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
image stolen from raymears.com
Maybe I’ll go outside and write in the park. But I’ll run into the neighbors, who’ll want to have their dog out. The dog who murdered Bud. I’ll have to look at the weird rich hippie woman’s face, his weird rich hippie face, their smug dad’s money organic beets lifestyle. Their stupid kid. I’ll have to look at them and then just come back in and sharpen my axe. Picture laying it right through their pit bull’s spine. Its startled look, dragging itself home on its front legs bleeding out.
I want to kill my neighbors’ dog. And their kid, and them, in that order. Continue reading
image stolen from instructables.com
Haven’t slept well. The god damn fleas are killing me. Have to do work to take care if it. Fine. This is an opportunity. Clean the house. Take care of yourself– no. Fuck this, fuck all of this, fuck the Earth. We need more terrorism, more war. More Nazis, more racism, more mass rapes, more child slavery. More school shootings more North Korean nukes. Can something fucking good happen today please. It won’t. You have to make your own luck. What a pain in the ass. Continue reading
Will the weekend be wasted. I could go out with–- what the fuck is her name again. Colleen. First date since Bud died. It’d be a waste. Before I sleep with a man I make him show me test results, she says. It happens that I carry negative STD papers in my briefcase. But they’re from October. Who have I fucked since then. Angela. Kerry who I choked. Someone else, some other Tinder Asian. But maybe not. Angela existing has relieved my need for women. We text 200 times a day. Me existing hasn’t stopped her from fucking every man in Texas. What can you do. Continue reading
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
Through April 3rd at Coagula Curatorial
She thought you were hot, my date told me. Well shit. Could I pull it off. I’ve beat off to her rape video 15 times. You stand on a plywood box; she stands across from you on another plywood box; there’s a painted line between you and you talk but you’re not allowed to touch her. Close by there’s a mannequin of her called Emmatron hooked up to an iPad with canned questions. If you ask about the rape she directs you to the mannequin. The iPad says why didn’t you go to the cops right away. Why did you Facebook message him: fuck me in the butt, and so forth. You pick one. Her recorded voice comes on. Fuck me in the butt is an expression like shoot me in the head. If I told you shoot me in the head, would you literally think I want to be shot in the head. Continue reading
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