Blogger broke my shit when I tried to move it to google. Fucking hell.

Fame in the future TENSE.

I was walking in my neighborhood the other nite with Woody Allen, both of us blown on precious purp and stuffed with brick oven pizza. I stared at my pal as we got ready to cross 1st Avenue and what I thought was a look of contentment at all being right with the world was actually a look of jaded disgust.“UGH!” my friend muttered, as she adjusted her famous, thick-framed glasses. “Look at that,

Everyone's trying not to disappear.Here comes another year...--Royal Trux, "Another Year"

Sometimes what a girl wants most is to be fucked from behind and then to have her face pressed down in the puddle that is the aftermath.

Fuck BRANDTRUEBOY.

My ex-girlfriend was a huge fan of my writing, but she hated BRANDTRUEBOY. She couldn’t understand why I wasted my time and talent on a blog. She resented the characters and their adventures, claiming she had to share me with them, as I spent so many hours working on the blog’s “plot”.When I asked her to be more explicit she’d shrug her shoulders and not offer details. Over time it dawned on

innernet niggas.

Bloggers I have met in real life do not then become like the other people I know. They remain in a separate category—a social world apart from anything I’ve known before. And by social world I don’t mean their class or whether they come from money. I mean that they represent an entirely new way of being with others.Innernet friends are always innernet friends, even after you meet

M-m-m-m-my generation.

An unconnected node is an unprotected node.

Shields up! Shields up!

Into the k-hole of home entertainment.

i need a friend.

fate, up against yr will

it's like two lanes of the same highway stretching out into the distance--what happened and how i think about it--and they never meet, they never become one.it's always like it happened to someone else.the yellow line glows on the screen.the thing i never could have known was how strong all that storymaking would make me.

im just gonna write this and let it take me where it goes. i never do that. everything i write is planned planned planned. the way i used to ride the trains in the middle of the nite with my ear buds in and my stickers in my side pockets. even now it's hard not to press the left arrow and edit edit edit. or else i get distracted like i just did. the other browser window was open to my blog

Denim nation

All u really need to make it in NYC in the winter is a thugged-out jacket embroidered with intricate, pornographic scenes. And a white cotton t-shirt and crisp, freshly washed (and pressed) blue jeans. A pair of brandy new, never worn, bright white 30 dollar Nikes makes the grade over a pair of unpolished 300 dollar Italian boots...Being young and clean is very American. I think it has to do