Bored by boredom

Bradley Sands on why he writes is well worth reading.

I have something small to say about Bizarro Lit.

My brain bleeds into my boots, but it isn’t your fault.


Sleep. Snort. Fuck.

Sleep Snort Fuck has a poem by little old me.

My eyes ache.


At my writing workshop I tried to get people talking about crows. Someone mentioned pelicans. Weirdly this made me think of gar. I did a little flash piece about gar. Now I’m thinking about expanding it into something bigger.

Girls are a mystery.

She has a gash on her leg.

Trick with a Knife is having a Tao Lin Contest.

Q and what is up with the narwhal?

I keep not reading Under the Dome by Stephen King. It sets there and taunts me. The thing is a monster.

Madore suggests the subscription model

Speaking of that, I recently enjoyed Old Men, Girls and Monsters by Peter Schwartz. I also dug Jennifer Love Hewitt Times Infinity by Kevin Fanning. These are wee books for getting and reading.

I have made friends with the proprietor of the local liquor store. Oh lucky me!

I want a walrus to sleep under my bed.

A new movie based on a Bukowski book has sparked an interesting conversation. You could take part.

HTMLGIANT Talks about a Lady Gaga Journal.

I want to collect spam and send it to my friends. Not the unwanted email; the fake meat.

What the fuck is the deal with the narwhal anyway?

Do you have any idea how many types of Crows there are? That knowledge would drive you mad before it devoured you.

Tupelo Walrus

I wonder if there are larger truths to be known. If there are, would it matter? I want to make out with a rabid walrus. She will teach me that 800% of all people exist only in my mind. All of this is in Tupelo, where I will never live, but may die.

Old Men, Girls and Monsters

I reviewed Old Men, Girls and Monsters by Peter Schwartz here

Rock bottom

I can taste it coming. I know when it’s in the gate, waiting. Two days manic and I can hear the rusty squeak of the oak beams getting ready to break. I know that I’ll fall. Normally I let myself fall all the way down. When I hit bottom, I can see the light and try to climb back out. This time, though, the bottom just wouldn’t come. I couldn’t stop falling. The Schwarzschild radius just wouldn’t pass me. There was (is) no event horizon to be reached.

Terry said I should break it. Rip the needle off the record and force myself out. We broke the law. Trespassing at the quarry. We jumped the fence and climbed the chat piles. We slid down the side like kids and got covered in carcinogenic dust. And and and I felt better. Then I started back down. Worse though for having felt I could see the light.

Existential collapse is what I need. Oblivion and black and nothing.

When it comes I will be saved.

Lets not move.