona pics without that bad acid feeling. Haunted house feeling. People are right. There’s energy there. It’s evil. There was a massacre, something. I hiked to one of the attractions, a giant sinkhole. Hundred ton rocks had plummeted into the bowels of the Earth. I felt like an antenna picking up a TV station broadcast by Pennywise. Feel it again now talking about it. Last night before I slept. I carried it with me.
image from joshobrouwers.com
Missed call.12:32 AM from Gracie Tinder August 2016.
Who is that. Did I say bad shit about her? Could she accuse me of rape? AIDS? Pregnant? August 2016– 8 months ago. That’s not an abortion call. That’s an I’m having it call. Good. Finally this all means something. Continue reading
Don’t quit smoking. Don’t go to work. Don’t save money. Don’t pay taxes, bills. Don’t be kind to women. Get a new name in a new country where you can beat your 13 year old wife and live on 2 dollars a day. Continue reading
image stolen form aqua-freshwater.blogspot.com
I’ve psyched myself out of writing chapter 4 of Finally, Some Good News. Good. Fuck it. I can’t do it. Suddenly writing a blog post isn’t enough. What you need to feel you’ve written something just escalates. Fuck writing. Take a year off. You’ll never be famous and you’ll never even get laid from it again. Your readers are ingrates and bums. Fuck them all. Write something great and bury it, burn it. Make a statue and hide it behind a wall. Piss on the wall. Continue reading
Out in the park on a stump. Looking at snow capped Mount Baldy. A hummingbird hovers by a tall tree top. A nice day. I have therapy in 30 minutes. It will be the last time. I spent money on this, to get my AA sponsor off my back. Make him stop browbeating me about finding peace with women. It was this or go to Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous. The therapist got me through grief about my father. Through panic about my own death. Life slipping away. When it came to women he said: sign up for a community college class. Continue reading
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
Good morning. I’m at Woodcat. Again, this coffee shop is poorly designed. Everyone can see over my shoulder. If you can read this: suck my dick. I love raping children. Hitler was amazing. Nigger nigger faggot Jew, etc. Continue reading