The Monster is Zero.

I'm beginning the second part of my life: the output stage.Besides listening to music I dont take in a lot of art at the present moment. I'm more focussed on my own voice--that which is at once intimate and projected, created and cast-out......returning as an echo from across the universe (void).But I was sick and didn't have the energy to write, so instead I bought a magazine and a couple of

c-span

im floating out on a sea of hot sick...curled up and feeling like shit with c-span on. in a way it's like the first blog ever--and in a way it's better than a blog cuz it's tv--a stripped down, old skool tv with the single, steady cam and no commentary or editing except at the end when callers call in...as the fever fades me in and out (blissfully thankful it's not e.coli or something worse) i

my innernet sux the obstacleness out of the obstacle

mornings are when im most vulnerable.(double negative)by posting that statement, however, in the morning, on a sunday no less--i manage to remove it as an obstacle--It's still there, before me, except the act of broadcasting it has made it smaller and less significant.It's as though the fence i've been planning all this time to bulldoze has deflated right in front of me, falling limply to my feet

i like autumn the same way i like vampires...the same way i like cold killer spinach.it was the season that gave me the most solace back when i suffered from chronic nightmares.i was never particularly gothy. for instance, i've never read anne rice and i have no desire to sit down with one of those doorstops. life is too short to read second rate fiction.

new york city

sellin candy, makin money...

i agree. but i don't imagine a world without authors, just a world without copyrights.

Ca Va

i hate being disappointed. It's nearly as foreign to me as being bored--I say nearly because i've felt disappointment but i've never been bored.There's always something to think about, something to cold figger on--words to rhyme, moments to remember, fantasies to get hot over.Disappointment is equally ridiculous: why should anything in the world fail to meet our expectations? Each and every

one eye half open

Writing a book is a pretty deep process, but I've gotta tell ya that no kinda writing gives me the kick that blogging does.The book is on hold.Meanwhile, my blog(s) never sleep.

There is the knowledge that what I’m doing takes time but this means that even if I’m working very hard nearly every day, it’s still going to take a long time to get where I want to go. If I slack and spend less time working than it’s going to take even longer. Not to mention all the “unforeseen unknowables”: a major artistic undertaking is like a war—you want to make sure you’ve won before you

Hotel lobbies like painful hobbies that linger on...

nyc is my home and I luv it soooo much but today I just wanna stay in bed and hide out online on my favorite blogs and pretend that those bright blue skies outside my window are just a bad dream.

celebrities eatingmy online résuméLittle 15You help her forgetThe world outsideYou're not part of it yetAnd if you could driveYou could drive her awayTo a happier placeTo a happier dayThat exists in your mindAnd in your smileShe could escape thereJust for a whileLittle 15 Little 15Why take the smooth with the roughWhen things run smoothIt's already more than enoughShe knows your mindIs not yet in

Tag!

Mmmk. Since it’s Raymi who tagged me I’ll do it: eight things about me that are the truth. By “truth” I mean that which forms the placeholder between the lies…And by “lies” I mean the explanations I offer for my behavior.1. When I was little my imaginary friend was Bambi. Then it was Sterling Fassbinder. Now it’s either Donnie Darko or Heidi Klum, depending on the occasion. 2. I was a born

i never heard that one before...

"a bearded clam."dang.

The tidal wave dreams continue. Sometimes I don’t even fully remember them but I wake up knowing I’ve had them. There in the middle of the nite with the city a glowing bar beneath the shade. It’s not so much a fear of the dream I just awoke from as a the sense of certainty that follows me out of it; it is the certainty of death—the only certain certainty that there is. The dark tower of