Friday, May 20, 2005

I have a dream. It’s a little dream. And a temporary one. It will be either granted or destroyed, within the next couple hours.

It involves getting out of here within the next 45 minutes, picking up a 5th of bourbon, the weather being clear so I can ride the bike over the hill, and me getting home in time to watch the complete 2nd half of the dallas phoenix game.

During this I will have drinks and hopefully bang on the keyboard of the laptop and compose some ingenious nonsensical addition to the master thesis, an incubated and developing novel that has now grown to about 57,000 words, and which I have a sinking feeling is not yet halfway done.

Basically it’s a mass crapsterpiece composed of ill-fated werds strewn across the garbage space of some filthy con artist’s mind, then regurgitated to a horrified audience of magpies taking a break from munching on the detritus. Or something in that arena.

Oh yah a couple innernet musical recommendations while I’m here. Tony pierce is always blabbing about Tsar, well, the rumours are true, they do kick a modicum of ass, I finally know cuz of their myspace dillio, which has some songs you can stream.

Also, this girl, sarah lynch, she sings a helluva tune. You can stream some of her songs as well. Like jazzy type lounge lizarding stuff, which I’m prolly describing all wrong. Oh well. That’s my prerogative, even if I don’t slap around Whitney Houston in between cracklepuffs. If you’re in Mannhattan go check out her next show and say kool keith el otro sent you. She’ll have no idea what that means, but trust me it’s better that way.

Anything I recommend is of course solid gold in all the most underground and well respected types of ways. Don’t let the fact that I was a roadie for Gangsta Pat back in the day get in the way of your knowledge thereof.

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Well then and how are you? You and you and you. And your turtle over there. Yup I just can’t stay away. I’m like mofo’ing too short except I deal in words and phrases. Oh wait. So does he. But I stay away from the avant garde. Oh wait, no I don’t. well, does he? Shit, am I too short? I know life is. Oh sorry, I meant to say too $hort. There. Now we can discuss this matter like civilized human beings.

At the bottom of our news tonite, as chuck’s secretary at abc news would opine, I don’t have shit besides that to say, really. Except that my skills have dramatically increased in the area of that which shall not be intimated herein. Suffice to say a big pat on the back is in order for the master of ceremonies, not that that’s me. Oh, fuck off. Why are you still reading this? Marmaduke is readily available. You know this. It is tres obvious, even to those that aren’t super crazy about great danes. Believe it and then know it and then plaster it all over your walls and draw little hearts and flowers all over it. And devil horns. Why not?

If the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, it might just be that the dominos guy was late and in order to make the nonexistent guarantee time decided to hurtle that shit like a newspaper and take the cut out of his tips, I mean, c’mon, it doesn’t necessarily mean the flutterville butterfly shit. Goddamm, stop being so presumptious. Take a break and lounge in the anteroom; enjoy our lobby’s European coffee machine. Eat a donut. Just try not to involve me nor my associates. Gracias.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

A great man died yesterday. Eh, I dunno how “great” he was in the sense of taking care of biz, shit, but who is, I mean, I’m great at, uh, shit, whatevs, but I suck at, well, you know, not being a big pile. Plus I would have made a shitty riddler.

Que sera. Or what the fuck ever. Lace it up with enuff crapola and little or no meaning will sneak its way through, and then you have accomplished nothing yet again. I’m starting to understand why I’ve been constantly muddying the waters of my periscope, when shit is, uh, visible, it’s very, um, potentially non-ziggy. Very 1972, but theoretically a gude thing.

I just don’t have shit to say, on top of having a million things to iterate which I would never actually type, at least in this shit. I’ll find a secret drawer and put a million notes to myself in there and then in 45 years I’ll open it up and remember the donkey shitness. Or how many rulons I ruled over in rulonville, and how incredibly meaningful it wasn’t.

Eh. fuck it. From now on I’ll just ponder, um, unicorns. Yes. Unicorns are ancient and universally known to be left-handed animals that are basically half mongoose and one quarter elephant. The other quarter is some kind of mongrelized combination of rhinoceros and Steve Guttenberg.

Sunday, May 15, 2005

Fuck no. This was the year 2005, and if you had the money, you had the class, and if you didn’t, well, than you were less than nothing. Yes, it was most likely better in that respect than the peak of the cocaine 80’s, but still, money ruled the land, that much had not changed and likely never would. Not as long as a republican was in the white house, and what was a democrat if not a republican with the slightest of consideration for the working class, enough to let them lick a bit of food off the cusp of civilization’s boot.