Anyway, this is sort of unformed but is simply something I have been thinking about. I know a writer (I won’t name this fellow out of respect) who has had incredible success. A few small press books have been followed by a multi-book deal with a major publisher. I like this dude on a personal level. Beyond the personal, he makes extraordinary sentences which sometimes lead into beautiful sections. Yet, none of it ever coalesces into anything really.

His work, while pretty on the level of language and form, says nothing meaningful about what it is to be human. It also fails to rise to the pure entertainment level of pulp (like Jim Thompson or Stephen King).

So, what he makes are great sentences, not great stories or books.

I want to make great stories (or books). Does this mean that I should stop trying to make great sentences? Should I want to unmake great sentences? Unmake words?

Maybe I am rambling.

The first of the things that should be first is that “While You are Sleeping I Will Evolve into a Bird” (my poetry collection from Black Coffee Press) will be out in August. We are in the home stretch now. The cover art is beautiful and sexy and weird and I could not be more happy about it. I should get a final proof soon so that I can correct any issues that may exist. I really need to find a way to seriously spread the word on this thing. Caleb Ross says that Facebook ads aren’t worth the cost. I wonder if Facebook is a marketing tool of worth at all. It must be better than twitter. I mean it must. The twittery-thingy just doesn’t allow for the space needed to tell people about a book. Still, I guess I am stuck with both. Does MySpace still exist? Does anyone know of better means of marketing a book online? Is marketing even meaningful?

I’m deeply into a new series of poems. Overall the thing is called “Like Lobsters and Lions in a Seven Sided Machine”. These poems are maybe more strident. Also they seem to have a hook in history. Billy the Kid and Phineas Gage and Teddy Roosevelt and Jack the Ripper pop up here and there. I need a chapbook publisher to handle this but am so lazy about approaching people (plus I fear rejection because that’s just me, ya know?). (So… if you’re a chapbook publisher you only need ask… and such)

I don’t like Mitt Romney.

Ron Paul, while crazy as a bag of weasels, is a ton of fun.

I enjoy melting cheddar cheese on a whole wheat bagel!

I’ve been laid off work for a month now but get to go back to my crap job on Monday. It will nice to have some coins rolling around in my pocket again. maybe I can finally afford that operation to have my ego replaced with an Eggo waffle.

I have like 500 some facebook friends. It is my goal to reach 20,000. That number is arbitrary, but so is the desire to do anything not related to survival or procreation (e.g. eating, drinking, seeking shelter and fucking). I don’t want to procreate. I have had my testicles irradiated to that end.

After a long hiatus I am back to being the me I was the last time I wasn’t me.

Is there more than that. Is this a spiral arm?

I am now a journalist. Recently I have been offered a gig at one of the local papers.

Starvation may be held off

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Wow.

Crunchy numbers

A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 3,100 times in 2010. That’s about 7 full 747s.

In 2010, there were 75 new posts, growing the total archive of this blog to 328 posts.

The busiest day of the year was April 15th with 99 views. The most popular post that day was That is all.

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were twitter.com, htmlgiant.com, alphainventions.com, en.wordpress.com, and trickwithaknife.com.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for nathan tyree, types of crows, authentic vagina, ride my cock, and authentic vaginas.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

That is all April 2010
1 comment

Types of Crows June 2010
1 comment

deluxe authentic vagina November 2009
4 comments

Ride my cock, you smelly whore June 2009
5 comments

About August 2008
5 comments

Now something for the dogs.

Philosophical Zombies (a riff on the mind-body problem)

He’s just like me, down to the last spiral on the helix
down to the last subatomic particle zooming about
in indefinite, unknowable patterns inside the meat
that makes a man a man or a dog a dog, we
are microscopically identical and yet-
here in my living room he never laughs when
Groucho, up on the HD screen, pokes fun at poor
Margaret Dumont or dances randomly about.
He doesn’t cry when our (my) wife says she hates us (me)
he has no reaction to the crimson of that girl’s dress
this is, as they say in the texts, a lack of qualia.
I cannot deny it. Still though, as persuasive as the
argument may be, it still does not mean that
I have a soul

Emma Watson is getting hot

In the “Mean” time HTML Giant is taking swipes at Trick With a Knife. I find it fun. I find many things fun.

The rhythms of their breath, looped together in twin syncopations, were like venal sin without repentance. Damp scents filled the dark room and the single candle cast shadows about like playful ghosts.

“Here” she said, placing the flat of her palm against his chest and pushing so that he rolled off her and tumbled onto his back.

“What?” He strained to see her in the low, shifting light.

She straddled his pelvis and worked herself down. As he entered her again she said “I don’t believe in God.”

“Not even now?” he asked.

She thrust her hips forward, grinding hard against him. He reached up and gripped her nipple giving it a powerful twist.

“Especially not now,” she said as she quickened her movements drawing closer to orgasm.

“I . . . I . . . Need to . . . “ he tried to make a clear sentence but she clasped her hand over his mouth.

“Shut up,” she said. “Don’t you dare come yet.” Her breathing was changing, they were no longer creating harmony. She was conducting. Then spasm. Release. Her body quaked in waves. The sky seemed to collapse around her.

When she was done she rolled off him and spread her legs. “Here, finish” she said.

He climbed atop her and did just that. When he had exhausted himself and pulled out she said to his receding form “that’s why”.