bold like revolution

bing.

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The book will never have as much eloquence as it did before I started writing it. But that's ok. That's just a part of it becoming a thing in the world.It's the same as how a dream doesn't exist until we tell it to someone.

Sometimes the logo is the best part. (the emily dickinson "death is airTIGHT" mix)

I love making logos. Slogans. Rhymes. Doo-dads... Wordy Gurdys. Nick-names. Catch-phrases...insults...Anything short that packs a PUNCH.I'm tryin to cold bite a fucked up rhyme here. I'd like to emulate a killer polaroid; or a tiny detail in an epic film... Pix with words are even better. Especially if they have an enigmatic quality to them. Like this one: Or this one--in fact, if i'd

innernet

oh man. we are all going to die. well, that's no surprise but i mean a whole lotta peeps is gonna die real soon...ok so that is no surprise, that's true...right now people are dying en masse. in africa, and china and india...fucking hell.it all just feels so bad right now, u know what i mean?the vibration. the loneliness of death.(out there beyond the wall breaking bottles in the hall)can u

As this saga begins it's final lap, i'm beginning to imagine my next character(s).One of them will be called Pharmakon, aka, The Poisoned Present. She will have the ability to see into the future, but it will be a vision so indeterminate, so devoid of actual information, that it isn't until after the event takes place that the repetitive dream make sense.For instance, she dreams of a cloud

My compass is tried and TRUE

I felt a little uneasy on easy streetout of place and incompletecall it guilt call it what you willkissed goodbye the summer skieshollywood and malibu tidesthrough thick and thin you got a good friend in mejust give me a beer and give me a bedchase the demons out of my headplay me a song and sing me to sleepand meet me in the middle of my dreamswell i've seen the sun rise from the cliffs of point

I like my sugar with coffee and cream.

Risky Business

Of course, there are also the times when you have to saywhat the hell.Those times--and only you can know from the voice inside when it is such a time--when you have to leave. Quit on the spot. Get up and walk away from the table.go out for the paper, and never come back.I've had to do that before.Having character is always a risky business.

To the friend to whom i want to write back but i need to think about my answer...

Here's the thing: I believe in getting seriously educated while yr still young. For those of us without access to high end public schools or expensive private ones, this is something that has to be pursued at home, in addition to whatever shoddy shitslime curriculum that's being slopped out in yr local cinderblock square where the halls are lined with bullies and indifference. If yr lucky

I flip through the TV channels and wonder how it’s possible to have so much money invested in nothing that anyone actually needs. Clothes, furniture, people… I mean, the world doesn’t need another American Idol. Or maybe it does. Maybe another American idol will help take our minds off the boring ugly real life (i.e., normal) teenagers one sees every day with terrible skin and chemically

now my heart is full

The blogness of the blog.

What makes us what we are in the end is the ability to sit for hours and hours on end in front of a monitor screen. In this we have much in common with gamers, porn addicts, tv-aholics, We might, as individuals, fail in real life but on the innernet we know how to BE FERREAL, which has about as much in common with reality as your fave reality tv show. We become versions of ourselves. I don’t

i like living inside. drugged sleeping awaitsthat's part of who i am--the writer, locked up in my room...embedded in that ability to spend long hours singularly focussed is the desire to be alone.(alone but not lonely, with loved ones just down the way) i reread the post i wrote this year on the anniversary. it was the expression of a simple wish, a desire to shut down and stop after a day of

GOT BITCHES

cloWords are the pasteboard placeholders between our gaze and the pendulum swing:(the sound and the explosion)(the thought and the notion)(the boom and the bip)(yr broken teeth and yr busted lip)

FUCK YEAH.

the words are like tetris blocks. they come at me and i struggle to make them fit together...I dont own them and neither do u.That doesn't change the fact that they are worth everything in the world to me.

My real name is "Dancey Pants".

mywerdsRyrwerds&yrwerdsRmywerds

this one goes out to all the peeps out there who cut and paste my words onto their own sites.this one goes out to the biters and the poseur-dickhead dum-dums, the teeny wheezers and green-faced pukers, the fat kids with leaky guts and trucker butts, the nerdy nose-pickers and masturbators, the porn lovers and human haters, the squares with acne in the shape of big "L"s on their foreheads...this

overwrought (you and me in time)

i love that part on antiques roadshow when the person finds out how much their artefact is worth: any number over zero will make them genuinely estatic, their faces light up like those of children at a fair as the happy accident of their existence crossing paths with the existence of this object is made over and made real thru the validation of expert appraisal and an estimated dollar amount.you