The problem is nothing happens.
I read “A Small, Good Thing” by Raymond Carver. I’ll never write anything that good. Just a fact. I remember reading it in freshman English in high school. It had no impact. No one should study literature before 40. Teenagers are for fucking. Continue reading
The cunt next door has landscapers with leaf blowers. 7AM second day this week. Maybe today will suck. Felt great in the shower. Then looked askance at the soap. Glanced slightly left to check on the Lever 2000 and it crippled my neck back and shoulder in a way where sitting or standing or lying down is painful. OK. The cunt next door needs constant landscaping. Tony Iommi Iron Man drone of gas powered lawn tools screaming and groaning at all times to tell her she’s made it. She’ll pay 7 dollars an hour ten hours a day 8 days a week for a mariachi band with the tubas hooked up to Phil Lesh’s 32 foot speakers from the Grateful Dead’s 1974 Wall of Sound just to keep me from making a fucking blog post before work. From performing my quarantine work from home in a competent manner. She wants me to be miserable, get fired and have my penis fall off. She’ll succeed. Continue reading
This is the last Delicious Tacos book. The next one will be my real name. Augustus Beaujolais. Mortimer Q. Fagballs. Whatever my real name is, I don’t remember anymore. I’d pretend to be tired of this “persona” but I’m tired of the real version of me that has to work. I’d like to get more into my persona, become Hitler McFucksteens, get back into coke, drink, huff gas, move to Oonga Boonga Philippines and have a high school age girlfriend, et cetera. Continue reading
My aunt has coronavirus. Multiple comorbidities. In a hospital in New York. She won’t make it. Continue reading
What am I doing now? Writing in in the park. Out of the house. Little cold but beautiful. What did I do before. Shot bow and arrows. Mostly looked at Twitter. My brain deteriorating. I don’t want to be typing this now. Want to look at Twitter. Let yourself relax. Cancelled my doctor’s appointment. Didn’t get the mail. I did go to the grocery store, probably doomed my cashier Sophie whose crotch I’d like to chart to the millimeter with my taste buds to certain death by Wuhan coronavirus. Earache is not a symptom of coronavirus. My ear hurts because I bit my tongue. Throat hurts for the same reason. Inflammation around the trigeminal nerve. But now my nose running a little. Rare symptom of coronavirus. It’s coronavirus. Continue reading
The purpose of the Chinese Bioweapon is revealed. Kenneth Ray Rogers, quintessential Voice of America and eminent philosopher-bard passed away yesterday of “natural causes” at 81. Continue reading
2-13-20
It’s a hard time. Yesterday my “sober birthday.” Haven’t drank in six years. Tomorrow Valentine’s Day. I sent a valentine to Angela. She’d complained about me never sending one. It takes four days to ship. Day two she says she’d never be with me. She yo-yo’s back and forth and my being depends on whether there’s hope with her. There isn’t. Whether she means it doesn’t matter. The words true even if she just has PMS. Continue reading
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