I wanna smoke yr meat.

o hells YEAH sterling, fitz and TRUE are gonna be in this jizzload of a book!

It is not so difficult to become another person or two. I set up three email addresses and a couple of freebie websites. I wrote like three different people, using different spellings, turns of phrase and mistakes in grammar. Two girls and one guy. A drag king dyke, a trannie chasing tomboy and a dilettante gay man. They ran around the city and the country and eventually TRUE went to Europe and there were love triangles, and blood and a lot of druggy and drunk dramatics on the part of TRUE and Fitzcarraldo, the tomboy and the fag, respectively. Sterling Fassbinder was an ex-junkie in the process of transforming the energy she used to use on self-destruction into libidinal and creative energy through a process of intense self-reflection, study and ASS TAPPING. An auto didact who never finished high school, Sterling was often lost during the prolonged philosophical debates that TRUE and Fitz had on any number of subjects, from the so-called “end of metaphysics” to Lacanian psychoanalysis to the Husserlian foundations behind Eco-philosophy.

Yet Sterling was the one who lived her life like a poem…

I became three nodes that made a network. They were the conversation in my head and the recurring themes in the different stories I told.

They were parts of me the way my separate organs are a part of me.

They made themselves known thru aches and pains.


books are phun

I love 7-11. No matter where I go, I know what to expect when I step thru those doors: the feeling of comfort is the opposite of being lost.

Is a book really the way to go?

I dunno. I have to say Im conflicted. A year ago I’d decided against books in favor of Blogs only. I figgered it was far better to burn out on a freeware-built website than to fade away on a half-pimped and half-cocked Barnes and Ignoble tour… And yet, blogs can not provide the same satisfaction that comes from reveling, even for a fleeting moment, in a beginning, middle and end that is presented as bound and REAL. When you finish a book, the fictional world you were dwelling in rises before you like a skyscraper that u gaze up at incredulously, unable to comprehend the fact that you were just inside.

It comes down for my need for totalities. The only way you can make a blog WHOLE is to end it…

So despite my belief that blogs are the future, I’m writing my book, bit by bit. In it, I plan on showing off some of the tricks I learned out here like a street ball player coming up to the NBA…

I’ve got wit and drive and innernet-honed DEXTERITY.

I work out my brain on the REGULAR with the determination of an athlete.

(u gotta be mentally in shape FERREALS if u smoke the kinda next level, American Beauty, government secret shit that I smoke)

drrrrrrrrr


"I think this is the hottest it's been since Punk."

i smell really good.

Post Secret

When I was growing up my nickname in my girl gang was “Stupid White Girl” cuz I was so fucking gullible.

My schtick was to sit in the backseat and chime in with a sing-song, “Really?” or “Holy Shit!” after someone said something totally outside the realm of possibility. Then everyone would crack up for what seemed like hours.

Luckily, I made up for this with an uncanny ability to read people’s feelings—I knew their insecurities and how to best exploit them and I offered up these gleanings as communal fodder for the crew.

They used my insight to make bitches look real stupid as they stole their boyfriends and dissed them till they cried.

“It’s like u can read their minds”, my girls would slur, when they were drunk enough to show their awe.

“Nah…,” I explained, my pale cheeks turning bright pink from being considered good at something…

“It’s just that I, like, notice the kinda things people try hard to keep hidden.”

I've done the blog. Now it's time for BRANDTRUEBOY: LUNAPARK.

Push the little daisies and make em come up!

Push the little daisies and make em come up!

Push the little daisies and make em come up!

Push the little daisies and make em come up!

until the end of the world

A node is being constantly bombarded by information, mostly in the form of ads. This is particularly true on the mass frequented, commercial sites. As a result, the nodes have begun to develop the capability for “pre-selective rejection” : based on a set of tastes, likes and dislikes, the nodes are able to shut down the receptivity of their senses so that they literally do not see the logos of certain corporations or hear the tell tale MIDI produced theme chimes.

The nodes are exiting the clamor and chaos of the major commercial byways of the internet and self-paving their own innernet roads instead.


alertalert

right what u no

One thing I’ll never know is how it feels for a man to fuck a woman for the first time…the way it feels for his cock to push up into a brand new piece as he wins the war and makes his claim and spreads his seed. the whole world turns on that feeling: all the babies and infidelities and fashion and art and stories and desires and families waiting to be formed and families waiting to be broken--I wanna watch yr face as u spread yr seed, I wanna hear u groan, I wanna see what I can’t feel…as u devirginize her on my white CK sheets, the blood making tiny zig-zags that fade from the bright red of the living present into the sturdy brown of history itself.


giant

idea

my blog crew will kick yr blog crew's ass

i'll settle for a cuppa coffee but u know what i really need.

In this late stage of capitalism we get our morals from the sitcoms of the past and live them out on reality tv: the simulacrum of the simulacrum.

The Past Inside the Present

i've had 5 and a half years off the sauce, 4 years of blogging, 3 years of therapy, tons of tears, weeks of working out, innumerable dark days left bobbing in the wake...

but all it took was 2 minutes on the phone to find out that he prolly knows where i live to go all the way back in time...to England, to the dark, to my own private ground zero...

Fuck the past.




> I know yer scurred and shaky baby - but youll be
ok
> ..
> >
> > get home and turn on yer ipod and tv and laptop
and
> > hot air pop corn maker and whatev else u need :)
> >
> > Write me when yer home
> >
> > Xo

> heya,
>
> Im here. I was at starbucks zoning out until I said
> fuckit and charged over.
>
> o man I feel so strong and weak at the same time.
like
> lucy liu when she got scalped in the snow. ha.
>
> speaking of whiteness, in many religions white is a sign of evil--of
> absence...of the lack of the dark richness of
> vegetation and life...sometimes I think of him like
> that...then I stop myself cuz he is just a man...a
> poor blind fuckt up man...pathetic in a lot of ways,
> tho he hated peoples pity. he hated the looks he got
> as he read with his magnifying glass. and I guess
all
> that hate did a number on him...plus other
> things...like cocaine and booze...
>
> I wanted to save him...that was part of it. save his
> brain and his ideas from the dark side. I was more
> idealistic then. I dunno
>
> I am sitting in my chair being tuff
>
> xoxoxo

Touch it.

AC/DC

after having been with a woman for 8 years I tried to prepare myself to be with a man again by trying to think of anything I might not have thought of that would be different…I’d been fantasizing about shoulders and a strong chest and a tight ass…a cock and muscular thighs…but what about his balls? would I forget about them and accidentally smash into them? how about the fact that I would be shorter than him, when I had been taller than her?

it had been a good while: was sucking dick like riding a bike?

It turned out that it was…all in all I felt pretty well prepared for the straight sex challenge...tho I wasn’t expecting the stubble burn on my cheeks. or the deep purrrr of his voice in my ear…

or the way his eyes feasted on my naked body

with a gaze so different from a woman's...

peace

with u i don't need the words.

im beyond the words.