when i saw kurt cobain waiting for me at the front door.

hey buddy.

uh, hi, kurt.

i dont really know how to say this to you, so i’ll just come right out and say it. youre dead.

pardon me?

ok, let me put it this way, knock knock.

heh. who’s there?

not you, because you’re dead.

can i ask you a question?

sure.

good, am i on acid?

no, youre dead.

how did i die?

i can tell you, but then i’d have to bring you back to life. ahahahahaha. sorry, little joke we tell.

what’s this hole in my chest?

thats where you were stabbed with a knife.

who the hell would stab me?

lots of people. there are those who are jealous of your talents. there are all the dads of the young girls you do. there are the sisters of the girls you do. there are the republicans who fear that you might go to law school and then run for office. theres bud selig, matt drudge, george bush. or any of the hundreds of criminals you sent to jail.

you know whats funny, kurt, youd think id be sad, but im not sad.

good.

but i will miss all my friends.

they’ll probably miss you too.

and i love the people of Earth.

theres people of Earth where you’re going.

yeah, but i liked life.

you did? you were always bitching about it. you were never satisfied with any of the girls you got. you were never pleased with where you lived or what you did for a living, or what you looked like, or what you wrote, or who you were. dont bullshit me, bro.

hmmm. i did like chris.

too little, too late, cubfan.

and i liked living on del playa.

youre going to a better place.

i am?

maybe.

what!

hopefully.

fuck.

hey i got in and i broke some major rules.

thats right, you killed yourself.

major faux pas, let me tell you.

how did you get in after something like that?

G-o-G.

whats that?

Grace of God. thats how everyone gets in.

what if you were super good?

doesnt matter, without the GoG you dont get in.

so, like, mother theresa?

God isnt crazy about the Catholics. little known fact. especially the ones who know better. they disobeyed the very last line in the Bible, “dont add anything to this text or else you will get all the curses written herein on your ass.”

thats not exactly what it says.

whatever.

damn, kurt, even in your afterlife you’re controversial.

ready to hit the road, pallie?

wow. im really dead?

dead as grunge.

and i have to leave this apartment behind?

you can haunt it if you want, but scaring people becomes dull. it’s pretty easy.

but its sorta messy, i’d hate to leave a mess.

trust me, dude, people are going to make a fortune eBaying your stuff. youve got some great shit here.

yeah somewhere in here i have a ticket stub from your last show in LA.

not anymore,

kurt cobain said and flashed me the stub and tucked it into the breast pocket of his raggedy flannel.

p. 66, how to blog

wil wheaton + anti + thanks for the clarification + new teenage fanclub

because my directv is broken i spent the weekend holed up in my bachelor pad trying to knock out this xxx novel that im ghostwriting for a celebrity friend of a friend, which is tough because writing is all about habits and one of my habits is to have the tv on even if im not paying attention to it.

what i love about the newer assignments that ive been getting is watching my body react to them.

i get ridiculously hungry when im writing something that isnt a blog.

its a form of procrastination but it also feels like im feeding fuel for the fire. its like buster keaton on the general and since ive got plenty of wood, the fire gets bigger and the writing just flows and flows.

the other day i found myself way ahead of schedule so i signed up for my 11th fantasy baseball league. big mistake because im in so many nba playoffs right now that i forgot to start some pitchers today.

ive noticed that my writing ritual is very rhythmic and follows a pretty strict schedule. maybe yours does too.

i like to blog, for instance right before i get on the subway and go to work. then i like to write at lunchtime and then once again when i get home. instead of writing the blog at night ive been writing this book and thank God its about done because it pretty much ruined my weekend.

but now it’s nearly done and nobody will ever know that i wrote it and i will get my little check and i will do something dumb like pay off my lone credit card and give my favorite charity the hollywood free clinic the rest.

maybe i’ll get some new pumas cuz these are two years old now and falling apart.

what i really want is a pony.

went to lunch today with the swedish virgin. we’re just friends which i hate cuz you have to keep your hands to yourself and pretend that you dont want each other. right there. on the table.

maybe its all the porn that i just wrote but when im with who i want to be with and shes looking so good and the farmers market clam chowdah bread bowl has fed the fire i suddenly find myself with energy that needs to be spent.

walking to the car i said why dont you put your hands on the hood of that beamer and give these tourists something to tell their friends about.

why dont we do for once in our lives exactly what we’d do if we were back in the jungle.

what about the cops she asked laughing and trying to wrestle her hand out of my firm grip.

oh baby by the time the cops showed up we’d be long gone with only the smiles on our lips and some dna on my pants and on your wrinkled skirt to condemn us.

but virgins dont play that

which is why you have to say it.

and when the valet drove her car around the corner i whispered i miss you and i love you baby

and she stopped laughing for a sec and said i love you and miss you too tony.

and we hugged and i slid my hand down down her backside probably for the last time

today.

moon over pittsburgh + joz joz joz + raymi + matthew good