and now i feel like everyone has left

and the mess is mine to clean

unseen blood down miles of forearms

slimy goo all red and green.

but im the brown thats in the middle

im the brown that no one owns,

bastard wolf dog alone and freezing

and no one hears his moans.

theres a fastball flung and burning high

a nightmare in my eyes

my guts got stuck in quicksand

and you all think it’s lies.

and the sunset’s grey

and everyday i wake up and walk around

and find im lost

and need a nametag

in my dirty own hometown.

both from the upcoming secret chapter of Blook II called Juvenalia, the early poems which currently is as cheap as it will ever be, and includes free shipping.

two poets walk into a bar,

the bartender rings a bell, two poison darts whistle across the room over the pool table under the Bud light and into their “hearts”.

they gasp, cover their chests and then faint.

now ive seen a lot of things in my day

i mean just the other day i walked into my roommate dans room

everything i say is true

and there were these three horny

i wouldnt waste my lies on

topless

you

and ive seen good

the thuds of the two bloating poet-bodies makes the wolf dog raise his head from his paws.

he gets up from under a table and walks casually over to the scene. he sniffs and looks over at the bartender who’s searching for a hand ax

like for example just the other day me and rene were at this Tawainese Hot Pot where all you can eat you go and get your meat raw from the back get your veggies bring em to your booth toss em into this hot pot thats boiling at your table make your soup while “barbeque-ing” on the aluminum foil that surrounds the pot

wolf dog sniffs the crotch of the larger poet who’s mumbling something uncomprehensible but in perfect meter i think he was saying help help help

dog positions himself in such a way i mean his hind legs are on this poets chest and his furry red sick looking is in almost entirely and he’s humping and he’s choking tails wagging and he’s looking at the bartender with mouth closed and then back up at the ceiling mouth open and then back at his repositioning front paws

and his buddy cant move and his buddy gets a woody its moving and wolf dog sees this

stops what hes doing tail stops wagging dis mounts cuz he thinks somethings alive in there but theres nothing alive in nothing these poets have ever done. maybe an automatic reaction. like getting a boner while your buddy gets mouth raped by a dog. maybe an automatic reaction. like writing a load of negative crap when youve got nothing to say no new stories to tell no new ways to tell em no new rhymes to bust out no new secrets to let out meat eater bottom feeder stealer of lies you even bore the poor youre a landing strip for flies.

from the upcoming secret chapter of Blook II called Juvenalia, the early poems which will skyrocket to $42 unless you act now.

theres a timebomb

in the front room

bored Death is filing his nails

a dog’s snarling softly

beneath the toadstool

and im just playing pool

“as soon as youre through

you’re coming with me

but if you like

i’ll take you now”

and i felt like drinking

ice water

and setting my head on fire.

Death stood up

and removed his hat

and walked his way towards me,

the light froze solid

beneath his black locks

and he looked like

he shouldnt be.

he looked 8 feet tall

and gorgeous,

his tits began to grow

his cape shrunk up

and his voice got high,

and he wasnt a guy no more.

so we popped in “18” Alice Cooper

and threw off all our clothes,

lit the candles, poured the whiskey

and we racked up all the balls.

“I never knew you

played both ways,”

Death he said to me

i said you never know now do ya

do ya

and as the sun began to rise

Death lowered himself

to the ground

and asked if i wanted a blow.

i broke, sank two

and politely

told that fucker

no.

from the upcoming secret chapter of Blook II called Juvenalia, the early poems which is available until monday at a ridiculously low price.

im not sure i ever want to do a blook again. this is what publishing houses are for. theyre suppose to edit it, make it, sell it. then put me on the road and make me follow the trail of golden coins.

as you know for editing the blog i have the mighty ken basart, of whom im eternally grateful.

as for the blook, i have two great editors working on the thing. i first have sepi who hand picked the posts, and i also have karisa who is arranging and editing the text.

i love karisa and one reason is cuz she tells me how great this blook is. how much better it was than the last one. i trust her because she knows she doesnt have to bullshit me to get down my boardshorts. shes also a speed reader and goes through a novel every other day. so when she tells me that i kicked ass on this blook i believe her, for a second.

currently i still cant read anything that i have read over the last year, which is troubling because thats the period of time that Blook II covers. when i read it i hate it. when i look at it it makes me squint. it makes me feel like everything i write is all about i i i i i i i i i i which is what blogs, i imagine, are supposed to be about, but i dont see why it would be interesting to anyone else.

but alas, im interested in most peoples blogs and all they usually write about is i i i i i i i i i i.

i just want the thing to be out there. i want it over. but every day i get more and more orders and it makes me sick to my stomach.

i raised the prices in hopes that nobody would buy them and on monday 12/8 im going to raise the prices again to $42 per blook in order to discourage anyone from buying one, but also to help make the blooks more rare.

so my little hint to you, kind reader, is if you want this thing, or last years thing, order them now cuz the price is going to basically double and next year im going to probably not do it at all.

id also like to address the idea of editors and blogs. many people define the blog as something that is typically not edited. it’s one way that “real” journalists can seperate themselves from we lowly internet scribes… who dont matter… who arent important… who have nothing to say… who cant write… because we dont have editors.

obviously i disagree with their theories and i can simply point to lil rags like the new york times who have floors of editors and still wind up making gigantic gaffs and exposing themselves as being mere mortals.

here at the busblog, and in the blogosphere, we have no problem telling you that whatever you read in here you should take with a grain of salt, editor or no.

Blook II will be slightly better than the busblog because of a second pair of eyes, or three pairs. i believe in editors. i like the process of being edited. i like other people’s opinions on the way to tell a story and how to present it. but for the most part this is a one-man show and it, i argue, might be better off that way.

the voice of the writer will remain stronger, the timeliness will be quicker, the freedom to think of ideas will be greater, and the amount of work will be bigger.

you will end up with more grammatical, factual, and spelling mistakes but who cares, youre a click away from “professional” writing and odds are you wont go there.

why?

because blogging and good blogs are far more edgy, more entertaining, and closer to whatever truth there is than the hundred monkeys running around most newsrooms in america who dont know fuck wouldnt know fuck and cant say fuck and wouldnt know how to write fuck even if their lives depended on it, which is why they dont have blogs.

thats why.

get blook II before the prices double + hear my ass on the radio tonight with virginia

i dont know why and i didnt care why. all i knew was i stood up and listened and i shot at where i thought it was coming from and then it stopped and then i sat down.

people looked at me at first like damn, g, and then they thought wait, that guy didnt even care. and nope. i didnt even care. im reading this kurt kobain book and i love it. the guy cant write or tell a story but he sure has the facts.

i didnt know that like 6 people in his family shot themselves or drank themselves to death before he did. im happy and sad to read this. happy because it seems like it wasnt entirely his fault that he did that to himself, that somehow it was heredity and environment.

im sad cuz i miss him and it sucks that hes not the one being nominated for all these awards this year instead of dido.

turns out he didnt sleep under the bridge on the muddy banks of the wishkah. turns out he didnt trade guns for his first guitar, turns out he did trade guns for a sweet amp.

the girls are wearing scarves here in hollywood and longer skirts and tall boots. agent m told me that the xbi pulls the hottest babes in all the town and i look around and i think theres gotta be somewhere better but he assures me that no, its all about the xbi.

after the mad scramble and people slowly peeking from behind their desks someone got up and looked over to the spilling blood and shot the dead body a few more times and one of the bullets bounced off the floor or the skull and shattered a nearby window which i was always under the impression was shatterproof.

and once again i am here to tell you that the man who is willing to offer the lowest price shouldnt always win the bid.

3rd Leg breaks it down + Livia + cup o goodness

in a lot of areas of my life. strangely, that can be liberating.

a few hot chicks, as ive reported, have been kind enough to show me their nude bods on their web cams. one of them was so generous as to get me a web cam off my amazon wish list. so naturally yesterday when it arrived i did a funny little strip show for her and even gave her the much-promised bonercam shot.

i was shocked how easily i stripped down for this virtual stranger.

truly i dont have much to show, but i positioned the camera low enough so that it made my three inches look like they were ten.

she was also on her web cam and it was great to see her jaw drop at the optical illusion, and it was totally funny to watch her clap and then cover her mouth and nod her head.

i want you, she typed.

i had a sharpie nearby. one that i label my burned cds with. i put it next to my schween to lend some perspective. she remained impressed.

i put a blank cd next to it, also so as to compare. again she applauded.

then i put a 2 liter of diet dr pepper next to my johnson. not a great idea. but being an angel, she didnt care. just laughed.

move here she typed.

she lives in australia.

who wouldnt want to move to australia for a while?

i moved my camera around my living room, then i showed her my thinning hair. she said i was crazy to think i was anything less than wonderful.

i love you, nice girl, i typed.

and she typed a similar response back.

in other news, im going to be on the radio tonight with virginia and i fucking kick ass on the radio.

of course i will be on your radio show tomorrow night.

nothing would make me happier.

not world peace, the cubs signing pudge, paris hilton wearing a busblog tshirt, or playboy hiring me to write a blog.

however i will take those offers if they come in as i have nothing better going on other than saving the lives of innocents as they cruise around los angeles trying to live good lives.

but yes, virginia, not only would i like to be on your radio show tomorrow night, but i would LOVE to be on your radio show tomorrow night.

heres what i would like you to do though:

i would like you to get your hands on some Tsar music. maybe some Corvids tunes. maybe you could go to Ken Layne’s site and download some so we can play it for all the kids of the world.

your radio show is on the Internet still, right? therefore the entire world will be privy to our witty banter and dulcet slow jams. so lets rock the party with the west coast swing.

i would also like to see if we can call kristin pony again, except this time i would prefer it if we could hear each other somehow, someway. you kids are in college, im sure you can figure it out.

what i want to do is get kristin on the horn cuz shes living at home now and theres some goofy stuff that i want her to do there.

i also might have a cam by tomorrow so maybe we can do something with that.

who knows.

anyhow, yes.

in fact hell yes.

in fact you should warn maryland that the busblogs gonna make a special announcement tomorrow night at 11pm EST, 8pm PST.

for your collegegirl ass

click here to listen … yes, you need Real Player, i recommend getting the latest copy.

virginia + gorilla mask + bunnie

let me count the ways. i cant believe that theres even debate over whether or not shes pretty.

its nearly as shocking to me as someone like dc putting me on the top of his links list and then saying he never got JD Salinger.

its like, what?

paris just might be the most beautiful girl in town. and this is a big town. sure she looks a little manly sometimes in the face. and shes frighteningly thin, but isnt that hip these days?

yeah she has no boobs to speak of, shes got no ass, her nose is longer than most, and she dates all the wrong men, but big whoop. she likes short skirts and making out. whats not to love?

i also like her hair.

this morning i realized how much i enjoy commuting. i like the walk to the subway, i like reading as i wait for the train, i like standing up and reading, i like transferring to the other train, i like getting out of the train and walking up the stairs.

i like hating the people on the escalator who stand on the left side of the escalator. i like getting on the bus – especially if its empty. i like reading an entirely different book on the bus. i like riding along and occassionally looking at all the interesting people.

i like how mellow and quiet it can be.

i like walking the few blocks from the bus stop to the xbi.

and then i like turning on my computer and seeing all your sweet comments.

if i had a car i dont think i would like the commute as much. in fact im sure i wouldnt.

karisa is going to have me cat-sit her kitties over christmas vacation and shes letting me use her xterra and as much as that will be convienent for certain things like laundry and grocery shopping, i will miss my little morning routine, which is vital because when i get to work im usually bombarded immediately.

my job is really hard. and the hardest thing is is i can never look good at it. either youre doing your job and big deal, or youre fucking up and people get a chance to berate you. it’s like being a very low paid airplane pilot. if you do it right you just have to go do it again. if you fuck up everyone dies and your widow wears black.

i dont know how i got stuck in this situation. but i do feel stuck.

only thing keeping my spirits up is you, and the unproven belief that everything happens for a reason.

melting dolls + adrants + inluminent

i hope you saw her. i love that she doesnt know anything. do they sell walls at wal*mart, tony? what are wells for?

your total is $68.51 for all your groceries, paris.

all we have is $50, can we get the rest free?

yes you can, baby.

much as you want.

i love that her size 0 lowrider jeans fall off of her skeletor body.

i love that she has a cup titties

but only when shes bloated

i love that when she introduces herself she says

hi, im paris.

aint no beatin that shit.

i love that she doesnt know how to work an automatic transmission

how she doesnt like dead animals

unless theyre purses or pants or pork chops

i totally love that she drives too fast.

you know youre pretty good lookin

oh yeah

pretty good lookin

youre pretty good lookin

oh yeah

for a girl

watched rules of attraction off my tivo.

pretty awesome.

then me and karisa talked on the phone for hours.

fucked up thing. shes got way better stories for your ass than i do.

simone + lawless + get yourself the corvids cd for christmas!