u r yr playlist

when they kick in yr front door

how u gonna come?

with yr hands on yr head

or the trigger of yr gun?


love the clash. love em. have since i was an infant. my parents might have been fucking to the clash.

splatter to pitter-patter

i've been a genre fuck

since before it even mattered...

yes i'm a Bad Guy, but only in the music videos in my mind.

in real life i am quiet and shy and stoned.

in real life i lack the constitution

i pay big money every week to go to a shrink

i want to find the key and turn the lock

i want to realize all my millions of ideas

i want to live without fear.

i want to live TRUE


(i do i do i do)



today begins the culmination of my SKULLFUCKBUSH project.

like most things i do it certainly had great potential

but like most things it's a path i've decided to walk alone

despite all the indications and flickerings of mass support

i refused to dot the i's and cross the t's

(the larry tees, that is)


and now here we are

two days before the event and i'm home alone

making t-shirts and fliers

for a party that may or may not happen

and i've had a couple of minor breakdowns

nothing dramatic i just sit and stare into space

and wonder what the fuck i have against bush anyway.

who gives a shit, he's just after the paper like the rest of us.

what more do i want in the world

now that i have my iPod?




Tower to the skies!

An Academy of lies!

And what goes up surely must come down

And we felt the mighty blow out

With the walls coming down...

(or something like that)




Hey, New York!

Remember the last time we were all on the streets together?


how have you been? i feel like we hardly talk anymore, wrapped up as we are in our selves. don't get me wrong i love being wrapped up. that's one of the reasons i live here: the exquisite joy of walking in a crowd and not knowing or being known by a single soul for blocks and blocks and blocks...the skyscrapers rise over our heads, the sun is reflected off the brilliant white sidewalks...it is a citywide, cinemascope.

the midtown lasers blind my eyes

the downtown cabs grind to a halt

the tompkins sq

bright lights of broadway

i'm on my way

with my black punk rock t

and my bad attitude

and my rights and convictions

i'm going to have lunch with jamie

and then i'm going to go run some errands

and then get arrested.






three is the magic #:



jamie

anti

raymi

if this blog was music it would be dub.

it's all about beats and production.

we put mics in the walls

so the studio itself could become an instrument.





the real ish

I’m not really such a bitch.


I just play one on this site.



bitch

switch

itch


Sometimes, the drama's the only thing that let's me know i'm alive...

i am such a recluse it's not even funny. sitting up at the desk on a beautiful day is no big thing for me. in iPod weedland the hours just fly right by.

today in the vegan place i was in between two mothers with their new babies. the babies were pink and white with clenching hands and the mothers were pale with floppy bellies. one of them looked at me like i was a dog. prolly cuz i hadn't showered for two days and i smelled like pussy.

it's rare that i get on a sex thing like this, so when i do, it's so totally on. i mean, like, i want it all the time and every which way. it's like a disease. i am at the mercy of my loins' cruel twists.

i don't know who i am but it's not one of these millions of people running around like maniacs. i'm more concerned with putting one foot in front of the other, as i head down the path before me.

20th century, go to sleep

i think it would be great if everyone moved everywhere and we got rid of all national identities in every corner of the world, and everyone mixed up and started fucking everyone else.

'the matrix' really is the future. i think someday they'll look back at this primitive time and think how strange it was that there were white people and black people and yellow and red people instead of just brown people.

(at this point it's worth mentioning that i've got super pale skin that i'm kinda yukked out by.)

that's why those terrorist motherfuckers hate on us in nyc--because we represent the ultimate promise of everything they are against--the modern, western, capitalist, infdel city, where a woman can stand on her own and run the fucking show. where queers can live together in homes that they own. no wonder why they want to bomb the shit out of us.

fuck those asshole cowards.

fuck george "dubya" bush not only for not having protected us in the first place, but for putting us in even greater danger as time's gone on.

fuck these neverending days, of tv and drugs and cleaning and waiting and planning and flat commercial break kind of experiences, instead of grand, overwhelmed experiences, like standing on a mountain or a bridge, or at the top of a spiral staircase.

(looking down)

fuck mutual compatibility and the marrying type and child bearing hips

fuck grandparents, uncles and aunts

and all other family unit bullshit

i want the glory of love

the cinemascope pleasure and the blockbuster pain

the low road through the mountain pass...





i'm big dang-er-ous

yr just a little vicious.






white america

welcome to crackdale

oh, i cant

i'm totally serious: bad things happen when i don't smoke weed.

i like candy for dinner

i like nutritious and non-nutritious friendships

i like the way i get what yr sayin

deep in the stomach like an ache

i walk the blocks with a bop

you see, i'm having this party

and i'm gonna invite all the waiters and the high-society teenagers

with their bling-bling and their jail bait skirts

i want the kids from the piers

(or what used to be the piers and is now a sidewalk and a lawn)

the ones who can't afford a drink or any minutes on their phone

i want the kids in cars

and the ones working the back rooms of bars

and i want the fashionistas and the wannabes

we'll chill like barbizon

"be a model or just look like one."

there will be ramiaoke and sophia coppola

spike jonze and spike lee

the house of Xavier?

david bowie in full make-up?

q-tip

kate bush

girls from brooklyn

boys from all over...

Don't let them scare you

fuck these phony-ass, three yr old terror alerts


what, they think they're gonna SCARE new york city into voting republican?


pfffffft.




stay home

we dont want u here.


we're going to rob yr significant other

we're going to have gay sex outside yr window

we're going to be out on the streets, waiting to embarass you when it's time for yr obligatory visit to broadway to watch a disney movie performed live, on stage, with real people playing the parts of cartoons.

we're going to spit in yr food

(literally and metaphorically)

and instigate ourselves into the wet dreams

of yr playstation playing

sons and daughters...




big shouts to my boy IDEA.


"it's like our reflection," he said of this blog.


p.s. it isn't classy to gloat and there's still a lot of things to do, but i have to say that from DAY ONE i knew that mrtt was totally going to werk.

p.p.s. one love to all the cities that terrorists tried to fuck with...keep yr heads up, party people.

live and love

while the fates allow:

millions living now will never die...

nyc

dc

london

baghdad

oklahoma city

dublin

moscow

madrid

tokyo

jerusalem

tel aviv

istanbul

bali

riyadh

belfast

manilla

bangkok


etc...

Apple Brandy Drunk

I sashay up to the table—a class of Calvados in one hand and my Treo and a Dunhill green that they keep telling me to put out in the other. I’m ashing on the spongy porno-set carpet. I’m taking pictures with my finger over the lens. I’ve got mascara smeared across my eyebrow. I reek of herbal essence and I’m grabbing at people’s elbows for support.

I like the feeling of the white linen tablecloth. It has the right weight and demeanor.

I take a long sip of my digestif and scrutinize the other members of my table. They are idiots but I’m scared of them. There’s a heavy black curtain threatening at any second to fall down around my eyes. It’s inevitable, no amount of coffee or coke or diet pills is going to stop it now. The only thing left is to brace for landing. I fold up my cash and wedge it deep in the front pocket of my jeans, along with my keys…

My head snaps back and forth as I fall in and out of a dream. I break into a hideous grin.

“You’re the people I’ve chosen to make a fool of myself in front of,” I solemnly inform the rest of the table.


oddchild

Epiphany at the Mission Speakers

I don't have to be a city girl.

I don't have to have a bad sense of direction.

I don't have to talk about it.

I don't have to not have fun.

I don't have to come out.

I don't have to look back.

Latent/Blatant

i can't look at you.

i'm not hitting on you.

i want to play dumb.




...they say that everything you go through in life

that's what you become,

if that's the case

than i'm becoming number one.