Monday, April 29, 2013


…On the treadmill this am I listened to this:
I have a boy crush on Brandon Flowers.  My favorite bit of the song is “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

I also listened to this:
I have a girl crush on her.  Just love them.

…Do you ever feel like a slacker?  Just a little bit?
Yesterday I watched a man with no arms play guitar with his feet, his toes.  His voice wasn’t the greatest but his guitar playing was pretty stellar.  I’d always wanted to play guitar, and then a few years back, I attempted to do so, but after nearly a year I gave up.  Kumbaya was about the only song I could play, which isn’t really much of a song, right?
Anyway, watching that guy play was really something and it made me feel like a slacker.

…Here are some things I like to start the week off with:

"When people say they have no regrets--no regrets about anything, anything they've said or done--well, I regret and I'm sorry." R. Seagal

"You must write, and read, as if your life depended on it." -- Adrienne Rich

"The moon is a gentle reminder of every woman who has drowned a man without apology." Gabriel Don

"I have a sad heart but a merry mind." Elizabeth Barrett Browning

"What you do speaks so loudly that I cannot hear what you say." Ralph Waldo Emerson

"I have ceased to question stars and books; I have begun to listen to the teaching my blood whispers to me. Herman Hesse

"To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

"I'm about as happy as the Louie on the show.  I don't mind feeling sad.  Sadness is a lucky thing." Louie CK

"Part of the happiness of life consists not in fighting battles but in
avoiding them.  A masterly retreat is in itself a victory." Norman Vincent Peale

“Fiction, poetry, music, really deep serious sex, and, in various ways, religion — these are the places (for me) where loneliness is countenanced, stared down, transfigured, treated.” - David Foster Wallace

"There was no such thing as half-trying. Whether it was running a race or catching a football, competing in school -- we were to try. And we were to try harder than anyone else. We might not be the best, and none of us were, but we were to make the effort to be the best." Senator Robert F. Kennedy, in a tribute to his father

"For man, as for flower and beast and bird, the supreme triumph is to be most vividly, most perfectly alive." David Lawrence

"Only have enough of little virtues and common fidelities, and you need not mourn because you are neither a hero nor a saint." H.W. Beecher

"One climbs a mountain not to conquer it, but to be lifted away from the earth up into the sky." Russell Banks

"The truth will set you free, but not until it is finished with you." David Foster Wallace

"You are not a drop in the ocean. You are the entire ocean in a drop." Rumi

Friday, April 26, 2013


…I’m a big fan of Vampire Weekend.  Their music is like nothing else.  New album comes out in two weeks.  I can’t wait.  It got a whopping four and a half stars in Rolling Stone.  Five stars is tops and is usually reserved for albums like Sergeant Pepper, Blonde On Blonde, Thriller, etc.
A while back, when I first discovered them, I wrote a story using the title of every song of their first album.
And I wrote this, too:

                                                            Vampire Weekend

What was I doing with these kids?  I was ready to kill any one of them.
            “Ew!  He’s licking my bloody nose!” Archer said.
            “I’m a vampire,” Lewis said, “that’s why.”
            “Let me have my own stupid bloody nose.”
            “I must feast when I can.”
            “Knock it off.”  I wanted to be the cool dad, but the price was too high.  I smacked Benjy, who was my own, pushed Lewis against the car window and glared at Archer, all in a millisecond, from the front seat, hardly taking my eyes from the road.
            “He thinks he’s a vampire,” Benjy said.
            “I am.”
            “You’re so freaking stupid,” Archer said.
            “Don’t say ‘freaking’,” I said.    I saw their dopey stares.  “It’s the same as the real thing.”
            “What’s the real thing?”
            “Who said that?” I asked.
            Archer laughed and that was when I hit the car in front of me.
            Her name was Glenda Henderson from Everett or Mukilteo and she couldn’t have been nicer.  She said she’d been expecting the accident and when she read my confusion she explained how she’d had her cards read earlier in the day and that an accident loomed in her future.  She was so relieved it was nothing more than a fender bender.
            “The cards don’t lie,” she said.

            My wife said I had issues.  She knew me well, so I when I had a moment I gave her input a great deal of thought.  She didn’t come right out and say it, but she implied things, that I was a lousy dad for one, that I was selfish.  My career came first and she and Benjy were accessories, she pointed out.  Why else hadn’t we had other children?  I didn’t dare call her bluff on that particular because it had actually been me bluffing all this time.
I hated kids.
            I couldn’t sleep.  It wasn’t right what I was thinking and feeling about myself.  I even doubted God’s grace if it spanned so wide.
            In the morning I woke early because I was already up, if you know what I mean.  “I’m not good with them,” I told Leanne as soon as her lids lifted.  I didn’t even notice how horrible her breath smelled.  “I’m clumsy,” I said, ready to confess every guilty sin.
            “No you’re not.”
            “I feel like it’s a sham, like I’m playing charades, acting.  Maybe it’d be easier if I was gay.  It’s ridiculous how I feel.”
            “You just need to do it more.”
            “What the fuck does that mean?”
            “For starters, watch the language.  You’re not nineteen anymore.”
            The truth was I wished I was, I’d give anything to be nineteen again, the world wide open, no wife or job or chubby kid sopping up the last bloody drop of gravy with his porky pig fingers.
            “You’re becoming bitter,” she told me.
            “That doesn’t even make sense.”
            “Well, think about it.  Fathers aren’t bitter.”
“You mean ‘Good Fathers’,” I said, sinking so low as to add in the air quotes.
“It’s like anything—the more you do it, the better you get.”
I had a crack about sex ready, but let it pass.
“Okay, so what?”       
            I laid down the law then.  I told the little shits that none of them were getting ice cream if their voices got too high, if anyone farted or punched or swore or gave anyone a wedgy.
            They were quiet for a safe passage when Lewis started to moan.
            “What the hell’s going on back there?” I said into the rearview.
            “I’m dying.  I need sustenance.”
            “How do you know that word, sustenance?   You’re twelve.  Anyway, we were just at Burger King.”
            “You don’t understand.  I need blood.”
            I smacked the steering wheel.  “That’s it.  Baskin Robbins is nixed.”
            I watched Benjy and Archer punch Lewis, quite hard it appeared.
            “Hey, take it easy.”
            “I don’t even know why I’m your friend,” Benjy, my son said to Lewis.  But I knew why.  My son had two friends on the planet and they were both in the backseat.
            Lewis did look pale, butter-white as if jaundiced.  His mouth gaped open like a stroke victim. 
“Leave him alone.  Lewis, what’s the deal?”
“You don’t believe me,” Lewis said, his voice low and smoker-coarse.
“You can’t be a vampire,” I said.  “They don’t survive in daylight.”
His yellow eyes widened.  “So you believe in vampires?”
I was going to say, Of course, what do you think I am, stupid?  I was a boy once, but instead this is what I said: “You’re really starting to piss me off.  If you don’t knock this crap off, I’m tossing you out of the car.”     
Archer jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow.  “You’re ruining everything.”
“The next one that touches Lewis is grounded.”
“You can’t ground me,” Archer said.  “You’re not my Dad.”
“Fuck that.”
“You said ‘fuck’.”
“Indeed I did.  Just go ahead and fuck with me and see what else happens.”
Archer blinked several times and then closed his eyes, his lip quivering as if he had Parkinson’s.
When I looked back at the road it seemed I hadn’t traveled more than a few miles.  Where was I even going?
“Where the hell are we going again?” I said.
“You swear a lot,” Archer said.  Benjy smiled.  Lewis might have stopped breathing at that point.
“The party is somewhere on Seattle Hill.  Mom gave you directions.”
“No she didn’t.”
“Yeah, she did.”
“You should have Mapquested it,” Archer said.
“Shut the fuck up,”
Lewis groaned, clutching his stomach.  His breathing sounded thick and grassy.
“Stop screwing around,” I told him, but his eyes were closed.
“Lewis is such a pussy,” Benjy said, all three chins working on his grin.
“Watch your mouth,” I said.  “Where the hell’d you learn to talk like that?”
The flashing lights pole-struck my heart as they always did, except this time they were really meant for me.  I checked the speedometer and saw that I was going ninety.  “Fuck me.”
“What’s the rush?” Officer Steadman asked.
“You know, I just lost sight of how fast I was going.”
“No shit?”
I flinched, then grinned, easing into his familiarity. 
“I’m a real fuckup.”
I realized he had a mustache when he glowered at me.  “Nice mouth you got there.  Kids hear you talk like that?”
Stunned, I shrugged and held up my palms.
He craned his neck into the back seat.  “Hey boys.”
Archer and Benjy looked like a crocodile had just stuck its jagged jaws through the window.
“Whoa, that one in the middle don’t look too good.”
“He’s stupid,” Benjy said, his boy man-boobs jiggling.
“I need blood,” Lewis rasped. 
“You feed these kids?” Officer Steadman asked me.
I was starting to get pissed.  Write me the fucking ticket.  “Sure.”
“Sure,” he repeated, coating the word with a lisp.  “Hey,” he said, tapping Lewis on the chest.  Lewis opened his eyes to half-mast, not alarmed whatsoever.  “I’m going to call this one in.”
“That kid’s three sheets to the wind.”
“He’s not drunk, if that’s what you mean.”
Officer Steadman scowled, his whiskered upper lip twitching critter-like.   
Benjy and Archer got out of the car and pitched stones toward the out-of-reach river. 
I kept thinking about what would happen if Lewis died.  He couldn’t die, could he?
I got into the back seat with him.
“Are you just fucking with us?  Lewis, are you?”
He gasped, and fettered a spasm of air and skin.  “I need, I, I need.”
Officer Steadman was on his phone.  The boys were collecting stones.  I pulled the neckline of my shirt to the side and leaned into Lewis, my neck tingling for the first time.  “Here,” I said.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013


…How’s Hump Day working out for you?  I never say Hump Day.  I don’t like the way it sounds.  Therefore I will never say or write it again.

…I have been one unproductive fellow.  Need to get my crap together, which I’m aiming to do right after this post.

…People on Facebook sure are funny.  Here’s what some of them had to say (their words, not mine) over the last few days:

-I'm going to walk around saying "hot enough fer ya?" to everyone I see today. Bets on how long it takes me to get punched?

-I am neither in favor or opposed to the death penalty, because just being born is a death penalty in itself, and you can't argue your way out of that.

-Should I book the hotel room with the mirrors over the bed?

-Facebook surely makes you feel like everyone else is living a more beautiful life than you are.

-What if everyone hates me?

-I go hard in the mutherfuggin taint.

-Came home to two catastrophes: toilet doesn't work and computer won't turn on. Used Google on phone and fixed both. Google is my boyfriend.
Today I received a special gift from above. My first moon cycle in 7 years! The last time I had my menses was at the age of 26. Being a fitness model I always had extremely low body fat.

-Customer: "May I try on the dress in the window?"
Salesperson: "No, ma'am. You have to try it on in the dressing room just like everyone else."

-You can always tell a health nut by the way they hold their cigarette.

-be carful out there in lief.. yesterday i licked some manatee-related signage in a public park, now i am sick. it coud hapen to anyone.

-I hate to be a bitch but what the hell. I am quite good at it.

-More ass kicking less ass licking, I say!

-This is fucking fucked.

Monday, April 22, 2013


…The sun is shining in Seattle at long last.
How was your weekend?

…I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of the site but it’s interesting.
People anonymously send in their secrets as a cathartic means of venting, I guess you’d say.  It’s surprising what they reveal and reading them feels somewhat voyeuristic.  You feel sad or sorry for them.  Sometimes you feel a spark of happiness.  Most of the time you go away thinking that your own difficulties aren’t that bad and that everyone has tough times.

…Wacky dictators like the two in power in Iran and North Korea fascinate me.  How did they ever get to be dictators in the first place?  They didn’t just all of a sudden go insane.
Here’s some information you may or may not know:

Apparently Kim Jong 11, deceased radical dictator of North Korea, was an amazing sportsman.  State media reported: He scored a perfect 300 the first time he bowled and sank 11 holes-in-one the first time he golfed.
In North Korea, up to 200,000 people live in prison camps.
All TV's are tuned to state-controlled domestic programming.  The internet does not exist other than as a closed domestic network.
2 million people died of famine in the 1990's because of erratic farming policies and flooding.
North Korea's annual GDP per capita is $1,800--197th in the world.  The GDP is 18 times higher in South Korea.
Electric power largely shuts down at night.  Homes with electricity often receive only a few hours per day.
North Korea's regime gets much of its income by exporting counterfeit pharmaceuticals, narcotics, cigarettes and counterfeit $100 U.S. bills, in addition to selling small arms and missile parts to terrorists groups and other rogue nations.
…Meanwhile, South Korean pop star Psy's "Gangnam Style" has racked up 1.5 Billion views on YouTube so far.
His latest saucy new single, "Gentlemen" has already topped 128 million views.  In five days.

Sunday, April 21, 2013

Friday, April 19, 2013


…I’m not kidding when I say that every day someone wants to give me money.  Yesterday there were five people.  Here’s one of them:


I am miss Joy Kruger from South Africa and I am contacting you because I need your help in management of some amount that my father left for me before he died.

My father was a very rich cocoa/timber farmer but was poisoned by his business colleagues and they are now after me so i hard to escape my way into a church here in Republic of Benin.

Please indicate if you’re interested in taking me along because my present condition here is critically frustrating.

Am waiting.


…Yesterday I finished the book, “How To Write” by Richard Rhodes.
Here are some of the bits I liked best:

-“Storytelling is fundamental to the human search for meaning.” Mary Bateson

-“If you advance confidently in the direction of your dreams and endeavor to live the life you have imagined, you will meet with success unexpected in common hours.” Henry David Thoreau

-“A writer should end every chapter with either a door slammed shut or a door flung open.” Dostoyevsky

-“If you’re an author, it helps to have a high tolerance for rejection.” Sarah Lyall

-“To write is always to seal noted into bottles and cast them adrift at sea; you never know where your notes will drift and who will read them.”

-“A poem, which must enter the world unaccompanied, arrives fat with verbal orchestration.  A poem gets its comeuppance in turn when it’s stuck on a greeting card, where it looks overweight and overdressed.”

-“No writing is ever wasted; every sentence you write, however awkward and whether you use it or not, is a learning experience.”

-“It’s such an improbable and foolish-sounding thing to say in front of anybody: ‘I’m going to become a writer.” Richard Rhodes

Wednesday, April 17, 2013


…Last night it was sunny and clear, then there was thunder and lightning, then a slanted downpour during which time I saw a double rainbow.  An actual double rainbow.  It’s only the second time I’ve seen one in my life.
The last time was at my son’s soccer match.  He was around seven years old and he kept pointing at the sky in wonder, yelling, “Dad! Dad!  It’s a double rainbow.  For real it is.”
That experience taught me a good life lesson about retaining one’s sense of childlike wonder and now I enjoy sunrises and sunsets, the beauty of a thick snowfall, the shape and hue of the clouds as dusk settled around the treetops lining the lake.
I want to die young.

…This morning I woke to this fantastic message:
My wife violet and I is donating the sum of two million USD to you .Contact my wife's personal email []
Isn’t it amazing how every day random people want to give me millions of their dollars?  Isn’t it funny how poorly crooks write?

…Here are some things I like for the middle of the week:

-"I think kids like me like the bad guy in a film.  I watch movies all the time and root for the bad guy and turn it off before it ends because the bad guy dies.  It's cinematic law, that the bad guy has to die.  But sometimes the bad guy gets a record deal and becomes a superstar." 50 Cent

-"The fact that I started it from absolutely nothing as a single mother of two during one of the hardest times of my life. I had a computer, an internet connection, and the balls of Annie Oakley. Not to mention some editing and graphic design know-how under my hat. So with that and little else, I made it work, and now, a lot of our books are being reviewed by Publishers Weekly and ForeWord Reviews. I couldn’t be prouder." Cynthia Reeser

-"Aspire, break bounds. Endeavor to be good, and better still, best." Robert Browning

-"Guilt is a luxury we can only afford when we have hope." Robert P. Kaye

-"I've been wondering lately what it is that makes us forget who we are?" Boyd Crowder, "Justified"

-"Well, we all have our eccentricities."
"Yeah, but they don't have to be medicated." Justified

Monday, April 15, 2013


…Yesterday, I finished reading Jeanann Verlee’s, “Racing Hummingbirds”.
What a terrific collection.
It’s part poetry, part prose, altogether wonderful, unsettling and arresting.
If you think you’re a person who doesn’t fancy poetry, you should try this book. 
You’ll be glad you did.  I promise.
Here are two sample pieces:


78           -   the number of cows slaughtered every minute in the U.S.
100        -   my score on every spelling test I’ve ever taken
4             -   the number of wedding rings my mother has pawned
16,200   -   the amount of money I’ve had to borrow from my father to pay your debt
113        -   my weight when I met you
245        -   your weight when you first purged a dinner
97           -   the number of times you told me I was fat
24           -   the number of beers you drank each day
136        -  my weight when you stopped touching me
135        -  the weight of your emaciated six-soot frame today
17           -  the number of times you refused to get help
21           -  the number of days since our divorce
76           -   the number of cows slaughtered since the beginning of this poem


Learn how to say “no.”

Cram that word inside your mouth,
the whole thing, make sure all of it
gets in there.  Let it walk on your tongue.
Practice with it in the mirror, push it
out, make faces, learn to love the salt
and bitter of it.  Teach it to perch on your lip,
buzz, collect pollen from your sugary gloss.
make it swarm between your cheeks.

Then, when the days come (there will be
many) where he pushes too hard, speaks
too sweetly, when the hand at your thigh
draws a thump in your stomach, when
the bitch gremlin inside whispers, it’s not
worth the fight, says you can barter
for your worth tomorrow, when your ribs
shrink, when he unfurls his Almighty Smile,
when  four come at you at once, when
you love someone else, when the bar
is closing and your name becomes Take
What I Can Get, when the girls hate you
anyway, when you want him until the burn
if only he wore a different face—

pull back your lips, bare the teeth you have
sharpened to their perfect points, flick
your stinger tongue, set free your swarms.

Friday, April 12, 2013


 …Happy Friday
Today's going to be a good day.  I can just tell.

…I don't know about you, but I love NY.  It's my favorite place I the world.  So I found this funny:

10 Reasons NYC Isn't as Great as You Think It Is

New York City -- center of the universe. Every year, thousands of people move to the Big Apple to make all of their dreams come true. For the first year it's awesome -- you've made a ton of new best friends who love going out, having random sex and partying until the sun comes out. By year two, you've settled in a bit, gotten rid of the dead weight in the friends department and found a lovely 100 square foot apartment to call your own. Things in your third year are fun, but not as entertaining, and reality begins to set in because you haven't taken a day off of work in four weeks and still can't afford your rent. If you can make it here, you're told that you can make it anywhere, but "making it" consists of never having any money, not eating for days because you can't afford it and hoping that the mysterious rash on your leg that you got when you moved into your new apartment will magically go away because you don't have health insurance with your new job. Maybe New York isn't as great as we think it is. Here why:

The weather.
There are only two seasons in New York -- excruciating heat and bitter cold. Spring is fun for about three days, then it proceeds to rain for weeks on end and then the heat sets in and the streets smell of piss and vomit. Fall is even worse. You get about four nice days and begin to think: "Yeah, I love fall!" Then it rains, then it sleets, then it snows and then it's winter and you don't leave your apartment for four months. The next time I hear someone say: "Fall is my favorite season in New York," I'm not only going to remind them of the endless days of rain, but I am going to backhand them as well.

It's the best place to be if you're having a good day...
But if you're having a bad day, watch the fuck out, because New York is going to make sure your day turns out 10 times worse than when it began. Got fired from your job? Have no fear, on your way home from work, New York will make sure it rains or snows on you en route to your place and now that you've lost your 400th umbrella this year and refuse to buy a new one -- you're soaked. It won't end there! The subway won't work, you'll get trapped behind several thousand tourists who have no idea where they're going on your way back to your apartment and no less than ten homeless people, who all own iPhones will ask you for a dollar.

There are too many gay people.
I love gay people, hell, I am one! However, every single gay person in America feels like they need to move to New York in order to be accepted. So what does that leave us with? Hundreds of thousands of sex-crazed men who are more interested in going out and partying than a relationship. So while you may have more items on the menu then, if you were to date in say, Fayetteville, Arkansas, navigating your way through the gay community in New York is harder than trying to sit through an entire episode of RuPaul's Drag Race.
Everyone is full of shit.
Everyone in New York has a story to tell, but most of those stories are contrived BS. Let's face, when you live on the island of Manhattan, you're special, there's no doubt about it, but the things people will say to get attention in this town is off the wall crazy and usually only half the truth. I know, because I'm one of those people.

Everyone works their asses off.
Everyone who moves to New York wants to shine in whatever field they pursue, however this is a city where literally only the cream rises to the top. You really have to work your ass off to make it and working is hard, time-consuming and takes away from the time that you could be conditioning your hair or sleeping with your hot neighbor.

There are a ton of great restaurants.
Which is awesome, unless you have severe undiagnosed ADD and it takes you too long to decide which one to go to, so instead of going somewhere fabulous, you end up eating at the Renaissance Diner on 54th St. and Ninth Avenue for the fourth time that week. Not that I've done that or anything.

It's the epicenter of culture.
New York has more to offer culturally than almost any other city in the world. However, I don't care what anyone says, no one really likes going to the ballet, the opera or museums. If you have actually gone to the opera this year, it was because your friend had a free ticket and it was: "A very New York thing to do and there wasn't a good party happening that night" so you took the ticket, but didn't pay for it because you're too broke to afford that shit, even though you're working three jobs. Deep down inside, you know that you'd rather be watching Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark. Don't front. You know you would. As bad as that crap is, people being flung from the rafters and nearly meeting their death in order to entertain you is much more thrilling that a fat woman singing a language you never bothered to learn. Come on, admit it, it's okay, no one will criticize you... except for your friend who invited you to the opera who thinks that "all theater is trash" but secretly listens to the cast recording of Starlight Express every night before he goes to bed so that he can make fun of you to your face and not look like a hypocrite.

People will do anything to get attention.
Including sleeping with anyone to gain popularity, creating a fake profession for themselves in order to feel special or monopolizing social media to gain followers in order to make it seem as though they are important. Guess what? Your Twitter followers aren't going to pay your rent, boo. Everyone in New York wants to feel important, but guess what: you're just as unimportant as the rest of us.

New York is the home to every mentally unstable girl in the country.
It's not uncommon to hear women walking down the street on any given day saying things like: "OMG, Tiffany! [They're always named Tiffany] Roger never called me back. I stood outside of his apartment for like two hours last night, saw the light was on and kept calling him, but he never picked up the phone. That's not creepy, that's me trying to play it coy." Or, "Margo, I think Peter got me pregnant last night but I'm too scared to go to the clinic to find out, so I am just going to say he got me pregnant, hope he puts a ring on it and move forward from there." I suggest the New York Department of Health starts monthly Valium drops for all of the single, desperate women who inhabit NYC's streets. And by women, I also mean gay men, and by gay men, I mean myself.

People are snobs for no reason.
If I hear one more person say: "Brooklyn? I'm not going to Brooklyn for love or money!" Oh really? Your mother didn't plop you out of her vagina on the island of Manhattan. In fact, she gave birth to you in a shit shack somewhere outside of Gary, Indiana, which is, by far, the nastiest place in the world. Stop throwing Brooklyn shade, bitch. It's a hell of a lot cooler than wherever you came from originally.
Yeah, New York sucks. But it's kind of like crystal meth. Once you get a taste of it, however bad it is for you, you never want to live without it

Wednesday, April 10, 2013


…Those people on Facebook sure are funny.
Here's what they had to say last week:

-I need sun also some cat ears.

-Hallelujah! Today on Sinked In (sister company to Linked In) I was endorsed for my wondrous and rugged understanding toward bio-friendly toilet paper.

-Just saw a 12-year old kid on the subway carrying a book bag that said FART WANDERER in white out.

-Yesterday I saw a guy wearing a clown nose at the grocery store. Today I saw a car with a mustache. I'm looking forward to tomorrow.

-This weather makes me feel like I'm in a horror story

-Anyone have a unicorn I can rent?

-I may have accidentally had text sex with my catsitter.

-The oldest they let you be, on Facebook, is 107. Where is the fairness here?

-Omg!! I just saw a hot pink airplane!!!!!!

-But seriously, what is the issue with people getting a little dirtier?  Fucking is a good thing.  Get over yourselves.Fucking is a good thing. Get over yourselves.t's some exclusive right to use a whip because you're "actually into BDSM" versus the lady who just wants to feel a little pain and hasn't made into an academic t's some exclusive right to use a whip because you're "actually into BDSM" versus the lady who just wants to feel a little pain and hasn't made into an academic philosophy or life-defining practice? If I want to get tied up and hit, I'm not going to apologize for it, not if I was inspired by a trashy novel, not if I don't understand the 'community.' Fucking is a good thing. Get over yourselves.

-Almost headbutted some crazy drunk jumping in front of everyone at the bus stop and yelling in our faces, "DIE!," but then I saw he had pink-eye and decided to keep my head to myself.

-I wanna taste your insides.  Is your blood thick, and warm, and salty enough ... for me?

-One of my dreams is to someday open a motor court called Inn of The Rainbow. Only gay couples are allowed to rent rooms at Inn of The Rainbow. There will be a disco lounge/karaoke bar with diablo wings and waffle fries and all the rest. Imagine an eclectic jukebox. Imagine me as the lounge singer in a purple wig, red sequin dress, pink fishnets and platform goldfish bowl disco heels. I will be the High Priestess of Gay Fuck. I will marry gay couples at my inn for free. There will be a honeymoon suite called The Proverbial Pot of Gold. Original artwork by my friends will be displayed in the rooms and in lieu of Gideon Bibles small press books (poetry and fiction) will be found in every goddamn room.

-Facebook is full of sheeple. Sometimes I'm not sure why I look at it.