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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

Protected: Morning Diary: Hate O’Clock, Rise and Shine

12 Dec

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Protected: Why Don’t You Write About James Deen

4 Dec

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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.

Protected: Diary: Back from the Road Trip

15 Aug

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Buy My Book Hot Naked Tits

29 Jun

HOT NAKED TITS COVER 4-page-0

Available on Amazon.

“A stunning achievement. Five stars.”

— someone talking about a different book

Shit Piss Cunt Fuck

14 Jun
image stolen from nowandgwen.com

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

Diary: Buying a Car

24 May
image stolen from strollingwild.com

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

Reader Mailbag: Where the Fuck Did You Go

10 May

dong

“C” asks:

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