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Women Recently

25 Jun

seagul carl's jr cropped

My new collection The Pussy is out. Pay for The Pussy, own The Pussy, put The Pussy on a pedestal, etc.

Now I’m thinking about her while she’s not thinking about me. Has not ever thought about me. She’s thinking about video shoots that guys from bands invited her to, while I’m thinking about her. Cool interesting people are inviting her to swimming pools. I’m buying unnecessary trash bags at Target to get out of the house.

********** Continue reading

Fuck the Future, Burn Your Money

21 May

I need to fail. When good shit happens it hurts. I asked for a raise. Had to wait two months to know. The whole time thinking don’t freak out. God remove my obsession with money. God let me just show up and be of service. God remove outcome dependence. Let me be patient. But that’s not how it works. Continue reading

Bud

15 Mar

bud on wall

I was with a girl, this was maybe 2007. We went to the county shelter in Burbank to get a cat. A young male because my last cat was cool. The cat room there is a long row of tanks with plexiglass in front, air holes. 30 cats but no young guys until the very last cat in the very last row. Black and fluffy with a white star on his chest. Who’s this handsome fellow. He’s one of the bucket cats, the woman said. Two kittens found in a sealed paint bucket. The sister adopted already. This guy was aging out of “cute kitten,” maybe headed for the firing squad.

I put my finger on the glass and said: hey, bud. He put his paw on my finger. On the way out the clerk with the paperwork said do you know his name, and I said: Bud. Continue reading

Morning Diary: Hate O’Clock, Rise and Shine

12 Dec

preg

Good morning. What do I not want to do today. Continue reading

Why Don’t You Write About James Deen

4 Dec
birch 3

image from wikipedia

Because who fucking cares. Woke up today and prayed: Lord make me a channel of thy peace. My dad’s in the ICU. Looks like he won’t make it. Lord let me seek to comfort rather than be comforted. Let me be a good son and brother. He’s been sick for 20 years. Used to have to put on a hazmat suit to see him. Pressurized room so germs don’t blow in. I think about this picture of him with me as a baby on his back. He’s taking me on a walk in the woods. Near my uncle’s place by the lake. White birches in summer. The man who showed me my first cloud. My first bird. I’m about to crack, but: he might make it. Hold it together until you know. Go to work, be of service at my job. Save money to get to the trees. At night I drive homeless guys to AA so they don’t die. James Deen is fucking trivial. Continue reading

Reader Mailbag: Do You Need a Muse?

8 Nov
image stolen from calliopepoetryseries.com

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.

Diary: Back from the Road Trip

15 Aug

photo(19)

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.

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