yes, me!

usually my advice is keep writing, its bound to get better.

i studied creative writing in college and there were a lot of teachers who had a variety of different ideas on what makes a good writer.

they did agree on the idea that in order to write well you have to read a lot.

i chose to disagree with them there.

i think you need to read, but not a lot, and you need to read with a good eye on what to look for.

if youre a basketball player, you dont have to watch every player that ever lived, but it wouldnt hurt to watch a lot of basketball in general, and watch it with someone who knows the game, and see how good players adjust to certain situations.

same goes for writing. read the good people, read the popular people, read the people that everyone admires, and find out what makes them good. then write.

i think that if you read too much, you will have a hard time carving out your own style. i think that you should write twice as much if not three times as much as you read. when you read, read to learn something about the art of writing.

but when you write, do your best to try something new with each post, or story, or poem, or article.

always be risking. always stick your neck out. maybe not with how you are writing but by what topic. this post is a risk for me because you can seem incredibly pompus to give others tips on writing when you indeed are not even a paid writer.

people are always bringing up the fact that they have writers block. one of my teachers said that writers block is the world telling you to quit writing for a little while. an hour, two hours, a day.

again, i disagree. i think writers block is what happens when the devil inside of your mind convinces you that what you are writing is no good, so you dont even get a chance to get the first stuff out which will clear the way for the magic.

my solution for writers block is to write out all the things that terrify you, or write about the things that you think are dull, or write about the things you are avoiding.

two chicks came over to my house friday night. late. must have been 3 am. bars must have been closed. they were drunk and sloppy. i dont answer the door at night because i dont have a peep hole, all i have is a french window and if i stick my head into the window they will see me.

i heard them giggling and i wasnt afraid of gigglers so i stuck my head in the window.

what? i asked.

tony pierce? is that you in there? our friend told us that you lived here.

what friend?

S_____.

go away, i have venerial diseases.

god did they laugh at that one. one fell over on the other and they stumbled down the three stairs that led up to my porch. they landed on the grass. skirts up, panties, heels.

i turned off the porchlight and put the chain on the door and listened to the neighbor’s dog yap as they laughed and tried to get up only to fall overthemselves again.

i thought about letting then in since they were going to drive home if i didnt do something to stop them.

but im not all that nice, deep down.

dawn + lane + reesha

train was on time this morning. bus was on time this morning. it stopped at the wiltern for a little too long if you ask me. whatever.

on the train a super hot asian woman in a chanel suit with legs unpantyhosed spread just a little to wide with mouth open asleep clutching her coach ripoff purse had all the men looking at her.

i read slaughterhouse five cuz i love kv and even though my memory is bad all i needed to do was look at her once and all the details of this woman were etched in my head like a chisel to granite.

dark hair dark roots. just a strand of gray here and there. perfectly plucked eyebrows. nice job on the lipstick. very pale, almost geisha skin, natural. beige suit with white trim, no neglige to ruin things, beige shoes, everything matching, yellowing teeth, hint of a tounge trying to slide through the teeth. far too attractive for the morning commute filled with security guards heading west to the beach side hotels.

warm, finally in hell-a. seems like we got ripped out of our spring and our early spring, still i wore a flannel for the ride but was pleased when the woman next to me cracked open the window as we sped down wilshire.

she saw that i was reading but still she wanted to talk. she asked me if i saw survivor. i said yes. she asked if i liked it. i said yes and rang the bell. it wasnt my stop but it was obviously time to get off.

yesterday while i was watching the lakers and folding my clothes at the laundry a different woman asked me what the score was.

i wanted to say, i do not talk to strangers during the laker game or during my laundry. i said the game was over.

she asked what inning the game was in. shit you not. i pretended that i didnt know english.

que?

didnt matter. she told me that when she first moved out here from new york that she went to a dodger game and they won.

women care about the score of the game. and about how when they went to a game a certain team won.

men, we just care that we went. that we had some beers with some friends. that we saw some big fake titted woman.

fuck the score.

i ignored her and folded my leopard skin boxers.

sometimes i get a ride to the laundry mat. sometimes karisa lets me come over to her house and do it there. lately ive just taken my granny cart which fits my hamper perfect and place a horizontal hamper ontop of that, and then i shove more clothes in two pillowcases and pull that shit down the street a few blocks to Coin Laundry.

it may look precarious to a nosy woman who doesnt know that the dodgers play baseball the lakers play basketball and i couldnt care less about her or her stories, but for me it works.

she said, you should remember to get bungy cords next time.

i wanted to step on her toe. real hard. smoosh it.

got out of there. nothing better than clean laundry all done by four pm and the lakers tying up a series.

except coming home to you.

and smelling potato pancakes as snacks frying up just for me.

kitty + azarok + sarah

to tell me that they had broken up with their dudes. one of the girls, actually, told me that she had broken up with her chick, but that chick actually liked being called a dude. long story.

anyway, my response to both of them was, come on over, let me comfort you.

and both of them, naturally, declined my generous offer.

one of them said that she didn’t want to be just another one of my women. i told her i had no women. she said ha and pointed to exhibit a, the busblog. i reminded her that nothing on the busblog was true. she said she knew half the girls i talked about on the busblog including clippergirl, to which i told her that clippergirl and i really sit around holding hands and doing very little else. to which she asked me if i was inviting her over to hold hands and very little else and i said sure come on over and we’ll play a little game called lets hold hands and see if we can do very little else.

she said she didn’t want to come over and play that game.

i said its cuz you know that you’d lose.

then the lesbian lover called not soon after. she said that she really wanted to be with a man since itd been so long.

i told her that until she found the man that she was looking for i would try to pretend to be one.

she let me know that i was indeed the type of man that she was looking for, but she wasn’t interested at that time, she just had read yesterdays entry where i disclosed that my computer was full of viruses and i could come over to her penthouse and use her computer if i wanted.

i said, i already blogged that night, that i didn’t need a computer, but i did need someone to drink with.

she said, its always about drinking with you, isnt it.

this is the glamorous life of a blogger, friends.

i said, no it isnt always about drinking, its mostly about watching sports. to which she asked me questions about love. about how she should go about finding real love this time. and i said if i knew those answers i wouldn’t be sitting around on a sunday night totally turned on and frustrated about to crack open another bottle of bacardi as my tivo paused the Survivor finale.

she asked me if my house was clean. i said yes.

she asked me if my sheets were clean. i told her that i had just done my laundry while watching the lakers. i told her that not only my sheets were clean but they were warm and downy scented.

she asked me if i loved her. i told her that i loved her perfect body and her brilliant mind.

she asked me if i would do things to her that her girlfriend wouldn’t do.

i told her that i would only do to her things that her girlfriend wouldn’t do.

she giggled and told me that she’d take a raincheck.

i knew that these girls just wanted me to beg. im too old to beg. plus part of begging demands promises, lies, white lies. i cant lie. biggest thing i wanted yesterday was just to fall asleep with a nice girl next to me.

she added that she thought that i was a little depressed and she wanted to cheer me up. easiest way to cheer up a bachelor, ladies, is to reach down their pants. crude, yes, but the truth.

truth doesn’t always hurt.

her long fingernails may have hurt a little bit.

got a second raincheck within an hour and unpaused the tivo, headed up some peas and a baked potato and watched tv alone

as the camera panned away

and pulled back

up into the sky

into the dark night

filled with twinkling little stars

and then nothingness.

omer poos + faith fools + moxie