Wednesday, July 31, 2013



click above for #3 of 4.

"there, soup."

"it was minestrone, but i guess it counts. it's late, i'm tired, i'm rubbing my eyes, the day escaped from me. how much longer?"

"midnight approaches, witching hour, Dark Night of the Soul-"


"next week. for now, pick three more. you're doing wonderfully."

"from your mouth to your mouth, still don't know your allegiance. seems to be trash bags on the front, and a horrid lined face on the back, mouth agape."

"bags, get it? trash bags, but really pointing to bags under the eyes from lack of sleep."

"clever. or maybe it's just late. well, as i've said, i can relate, i'm tired."

"this isn't good tired, it's bad tired, this isn't the tired that comes from a good day's work, a pleasurable tired earned from spending the day in a useful way, working on that play that will be seen by the local art critics, not the play you put on in your room, film, and upload to your youtube channel with the 3 subscribers. art that will be noticed, really noticed. art that matters, that has something to say, and the people to say it to."

"i've been tired my whole life, i'm always tired, i try to sleep, but it's the depression, it strains you, stresses you, it keeps you tired and with your racing thoughts, thoughts of failure, the rope you climb that lasts forever and never leads anywhere, that voice inside you telling you it's hopeless, you'll never get more followers, subscribers, people in your life that care about your art, care about you, your existence. you type away, paint away, build, imagine, create, write in solitude, your ideas are old as dirt, you are just another, nothing special, the body notices your poor mind, it feeds off it, or rather, feeds on it, until you wake up every morning dreading that this will be another wasted chance to make something of yourself, to meet someone, to love, to be free, to express freely and confidently."

"well-spoken. you have a way with words. shame i'm the only one listening to it."

"you are one, so that's progress."


"wait, where's the help?"

"just take some pills i suppose."

"you sound like my family. a couple of pills solves depression, anxiety, and world hunger. get off my ass and get a job. shit, i'm so tired i can't fight them anymore. maybe i should just work at McD for the rest of my life. their hash browns are tasty."

"so why don't you?"

"i don't want to. i can't."

"i see. and the next card is?......."

"a giant Eye. great. the Tool video? not more Illuminati crap?"

"no, i'm afraid we had this good thing going with the Illuminati symbolism littering pop culture all around the world, but smart nerds with computers started to catch on and watered everything down to scientific, staid blog posts, all of the magic and mystery of the thing was sapped out and destroyed. then the rappers commandeered It and it just became too prevalent and out there and cheap. mystery is a rare gem not meant for public consumption. however, there's still Gravity Falls, we're proud of that show."

"eye, let's see...inner vision, hidden vision, third eye..."

"Blind. oh, just-"

"yeah, everyone falls for my conversation egg-ons, even demons."

"this is the Notice Card. it entreats you to look at someone in your life more closely, notice their ticks and habits, their non-vocal gestures, it helps you love them better."

"all i have is my cat. y'know, my cat really doesn't understand digestion. every time i finish my noon meal, i lie down on my bed in my room. immediately, Mr. Whiskers---that's not his real name, just thought that would be funny---climbs up onto my stomach that i've just finished eating with and rumbles his four legs back and forth on my tummy, clawing his nails into them. that's his way of showing affection, of praising his master i guess, but it does a number on my food-intake process. i mean, that's not good for the stomach to be treated like that when it's trying to digest, right? it's like being punched in the stomach right after eating a hot dog."

"that's a good thing. have you seen what hot dogs are made out of? i suppose it could be beneficial if it's a light massage, the stomach needs to be soothed into doing its dirty deed with the juices flowing and the heart pumping. but you're telling me it's more rough."

"in the long run, it's a good thing, 'cause love trumps digestion. sure, i may end up malnourished from all the throw-up, but i was loved in this life, this skinny boy was looked upon by another living soul who smiled. okay, cats can't smile, but-"

"think about what your cat thinks about when you go to sleep and it's pitch dark in the house."

"my usual tenants are away on vacation, so the house is empty, there's not the usual leaving-the-light-on for folks at night that Whiskers is used to. instead, the hall area is black by 10PM. i leave a little flashing night-light in the area to shed some light there, but i'm usually so exhausted, see First Card, that i fall asleep when head touches pillow and i lose track of his whereabouts. i can only imagine what he's thinking in the midst of all that silence and black. in the morning, he's right there, sleeping alongside me, at my feet. you just wonder when does he climb into bed with me? hours later or 15 minutes after i doze off? is he wandering in the hall for hours before, thinking about his next novel, the mice protagonist who wants to make peace with the cats, Heathcliff and Cleo, is there a Cat Heaven? a Cat Jesus he needs to supplicate to? a Cat God? animals and babies are atheists, right? when does he deem it time to come to my room, to give up the hall, realizing there's nothing going on in the hall, there won't be anything going on for awhile, maybe ever again? does he jump on top of me knowing this might be the last time? am i sleeping or am i dead? what is he exactly thinking?"

"that's sad and tragic and happy. you're very poetic."

"thank you. never got me anywhere in life but thank you."

"i suppose it's-"

"Third Card time and we have in front of us a card i've drawn out that appears to have on its face a beautiful Renaissance painting of a...tank, drum?"

"oil drum, or if you like, drum in general, music, band...probably more Modernist then-"

"drummers get the chicks, remember? i play air guitar and wrestle with daily riffs in my head. wish i would have come up with THIS ONE, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK. ahhhh, devils, dinosaurs, and 2013 grunge always fill up my hollow. what is this supposed to mean? i really's Gremlins time."

"anything you want it to be, dear human, remember? it's officially the Tank Card, various aliases include Running On Empty, No More Ideas, Writer's Block."

"that's a Jackson Browne song, right? i made a cassette compilation of him at Berkeley during my music-snob days. i fear writer's block more than my own death. writer's block for me IS death. no more ideas, no more concepts, nothing to write, to imagine, that's a fate worse than death."

"expand more on the useless tech inventions we have now."

"well, it's just that-....yeah, i mean, i wish i would have come up with facebook and twitter, but i went to Cal, not Harvard. these phenomema that every human gravitates towards are truly mind-boggling. i mean, it's weird to think that just recently people talked on the phone and wrote letters. nowadays, you can't imagine ANY human not having a facebook or twitter account, not communicating and cramming their entire lives and personal connections into their ipad or tiny-as-hell phone, it's just what everyone does now, what everyone has. twitter can both spurn on a freedom revolution in a country and cause an awkward youth's reputation to be forever destroyed. while facebook brings us all together instantly, it can get us back in touch with old school chums and rekindle past romances, "being on facebook" isn't the same as touching and kissing and fucking a lover in the pale moonlight, every word typed distances us more, it's like we're seeing people from a faraway hill and there's an electric fence between us where only typed words can get through, not real, touching, flesh human hands and feet. words on a page, not voices, are saying our feelings, shouting our love, speaking our dreams. the more we email and text and comment on a computer, the less connected we are, the more machines intrude on body-to-body, lip-to-lips."

"lips? i see what you did there, this is good stuff, i'm sure we'll use it somewhere, a pamphlet or a plaque when you enter the-"

"don't bother, i've said my peace, it's out there in the cyber ether-"

"and useless. it won't last unless it's scribbled in tattoo ink on the back of the Beast...or an Angel's wing."

"yeah, well, fame is stupid, unless it actually brings you love. just ask...well, Hollywood."


"i'm jealous of others' original ideas, i want to be part of the club, i want my own thing to matter, but i'm always just using others' inventions, being a member of a club i didn't form, it's never my own creation, my own process, my own hardware to express that process, my own show, my own animated characters, my own comic strip, my own novel, a new idea. so all i have left is to lambaste what's already out there. as i've said before, being a critic is the lowest of the low. fuck it, i have to be an originator, not a follower, please, you have to fucking help me!"

"calm, calm, the time is nigh. get some sleep, but not too much. you need to be awake for this. you must see this in the blackest of night where it will show the best. you've spent too much of your life sleeping away your dreams, missing out. tonight is the night you redeem, you see for the first time, you open your eyes to the truth, you see what your potential really is, and you're not too sleepy or hungry to ignore it. here, have a wafer, place it under your tongue, it's the Body of Christ-"

"or just bread. good bread, that singular texture of the wafer you can't get any bread else, but just bread-"

"sure, whatever you want..."




Monday, July 29, 2013


1. do you believe in marriage?: i'm transitioning into a hippie commune this week, i figured it was a nice compromise between the extremes of the monastery, '80s living, and disappearing, so i'm afraid i am now part of the hive mind, i have no separate thoughts of my own, i'm a company man...the current policy on marriage over here is "sex and fun before marriage", so i'm gonna have to go with that. your form letter is in the mail. thank you for interfacing with us. please enter the cold room for a shot in your neck before you leave the premises, just a precaution, we don't want you suing us for any diseases you may have caught while here, it's a panacea needle, harmless, we internally tag your cells, we can now monitor you forever, Scientology is the real truth, have an apple on us on the way out...i made the right life decision.

2. have you ever proposed marriage or been proposed to? details: only in my happy dreams...Berkeley, the blonde, drama, i mustn't dredge that back up again, the counselors said no more before chaining me to this wall...see, this is the problem, i simply can't get past this memory in order to make new memories with new people...i'm forever fucked and stuck in the past. hey, "get past this past memory", nice :)

3. what would be your dream way of proposing marriage?: the drama blonde and i would wake up from the nightmare that she is still with that scruffy-bearded nerd and i am now a's the Newhart bed-scene dream sequence, she is next to me in bed, we are two successful actors rising to the sound of the cock with two hours to spare before curtain at 8PM of our indie play starring Johnny Depp, everything in its right place---that's from Radiohead---i kiss her on her softest lips a woman has ever possessed all time, and i breathe a sigh of relief, no Twilight Zone ending. after the kiss, i whisper into her ear, "honey, will you marry me?" and she responds just as whispery, "honey, isn't life better when you just live and don't have to computer about it?" man, this chained-to-the-wall therapy isn't taking, huh?

4. what would be your nightmarish way of proposing marriage?: it fits into #3 above, except i wake up alone with milk on my tummy and a smelly blanket, lonely, small room, the drama blonde is Johhny Depp's partner, not just life partner, worse, acting partner! :( i am sad, genuinely sad, not just emoticon sad, and the scruffy-bearded nerd won't return my calls 'cause he thinks he's better than me. i email Blonde one last time asking for her hand, last-ditch effort to get back together, this stupid computer must be good for something in my life, but she and i both realize that Depp's charms run deep, i'm even falling in love with Depp now.

5. mainstream society has engagement rings. in your opinion, what token should be given to signify engagement?: one Fruit Loop

6. what do you think would have happened to have someone plaster "will you marry me?" on the back of their caravan?: life is hard, i feel for this person, driving is nerve-racking, i always feel i'm gonna slip off the road and onto the rocks and crashing waves when i drive up steep hills, don't know if that's the anxiety or maybe i don't want to admit to myself that i'm a bad driver 'cause i'm a man. the bumper sticker is a release, he or she wants love, we all do, without love there is no point. i've plastered the bumper sticker above in the pics i have there on my ceiling sex mirror to help me get through the day, there's a lot of harshness out there in the world, even in my commune, the hippies i know all have FUCK THE WORLD bumper stickers on the back of their large SUVs...

bonus: tell us about one person you would have proposed marriage to but never got the opportunity.: if i mention Drama Blonde again, i've signed this waiver paper thing where i've given permission for the hippies, doctors, counselors, nerds with beards, Johnny Manziel's frat posse, Johnny Depp, Tom Cruise the Scientologist, and everyone on the Berkeley campus and Rod Serling and the monks and Bob Newhart to really take a look inside my brain to see what the fuck is crawling around in there.



Friday, July 26, 2013


sorry if i offended, if i ever offended. a little silence clears the mind, but too much clears the way for abject fear. at least the brain clutter is a distraction for a moment. silence kills. non-response erases an artist's entire life work. natural distance wedges the lifer from his life. acknowledging change is different from craving it, stability is my secret wish. one too many paradigm shifts for me. losing feeling save for the one feeling...

time to break my celery stick in two, plant a parsley flag in the stalk half, and sail off. Kermit never lived until the creator wrote his words. the photographs above prove otherwise.


Wednesday, July 24, 2013



click above for #2 of 4.

after a bonemeal sandwich and a tankard of ale...

"i don't want to play anymore."

"come on, it's not like you have anywhere to be."

"bowling alley? date?, you're right, i never have anywhere to be."

"if nothing else, it's a distraction. what's the cardinal rule in Existentialism? keep busy, as long as you're busy, your mind won't have the time to wander and realize existence is meaningless and comes only from the exister."

"i know, old hat, alright, my gullet is satiated-"

"you could have just said you were full. no need to get pretentious."

"why not?"

"pretentious leads to fancy, fancy leads to pompous, which leads to arrogant, and when you're arrogant, you stop, and you can never stop in this life, even after death."

"you're just mad that you flunked high-school Vocab...okay, i'm choosing a card and lo and behold, it's an actual playing card, not a voodoo magic hex card, it's the Suicide King, the King of Hearts. how very standard of you."

"y'know, the king isn't really killing himself with his sword, he just has his hand gripping his blade awkwardly at the back of his head away from view of the camera, or the painter."

"well, like you say, Man will see what he wants to see in order to get whatever task he needs to get accomplished done, whatever thought fits into his moral worldview at the time he'll grasp at..."

"'re learning, grasshopper. most importantly, whatever makes him feel good he'll gravitate towards, art is never for art's sake, one will relate to a piece of art if he makes it his own. a pimply Magic-Card player with braces and no prom date sees the suicide in the king, while a certified Medievalist who's getting anal every night clearly sees a king merely showing off his sword in a funky way. the king must be getting anal, like him, and is happy."

"Guy, you're very timely with this card, i bet you had this all planned for me to choose this one right after the Royal Birth."

"language. fuck and shit i can abide, but no more sarcasm and snarky, it's so played-out and hipster. but you're right, this signifies the Royal Family. let's frame these three cards in the ultimate result."


"yes, like when you think of the Royal Family now, what is the ultimate result of them? are they successful in their mission? did they do it? did they make it? do they justify their existence?"

"why can't you just live, why must one justify anything to breathe? well, during the '90s they were at a low point, during the grunge era, looking back, i guess everything was cloaked in the veil of dark and gloomy plaid. nowadays they're more popular than ever, that's what CNN says. CNN also informs me that it's the first time there are three living heirs to the Throne in whatever the date was. their mission? they have boatloads of money and serve forever, they never have a day off unless it's paternity leave. i'd say they're doing their thing."

"good, very good, lock that away for later. next card-"

"good, very good, you're speeding this along, i-"

"why are you always in such a rush? i mean, seriously, why are you racing to your death? i'd advise you to smell the roses, but i'm sure you'd make fun of me or say you were allergic to roses-"

"actually, i always thought i was allergic to roses, until one time i just stopped typing and went outside and actually smelled a rose...and i wasn't after all, i got this wrong idea that festered in my head that i was. made me think about all the other stuff i missed out on 'cause i thought certain things were true and in stone but weren't at all. i could have presented a rose to my nonexistent prom date. lesson learned there, Guy, without you."

"this time you made me chuckle. stone, good one, prescient."

"what? is the next card gonna be a tombstone, another death thing? you really must be more subtle with the analogies and hooks. or a rose?"

"yep, a rose, you guessed it, i never said you weren't clever as all get out. but look at the caption under that beautiful big blue rose."

"it reads: Rose, Original Yet Not. Will Your Music Be This Rose or A Rose? okay, very cryptic and convoluted."

"it's about art, you, and your legacy. you will die, we all do, except me. you're living right now at this moment. what art will you leave behind to prove you were here, that you lived and experienced and wrote down your experiences for others? will you say or do anything that hasn't already been said in thousands of iterations before? what ideas and themes of yours are original, truly original? will you be the rose that stands out from among the other roses, the blue in the sea of red?"

"that's a tough one for me, that cuts deep. whenever i see a cool film trailer on youtube or read an excerpt from the latest fiction bestseller on amazon, i get jealous, that should have been me saying that, composing that song, raking in the dough. hell, there are times when i swear i feel that these other authors have stolen my ideas from under me, they get away with it 'cause they have the resources and support system of people to get out there and lecture all over the world while i'm chained to my basement computer."

"you need better results, my friend. you can compete with any of these jokers on the literary stage who are getting the Nobel Prizes and the backstage blowjobs. you mentioned something about a band and songs?"

"yeah, well, i always have a song riff in my head ready to get recorded, but when the time comes to remember it, i always forget that sequence of notes that could have become the next "Cherub Rock." right now in fact, i'm humming something, it's good, it's very musical, very rock 'n' roll, it's a nice hard slice of bass and guitar that's blowing me away, it's a sweet pattern-"

"does it sound anything like THIS? CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK."

"no, it's similar, but quieter, more like an intimate soul-searching song Billy would write than a stadium anthem...then again, i could just be recalling the Honda commercial jingle i just watched on tv. see? i fucking hate that. i never know what's original and what's a rip-off, and then while i'm trying to remember the beat, another beat already established and used in an ad messes up my thought patterns. can you help me? i really do need better results."

"that's why i'm here. and finally..."

"i'm choosing, i'll go surprise on you and take the bottom card of the deck. oh, it's a cute little kitty. thanks, i needed that. i hate that on youtube, y'know? most of the comments when there's a vid of a kitty say, "was having a bad day, this vid cheered me up." i mean, is everyone on youtube eternally depressed? is there no one online who's happy?"

"of course not, they're online, if they were happy, they wouldn't need a computer, they'd simply live their lives computerless with their loved ones. their loved ones recording their actual, real-life experiences would be satisfying enough for all involved, there would be no need to type something on a board and have strangers read it to justify and validate a life."

"there's that justifying again, but you're really teaching me something this time, i'll make sure Satan puts a little something extra in your paycheck this month."

"very funny. pick a card, any card, hurry up, Death awaits."

"i did, remember, the cat. well, this is good news for once, i love my cat, i'm an animal lover, i don't have to justify that, i am what i am, and i'm proud."

"good for you......Freud said that people who intensely love their pets are avoiding real intimacy with other humans. pets become an easy replacement for human love, pets unconditionally love you 'cause you feed them everyday, they won't fight back or threaten to leave the house like humans with their own separate brains and motivations and causes will. it's hard to be in a human relationship, it's constant give and take, your partner is as passionate as you are, you won't win every argument. with pets it's more one-sided, more master/servant."

"y'know...honestly...i can't disagree with any of that, i really can't, though i don't treat my cat like a servant, if anything he's the master, he destroys all the stuffing from my couches with his claws, he bites when he's mad or when you come near his jungle-gym house, he eats and drinks when he wants, not at 12 Noon like his human "master" does, so it's a role-reversal."

"fair enough...but what is the ultimate result of this?"

"i'm alone on a Saturday night, i have no human friends, i will end up a gray, old male cat-lady..."

"okay, just so you know the deal, the truth of it."

"i do, but on this one, i'm putting my paw down. it's not about results here, it's about a grown man's love for his cat, it's a little piece of unconditionality that i gladly accept and nurture, just like in Twilight, a little piece of forever, a small patch of land in eternity-"

"why'd you have to end it with Twilight? *sigh* dinner?"

"sure, but how about the soup this time, bonemeal sucks.........oh wait, i have to go blog something."

"language, remember?"




Monday, July 22, 2013


1. tell us about you in ten words or less: sorry i'm late, i was knighted by the Round Table...Pizza...see, if it wasn't eleven words, you'd have a whole other impression of me.

2. what radio stations do you have programmed and regularly listen to (format, genre)?: radio? is that the troll that lives in my ipad mini that provides me with Bieber when i ask for Bach, Sebastian Bach? that's not nice, he's more of a lovable gnome now that he understands that with me, it's all or nothing, it's KBT or bust, Kurt Bieber Trent or bust...Kurt Billy Trent or bust.

3. what color are your eyes today?: same as always, dark brown...but if you really look closely, they're actually black 'cause they're mini-black holes. i don't just see you or see through you, i see your soul from infinite dimensions. the eyes are the windows to Stephen Hawking's eyes. Stephen Hawking says there's no Heaven...

4. did you shave today?: just the pubes

5. what's your personality?: just the pubes

6. tell us two things that most people mention they like about you: when i disappear...and when i'm not around...parties flow more easily.

7. tell us one thing you really like about yourself: i like myself best when i'm eating cold pizza alone in my room, that's when i'm brimming at full capacity with tortured-poet powers. i love animals, pizza preferably hot, and moonlit walks on the beach...

bonus: how old would you be if you didn't know how old you were?: LOVE this question, this was my college Existentialism Class final thesis. this isn't a hypothetical, i live this. no matter how old i get, i will always be a 12-year-old boy in spirit, lovin' the simple things: Zelda, my math homework, and the knowledge that i have a future as long as i marry a Royal.



Friday, July 19, 2013



yeah, so it seems that everyone is gone now and this blogging thing is dead. i think i'll take up flower-cultivating. i wonder what the monks are thinking about right at this very moment. i'm betting it's not hot dogs, but they've surprised me before.


Wednesday, July 17, 2013



click above on emo Dean Venture to begin a new series afresh.

"let's play a game."

"i'm too sick to play anymore, too tired."

"this will be much like the Yu-Gi-Oh! game you loved so much as a kid, except when turning over cards, you're not trying to win a battle, you're merely reading what they say."

"gotcha. it is a battle, though, the battle for my soul. this is a standard fortune-telling scheme? i'm too smart for you."

"yes you are, but there are no crystal balls and circus suckers around here, it's not that the cards predict your future, they are there simply to inform, they have a face, a painting, and a description underneath, and they're never wrong about life."


"i'm preventing you from-"

"who are you again? not that it matters."

"it matters not. i am Guy, that prosecutor, that doctor, teacher, everyman, whomever you want me to be. i am so old i dined with a Spirit who wanted Everything but realized He needed a Counterpart because things are not realized as a Whole but rather as an Opposite to Another. i also dined with the Black Spirit that was created from that Realization."

"fascinating. God and Ol' Scratchy, you watch too much Being Human."

"yes i do. please pick your first card from the deck i'm holding."

"it's a blue card with a fair maiden tripping on her bloomers and spilling her lovely marigolds all over the floor."

"ah, the Chase Card. remember?"

"yes, i've always wanted to be chased, be pursued, but i always had to do the chasing, the fruitless chasing. love never came to me, it never fell accidentally into my lap when i wasn't looking. i had to work hard to get the few dates that i did, painstakingly calling back and updating and emailing and planning. nothing came of it, of course, it was all wasted effort, swaths of missing time i could have used to pursue more meaningful things."

"you resent this?"


"good. carry on, choose the second card."

"just three today, i really am Bushed. well, what do we have here? it's so silvery, so shiny, so laminated. it's the Tech Card, pic of a computer brain encircled by fawning humans."

"read it more closely. it's the Useless Tech Card. agree?"

"sure, absolutely, i mean, how many hours have i logged onto youtube, and for what? every time i leave a comment on a stranger's video, i wonder what the point of that was. do they ever comment back? no. even if they did, what's the point? what's the ultimate point? there are no friends to be made here, no lovers, no mates, it's all a colossal waste of the universe. online wisps, that term has become mine forever. i just keep thinking about what i could have really accomplished out there in the real world if i hadn't struck that first letter on that first keyboard of mine and trapped myself in an empty addiction."

"art? there's the art of it."

"true. who looks at my site? or your site? follower-numbers have become the new bread, folks need to increase their followers in order to survive the way they would have needed to increase their soup intake during the Depression. speaking of depression, i've talked that to death-"

"death comes for-"

"i mean, i used to think twitter was just some stupid gadget used to blow off steam or chill or hang or flirt harmlessly, but people suicide over things typed on twitter, reputations are permanently damaged, racism and all the other -isms live again once more online, blissfully unchecked. it's free speech, but it's free ugly speech, harmful speech, useless speech. i mean, i look at it all and go, "Who the fuck cares?" y'know, people really do care about what makes the Twitter Top 10 each day, this really matters. if your club or social event or hobby trends the most, trends the highest, that's real validation on Earth. now this isn't any better than taking validation from a consecrated wafer, but at least that's food, the staff of life, something that feeds you, heals you, not more inane typing of this and that and this insult and that unfounded belief and the normalization of crazy and what you had for lunch and my cosplay is better than your cosplay and you're not a true geek and sex reduced into pixels and pics and comments filled with irony because they're online instead of experienced in the fresh air of Real Life and fvdfjhfwej4gbmfdvgrgnlfdnsgth54uhjfbjgctht

"Jesus now lives in a Screen. final card if you will."

"i'm seeing Dean Venture recently transformed into emo mode for this season. blank on the back. thanks, that made me chuckle."

"it's not the Emo Card so much as it is the Guise Card."

"*relating over here* i'm a goth, i'm goth though i've never once worn the pale makeup. i agree wholeheartedly with all of their principles. sure, the movement has sold the hell out. bratty kids are tugging on their moms' skirts to buy them dog collars from Hot Topic just 'cause they're pretty, not knowing what the hell any of that all really means-"

"what does it mean, exactly? weren't dog collars originally from the Punk Movement?"

"well, i dunno, it all bleeds together eventually. the point is i feel comfortable."

"of course. feeling trumps logic any day. live in your lie, create your own story through whatever code you desire, make up the rules as you go along, it's all in an effort to feel at peace in the world, to not constantly be on edge, at the edge of a cliff, scared to fall, but actually wanting to fall to see what's down there at the bottomless pit, for this life has interminably confused and confounded you, it will never be an easy math problem to solve, so maybe you figure that a leap of faith will-"

"what, you're saying the goth way of looking at life isn't true?"

"it's your truth to be sure, and that is all that matters. you feel better, no? consider yourself one of the LUCKY ONES, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK. you'll never get lucky, that seems obvious, but you are lucky because you feel good. so okay, you feel better, you're feeling how do you feel presently? how do you feel right now?"

"i feel lonely, same as ever."

"exactly. buy you lunch?"

"i guess."

"the usual?"

"yep, same as ever: soup."



Monday, July 15, 2013


1. would you rather be smart or awesome?: awesome. smart got me here to blogland. The Miz is awesome, and look where his life has led. there are two kinds of people in the world: those who watch Real World, and those who are on Real World.

2. would you rather french kiss a cat or pleasure a frog?: this is an old Monty Python sketch, huh? i'm a cat person, i love my cat, but i don't love my cat. Disney frogs turn into princes, right? that doesn't help me either. i think i'd like to try riding a camel...for my vacation...i just realized vacation comes from in vacating...yourself...and your...y'know...

3. would you rather live the rest of your life with Darth Vader's voice or Alvin the Chipmunk's voice?: the obvious answer is Alvin, if you want to be feared, Alvin's unnatural pitch sends the fear of God into folk much more than Darth's aberrant heavy-breathing would. the ultimate, though, is to combine the two voices, as illustrated by the brilliant crayon drawing above, all credit to the wonderful deviantart artist who composed that masterpiece. see, you mix the extreme low of James Earl Jones with the manipulated, speed-the-cassette-tape-up high of a Chipmunk and you get a nice, medium-range, normal voice that is sure to land you all the hot fuzz you want. just hide the light saber when she comes over...and the hula hoop...actually, keep the hula hoop...and the light saber if things are going well.

4. would you rather sail the Caribbean on a week-long free cruise with the ship's crew and 20 five-year-old children or shovel coal in a coal mine for a month?: i'm good with kids, i get them, it's 'cause i'm still a 10-year-old boy at heart. some call it child-like, others childish, the Bible says Jesus loves me. i don't trust those Caribbean cruises, they crash all the time, even the Pirates of the Caribbean ride stalls out on me, it happened once with me and my 3rd-grade crush, the damn electronic boat stopped with me right under that annoying skull and crossbones which taunts you relentlessly in that arrogant pirate voice, that pirate swagger which crushes the spirits of each boat full of noobs as you are about to take the first dark drop in the ride. i had to tell my date that it was the skull-head insulting her, not me, but she didn't buy it and stuck her churro in my nose. i know, i know, but back then, such an act was just considered full of cooties.

i was on one of those vacation cruise boats which capsized, i was alone in the community pool at the very tippy top of the ship's front point when a violent wave tossed me overboard. i went from one form of water to another. i was like Cleveland from The Cleveland Show in his bathtub as it comes crashing down one story of the house to the ground, i was like "no, no, no, no, no............."

nobody came to rescue me out there, no lifesaver, not even a Lifesaver candy...i was lost at sea...i was just lost...nobody loves me...not even Jesus.

coal-miner's daughter, she was my first, she brought me back to my country roots, made me forget about Trent, Billy, and Kurt, made me realize that the Bible is Love, and got me thinking about the upcoming new season of The Heart, She Holler on adult swim. i dunno, though, i still think Jesus doesn't really love me...

5. would you rather make an obscene phone call to your mother each week or get a text message from your father every time he's horny?: perish the thought!!! my mother is an angel, pure as the driven snow. she has never even had sex yet, give her a break. love you, Mommy!!! <3

my father is no longer with us, RIP, love you, Dad! Centipede...i'm gonna cry...but really, yeah, it would be Dad, it's a guy thing, y'know. being horny constantly is as natural to us as masturbating every minute, downing orange slices, and being good at tennis, every man knows this, every man instinctively knows how to pleasure a woman from watching hours and hours of porn non-stop on the college library computer.

6. would you rather have dinner with all of your exes at once or with five guys on death row having their last meal?: i don't have many exes, i would enjoy such a meal, i'd feel somewhat loved again, or at least tolerated hopefully, past love is better than no love. friendship lasts longer than cum, especially in my case: three seconds. i can count my exes on one hand like Mariah Carey says she can count her different sex partners on one hand...she says this, anyway...

...but those last meals from doomed convicts are usually quite fascinating, actually. this is their last chance to stick it to the Man, so they ask for all sorts of exotic items: caviar, truffles, the new Wendy's pretzel-bun cheeseburger. i could see counseling these souls heading straight to Hell one last time before the electric juice fills their bodies. sure, they're gonna be the Devil's Playthings, but remember a good memory from Earth? remember Sharknado on Syfy? that was awesome, it was this movie about this...sharknado thing...this thing, it's a, um, it's a tornado that's...filled with sharks...yeah...y'know, Sharknado was becoming an overnight sensation across the country, across the world, every celeb was talking about it, it was a sleeper campy hit...but then, that infamous final tweet about it...and i'm depressed again. Glee may have ruined song classics, but he was a cool guy. RIP.

bonus: write one unique question for possible use in a future TMIT: i'm tapped out after last week, but i must muster up my mustard for the cause of artistic freedom, so here goes:

1. do you like bread?

no, sorry, here's the real question:

1. friendship lasts longer than cumming. which of your online friends that you've never met would you like to meet in real life? which do you think you could become life-long REAL friends with? actual friends, like going out to coffee and movies with, gossiping with, kissing on the forehead, hugging, loving.



Friday, July 12, 2013


i'm an Aries, i like to ram things. i like to ram into ideas, crack them open and add my bent to them. i like to ram certain special loved ones hard, lovers for fun and pleasure, family for that one last remembrance shot of pent-up loneliness before i am to be put down, uh, away at the asylum.

what's your sign? oh, that's nice, that's good to know, we're compatible you know...



Wednesday, July 10, 2013



click on the enneagram above to close this chapter of my life. as the hobbit said, "I'm going on an adventure." SLP=Super Late Phoenix, or Super Lame Promotion: Man of Steel, out now in theatres...

like the old train hobos of lore, i spread out my red Bret Michaels bandana, stretch it out as far as it will go on the bed, and pack my things onto this thin piece of fabric. i will crumple all the items up later, tie it all up into a big ball, and attach the ball of stuff to the tip of a long stick. i will be a Norman Rockwell painting before too long.

i pack Del Potro's knees, no, toss those, Del Potro's heart rather, i'll need it when the cold gets bitter. i pack some thin mints which match my thin frame and my thin will. i also pack my invisible bottle of invisible cream, this has proven invaluable in my life when i didn't want to face consequences, didn't want to trudge through bumps in the relationship road, wanted to get away as the commercial cajoles. i forgot where i put the cream. no bother, i've had it on all my life without ever opening its tight lid. those lids are impossible to open, like pickle jars.

the world clearly hates me, it's evident in emails and comments and lack of emails and lack of comments. online can only work with electricity. recently this week, my cablebox which connects everything to each other would flutter on and off, i needed to have five lights working, there would only be two or three. i'd be reading something jawdroppingly fascinating over at HuffPo when the damn box would flicker, and i knew i'd be screwed. there'd be nothing functioning for an undetermined amount of time: no computer, no tv, no ipad mini. this is the genius of having all of your devices, all of your life force, wrapped up into one rectangular box of death. i am just about to type something profound, but, no, don't you fucking dare, lights, NO LIGHTS NO!....argghhh...flickering again...there are FOUR LIGHTS! Jean-Luc Picard feels me. every single time i called the cable company, i was met with elevator music like something out of Tim and Eric and a recording of a female's suspiciously calm voice informing me that they know there's an outage in my area and are doing their utmost to fix the problem as soon as possible. sorry for the inconvenience. it should all be fixed by 4PM today. yeah, sure, there is no outage, that is the default recording they play for everyone, i'm not special. no one lives in the Cable Main Headquarters building save that female robot. if she had a body to go along with the voice i'd be one thing. never mind i'm missing my precious soaps.

the world has rejected all of my revolutionary ideas, my internet ideas that though they are on the internet aren't internet-crazy like the rest of the youtube ranters. they make me, only me. Earth has rejected my body, my spirit, my soul, my essence, i was created in a devil's image and it's time to go home. i have no companionship. i talk to no one save a stray trashman. my cat mirrors me to a T, scarily so, in a way that is not kind, my cat even after all this time fears me, and i him, he's constantly on his hind legs, crouched and haunched, ready to strike me or anyone, he doesn't trust, will never trust, remind you of someone? he's damaged goods forever, he's a shelter pet, that's just how they come, i'm a shelter man, where is my free doggy treat? yes, i'd like the light brown, not the dark. it's only for this one day because i'm new here at the shelter, so i will enjoy every bit, every morsel of this free treat before i'm caged up with the rest of the rejected riffraff. free food tastes so good. free tastes so good.

my hobo guise all set, i stride forth from out my house like a cosplayer on acid late for Anime Expo. where am i going in such a rush? fuck if i know, i've always had this urge to escape, to run away, the desire to leave, to go somewhere, anywhere but here, i've always perceived where i am, where i was living, as death, a black hole, a shit town (the band Live, google it), a place of ennui and lack of creativity and helplessness and settling, the sound of dead leaves and settling (Death Cab For Cutie, google it). my body yearned to escape, to free itself from a prison of boredom, the same mall, the same deadbeat Beat poets and gothed-out goths and skaters living in the '80s when skateboarding was still novel, and a choice of women who are either jaded from too much computer or are in fact too good for me, i mean that one babe was out of my league, she told me so. she was pretty, but i find the Justices on the Supreme Court pretty. have to escape, leave, travel to Ancient Greece, help out in Africa, dine in exotic locales, sip champagne on a river, fuck in a canoe, dance naked in a Roman church. your problems will follow you wherever you go, a college girl told me that once, whether you sign up for the army, the PTA, or the PETA, the Peace Corps or the Corps of the Black Star, a local cult that relishes in Satan and Black Star from the anime Soul Eater.

they tried to enneagram me, but it looked too much like a Satanic Circle.
then i realized what i was saying and demanded they make me High Priest.
of course this is my destination, to serve a secret master who fashioned me in a lab
and kept all the knowledge of the real universe from me,
for i was his android, his beloved son he couldn't have,
i served a purpose though i wasn't really alive,
i gave him Data, he loved me though i couldn't feel it,
do robots pray once they're turned off?

i stroll past the cat, kiss him on top of the head, and open the back door. there, a trashman is waiting to scold me.

"you put a large twig in the recycling bin that's just for plastic and tin, it fucked up my traveling smasher recycling truck."

he speaks! he speaks to me! my friend, my one and only (Smashing Pumpkins, google it), i exist, i acted in a way that forced interaction, flesh interaction, not online wisps, man to man, human to human, one blood, one love, one robotic chip, one imaginary god, united forever.

i shook the trashman's hand and answered his query.

"yes!!!" i exclaimed joyously like a baby's first laugh, "yes, my brother, i was never asked out to prom, i love to dance, i do it all the time, helps me forget, helps me heal, helps me throw things harmful to me in the trash, you'd like that...



Monday, July 8, 2013


much hearty thanks to HEDONE for using my questions this week! love ya, babe :*

1. what is your favorite food and drink? please, tell us a tale of how these two items came to be so special to you, we'd love to hear about it: mayonnaise, 'cause the Smashing Pumpkins song and 'cause it looks like cum, well congealed cum anyway. blue Powerade 'cause Puck from Real World is still my hero and he said in one episode how he loved a certain type of blue-colored liquid because he felt like he was drinking Windex. Puck is my idol so i do everything he does.

honestly, the real story involves Pepsi and spaghetti and meatballs, but thinking upon these two will bring back memories of Michael Jackson and Mom, in both instances i will start to cry and not be able to type further...

2. have you ever incorporated the two items above or any food and/or drink into your sex play, like that certain famous film with the numbers in its title? do tell, don't leave out any saucy details: speaking of sauce, i'm on the right now. well, sure, i mean, the spank bank can run dry so you start thinking about all sorts of things to rev up the engines: Pepsi, spaghetti and meatballs, cored fruit, salami, hard salami, it all makes me hungry, both meanings. the only thing i can't stomach, pun intended, is when you have lunch directly after, y'know? you need a little time and space, it's the whole swimming-pool thing, wait an hour before you eat, the only exception is when you're about to eat Jennie.

3. do you have a food/drink-related pet name for your lover? does your lover have one for you? what are they? for example, pumpkin pie, tall drink of water: no girlfriend, as you all know, but i'll play along with myself: i'd name her Woman and she'd name me Man after that stark Twilight Zone episode "Two". man, that was a great episode, intensity comes not from dialogue, but from action. Rod Serling, i want to go where you are when i die and pick your beautiful brain for eternity. see the episode if you haven't already, eat popcorn while you watch it, that's a food thing. oh, it has to be a food thing? well, then, Man Drinking Pepsi and Woman Eating Spaghetti and Meatballs, those are some fine pet names. Dear and Honey are played out.

4. please complete this dramatic scene from a one-act play i'm working on for my local community theatre:

MAN: hello.
WOMAN: hi.
MAN: do you like rain?
WOMAN: what? rain, as in the weather rain?
MAN: no, i meant bread, i said rain, but i meant bread, i'm nervous around pretty women. do you like bread?
WOMAN: um, mister, did you know that my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard?
MAN: i know, i know, i drink your milkshake...

WOMAN: mister, you really get me, wanna get married?
MAN: sure. don't worry about the food arrangements, i've got that covered: i'll bring bread.


5. Garrison Keillor once said, "Sex is good, but not as good as fresh sweet corn." do you agree or disagree? make an argument for one against the other: i dunno, corn is pretty damn good, i mean you've got your corn on the cob, your corn niblets, buttered corn, fried corn, July 4th corn, Korn, corn sprinkled with a little salt, corn sprinkled with a little sugar, carnival corn that's always sprinkled backstage with a little clown pee...

...but there is CANDY CORN, which is FUCKING DISGUSTING. to this day i don't know the appeal of it, i dread when Halloween comes around and i have to picture those orange-and-white-striped death pellets of homogenized goo.

what? Jennie's here? she's dressed as Catwoman for Halloween? she likes candy corn? this is my life, folks, it's never an easy choice...

bonus: you have a best friend, this person has been your best friend since kindergarten. you are eating a bag of Cheetos on a park bench next to this friend. suddenly without warning, the friend smacks you across the face and exclaims, "Give me back my Cheetos, bitch!" what is your immediate reaction?

this sounds like those old Nazi behavioral experiments they used to do, intellectual exercises testing the human condition to its limits. well, first of all, i wouldn't be eating Cheetos, i don't eat Cheetos anymore, Cheetos for me were classic and good when i was a kid, but, i dunno, for some reason my interest in them has faded. it's not like Lucky Charms, which enjoys an unbroken throughline from my tongue from childhood to now in adulthood. i would take the smack, i'd let the pain hurt me, that's called relating to your friend in crisis, Amateur Psychology 101. i'd ask what was wrong, he must be going through something horribly traumatic to attack me like that. i know he didn't mean it, did he? he's got to give me a reasonable answer, no bullshitting, it must be something that makes sense, something out of the Amateur Psychology 101 book i found in the discount bin at Target or it's a no-go and a rethinking of the relationship. nothing? no childhood scars? you're just a dick? Cheetos mean that much to you? i'm out, Homey don't play that. besides, i like Doritos better, keep those chemical sticks of homogenized, artificially-flavored starch goo.

it ain't easy being cheesy...