Fitty

Hey man,

i've got this idea: can one of u design an iPod wallet based on those rubber bracelets that all the kids are wearing? U know so it holds the iPod and has a slot for cash and a card or two. It has to be as thin as possible. We make em in these hot colors with designs and text from underground artists, but see we keep that shit on the cheapish side, so that the kids will buy different ones to match their outfits--like sneakers.

Werd...send me the design and we go fitty-fitty.

"The Next Level"

I’ve beaten myself up and burned myself out to reach those frozen peaks; yet they remain forever in the backdrop like skyscrapers on a stage.




dont call it a comeback

"Will u take me as i am?"

yes. it is correct. i've changed all the passwords and locked out fitzy witzy and hurling sterling from this here glob.

this is my house and i wanna run around naked for awhile. mmmmk?

so yeah...i got yr emails...i miss them too, the holy trinity can never be broken, yadda, yadda, yay. they can make their own blogs. whatevs.



GET USED TO ONE STYLE YO AND I MIGHT SWITCH.

"i am trying to break yr heart"

all my life i've been surrounded by beautiful women, starting with my moms. we're talking real knockouts--the kind that play men like dummies and leave them stuttering. gorgeous, gorgeous women...of course, i've also hung with plain janes and some outright scurry lookin chicks. the thing i find interesting is how the non-beautiful people like to assume that the beautiful ones KNOW that they are beautiful--that for them, looking in the mirror is always this delightful experience that transports them away from the cares and worries of the everyday world. ugly people, even the smart ones (especially the smart ones)cling to the retarded-ass notion that beautiful people don't have any "real" problems...if you want to hear some straight-up visciousness hang near a stoop filled with ugly chicks after a tall, skinny beauty struts by, visibly upset..."what's SHE got to be so fuckin SAD about," they'll say...and go on to tear the stranger into tiny little pieces that they then proceed to stomp and spit on.

ugly looking people want so desperately for the world to look past their looks but when it comes to beautiful people, that's exactly what they refuse to do themselves.

which is why i say, fuck ugly people.

"el dorado"

i love my life, officer, but, u see, i love it so much MORE after i get high.

"to kill a mockingnerd"

drawing bad

k and i saw last days this weekend. i liked it. i felt like it managed to get into the suicidal mindset of all vibe and no consequence...the inability to communicate as the world recedes into its own reflection, (which is itself a reflection, of a reflection, of a...) the way the trees up above move over a car windshield like a camera trick and obscures the faces of the people riding inside...

the way yr brain is filled with sad little marbles that knock against each other and make u mumble when u talk.

i came close to intentionally killing myself a couple of times. i got everything set-up...once it was gonna be a candy bowl full of percocets and a bottle of wine, and another, even more serious time i filled the bath and opened my switchblade and carefully placed it on the soapdish. i had pictures of people i knew scattered on the black and white tiled floor. i called some of them and apparently didn't make a lick of sense, but managed to scare the shit out of them nonetheless. man, i was such an asshole and a sad, pathetic sack. i remember how still everything became during those moments as i contemplated my exit...the room creaked and dripped around me and the refrigerator buzzed on and off and outside the light changed as i sat down to write my letters.

both times i got as far as the "dear whoever" and got so mired in how to explain myself that i ended up writing something else instead.

some pointless little doo-dad without a beginning, middle or end.



travelling light


u can't believe yr luck

“Flying Fingers”

I don’t have any energy. I want to sleep all day. When I get home I wanna forget about everything except for you.

All I wanna do is fuck you. Fuck and fuck and fuck some more, holed up in my little room with the heat and the empty bottles of water on the glass table and the birds asking each other questions outside.

im so sick of these people

fronting like they’re cleaner than a bar of soap…

…cuz im the dirtiest thing in sight

in fact, bring out the girls, and lets have a mudfight…

"Fear Itself"

Please excuse me.

(I’m tryin to find my way back)

Right now, I only make sense in bite-sized chunks.

(…but I’m lookin thru a peephole)

I walk over my own words that I lay down before me

they are a path of white stones

that glow like little moons in the rain.

I walk and walk, but I never get very far.

Popsickle

(sing it with me)

im on.

warm milk.

and laxatives.

cherry.

flavored.

antacids.




Very few people in my "real life" know about this site, and, perhaps not coincidentally, there are suddenly far less "real life" people in my "real life". In their place I've got saved emails, random piles of photographs, notes from "collaborative" art projects started then stopped, phone numbers to cellys long since shut down...

In their place i've got the past, laid out before me in a pissy, cluttered way, like dirty dinner dishes still on the table when yr ready for desert.

The women in my real life have never bothered much with this blog, while the men can't seem to get enough...

Posh Isolation

HEYA.

I WILL NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR NOT POSTING BUT THAT SAID I MISS U LOSERS MY LIFE IS KINDA FKTD RIGHT NOW, BUT U KNOW AFTER THE RAIN COMES THE SUN OR SOMETHIN LIKE THAT FUCKING HELL.

I could totally be an astronaut, cuz fake food is my fave food.

I’d rather eat a protein bar wrapped in aluminum than a big ass steak glistening with blood and fat.

Cereal is good. So are ice pops and juice shakes and candy.

That said, my fake food thing has nothing to do with being a vegetarian. Cuz I’m not a vegetarian. I’ll eat bacon bits and popcorn fried chicken before I’ll slice into steamed broccoli—its shiny stalk shuddering with perspiration. Meat, fish, dairy…whatevs. These classifications don’t concern me. It’s the notion of consuming anything that is or was once alive that makes my throat close. It’s the foodness factor of the food that matters. I want it to be so far processed that it looks like it was boomeranged back from the future.

In other news, Jamie’s book arrived yesterday. If u haven’t ordered yr copy of Envy the Rain u best get on that shit. He’s one of the trailblazers in this whole globber revolution—he’s carving out a new landscape with his words and leading us thru this bible black pre-dawn into a brand new blog morning.

Get this book cuz it’s gonna be worth something someday. I’m not just saying that cuz I had a tiny part in editing it, tho that was some ferreal brainstorming, me on my one hitter in Jamie’s phat loft, brainstorming the best way to bring his renaissance talents (the dude writes, paints, picture takes, rocks out AND finds time to hangout with zillions of beautiful women) to the written page. He has an amazing ability to find the “escape hatches” in the everyday—the corners and back alleys of experience, where one’s mind can wander and rise up and look down upon itself from on high…

His book is amazing. I’m super proud of him, even if he did end up passing on my suggestion for the title— Dem Crazy Hos

So go buy it now. I'll wait right here till u get back.