tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37570162012-01-28T09:37:56.966-05:00TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.comBlogger12161100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-65202451000641923552009-08-21T09:41:00.001-04:002009-08-21T09:42:55.472-04:00

NEW TUMBLR SITE: http://brandtrueboy.comc u there.

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-20602177548126398532009-04-20T16:20:00.001-04:002009-04-20T16:28:11.989-04:00

Evan GruzisKafka's the tormenting demon Once you give chase to one idea it inevitably leads to another...and another and another--they dance in little light shows over an infinite void of nothingness. A canyon of echoes--the oblivion of the abyss. Those who want a clearer view follow the ideas to the edge, unconcerned about the lack of safety rails. All they want is to be there, way out at the

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-73294944300496884752009-04-06T11:51:00.006-04:002009-04-06T12:04:43.521-04:00

From the novel:I had the songs down, and the stage set-up, and i knew how I wanted to utilize the screens. If only I could find the missing piece that fulfilled my set the way this latest plot turn fulfilled Lost. Perhaps fulfillment was the wrong word—it was the stage just before that, when you’re eating and already part way through the meal—past the point of actual hunger, when the experience

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-19649026526202065332009-03-20T11:19:00.010-04:002009-03-21T13:27:48.295-04:00

It might not always seem like it but there's a method to the madness. I'm on an art mission. I've got a story to tell. There are many times I want to write about it in a way that just shouts it out--like punk lyrics or an old time blog post, the kind where u let it all hang out--but something stops me. It says, gather these stories and weave them together--work as hard as you can on a unicorn

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-58093736904782121042009-02-19T15:15:00.001-05:002009-02-20T11:57:04.579-05:00

Twitter telepathy from 2-2-09:@TRUE: The Superbowl was fun--I like exciting football games. It blows my mind that someone could run full tilt into another person & still get upFeb 2, 2009 03:16 PM GMT @TRUE: Did anyone notice that almost every movie preview they showed last night had alien contact as theme?Feb 2, 2009 03:20 PM GMT @dblogged: @TRUE i totally noticed that. might mean an alien

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-27723956756502137982009-02-09T13:34:00.001-05:002009-02-10T10:22:41.266-05:00

Don't get me wrong-- or should I say, "let's be clear": I'm psyched that Obama is President! I called attention to what looked like the Eye of Horus floating near his head because I take it as an auspicious sign. As described in the post below, the Eye of Horus represents a certain otherworldly princeliness--a nobility based on a connection to God. In this case the Eye was formed out of a

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-82888357808697177982009-01-20T09:38:00.017-05:002009-01-20T19:59:00.895-05:00

To be aware is to be conscious on a level beyond the simple dichotomy of being asleep and being awake. Awareness is a deliberate focusing of one’s attention on the endless input streaming through the senses—it requires a subtle stepping back from the outcome oriented activity of the everyday life and anchoring oneself instead in the ever-fleeting fullness of the present moment. Being aware

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-24446909115536002592008-12-11T15:33:00.005-05:002008-12-12T12:16:19.808-05:00

Bird Dream of the Olympus Mons‘We sometimes feel, in following the words and behavior of some of the characters of Dostoevsky, that they are living at once on the plane we know and on some other place of reality from which we are shut out.’--T.S. EliotThere was an amazing moment yesterday morning: having said goodbye to my blf I poured another cup of coffee and got ready to get to work. The

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-91581663796281094262008-12-02T12:25:00.001-05:002008-12-02T19:58:12.352-05:00

(1st there was Twitter telepathy)More and more people like me are experiencing the phenomena of synchronicity thru which seemingly unrelated events, persons, places and things are revealed as being interconnected. The realization of the interconnectedness is a freaky, "oh shit" kinda moment, but as strange as it is, it seems to make those who experience them happy rather than fearful, something

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-8534885651196146762008-11-20T21:26:00.006-05:002008-11-20T22:00:28.227-05:00

(neuron galaxy)

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-64646606447394859672008-11-14T10:47:00.007-05:002008-11-14T14:46:32.265-05:00

This is a pic of me DJing on Halloween. I was channeling the spirit of my dj name--DJ HoNeyPoT. The white afro exuded a synthetic toxicity. My real hair smelled like magic markers by the end of the night. I had a blast, tho. Place was packed by the end--you couldn't walk from one end to the other. Beer sweat was drippin off the walls. I got to check out the whole Serato digital dj thing

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-58774921986775468632008-11-13T14:01:00.000-05:002008-11-13T16:13:33.099-05:00

slow learner/stubborn optimistI'm hearby turning this into a ferreal blog with *frequent* updates and links and stuff. Short posts. Longer pieces shall go somewhere else.Like here, maybe. Perhaps I'll be bringing my art 2 open aching walls and city buses again--we'll see.Some of u can say u knew me when...back during phase 1, when i faked it fiction stylez like this blog was being written 3

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-62477976657750761302008-10-21T08:00:00.001-04:002008-10-21T09:51:27.783-04:00

I want to convey JOY in my writing. I listen to sampled noise and remixed violins on my walks while I look up at the sunlight shimmering in the trees and remind myself not to forget. Joy is not a metaphor or a memory or any other brand of clever word combo meal served up easy in bright, audience tested packaging. Joy is a simultaneous letting go and opening up to the electric gold of the

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-44530307356301070662008-10-04T00:12:00.006-04:002008-10-06T16:16:00.038-04:00

Everything is transformed by my increased awareness--even the act of forgetting. The other day I came across a brand of striped milk chocolate biscuits that I used to buy in England and realized I've forgotten things from that time. I have an above average memory and can clearly recall details from the years before and since. The days from other times in my life stretch like pearls on necklaces

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-3919139798667210102008-09-22T15:25:00.006-04:002008-09-22T16:04:25.054-04:00

Realized that everything that exists dances together at night on a stony seashore speckled with black holes. It’s cold and damp—there’s the fishy smell of emerging life. That which I call myself is the reflected streetlight on the windshield of the car I borrowed to drive here—the large plastic monstrosity parked alongside the boardwalk’s rotting husks.pingting

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-31470121582768119322008-09-12T12:05:00.003-04:002008-09-12T15:35:44.187-04:00

banksy does new orleansdigitalismA light in the darknessThe dj drops the track: you hear the sampled bit and scream out, holy shit, I know that! I know that! And tho you try you can’t hold on to it as the track thunders past—incorporating the sample’s world into its own beat and its own melody, the way the Borg incorporated Picard—all the way except for a sliver. The beat makes you lose grasp of

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-65379218186095108602008-08-16T13:29:00.004-04:002008-08-16T22:39:34.302-04:00

From the novel I'm working on... What if the mystery that I was trying to solve about 9/11 wasn’t what I thought it was? What if by trying to crack open a worldwide conspiracy, that may or may not have been perpetrated by Bush/Cheney, The Masons, The Illuminati, Big Brother or The Matrix, I had instead discovered the arc of another story altogether—one buried in the piles of dust and debris and

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-63206494941868737552008-07-27T20:13:00.007-04:002008-12-13T07:25:01.729-05:00

There's a starman waiting in the sky--he'd like to come and meet us but he's afraid he'd blow our minds...Vibe with me. Fly with me. Release the emergency brake. Let yrself believe, tune into the frequency coming from the stars--at once here and THERE. Dasein. Like angels watching each one of us from above--their gaze is the scene as we see it in our mind's eye.There's no interference--no need

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-43375818113205525502008-07-07T09:17:00.014-04:002008-12-13T07:25:03.103-05:00

Life from death...art from the destruction of art: If I can write it, it can happen.It hit me the other day as I was walking around in pajama shorts and a bootleg Smiths rock T--I have a lot in common with yr typical zombie. After all my previous poetic waxing upon the possible reasons for the trend's popularity--including societal fears of the alien other and the viral, uncontrollable nature

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-8196387635572518382008-06-18T10:42:00.012-04:002008-12-13T07:25:04.476-05:00

[On September 1, 1939, the same day that the German army invaded Poland and started World War II, lightning hit and killed 835 sheep that had been bedded down for the night on the top of Pine Canyon in the Raft River Mountains of Box Elder County in northwestern Utah. Rain from a passing thunderstorm wet the ground and sheep, causing the lightning's electrical discharge to move completely through

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-62017186066676279622008-06-09T10:00:00.010-04:002008-12-13T07:25:04.870-05:00

My Avatar is the Eye I became when I watched her die--a huge blue, all seeing eye, linked into the circuitry of the universeThat was her gift 2 me:I see you seeing me seeing u seeing me.(swoon summer suckapants)I see the endless game of those who fixate upon that which they think will make them happy--perhaps another person, a job or an object--something that they purchase, something that they

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-87677120427924674842008-05-27T23:14:00.006-04:002008-12-13T07:25:05.153-05:00

The summer of the red pill is also the going to be the second summer of love--can you feel it? It's gonna be bigger, faster, stronger and BETTER than the last one.The 60s are dead. Long live the 60s!No rules or regulations, except the Dr. Bob tag i saw all over NOLA--"Be Nice or Leave."An addendum to this could be, "Free yr ass, and the rest will follow."A great orgasm is like a meal of whole,

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-82763560465438752442008-05-03T14:22:00.006-04:002008-12-13T07:25:05.301-05:00

I'm from New York, but lately I've been living in a New Orleans of the mind. The world and my place in it got washed away, just like that city was washed away when the levees broke. By returning to the garbage, to lay claim to it and then to clean it aside and turn it into gold, isn't so much a rebuilding as it is a rebirthing--fitting as "NOLA Rising" is one of the slogans of this burgeoning

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-64199043819602428762008-04-28T22:38:00.006-04:002008-12-13T07:25:05.883-05:00

Have you ever stayed away too long--from home, from family, from friends? Were there times when you went out too far and lost yr way? Do you know about becoming untethered from the voice inside of you, so that fact and fiction change places and nothing makes sense--for a few seconds, for hours, for days? What do you know about darkness? How do you feel about the FACT of yr death waiting out

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-88838475535541304452008-04-20T20:36:00.003-04:002008-12-13T07:25:06.079-05:00

Two ReceiversThe fever she is burning, the birds they are chirping...Sick and stubbornly refusing to take anything except my usual girly smoke, I passed out early last night and ended up wide awake at 4 AM. There was a pleasant buzzing in my brain and though I still felt achy and congested, I no longer felt tired. I decided to stay up and hung out online as my blinds glowed a dark and then

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-66301629665056652802008-04-01T16:26:00.011-04:002008-12-13T07:25:06.456-05:00

The other week, when it was still freezing, a tall, gaunt man walked onto the packed subway car at 42nd Street with no shoes or socks on his feet. He had black curly hair like Jesus that fell in long tendrils around the stiff upturned collar of his dirty green puffy jacket. His face was not unlike Jesus's either. In a tired-sounding, yet unwavering voice, the man said that he had AIDS and no

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-28906682839187912512008-03-26T22:13:00.005-04:002008-12-13T07:25:06.868-05:00

madworldLast night I dreamt that I was standing in the living room of my old house. I couldn't see my parents or brother but I was very conscious that they were close by, perhaps right in front of me. Everything was blurry, but I knew it was my old living room from the way it felt to be standing in it. In the dream there was a sense of sadness because I was dying. I was choking on a long

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-47985931275345643942008-03-12T21:14:00.004-04:002008-12-13T07:25:07.035-05:00

Gonna stay holed up in the phat pad lab like the old daze and turn everything off and on at the same time--the perfect mix of input and output, like i'm a system... a sound system...the ginormous kind they drag into fields for raves. Boomin out knowledge as deep as beats. I've got amplifiers on my fingers and speaker sponge for brains. I've got my earbuds in with eurocrunk coursing thru like

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-17226271509877817002008-03-10T18:36:00.002-04:002008-03-10T18:37:10.581-04:00

Sometimes I’m zapped thru with a feeling of powerOf AGENCY and of time welling up behind me, on my side, getting my back…Everything’s within reach:I walk past the Conde Nast buildingor a large happy familyor a fashionable bag left casually swinging on the back of an unattended chairI could have that shit, I thinkif only I cared enough to take it.

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-59904586879627709122008-03-04T23:29:00.003-05:002008-12-13T07:25:07.218-05:00

varekayTRUE and I listened to “Little”, by Vic Chesnutt. She was lying across the couch—sick--but nearly recovered from a nasty summer cold. I was supposed to be taking care of her. Meanwhile my stomach ache got worse by the second. I'm always harboring these crazy longings to have a chilled-out time with just the two of us, but when it finally happens I can't pull it together.She sang along to

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-52231419853196750512008-02-27T23:50:00.004-05:002008-12-13T07:25:07.380-05:00

At the end of Madame Bovary, Flaubert leaves Emma's dead body on display, sparing his readers nothing, even the way the rigor mortis makes her stiffened lips separate.I don't think Flaubert was cold hearted. It's just that his words were more important than his characters.Words are EVERYTHING for a writer. When it's really happening, the plot is born fully formed from out of the top of the

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-28558929489454683452008-02-23T08:56:00.007-05:002008-12-13T07:25:07.530-05:00

(long exposure)Some days are spent dreaming away the storm, that gripping grey of fear that has the ability to turn me into a sick animal, twitching and cowering in the darkness. I call them my acute depressions since they come and go so quickly, usually within the span of a couple of hours. They used to happen frequently, every week or so, now, after years of therapy they are rare. It usually

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-3822710150179494152008-02-18T08:15:00.003-05:002008-12-13T07:25:07.716-05:00

I love weekday mornings when i dont have to go to work. I feel so cozy listening to the traffic reports. Today I got to spacing out over something i read online--the hypothesis that because human females dont show obvious signs of being in heat (i.e., our butts dont turn red when we're ovulating) it was necessary for humans to develop symbols referring to things that were not immediately

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-83570663750530053642008-02-14T19:03:00.004-05:002008-12-13T07:25:07.962-05:00

Via Flight404 and ffffound via the treehouse and the cave.It was a wonderful mini-holiday. But then something happened. I was stressed and took it out on him. Words came out of my mouth like weapons, frightening me, because it was reminiscent of when I used to drink and wasn’t in control of my actions.I apologized repeatedly—desperate to be relieved of my guilt. Of course the fact that he

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-56304168508318278092008-02-08T17:42:00.000-05:002008-12-13T07:25:08.188-05:00

grrrIn the same way that certain highly skilled MCs spit the realness of a situation and call witness to a way of being over the dj’s beats, I spin platters of words to create fake universes that overlay the “real” one. Writing=collecting and assembling. I like to cruise the middle class thoroughfares with my remote control out and my antennas UP. I imagine that I’m an archeologist from the

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-63595638713723578822008-01-20T20:20:00.000-05:002008-12-13T07:25:08.372-05:00

This place up north snowbound, with hunters on snowshoes and violins over a drum machine, everyone drinking beer and tea and wearing hand knitted wool sweaters with gigantic floppy collars that could cover their faces and Vaseline on their cheeks as outside the streetlight casts dark green, blue green and then purple over the softly perfect snowdrifts, the footsteps and wheel tracks from a few

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-42799299230422745202008-01-02T19:58:00.000-05:002008-01-15T12:36:16.767-05:00

Family Guy is on and I'm thinking about the girl out there on 1st ave, the homeless black chick who has the aged look of people sleeping rough but based on her sing-song voice and style of dress is most probably young, in her early 20s at most, huddled in the half shelter of a Verizon phone booth outside a bodega--the dingy weird one with the rotting cantaloupe and the crooked astroturf covered

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-56560766445152512662007-12-23T08:56:00.000-05:002008-12-13T07:25:08.505-05:00

"...the return of the thin white duke, throwing darts in lovers' eyes."--David Bowie, S2SIt's time for a "real" post, i keep telling myself. Something that's not from the book-in-progress, like the last few, but a BLOG post, a Raymi-like stream about whatever. This was the equation i tried to blur in the early days of BRANDTRUEBOY. The so-called "Realness" of a piece was measured by its length

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-53658400343054632742007-12-21T16:51:00.000-05:002008-12-13T07:25:08.744-05:00

BRANDTRUEBOY style fakin fakerLike any one of your standard “artist coming of age/realization of destiny” Hollywood flicks, my story begins in the wilderness, where I have wandered for many years. In this case, the wilderness is encompassed by the tiny dimensions of my studio apartment. Nevertheless, it stretches long and far, wailing thru electric bulb lit dust and weed smoke with the frantic

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-81232380105534531742007-12-18T18:04:00.000-05:002007-12-18T18:10:53.804-05:00

I’m on some Invisible Man, Geto Boys steez: I sit alone zoning out in my four cornered room that’s lit-up super bright with thousands of watts of halogens, xmas lights dangling in thick bunches and black votive candles courtesy of Urban Outfitters, specialists in post-teen recluse fashion. I’m afraid of the dark and afraid of food and waiting to evolve.

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-3706156240925533662007-12-12T21:26:00.000-05:002008-12-13T07:25:09.295-05:00

prime time of yr lifeRevolution Next Level is about learning to live outside of time—it’s about realizing that the true history of the Earth is not one of man’s “progress” over nature and himself, but it’s a history of Spirit—of the continuing evolution of our collective consciousness. All my life I’ve studied the mistakes of my parent's generation so that I could try and take their victories to

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-21352341189056035542007-12-06T22:35:00.000-05:002007-12-07T17:41:34.211-05:00

Last Nite, New York Fucking City, 10:30 PM , EST: TRANSMITTING LIVE FROM THE SATELLITE ART FART...Listening to Grandaddy and feeling the melancholy that's dogged me all day--for several days, in fact--returning in steady surges. Lately there's a dreamlike quality to waking life, a symptom experienced by those who have extreme depression, which is what i immediately thought it might be. That's

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-8494151686129705782007-11-30T17:34:00.001-05:002008-12-13T07:25:09.580-05:00

I’ve been recording my 3 turntable djing and playing it thru all of my pirated software. I switch up the pitch and drop the beat. I make samples out of my samples. It reminds me of when I was little, and used to cut things out of my mother’s old magazines—not just pictures, but phrases and cover story headlines in their bold font. Tiny bits of glossy paper speckled the kitchen tiles. Im

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-58548184862387612442007-11-22T09:06:00.000-05:002008-12-13T07:25:09.761-05:00

I fail so often. I remain small, struggling to find my way like a cockroach under fluorescent kitchen lights. And yet I've been shown so much--loved, guided by a friendly, loving hand, a-steering me, grounding me like the chorus of a great rock tune.Something you could sing along to...something to hold onto in the darkest hour. Remember to stay firm. Remember to stay focused on the

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-91795534449609116042007-11-09T17:14:00.000-05:002007-11-09T17:34:17.323-05:00

While we're told that everything gets better and better in so many ways, why is it that whenever we look back and see how far we’ve come—all the advances we’ve made, all the things we discovered and named--many of us feel, instead of joy and well-being, a profound sensation of having lost our way? For some of us this feeling is so strong that we choose to cut ourselves off from the real world as

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-72969877807967925672007-11-05T17:24:00.000-05:002008-12-13T07:25:10.644-05:00

“It’s only a drug, it’s only a drug, it’s only a drug,” I told myself, while sneaking a peak down at the dancing penguin on my Burger King cup.TRUE noticed the momentary drop of my gaze. Hyper-observant, just as I’d created her to be.“Don’t worry,” TRUE purred in a low, satiny voice. She flicked the side of the cup with her finger. “His feet aren’t moving—not yet anyway.” I heard a slight lisp

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-9235849832375025062007-10-25T21:03:00.000-04:002008-12-13T07:25:10.732-05:00

That last post wasn't about him. I mean, it wasnt NOT about him because so much of my sexual reality is wrapped up in the me i know thru being with him. That's the case with anything I write--i take bits and pieces and throw them together to make this big snickers bar of a text. There are bits of him scattered throughout everything.The last post was fiction--from the book. This one is not,

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-53579387904426876882007-10-25T17:51:00.000-04:002008-12-13T07:25:10.883-05:00

Sex=a way to stop. In the space between the morning and the afternoon we did the things we knew by heart. We built up slowly, until finally we were like animals—groaning and panting and begging each other for it. We’d stepped out of time—into the forest where the past and the future swarm together like insects in the tree tops. My mind rose high above this teeming cloud of memory and illusion

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-90958779536928332252007-10-15T17:41:00.001-04:002008-12-13T07:25:11.092-05:00

nan goldinI imagined TRUE out in the bars nearby, drunk out of her mind, having lost her phone and her wallet, not to mention her punk rock denim vest. She was rape bait—young and pretty and blasted enough to wander off with nearly anyone, which is what she often did. I imagined her running along the West Side highway, sweating and screaming…I saw her several stories tall, as though on a giant

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-19405492541666754942007-10-09T23:05:00.001-04:002008-12-13T07:25:11.271-05:00

Fitz would take care of me..his place would be warm and cozy and I could stretch out on the couch and watch the morning traffic report and he and I would chuckle smugly as we thought about those poor fuckers stuck in little sardine cans out on the highways and under the ground. On bridges, in elevators…queuing up and streaming out. We’d be up in his phat pad high above it all…with annie lennox

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-88417497929925349342007-10-06T15:37:00.001-04:002008-12-13T07:25:11.441-05:00

U r Not Me as I catch a glimpse in the candle flicker--a sudden static blast of the bigger pitcha... U r Not Me getting high like planes and getting so excited about all my ideas that i can hardly type in the password. It takes me three tries and then its only luck that i get in. U r Not me as I put on the New Style (which is actually very old) and bop down the street with my funny sense of

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-51650967173906885342007-09-30T09:09:00.000-04:002008-12-13T07:25:11.536-05:00

The record shop lady first took an interest in me when she saw me going thru The Specials albums. "I have some more back here," she said. She was in her 40s with thick framed hipster glasses that were red with yellow lightening bolts along the side. The whole place was dingy but not too dusty, which is always a problem for me in these second hands spots. She had posters and 45 covers tacked

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-84598895754773787612007-09-24T23:20:00.000-04:002008-12-13T07:25:12.371-05:00

I don’t know and it doesn’t matter. If you’re in it for the business, than good luck. I’m in it for something else. A higher state of shared consciousness, not unlike the kind u might find within and emanating off of a rhyme cipher. Everything’s so tightly wound.http://www.twitter.com/true

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-87326330378829420932007-09-23T22:19:00.000-04:002007-09-24T01:24:06.231-04:00

God forbid this dood gets assassinated while he's here. That would be the start of WW III fer sere."Ahmadinejad says Americans want to hear him"--it has all the feeling of a set-up. He's here, fronting like he wants to pay his respects and what-not to Ground Zero, etc...I know im just yr garden variety stoned visionary, and I certainly believe that the American thing to do is to let him visit,

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-79158569325820112062007-09-22T16:05:00.000-04:002008-12-13T07:25:12.901-05:00

What’s up party people. TRUEBOY here, getting the biggest high possible. I’ve got so many styles I’m like an ice-cream sundae, stiff, bright and art poppable. Multi-layerd im dripping with flow that’s untoppable. All u other bloggers are choppable. Faker stylz that aren’t the least hip-hoppable…I’ve been recording my 3 turntable djing and playing it thru all of my pirated software. I switch

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-78928085729840437832007-09-17T20:51:00.001-04:002007-09-20T18:10:53.859-04:00

i used to swim out to where the waves were sashaying swells of glittering darkness. every so often, there'd be that one out in the distance that looked more like a wall than a hill, and i'd feel the undertow tugging me gently, then firmly, and finally irresistibly backwards into its approach. When a big wave like that comes yr supposed to turn around and dive into it, but if my eagle eye spotted

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-53475907598333287312007-09-10T18:30:00.001-04:002008-12-13T07:25:13.093-05:00

I still get scurred. Of lots of things—of the dark and of the unknowableness of the future and of the pain of death and losing those I love, and what the fear of that pain may lead me to do by way of defense or avoidance. I get scurred when I think I’m missing something, when my story-telling brain starts feeling out the tragedy inherent in my bad habits or carelessness. I get scurred when I

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-68106113248687381592007-09-05T23:55:00.000-04:002008-12-13T07:25:13.442-05:00

It's like watching the stars align into a constellation--the myth of which i've been busy writing:The video diaries of Molotov Alta" - about a guy that disappears in real life only to post dispatches from the second one.HBO buys Second Life machinima for big bucks.(Ha--as I typed that Google spellcheck underlined machinima because it doesn't know the word. Proof that the innernets are far faster

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-70261595767492242892007-09-04T21:12:00.000-04:002007-09-04T21:17:53.700-04:00

This is my quest, my ring to bear. It sounds dramatic and maybe thats because it is: I'm writing the first and the last novel of all time.

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-29454335873523032832007-08-29T17:35:00.000-04:002008-12-13T07:25:13.596-05:00

I’m not BRANDTRUEBOY. I’m merely the conduit, the vessel, the stomping ground, the towering timbres, the moving front, the cavernous, ravine raced wall of rock…anything that’s big and numb and able to transmit immense amounts of energy.

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-13398846400259828872007-08-25T20:52:00.000-04:002008-12-13T07:25:13.839-05:00

Disco DDead DJ bears uncanny resemblance 2 TRUEIt’s a trip getting out at Wall Street. It’s a whole other world from the UES. Downtown there are lots of shadows and the air is always cooler. Surely the gravity is different, as everyone and everything bottoms out. I hear my blood in my ears and feel a pressure upon my ribcage. There aren't many cars but the narrow streets make each one that

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-60218667240671035472007-08-19T10:13:00.000-04:002008-12-13T07:25:13.972-05:00

1991: I was in high school and fortunate to be riding the wave of rock’s late capitalism manifestation in real time: I owned Trompe Le Monde as a cassette tape, and can still remember unfolding the cover and staring at the artwork of the blue eyeballs peering out from the ridges of what was either the cliff of a deep sea mountain or alien terrain. Most fans seem to feel that while a great

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1521701765112249992007-08-16T21:21:00.001-04:002008-12-13T07:25:14.124-05:00

On the screen, the white square was replaced with a black highway—the double yellow lines rushing downward—the pre-paved travel of time. The footage was spliced together—a combination of the opening of “Lost Highway” and as a leitmotif throughout “Terminator II”, culminating in the epilogue with sexy ass Linda Hamilton's overdubbed purrrr about the future being an open highway stretched out

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-80268598066245452032007-08-09T18:10:00.000-04:002008-12-13T07:25:14.396-05:00

In the middle of my wage slave day job day Im secretly pining away for the city’s slums and other places I know only through the fictions of hip-hop. Tell me what it is, tell me what it feels like: I want to know what its like to be brave and cool enough to rule the school. I want to feel TRUE feeling escapist joy at the onset of her alcoholic afternoons, I want to watch the glow of the

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-21704976416871824522007-08-04T08:57:00.001-04:002008-12-13T07:25:14.590-05:00

(everything is going my way)I went down, down, down, into the winding rabbit warren that is the Fulton Street subway station where the over breathed air was stifling and smelled like ass. I had a flashback to when i lived in Jersey Shitty, and had to navigate the dingy labyrinth every day on my way to Midtown. I took the Path to the World Trade Center stop, where you could always tell who had

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-60166128593157154262007-07-24T22:14:00.000-04:002007-07-24T22:22:55.922-04:00

Then I thought that it was a result of this blog—that someone was reading it and lifting the ideas I shared, which has happened at various points on a smaller scale, but I soon realized that although a portion of what had been lifted had been published on the web, a significant chunk of it had never made it outside my own brain. These were things I’d spent time thinking about—it wasn’t deeply

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-25577589345954812332007-07-15T17:22:00.000-04:002008-12-13T07:25:14.865-05:00

I think about how Mary was only told bits and pieces about what was going to happen. They told her she was going to have the son of God but they didnt tell her that he would start a whole new religion and that people all around the world would worship her.I think about all the people inside the towers, about all the things that went on that we ll never know about. The people who saved other

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-5720667288758360762007-07-12T16:05:00.000-04:002008-12-13T07:25:15.043-05:00

u must change yr life.

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-58755682736545396052007-07-09T21:06:00.000-04:002008-12-13T07:25:15.335-05:00

im thinking about him. im missing him to the tune of the A/C hum. im imagining the feeling of his chest against my cheek, the scent of him as i gently rub my face in the soft hair there. faint sesame and other sweetnesses.his skin is silky smooth and when i touch it i wanna right away touch it some morei miss his smile and the sparkle in his eyes as he tilts my head back and kisses my

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-25421697351533698882007-07-05T06:21:00.001-04:002008-12-13T07:25:15.855-05:00

A rainy fourth. How appropriate for where we find ourselves as citizens of this once great nation.More and more I identify as being a New Yorker--that particular breed of tuff and pampered. Ive got great taste and I know what i want....that aching, soaring feeling of being a part of IT--the lights and the legacy, the busy minutes and sparkling hours--no matter what goes down.

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-61976963163970246472007-07-02T17:47:00.000-04:002008-12-13T07:25:16.091-05:00

Blog with sand in yr shoes and cum in yr hair.Post pix of yrself naked if u hate big media.Post pix of yrself broke and high if u luv america.Tell all yr secrets but lie about yr past...

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-40264581507661344952007-06-29T06:38:00.000-04:002008-12-13T07:25:16.248-05:00

steel dreams, skyscraper nightmare, late stage capitalism, post-industrial beats, discord, sonic youth, dirty boots, get into the groove, true blue, material girl, freedom rings, christopher st, shop lifters of the world unite, MAC, black eyeliner, goth, the cure, anti-social, depressed, purple streetlight haze, suburban silence, journal pages, torn together, fall in love, distrust of government,

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-90409219910498443132007-06-25T16:01:00.000-04:002008-12-13T07:25:16.404-05:00

There was something I wanted to know…How did the fact that she and her girlfriend had drunken threesomes with older, fatherly types have anything to do with their so-called freedom as women in today's corporate, male-dominated world? {cue: Sonic Youth’s Kool Thing in the background}We use the power of our love and lust to get what we want, she said. We’re seen and worshipped.And for that you

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1102720806486612722007-06-22T18:00:00.000-04:002008-12-13T07:25:16.564-05:00

I’ve decided to live in the real world, just like Neo, only the blue pill I want to take is gonna give me a voice and turn me into the MC I’ve always been. I found my resolve as I lay on my side in bed this morning listening to the Kraftwerk and Emo-influenced keyboard crescendos and fake English accents on top of real Southern accents on a Spank Rock track and suddenly being overcome by aches

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1177173849493558792007-04-21T12:39:00.000-04:002007-06-13T11:49:58.598-04:00

...bear in mind, we all fall behind, from time to time.--LCD Soundsystem(ahead)

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1177035347247124062007-04-19T22:11:00.000-04:002007-04-19T23:04:02.183-04:00

be there.

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1176695202437711502007-04-15T23:14:00.000-04:002007-04-15T23:53:23.236-04:00

I need the characters...the Magick 3. I need to call upon them again. TRUE, Sterling and Fitz. For the best time and also for the last time. I need them to help me get this right. I need to parcel out just the right words using their eyes as measures. As I'm walking down the street I imagine them pulling up alongside me in a car with tinted windows and a secret symbol stenciled across the

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1176505335736934472007-04-13T18:41:00.000-04:002007-04-13T19:02:15.766-04:00

dNASAbi miss my mom.mostly my imaginary mom, but my real mom too.

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1176241904872596692007-04-10T17:44:00.000-04:002007-04-10T17:52:12.210-04:00

If I can make it big somehow I wouldn’t want too much. A phat pad on the east river with huge windows and a perch outside for my falcon, who will come flying back and forth from his hunts. There will be short films of giant waves on screens placed throughout my living room. Each clip ends just before the wave hits the shore. There’s a short pause and the screen goes black, then lights up as

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1176166890694828062007-04-09T21:00:00.000-04:002007-04-09T21:48:22.930-04:00

Fuck u, all u rawk n' rollerrrrsThese days, it's all about DISKO.And being cheaply manufactured.It's about (selling, never BUYING) limited edition t-shirts, packaged in electro-rave goodie bags.It's about going crazy from eating faker food cuz everything real is dead.It's about hating yr government.It's about being BRANDTRUEBOY.Which is a Way of Loving Life.Like A Skyscraper Scraping the Sky with

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1175966977757843212007-04-07T11:22:00.000-04:002007-04-07T13:37:40.243-04:00

See the moon?No?Well, it sees you!Donald Barthelmethe piano player

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1175832307356699072007-04-05T23:56:00.000-04:002007-04-06T00:09:27.093-04:00

i found a scurry pic on the innernet. i was going to post it but now i dont want to. i just want all the sadness and hurt to go away. especially that which i've caused.i luv u guys--please stay with me thru this next part.

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1175603827111960622007-04-03T07:55:00.000-04:002007-04-03T18:08:26.373-04:00

it all goes on...and on...the stupid insignicant concerns of the seasonst. pattys pukefest gives way to spring break gives way to spring trainingtights and ballet slippers give way to denim skirts, bare legs and cowboy boots...thx, but i dont think i can make it this time.i just can't stand to schmooze.wanna come to my room instead and play on my computer?Freely Associated Blog Kulture Tags (4/3/

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1175219331160991642007-03-29T21:44:00.000-04:002007-03-29T23:37:22.706-04:00

heimlichkeitDoing research on the web makes me happy.I pluck white ribbons of knowledge from connection trees and bring them back to my innernet.It's like Andy said:Someone's got to bring home the baconSomeone's got to bring home the roast.Only there's no longer any MEAT in art.We're all cultural vegans now.We're floating in space.

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1175037839755888492007-03-27T18:41:00.000-04:002007-03-29T23:22:07.566-04:00

We can surely turn the tide.We can push the tempest by.*post title from a gorgeous jazz album by Bill Evans and lyrics by Rockers Hi-Fi from their song "Push Push", which is one of my fave songs ev-eh...the echoing dub beats feel like walking down a long empty suburban street just before the rain comes, when the stillness of the waiting trees stretches beneath the swirling about of millions of

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1174797724404942452007-03-24T23:52:00.000-04:002007-03-25T16:20:22.236-04:00

Yellow lights glow bright like disco on the subway wallYou want something new--a slowly building anthem, a genius way of describingthe incredible sadness of missing everything about a person even as they're standing right beside youThe moment has come, the time is now, i hear the call.Of my own voice echoing across the abyss...This is my last nite on earth remixed from 1996.The year i hit the

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1174687206414019442007-03-23T17:57:00.000-04:002007-03-24T23:45:49.503-04:00

For instance: scurred money dont make money.

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1174526871803252512007-03-21T21:23:00.000-04:002007-03-21T22:15:30.693-04:00

"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero, Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.Let us go then, you and I,When the evening is spread out against the skyLike a patient etherized upon a table;Let us go, through

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1174429578896670832007-03-20T18:25:00.000-04:002007-03-21T22:34:12.700-04:00

I could've been lost forever, I could've been flung far and forgotten myself, having mistaken the feeling of not belonging to anyone or anything for the feeling of freedom.Or I could've been digested and dissolved by my past, I could've given in to the fear and the sickness I felt towards everyone and everythingI could've not asked for help, I could've believed that nothingness was to be feared…

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1174168551008976352007-03-17T17:52:00.000-04:002007-03-17T17:55:51.050-04:00

It's time to think like a bomb if yr not doing so already.

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1174016796947085822007-03-15T21:02:00.000-04:002007-03-15T23:26:26.853-04:00

To me, Catholicism is the story told by a small child about a fiery plane crash on TV, in which each and every passenger walks away from the scene with only minor injuries.Yet for all its murderous harm done it still contains the tools to ward off Evil. subvert yr imaginary.

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1173994036292023682007-03-15T16:26:00.000-04:002007-03-15T16:30:16.910-04:00

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1173825101310224022007-03-13T18:26:00.000-04:002007-03-13T18:31:41.336-04:00

...but i can't wait for Sunday morning...--K-OS, "Sunday Morning"neckface is ugly

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1173736749140699002007-03-12T17:50:00.000-04:002007-03-13T14:37:19.306-04:00

My mother used to do her homework at her desk in silence.I did mine in front of the TV with headphones on.I was learning The Future.kids

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1173657591477084442007-03-11T19:59:00.000-04:002007-03-11T19:59:52.663-04:00

...And then came the day when everyone got everything they'd ever wanted...

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1173393768158591542007-03-08T17:26:00.000-05:002007-03-08T17:42:48.453-05:00

One day while I was in Spain last week, the light cast a certain glow across one of those little sides streets, the kind you only find in smalltown Europe, and suddenly I was transported back in time to when I lived in a university town in Belgium with my Great Nemesis. It was one of our drunken afternoons, when everything felt like it moved in delicious slo-mo Super 8. He said something,

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1173155747382443322007-03-05T23:33:00.000-05:002007-03-06T10:27:36.510-05:00

(the little lasers mix)I want red meat and lots of fucking.My steps feel firmer. I'm less scurred.This is cuz i believe in more since she died.For the first time it makes sense to me--the way all those religions have the bits where people are chanting or praying or fasting TOGETHER...as many people at once.Everyone!(what a magical word)I feel like if everyone thinks or prays or sings about

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1172872445498741022007-03-02T15:40:00.000-05:002007-03-02T16:57:07.713-05:00

On Wednesday I watched someone I love die. She was very brave and never complained or cried. I helped keep her company as her body stopped. Afterwards, a feeling zig-zagged through the room; the window overlooking the bright brown mountains rattled uncontrollably. Look, my mother said, and pointed at the red flower in the vase on the bedside table, whose head was now slumped.Is it perhaps

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1172597213573841182007-02-27T12:21:00.000-05:002007-02-27T12:26:53.630-05:00

Impatience and carelessness: man´s two cardinal vices, from which all others derive.

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3757016.post-1172263378709212692007-02-23T15:39:00.000-05:002007-02-23T15:42:58.740-05:00

I don’t feel like a party so I borrow someone’s parka and go out to the garage with Kafka’s The Blue Octavo Notebooks tucked into my jeans. Lately, it’s all I can read. Out on the driveway I see some girls playing Double-Dutch in the setting sun. I wave at the mother across the street and motion to her that I’ve got the girls covered. She waves back and goes into the house. It’s amazing how

TRUEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17298517309331085646noreply@blogger.com0