coming up out of the pool water opening my eyes at the same time today i saw my father in a fraction half-deleted standing halfway between me and the house turned profile and much younger with his head down he was wearing all white the gray of the house in partial shade matched exactly the shade of the concrete of the deck and in the instant of his pixel damaged body disappearing again in the shaking off the water from my face skin and my hair it was as if i had become living in a version of the house left otherwise somewhere else which in the lapping level of the water at my chest was the year my mother found me facedown in the deep end and the gray was also on the air

14 rap artists i have been listening to a lot lately + 2 showers

QUASIMOTO how much can you delete i can delete a lot, the way madlib trades verses with himself as quas in shifted pitches hurts my gristle like a good light
GUCCI MANE jumping big rocks in the street even the dogs here will walk out in front of your car like who's this mofucker
BONE THUGS the subs in my car make the metal go like the car is dead inside, it sucks to rolls the windows down cuz it kills that ouch, makes me breathe my air over and over
THREE SIX there are clear castles between the traffic lights, you can go in the stairwells where the bums piss and it's like something rising through you, across the street from that is the sub shop where they give you love for coming in the door
TUPAC even while you get an older body there's the year you drove late in florida and that street wouldn't come back now if you went looking for it but it's out there
BIG BOI don't need a largess need a game machine and someone for sundays, some grits and cheese and a doughnut and a mouth to see it beside
FAT PAT grillin up in the white apartment closet laughin and makin candy out of days that felt like nothing "see a different level of the game fo sho"

most days i take two showers, one when i get up and one covered in sweat
sometimes i combine the two into one

DOOM i would be better off with a set of sweatpants for sure, or a tattoo of the pants along my knee; hide out and make money for your child, even if the child doesn't exist
PROJECT PAT this room could be even smaller than it is, there are never enough cookies, get a houseparty started in your kitchen, sweatpants
Z RO let the game squirt w/o you, show up when it's hot, get a box and take some home
MIKE JONES today my father pulled a black hair out of the pad holding him in his wheelchair and held it up at light, said "we need to make me a dress out of this one"
DIZZEE RASCAL don't leave come back sit on the bed with me smile and let's have cookies and come around or do what you need i want to
BUN B "ain't nothin changed everyday aint nothin chay-ange" the long rhythm of the tree that isn't under this house and the rat that ran wet through here and died so i came home to smell, i don't plan on leaving again lately, it's still small
T.I. the roof on the building i walked into looked like it had been set to the edge with a big bic lighter and clicked and dragged, lunchmeat shaderoof and an erased playground, they had ice cream inside

abcdefghijkl

a took my dad took wendy's today cuz he wanted to and he ordered 3 asian chicken salads into the machine, tried to get me to get 4 instead, we took em home and ate em then came down the hall and gave me a box of blackjack cigars, he'd been hiding 3 boxes from i don't know who in his workshop, it seemed important when he gave me the cigars

b took a bath reading the city and the city with a lot of lights on in the tiled area, i like this book, i'd like this book to have been edited also by a machine and perhaps translated into a different alphabet some, one of the books inside the book talks about having a different language with 34 characters

c earlier today i told my mom i was thinking of jumping out of a window and she said make sure the window's not closed, she meant it in a good way

d eating snow cream ice cream it's like that ice cream we'd make as kids scraping fresh snow off the diving board and mixing it with sugar and vanilla though the last few times i tried to do that again it tasted like shit

e insomnia book today is at 57977 words, it is less insomnia and more ____, it is doing some things. i think this manuscript is going to turn out quite something long, seems like i am just getting started, seems like

f sleeping troubles still shitting on america inside our household, last night H slept on the sofa by choice cuz of how i kick and bash i guess when i am sleeping, she's said the other night inside my sleep i said i want to shit on someone and something else i can't remember

g earlier today dad couldn't find the blue cup he likes to drink juice out of and so poured a lot into a blue bowl and sat it on the counter and left it there and kept looking for the glass

h i feel like i've gotten a lot older this year like my body is being older i've been finding it harder to run as long as i'd like to, there are people who come into the gym almost all the same times as i do and none of us ever talk to one another except there used to be that woman who came in with a different dude each time and they would stand behind her and watch her ass while she did the step machine and looked at a really loud tv

i i have been feeling really flatly emotional about a lot of small things like certain kinds of food and in certain minutes where the desk is almost turning to look at me but it doesn't, sometimes there are little bugs crawling up the glass inside this room

j made a mix cd for the first time in a long time the other night downloading music off the online, trying to find some new music again that i can be ok with, trying to be nicer, to think longer before i say things, to be more resilient or careful in certain ways but the more i do that the more it seems it comes out the wrong way, seems like being literal is not appreciated or not ok, seems like there is paper made of hair somewhere in this house all underneath me and

k i don't know, like chris farley said inside that other person, 'who gives a rat's behind,' earlier today and just before we went to wendy's my father told me something about a machine that had broken his 73 year old heart

l reading james merrill

Chong Li eensanend

Just ran 4.1 miles while watching the climax scenes of Bloodsport, from the friend getting injured by Chong Li, to Frank Dux's fight with Chong Li where he is blinded and must fight using his senses and training, something about that film came over me with great power and I could not stop smiling, I almost clapped standing paused on the treadmill in the gym alone when he forced Chong Li to verbally concede though I have seen that film at least 11 times.

I feel bananas.

Caused and enjoyed this discussion on difficult texts today at HTMLGiant, felt weird, expected maybe 10 comments.

I am going to humor people and trying reading 2666 but from the sections of Bolano I have read I feel certain he is merely well marketed average writing and were he not a young death he would not be receiving this treatment. Sorry. Maybe I will eat my words on that on further reading but I remain skeptical to the nth, and not for not having approached with an open mind.

If someone wants to lend me their copy ok.

I really want that new Nicholson Baker novel, dang. If somebody has a galley of that I will trade you for it.

2 new badass titles from Ellipsis Press, just bought both, mmm deliciouses.

Hopefully going to see Thirst this weekend, excited for it. Previews look stellar.

Time to eat american gelato, which is not italian gelato, but is gelato.

I feel bananas, and this is bananas gelato.

Note from somewhere to someone

The next evening when I returned home I found our vessel’s walls had blanched slightly whiter through the daylight, and while I was away you’d let your body into public pools where sun would kiss you and make you warm.

The present idea that you would look more yourself with the hair cut up around your ears, the shorn ends that much closer to your brain.

While with the stored light still coming off you in our blanched home we this time left through doors at separate ends, turning to look again at one another slowly, and smiling, and with the intent that tonight we would be apart but not forget.

And where at a spot among those noise-sunk houses, I found you in again a different form, among a group of people I had also surely known once but could not herein recall. Their faces far-off surfaces even in nearing, where along a slope of mud between the houses we gathered on cracking concrete to watch the speeding cars, come hurtling in their fury from some nearby ruptured and unrestricted interstate. The cars, they flew off the mud gorge one by one, each one behind the other not seeing the one there just before them flying off again into a cup of nowhere even you (vague in that body) or I or all our others could not see or know or name.

Each car with its windows steamed up. We watched them go and smiled.

Here, though I did not think about the man with black teeth, I know he must have been nearby. Perhaps in one of the many cars decompiling, or the mouth from which the cars or mud had come.

Perhaps inside the body of one of those I thought I’d known then, as I never took the time to check their eyes.

And when David came to stand beside us I saw he carried his guitar, a silver stringed thing with blonde body that he had learned to play by holding up upon the air. With his eyes he made the strings sing, the instrument stiff-armed out before him as a shield.

The song was something even then I knew I would not remember when we left, though in its touching of my body, through my ear coils, I could feel the water in me gunned, the cars passing David often in the mud by inches and his arms still straight out above his head.

I believe Peter was there in his long hair and his slow grin, though you have not met Peter and by then you (the you worn in me) were not part of the crowd there I recall.

You through your own door perhaps with your own me or in another mind in full.



That would be the only section of the evening I’d hold in me when again I went to leave the house.

Where in the day the days last less long every hour we are alive.

Finding my body often wanting for the feeling of the mud room, to remember the sound from the guitar⎯but from here not remembering how I’d found my way there, and wondering what had while I was gone become of you, though when I saw you next, for just a second, in another building, I did not think to ask.

Larix U' Thule

Sitting on the bed sometime ready to die,

not really









Hurrying to the gymroom to run 3.45 miles, black kid already with afro sitting on concrete porch playing by himself | under the window where last week I saw a naked girl getting flash photographed & how she smiled & touched the glass I did not even slow down | the afro child talking to himself or to the object he is holding that I can not recognize from anything

He says something to me in my passing and the only words I hear inside them are 'Michael Jackson'

& in hearing that much & how his eyes are I go, Oh yah, with the short A sound the way I have suddenly affected in recent weeks, only realizing post-answering that he has asked if the figure pictured on my shirt is Michael Jackson & no it is a woman with white skin and red lips almost showing her tits

(long story, how I got this shirt) (not really long at all)

& he watches me approach him briefly with the shirt on & then think better of it & I go on & he is not there when I come back sopping & the lights in the apartment there are off

The pool today was very busy, people were large or small, I stood behind the bars










Last night the man in the bar with forearms big as three of mine with the skin head and the tattoo of flames where there should have been hair, who under whatever could not stand up & instead toddled through the bar leaning on whoever was right there

grabbing Chris's ass & Alex's ass & air humping at a forced huddle group hug, taking whoever would let him by the hand & somewhat barking & to Chris, "It feels good" "What feels good" "(incoherent)"

Alex (my paraphrasing): "There are some kinds of people who you can see who have just been through the thing, & there's nothing you can do to stop them."

On his chest Alex with the tattoo of Jeff who we realized has been gone now 8 years









The fruit juice that was in the refrigerator last I looked is not there either | & there are all these books inside my house

I don't know I guess I feel pretty good

If I ever had the chance to buy a machine gun cheaply I would lay it on the floor of here in the most difficult place to walk around

& leave the bullets in the oven







Open the book perpetually beside my bed, pick a sudden sentence, try to imagine it as an advice:

"Every proposition must already have a sense; assertion cannot give it a sense, for what it asserts is the sense itself. And the same hold of denial, etc.

"One could say, the denial is already related to the logical place determined by the proposition that is denied."





& the second book beside my this year sandwiched underneath the other, another sentence sent in:

"He is cured by faith who is sick of fate."

List of 23 things I wrote yesterday that at the time seemed relevant to something

1. DELETED

2. DELETED

3. DELETED

4. DELETED

5. DELETED

6. DELETED

7. DELETED

8. I need to investigate people who have killed themselves by drinking water.

9. DELETED

10. DELETED

11. The other day I helped a tanned man and his fake-breasted girlfriend carry a large oak table up to their second floor loft while I wore the shorts and was covered in sweat. The woman kept starting to say something to me, but did not. The man had small hands.

12. I want to write an essay on the first 42 minutes of Lost Highway but I don't know where to begin.

13. DELETED

14. DELETED

15. DELETED

16. ...always supposed to be doing something else...

17. DELETED

18. The last time I was at my parents' house my sister had left her bra laying wet out on the kitchen counter on top of a couple of paper towels. I ate some ice cream.

19. DELETED

20. DELETED

21. DELETED

22. The large security guard outside the 'Murder Kroger' last week, when I asked him how it's going, answered, smiling: "Ain't nobody dyin,' ain't nobody livin'."

23. DELETED

Location HFHIEUUUEIII

Last night flew across a field of solid noise using bloated leaves that puttered water. There were houses in the layers, but after we left the lip we were afraid to land. Everyone below us had knives and torn clothes.

We crashed down in some post-apartment complex and found a way to break into a glassed-in house, though another man, a skinny white man with dark teeth, followed us in as well and was trying to inject us with something he carried in a bladder underneath his arm in hair. We abandoned the room through a small door in the back and found way onto a pulley system that took us to a building where several ruined homes had been appended. We were granted admittance by a kid I grew up with into an area where all these people were sitting around drinking and sitting in stairwells that filled the house.

The man with the black teeth was not granted admittance, but he continued to linger outside the area, coming to stand at various locations on the complex's perimeter, watching, as from the inside the building was mostly open air. I would often see him looking in, watching me move.

I was worried about you and yet we were trying to relax so we went separate ways and I talked to people I had not seen in a long time. At the center of the complex there was a swimming pool with no matter in it that people were jumping into. I could not see what happened to them after they jumped.

There were a lot of leaves and kids from a black metal band who did not seem to want me there. They kept leering and seeming to be about to do something else. My friend who had given admittance kept telling them to be cool.

I ate a meat stick that tasted like wire.

You were in a far off area of the complex. I could see you where you were but not with my eyes. You were walking through the stairwell parts and looking for another exit as there was something about the man with the black teeth.

You were a different you than the you I flew across the noise with, as that person had disappeared when we landed, and now was you.

I wanted to go and find you so that you would not go back out into the parts where the man with the black teeth was, and despite being able to see you (not with my eyes) I could not find you in the house, though at the far perimeter of one section there was a window in a room where no one else was. I saw you (not with my eyes) go into that room and there was the man with the black teeth on the other side of the glass. You did not seem scared.



Today leaving the house, in this light, I felt the man somewhere nearby, I got into the car and it was hot in the car. I feel the man nearby as well here now.

Here are words.

Days that were going to keep lasting longer the shorter they got

Woke up this morning with my tongue around my head.

Someone had been writing on my arm meat:

The sun came out and killed the South. Killed the south with where. What son. What I am, son said. Sun one. Killed the which, I is.

There are a lot of things you could have done with a substance on which music has been embedded.

Lots of small starts and no beginnings.

I finally found my Mickey Mouse shirt with the paint flecks all over it from where I painted over a tall wall. Doesn't feel like it used to feel to wear it.

Today someone from Texas googled 'personal relate to the copy family by blake butler,' if you write an essay on this and mail it to me I will send you a copy of my head and face through this machine. or.

Famously Jean Genet was writing Our Lady of the Flowers in prison and had the pages taken from him, and then rewrote it in his head? Or I am getting the story wrong. Or it was never in his head and never on the paper. It was never in the book.

There is not a book.

In grad school I almost wrote my graduate lecture on the necessity of dreams in fiction, against the old tirade that dreams do not belong in fiction, instead I













I don't know what I believe anymore.
I need to get up earlier and go on more walks & in more sound.

cujo

god it rains here every day now its like someone telling me no
i feel like someone somewhere is trying to give me a lot of money but can't find my address
martin scorsese was one time a kid walking around trying to think where he should eat
by now he's already made the movie with david bowie playing the guy who ultimately kills god
when i've been going running lately i've been careful to stop running when the readout on the treadmill shows pattern numbers like 424.2 or 3.33
though most all numbers have an inherent pattern in them so really i could get off any time
i should be doing something else like everything i'm not doing now
i'd like it if i had a helmet i could not feel around my head

Most of that year I did not sleep, ex. 7-10 (2002) + 1

+

Most of that year I did not sleep, ex. 1-6 (2002)

Nothing

Nights when I would come home from boy scouts in the year before the scouts asked me to leave I would come home and be afraid to go to the shed to put my bike away because it always seemed shaking or compulsed with something that knew how to lurch.

There was a light attached to the building that would come on by motion and there was another switch that made the pool light up neon blue but I would still run from the building as fast as I could.

Many nights after getting home there would be wrestling on TV and I would watch the wrestling and there would be a light on in the bathroom and you could hear other people in other rooms laugh.

I had a metal box full of perverse things I'd collected like the postcard with the woman in the shower that I bought in St. Augustine while on a trip with my family. I'd had to make a big deal to make it seem like I was going to a bookstore so that I could get away from them long enough to get the postcard, I can still see it if I close my eyes.

I had a polaroid I took of Pamela Anderson on Family Feud, she was wearing short shorts, the shot was blurry, I kept it.

I was making a scrapbook about Pamela Anderson then too, I still have it somewhere, I used the flip half of an older scrapbook that had been about the Atlanta Braves.

These are the shortest longest days ever. I wish I had not sold my Dragonlance books on eBay.

I feel a lot defeated, like something has gotten into me while I was/am still sick and has changed the way I think about everything that even a month ago I was obsessed with. Like someone turned a lock inside me to a room I'd been going to a lot and now even coffee and candy taste strange.

In the Boy Scouts there was one kid that had hurt legs and bad vision and the kids would make him play British Bulldog, a version of Smear the Queer, and he could never catch anybody so he stayed it the whole time of our recreation period every time. He never gave up.

The post I wrote about the Eagle scout who got a boner in the showers on one trip and watched everyone with it is one of the major traffic inducements for this site, I know right now he is at work at the Kroger down the street wearing the Eagle ring. I have considered getting in his line and trying to ask him about something unrelated to the ring or the boners but I think I wouldn't be able to move once I got back in my car if I did that.

If anyone has a great idea for a place to build a treehouse near me I'd like to know about it.

I wonder if I ever agree with anything that I say.

One of the days I can remember more than any other day is the day in gym we were in the smaller second building doing a bowling unit and I ended up positioned on a lane next to two of the 'rougher' kids in my class, one of them wore steel toe boots and was singing 'Polly' by Nirvana, though I didn't know it was Nirvana at the time, and he was talking about kicking another kid's head in and his friend wasn't really answering but was setting up the pins really straightly and correctly, and I remember a great sense of fear.

I hope I never get drunk again.

I hope I can lay down somewhere soon and feel alright about it.

Internet

Found this on my parents' fridge the other day:



Not sure what my sister and I are praying to, or what the pink bunny did to deserve to be sacrificed, but at least we let him dress up nice for the invocation.

One of the witnesses aligned on the left side of the shot is the baby doll I insisted on having for years.

Special evil children.








Haven't written, ran, or drank coffee in almost a week now. I am beginning to feel myself sink into glurr room.








Other things are happening inside me, I feel the synthesis of these three clips:



























Something just exploded in the shed.










Can I get a job burning shit for a living?








Let's stop talking about the making of the words, please?

"I'll stop if you will."






Shitcamp.

sick

haven't been sick in a while i think but i am now
the new pitchfork site is taking a good regular crap on my eyes
jay leno just said 'barack obama' and then horns made sound
i appreciate people saying nice words about the copy family
i just found a word i left out in it, can you find it, is that a problem
i am tired
i just filled out a bio for an interview that asked me to say what i do in atlanta and i said the first thing that i thought which was i am tired
i am playing poker a lot again now on the internet
i am doing well for now
i hope me saying i am doing well does not affect me negatively
jay leno just made a joke about someone having to have been drunk to eat their friend
it made me feel more tired
i am sick
jay leno just made a joke about paris hilton
and then about president bush
and people clapped
what is saint patrick's day where did it come from
i accidentally had on a green shirt today
i started reading dennis cooper
in the bath
i like limping with suited connectors in early position and reraising when people raise, it works a lot
i don't really do that that often really
but it would be good to do more often maybe
a lot of time when i am playing poker i know that if i did a certain thing i would win by bluffing but usually i do not let my impulse take full hold
if i had more money i could be a better player
i wish i could find the videos of bill hicks talking shit about jay leno as a comedian about how he started off real and went to water
but i don't feel like looking on youtube
i used to have a lot of things to blog about but now i don't know
the woman on TV on jay leno is rearranging letters into something
what else is going to happen
my legs ache like something is eating at them
i ate cheesecake twice today it made me feel good
now there are guys on jay leno balancing green beer on their faces
beer
several people get paid to write down these ideas
i would like to join the team
today someone googled 'a girl putting a lock into her vegina vedio'
i want to say 'sorry' all the time to people
i am doing well inside my mind

CCCCC CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC C C C CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

just now i tried to write a post talking shit about writing
then i deleted it and instead decided to go running
i had planned to take today off running and instead walked
to the grocery to buy drano
but then when it got to 11:00pm i felt gross for not
so i went running in the dark
i was running past the edge of this woods past the middle school
and in the dark there was the sound of all these dogs
from inside of the woods and they sounded on fire
or like they all were having skin removed from off their heads
this forest has no houses in it or farms i think
its just a big empty deep forest
and the dogs were screaming, maybe 10 or 15 of them all at once
it made me run faster for a minute toward a little bridge
then the screaming stopped
the woods was still there
i kept on running instead of going home
while i was running i was thinking about my friend who is a satanic priest
who used to tell me about metaphysics
and how small signs could help direct your life
like noticing splotches in a pathway that suggest you one way
over another
and how that could greatly determine the way your energy might move
like leaving a pile of coins in an empty room in your house
and some days coming in to change their shape or pattern slightly
i explored these ideas for a while until i stopped
my friend one time met lavey in an airport i think he told me
which is how i think he was ordained
my friend also ate half a bike, a bible, a tee shirt
he could lift weights with his dick
one day more recently i watched videos of lavey
playing his organs on youtube for several hours
lavey looks like a dork
the sound of ripping dogs was less subtle than other studied signals
which made it less powerful in my mind somehow
but i could not stop thinking in the dark how i should go back
i went a while further anyway until i turned around earlier than usual
on the way back i turned and went through the parking lot of the middle school
there were many buses parked there
because of how the drivers have nowhere else to park them
on the pavement they made parallel lines
in the windows
as i passed each
i kept thinking i could see people in the buses briefly
and as i began to see this
i saw more people in each bus
looking at me run
the sensation of seeing the people
made my heart race inside my running
though i knew i was creating the sensation
there was another bus parked
further off from all the other buses
in the very corner of the lot
like as far away from all the rest as it could manage
that one seemed stuffed seam to seam with people
i was running
it was the school i used to go to
i went around behind the building
where one time before the buses left i saw a kid hit another kid with brass knuckles
in the face and there was blood
across the street from the middle school there is a high school
that i went to
in the middle of the parking lot was a huge pile of dirt or shit or something other
which had not been there before when i drove past earlier that night i feel sure
a very high pile
taller than i am
it would be the largest pile of shit i've seen

NNNNNNNNNNNN NNNNNNNNNNNN NNNNNNNNNN NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN NNNNNNNNNNNN NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN NNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

There's a lot of people talking in 'hot forums' about what is going to happen to the big book industry. I think its like worrying about what will happen to CNN.

Would it be bad if Borders closed? I go in there and look around sometimes. The employees wear headsets and talk to one another through the headsets?

I think tomorrow I will go in and get near the help desk until someone asks me if I need help and I will say yes where is Charles Dickens I have been looking for him all my life and I will be led to the Dickens and I will take all the copies of his books they have and load them into my arms and then I will go back near the help desk and wait to get asked again if I need help and will say yes where is Bret Easton Ellis I have been looking for him all my life and we will go get the books and maybe I will need to begin sticking some of the titles into my waistband or down into my pantlegs like getting fat, on and on in this fashion maybe to Roberto Bolano next and then maybe Darryl Strawberry and whatever that woman who read that dumb-as-slip poem at Obama's thingamabob, and once I've got all those books and I can't carry them any more I will go back to the guy at the desk who by now has accepted with exasperation that I am being a fuck and yet still being a kind employee will put offer his services and through a crack in the book stacks I will ask him where is Barry Hannah and he will lead me through the store again to show me there is absolutely none.







I saw my sister reading Stephanie Meyer, the first book I'd seen her with in a long while, and took and threw it in the trash. There wasn't any applesauce in the trashbag so she just got it back out again.

My mom says I should be glad she is reading again.




Maybe taking Borders away from people would be like taking the razorblades from the genuinely sad preteen with unabashed will to cut and not for show.





Some article the other day was talking about what online magazines are good and labeled Narrative Magazine as 'the gold standard.' I think Narrative Magazine is exactly what I got interested in online publishing to get away from! I think my bing dow is exploder!

Someone should convince Oprah to start a web literary journal. Oprah's Power Camp, I would read that and look at the words too.



I am not early Ian Mackaye. I like a lot of stuff. But the forum feels like politics to me, it could go either way, $$$$$$$$. But it's also amusing to watch people in a tailspin about it. As if language is a stock market. More often, for many, it is TV.



Contrary to popular belief, you CAN change a person's taste.



I wish there were such a thing as non-theoretical fascism by a creative figurehead with compassion.




Everything will continue until it does not.





I've been finding myself saying 'I don't know what that means' a lot lately while speaking to other people.




I'm ready to get disinterested, but I won't.





I have felt kind of out of control inside myself lately in a fully controllable way.






Something is trying to eat my time by becoming inside my time. If it weren't for 'Music for Airports' I might have thrown my laptop into the pool last week while a dog was watching. I like when you are alone with a dog and you do something that a human would react to by speaking and the dog doesn't even really move and they look at you with 3/4ths of their eyes like they are only partially invested but they were like there to see what you did. Sometimes to break the moment they will hear something else passing near them, but something subtle, and they will bark a little around the corners of their mouth like getting ready to bark.






Are people supposed to agree with people some?




'Negative Nancy' got a hold of me today, sorry.

who writers are

I think my sister's dog is a writer, it likes when my dad gives it turkey cold cuts even though he has been asked time and time again not to give the dog the cold cuts because it is making her fat but he does it anyway because the dog becomes pleased and shakes for the cold cut, I have seen my father give her several in the span of an hour.


I think my sister's not yet and maybe never to be born child is a writer because it plans to have hands.


My new favorite thing to do is when I make a typo, instead of going back to fix the typo I let my fingers go and hit a bunch extra keys on top of the typo and leave it that way, it feels like I am playing the piano.


I am trying to convince myself to stop talking and doing things around in this internet area but all that is is a tendency in me to want to be contrary no matter what, and really I am too frightened of being awake in the awake clod to not come on the internet, as much as I may try to manifest the idea that I could disappear at will.


I think the guy who I am waiting on to come over and replace a broken window is a writer because he woke up today and ate breakfast and is late and is making me tired even though I just got up and I want it to be warmer in here but paying for heat all the time is expensive and the feeling of being cold will pass.


It's okay to get disgruntled, there was a day within the last six years that I got disgruntled and went and put my hand in the Disposall and had my other hand on the switch that turns on the Disposall and I stood there looking at the fold my arms made and I realize a Disposall's blades are likely not that effective, particularly for flesh and bone.


I think the idiot who manages my homeowner's association is a writer because she makes notes in the margins of my late homeowner's bill that for a while I thought I could have used to sue her but then realized it would not hold up in court. The wall across from me now is light blue framed with a white that lends the blue the context of its blueness.


No, my feet are really, it's so cold like they are hot.


I know there are writers who get kicks about talking about being writers, from now on when people ask me what I do I am going to say I am an eater or I am metabolism.


I am not better than anyone most of the time. Sometimes I am better than a lot of people though just as often likely I am worse. Sometimes I am jumping up and down on a brand of Windex bacon-scented. I can't think any more than I already do.


If some days you want to cut your face off or spend the whole day at Kinko's making copies of nothing to see how high you can run up a bill, look here, this is the story that my grandfather always used to tell me just by looking across the room in that halfroom with the weird yellow light where it seemed like every inch of the walls had stuffed animal heads hanging from them and like the walls were those false folding partition dividers you could fold like an accordion to go on into the next room:




No really I am going to stop soon because there is a slur dam to build.


William Trevor.


The independent publishing circuit is the same as the other one, except there is an illusion of another way, and another goal maybe, though I think the ratio of good people to bad people remains the same, which is probably more good than bad. Probably not the same at all. I am just talking to the computer.


One day I will do a good job on the good team. The metal in this room is very silver. My armpits are stinging. None of these words are words.


I don't care if this post makes you tired of me or makes you hate being involved in the text creation. It can all stop whenever we're both ready.


Please leave me negative comments about my life.

this year is for the weak

today is not eruptive & i just started
i should have been marquis de sade
though i would have just written instead of having sex at all
and i would have written different books
why is there a christmas tree in here
i am not going to say something negative about making words
i'm pretty sure nobody does anything to deserve anything
i don't believe in racism
except as committed by people who say 'racism'
when will there be something to wear in place of socks
is it okay with you that i said something about racism?
am i going to receive emails now telling me what i've done wrong?
most days i get told what i've done wrong between 3 & 37 times
one thing i am not going to do today is say hi to anybody
all i really want to say are things that people do not want to hear
soon i will write an episode of south park and put it in the mail
why do people want to control things they can not and should not control
what is wrong with when there were no choices
this is not a political statement
hold on i just got an email
OK the email just gave me a new tenacity for life
instead of destroying what i have done i am doing to whittle it down to nil
until from 80000 words i say the one thing that means the least
the thing that makes the clitoris of my deeply deeply destructive inner female stand at attention and vibrate tones against the air
if i had a large horse made out of ham i would climb up on it and ride down the street
and park outside the waffle house and go inside and order ham
i can't stop wondering what happened to that guy that one night when we came out of the movie at 2 AM and there was no one in the building except for some kid with dark dark hair laying on this mushy pedestal in the center of the lobby, we shouted loud into his face and nudged his knee and he did not move, there was no one in any of the other rooms, we left him laying there and got in our car and went home and did not have sex
also what about the night the lights in the enormous church right down the street were turning off and on in sequential order very fast from one window to another, though that night i was alone
that church has quadrupled since then
i am the same size

real big trophy

can somebody who is good at drawing draw me a drawing of a minivan swarmed with flies, i mean swarmed so tightly you can hardly tell its a minivan anymore, i would like the flies to have lots of colors and be of different sizes, if someone did this and did it well i would find a way to compensate them i would draw a painting with my dick at least

one time i really did a painting with my dick, i painted on a large thick cardstock sheet i got at walmart really late one night, i often used to go to walmart alone and look around, i did not feel strange, i like the TVs they leave on silent in a long row, i like how you can just keep walking in one kind of light for as long as you want and you don't have to talk to anyone, when i did the painting i had on this song on a john zorn record where this man and woman are screaming at each other in a violent manner, i painted with my semi erect penis, at other times it was full i'm sure, i am sorry for telling you this i just thought about it, the painting wasn't very good, it did have a lot of color going for it, i'll tell you that, i still have it somewhere, maybe it could be brought to public auction, then i'd have enough money to buy a staplegun again

i am feeling destructive today i think i am going to give up something i love

OR AT LEAST SOMETHING I LIKE A LITTLE

this crying buddha statue looks like he is giving himself head

i think a lot about the painting of the raped woman inside the guns n roses album that eventually got edited out, i remember a kid in my class showing me the picture on our way to see the king ramses exhibit of all the stuff his family or whoever had thought would be good to have around him endless years

and i don't want to get inside of cars anymore

and i never feel clean shaven even right after i have shaved

today i said out loud that i understand why Wallace killed himself, i don't know why i thought i couldn't understand it, i understand it completely, i don't feel depressed because of or inside of saying that, i just understand why he could see the need to do it

typing is hard work

i think people i know in real life think i don't work very much

i am considering that when i finish the next novel i am working on, which will be a long while from now, that i will delete it, i had thought about just not sending it anywhere, but now i think i like the idea of deleting it entirely without backup, first when the first draft is done i want to spend 500-800 hours editing and making every line right with an excess tenacity in which i shirk to a large extent the other things in life i should be paying more attention to, i want to spend more time in the revision process than i have spent on all other things of me combined, and then when it is done, then when it is exactly as i wanted and new, drag it to the trashcan and hear the computer make the crinkle sound as it is permanently erased

the sound of that sound might be the greatest thing in life

or that might really be exciting

like finding a room off the first legend of zelda where there is a window to an all blue room with a table set for dinner in it, and then you eat

or like a duck who winks and lifts his wing to reveal a woman

and how my cell phone keeps taking pictures of nothing, like several a day, so that when you go to look at the photo archive there are just all these little black squares and my cell phone's memory gets fat full and no one can send me messages, most of which i don't want anyway

really i just want to get really fat again

and crawl inside a piece of paper

and laugh

a lot