set adrift on memory bliss
by TRUE
i get home late and it's dark and scurry so i turn on all the lights, connect the iPod, click on the TV, flip open the laptop, get online, smoke up, freak out.
i wish u were here.
i get home late and it's dark and scurry so i turn on all the lights, connect the iPod, click on the TV, flip open the laptop, get online, smoke up, freak out.
i wish u were here.
Title
by TRUEThe book is called, "How To Win at Blogging" and it's about all of you out there who are reading this now.
by TRUE
u go thru all these hard, lonely times when there are no friends around and everything aches and u don’t have the energy to get up and give it another shot but u were born with this STUBBORN STREAK so u crawl up to the lab and sleep on the floor, while the cursor goes blink blink blink on the laptop screen, burning itself into yr retinas so everything u see has the watermark of a blank page.
the best thing would be if the story could write itself...
I know im not the first person to say that.
Im also not the first writer to treat words so importantly…i spend days rearranging them just so. Cuz i know that in the end, if i get the combination right, than to try and retell the plot by changing just ONE would risk something precious getting lost.
that's one of the reasons i never finish anything.
when u finish something u turn it into a statue.
an unplugged robot.
when u don't finish something it remains in flux.
everything is still possible.
there's the openness of youth
like when the drop top is down
and the evening is just beginning
silver and blue
orange and green
rivers and neon signs and the traffic like a smear on the pane
the bridge is there in my dream...but i never make it further than halfway across before i wake up.
u go thru all these hard, lonely times when there are no friends around and everything aches and u don’t have the energy to get up and give it another shot but u were born with this STUBBORN STREAK so u crawl up to the lab and sleep on the floor, while the cursor goes blink blink blink on the laptop screen, burning itself into yr retinas so everything u see has the watermark of a blank page.
the best thing would be if the story could write itself...
I know im not the first person to say that.
Im also not the first writer to treat words so importantly…i spend days rearranging them just so. Cuz i know that in the end, if i get the combination right, than to try and retell the plot by changing just ONE would risk something precious getting lost.
that's one of the reasons i never finish anything.
when u finish something u turn it into a statue.
an unplugged robot.
when u don't finish something it remains in flux.
everything is still possible.
there's the openness of youth
like when the drop top is down
and the evening is just beginning
silver and blue
orange and green
rivers and neon signs and the traffic like a smear on the pane
the bridge is there in my dream...but i never make it further than halfway across before i wake up.
by TRUE
the english are a tuff people with fucked-up teeth who dont front like they want to be yr friend. after living for a year and some out on that piece with all the cold and gloom and lack of sun and a dampness that pervaded the walls and the furniture and the joints in yr hands, i have no choice but to respect them. in the winter everything turns slick and slimey like it's covered in mold. put a couple in them and best belee the average brit will be crackin the verbal whip in yr unsuspecting face. we were intimidated because the english they spoke made them sound tons smarter than us, even when they weren't. they resorted to being mean and cruel when they couldn't win an argument. if they did win at something they were suddenly indebted to you, offering endless tea and booze and compliments. my experience seemed to confirm their past existence as conquerors and colonizers and destroyers. london is a helluva town tho. the clubs were like none i had ever seen.
god save the queen.
go ecuador.
xo
TRUE
p.s. it IS pretty lame when the soccer players act like big pussies when they fall down. i know it's cuz they're trying to get the call from the ref but u can't show that kinda display to an american football fan and expect them not to be like, pshhhhhhh.
i am watching england vs. ecuador and the sound of the english fans chanting in the background makes my tummy turn a little as it reminds me of all those dark, scurry nites in london and oxxxy foxxxy when the pubs closed or after a match and the fights broke out. it's true there weren't any guns but i saw a dude's face in ribbons from a box cutter and another time a drunk and high woman came running at us for no reason, brandishing a long metal bar that she pulled from the side of the pram she'd been pushing, and left unattended on the corner, which may or may not have also contained a child...
the english are a tuff people with fucked-up teeth who dont front like they want to be yr friend. after living for a year and some out on that piece with all the cold and gloom and lack of sun and a dampness that pervaded the walls and the furniture and the joints in yr hands, i have no choice but to respect them. in the winter everything turns slick and slimey like it's covered in mold. put a couple in them and best belee the average brit will be crackin the verbal whip in yr unsuspecting face. we were intimidated because the english they spoke made them sound tons smarter than us, even when they weren't. they resorted to being mean and cruel when they couldn't win an argument. if they did win at something they were suddenly indebted to you, offering endless tea and booze and compliments. my experience seemed to confirm their past existence as conquerors and colonizers and destroyers. london is a helluva town tho. the clubs were like none i had ever seen.
god save the queen.
go ecuador.
xo
TRUE
p.s. it IS pretty lame when the soccer players act like big pussies when they fall down. i know it's cuz they're trying to get the call from the ref but u can't show that kinda display to an american football fan and expect them not to be like, pshhhhhhh.
"i had a good home"
by TRUEim watchin the misfits with marilyn monroe and clark gable and it's sooo awesome--marilyn so sad and drunk and beautiful and in reno after getting a divorce and clark gable is the older cowboy father figure who falls for her and montgomery cliff is the slumming bull rider at the rodeo...it's too much, SHE'S too much...when she's playing paddle ball in the bar and her tits are shakin in her silk dress...the way clark gable hugs and holds her in these scenes and she's a little girl needing protection with sexiness just under the surface and how she respects her femininity and also the masculinity in the doods around her and it's all there, all the beautiful contradictions and she reminds me of raymi and then of myself and clark gable is like unrat and the way she says, "c'mon lets have lots of drinks" and her eyes get so horrified and tired looking at the same time, like she's aged only in her eyes, as the rest of her is a beautiful glowing porcelain perfectness and she looks up and says that if we truly love someone we can teach them anything we know how to do, we can give them our own abilities and it's something we should never hesitate to teach them, to be open and to share cuz in every moment we r dying, each moment takes us closer to the end and then it is too late.
and clark gables eyes are sparkling and saying there's no way a man can live if he's afraid of dying...
and later on, when clark gable whispers in her ear, "i'd marry u" she smiles so sweetly and says, "that's nice of u to say but u don't have to do that."
by TRUE
i tend to my bees and sell my honey on the road...
"Evergreen", The Fiery Furnaces
there are so many kick ass blogs (the header of this one's got subliminal shit in it) i wish i could overcome sleep like back in the coke and wet days only this time i wanna be sober and not in constant pain all the time.
i tend to my bees and sell my honey on the road...
"Evergreen", The Fiery Furnaces
there are so many kick ass blogs (the header of this one's got subliminal shit in it) i wish i could overcome sleep like back in the coke and wet days only this time i wanna be sober and not in constant pain all the time.
by TRUE
i took off my sitemeter long ago claiming i had developed a very specific form of OCD which made me check it incessantly. while that was 100 percent correct, the absence of a sitemeter also serves another purpose. i won't know if my readership drops off and i end up broadcasting these inanities into the void, the rest of the innernet a far off, wispy ghost of white strands like a galaxy spinning in space, millions of light years away.
as well i wont know if more and more peeps start coming by...tho if the number does swell there is the increase in presence: i hear/feel y'all out there, the way used to lay in bed during my childhood summers down the shore and hear/feel the waves breaking in the distance, carving a pattern into the sand and changing my brain forever.
i took off my sitemeter long ago claiming i had developed a very specific form of OCD which made me check it incessantly. while that was 100 percent correct, the absence of a sitemeter also serves another purpose. i won't know if my readership drops off and i end up broadcasting these inanities into the void, the rest of the innernet a far off, wispy ghost of white strands like a galaxy spinning in space, millions of light years away.
as well i wont know if more and more peeps start coming by...tho if the number does swell there is the increase in presence: i hear/feel y'all out there, the way used to lay in bed during my childhood summers down the shore and hear/feel the waves breaking in the distance, carving a pattern into the sand and changing my brain forever.
by TRUE
So I'll think about how lucky i am that im not one of them and then i'll laze the nite away.
fucking hell i wish u were here...or at least somewhere in the city tonite.
Every so often it occurs to me that most women in the world can't sit alone in their own private apartment reading and writing and thinking and fucking around online pretending to be other people and in the real world earning their own cheddar and having sex with whom they choose, when they choose, how they choose...
So I'll think about how lucky i am that im not one of them and then i'll laze the nite away.
fucking hell i wish u were here...or at least somewhere in the city tonite.
by TRUE
i hate shopping but sometimes when i need to decompress i head straight for sax or bendels...in dept. stores it’s nice because there are so many cameras that no one really looks at you as you wander aimlessly through the aisles…with your ear buds in and no plans to buy a thing.
i hate shopping but sometimes when i need to decompress i head straight for sax or bendels...in dept. stores it’s nice because there are so many cameras that no one really looks at you as you wander aimlessly through the aisles…with your ear buds in and no plans to buy a thing.
midnite google
by TRUE
a chalked outline of a body...a black tidal wave on the horizon...floorboards dark with blood...the twin towers photographed thru falling snow...
a cheap digital camera. 1.3 Megapixels. Nothing more nothing less.
nothing nothing nothing
the page is not found. the link is missing.
the end of the innernet.
im being haunted by google
by TRUE...or haunted BY something that is getting to me thru google image search i get ominous images filled with symbols of death on all the searches im running. at first i tried to write it off as weird coincidence but now it's fucking with me. it started the other night. i was searching on something and this weird kinda spooky pic of a guy with fucked up make-up on or something that made his chin look like it was being eaten away, was standing on a bed in fucked up nylon underear nad a too short shirt, like for some sex thing. i clicked on the image and it was page not found. i didn't think anything of it until a little later, i searched for somthing else and i saw another pic of what appeared to be the same fucked-up guy. this time he was standing in a living room with a butcher's knife and wearing a jacket and suit pants that were nevertheless too tight and fuck...this is freaking me out. cuz i clicked on that pic and it was page not found.
and there were other pix in the search results...enigmatic pix to which the page could not be found, or else the page was overtaken by google ads...a ghost page, as it were...
fuck im too freaked out to continue right now. it being nightime and all. i know it sounds weird but im kinda scurred to be online.
i just put the tv on. the fox 5 news.
his name had to do with him being the "lord of the flies".
here are some related pix:
oh, baby
by TRUEtimes r tuff and im missing u like crazy and i really need to hold yr hand (in four part harmony) cuz im scurred of the dark and my sleep is all fukt up and im wide awake at 2 my mind backed and bucked up. and i know u need a hug, u need a whole lotta hugs and kisses and i want to listen. i want to hear everything you have to say. all yr stories...all of u...i want to sniff u and smoke me. i want to be u and joke about me. ha.
ferreals i want to sell this book and put the money down on a phat pad in the neighborhood im in now. just a big empty space with good floors and light and views. and we will fill it with nothing. a bed and books and a sound system and magazines and it would be clean all the time and perfect for hardcore chilling as well there would be turntables and stacks of records from around the world.
and there would be a big guest bedroom. and i would have my own office. with a brandtrueboy sticker on the door...
i had the recipe so i made the food.
by TRUEim going to practice perfect posture while smoking american beauty.
from here on in.
deep breath
by TRUEall of a sudden u find yrself in the middle of it--yr doing it, walking out on the tightrope, crossing the crowd below.
and it starts to happen, everything you've been afraid of, except you are stronger than all of it.
u feel yrself to be very light.
a consciousness enveloping stagelit space
the T stands for "nice".
by TRUE
what's up party people.
im just gonna offload on this here site for a bit...there's heavyweight stuff going on in my life, none of which i can explain to u outright. but u don't mind if i use y'all for a little bit to blow off steam? i need u like an athelete needs a gym...and protein bars. i want u guys to be my protein bars. cuz i know if u were here, hanging out with me right now in the big bad nyc and i asked u for a fuck between innernet friends or fifteen dollars or to borrow one of yr bitches for a little while i know you'd totally say yes.
i'd do the same fer u cuz my name is TRUE.
by TRUE
we all know yr hard cuz we've all seen ya drinkin from noon until noon again.
yr the boy with the filthy laugh...
--belle & sebastian, "the boy with the arab strap"
the pants are lovely, my dear...always when i need them most.
we all know yr soft cuz we've all seen ya dancin
we all know yr hard cuz we've all seen ya drinkin from noon until noon again.
yr the boy with the filthy laugh...
--belle & sebastian, "the boy with the arab strap"
the pants are lovely, my dear...always when i need them most.
why i write
by TRUE
I think that what’s really interesting is that one part of me is like the John Cusack character in Say Anything. I don’t have any desire to make, buy or sell anything.
And the other part is like The Donald.
I want to make things happen.
(but not really)
by TRUE
We were best friends and lovers. We did everything together. He used to hold me in his arms when I got my period and the cramps were real bad. He’d reach into a crowd and pull me out with his powerful arms when it was time to go, the drunken, rambling, me being rescued from the vultures of the night--helped into a taxi and shuttled home, to his dark and over-decorated place, where he’d kiss me and hug and undress me, and then put me on all fours in the bath tub and force me to scrub my “fishy girl parts” with a super strong peppermint soap that burned my delicate skin and got stuck in my nose so that now, whenever I smell peppermint I think of myself red and swollen and ashamed, believing I smelled bad, believing I was a liar and a sneak and a stupid, stupid bitch for once upon a time dreaming of a future brighter than this.
We were best friends and lovers. We did everything together. He used to hold me in his arms when I got my period and the cramps were real bad. He’d reach into a crowd and pull me out with his powerful arms when it was time to go, the drunken, rambling, me being rescued from the vultures of the night--helped into a taxi and shuttled home, to his dark and over-decorated place, where he’d kiss me and hug and undress me, and then put me on all fours in the bath tub and force me to scrub my “fishy girl parts” with a super strong peppermint soap that burned my delicate skin and got stuck in my nose so that now, whenever I smell peppermint I think of myself red and swollen and ashamed, believing I smelled bad, believing I was a liar and a sneak and a stupid, stupid bitch for once upon a time dreaming of a future brighter than this.
by TRUE
I write what’s pleasurable to write. Which is to say I write posts about life and love and loss, the same ones that are in all the great books and the same ones that are also happening all around you at any given moment. The posts make up plots without novels. I don’t really feel the need to expand upon them—if I can get the idea across in a page or two why bother with 300 more?
Keep it simple and don’t say too much, which is what I say to myself.
I also write on bathroom walls and on stickers that I stick wherever, no where special all around the city.
I have fun in the sense that the work itself is everything as I answer to no one but myself.
The purest art is the most useless. In today’s world nothing typifies this better than blogs. Graffiti is also a good example, especially if it’s illegal and is painted over the very next day.
I’m also partial to the cheap, often handmade clothes that kids wear once or twice before throwing out.
…And tossing dollar bills over the side of the Staten Island Ferry just to take pix of them floating on the river never goes out of style.
I write what’s pleasurable to write. Which is to say I write posts about life and love and loss, the same ones that are in all the great books and the same ones that are also happening all around you at any given moment. The posts make up plots without novels. I don’t really feel the need to expand upon them—if I can get the idea across in a page or two why bother with 300 more?
Keep it simple and don’t say too much, which is what I say to myself.
I also write on bathroom walls and on stickers that I stick wherever, no where special all around the city.
I have fun in the sense that the work itself is everything as I answer to no one but myself.
The purest art is the most useless. In today’s world nothing typifies this better than blogs. Graffiti is also a good example, especially if it’s illegal and is painted over the very next day.
I’m also partial to the cheap, often handmade clothes that kids wear once or twice before throwing out.
…And tossing dollar bills over the side of the Staten Island Ferry just to take pix of them floating on the river never goes out of style.
by TRUE
one useful thing i learned down here is that MILF does NOT stand for Maiden In Lesbian Finery. i realized something was up when i saw a 15 year old girl wearing a "Future MILF" t-shirt and she looked at me like i had 9 heads when i shouted, "rock on, sister!" and proceeded to ask her what she was waiting for...
the future is now! i told her before she mumbled something about her friends waiting for her and took off as fast as her candy red flip-flops would carry her, leaving behind the sweet scent of her lemongrass after sun spray...
thank god for google.
im in florida, AKA the redneck riviera, where the poundage is on display and the "on the light side" page of the hotel menu includes a black angus cheeseburger. which reminds me of drunken hijinks back in the day in england, when i stood on someone's shoulders to knock out the bulb that lit the "g" on a black angus steakhouse sign on high street in oxxxy foxxxy. oooh those were the days. not.
one useful thing i learned down here is that MILF does NOT stand for Maiden In Lesbian Finery. i realized something was up when i saw a 15 year old girl wearing a "Future MILF" t-shirt and she looked at me like i had 9 heads when i shouted, "rock on, sister!" and proceeded to ask her what she was waiting for...
the future is now! i told her before she mumbled something about her friends waiting for her and took off as fast as her candy red flip-flops would carry her, leaving behind the sweet scent of her lemongrass after sun spray...
thank god for google.
