ten years ago it ended a whole lot more than the best band of the nineties. in retrospect it ended rock as we knew it.

during the grunge era of 89-94 the “seattle sound” dominated the rock pop and alternative airwaves, as well as mtv.

rock was hot and it was not unusual to hear pearl jam, soundgarden, stone temple pilots, jane’s addiction, smashing pumpkins, bush, and nirvana every hour; but also metallica’s black album was ripping up the charts, as were hip hop groups like the beastie boys, public enemy, ll cool j, de la soul, cypress hill, and a crew from compton called nwa.

and then you had the riot grrl movement, and then you had the post-punkers like green day, bad religion, the replacements, and sonic youth. and it was all on tv and it was all over the airwaves and it was fresh and vibrant and real and popular.

it was nirvana in many many ways.

it was the musical equivalent of the renaissance, expressionism, and surrealism having a gangbang right in front of our ears.

which is how lollapalooza was created, and why it was so successful.

since that shotgun blast in seattle not only has rock died with no hope on the horizon of a star as big as cobain, but rap has gone top 40 with cartoon characters like outkast and boy banders like justin replacing the likes of snoop dogg, dre, and biggie in the hip hop.

radio and mtv is back in that horrible mess that nirvana exploited and rallied against, and they did it so beautifully that everyone who got it could just sit there and smile cuz it was so simple.

people try to pick kurts words apart and you cant. he revealed nothing in his words.

people try to look at the music, but thats also a mystery.

they look at the goofy bouncing bass player as the weak link, but krist was no weak link, he was ideal.

nirvana was just as punk rock wearing surgeon’s jackets and smashing guitars as they were wearing sweaters on mtvs unplugged. kurts voice was just as violent as his power chords.

what i loved about him was he seamlessly mixed metal and punk and thrash and pop together with nursery rhymey lyrics that both insulted the listener, confused the critic, and rewarded the fan.

he was everything and nothing.

he was heavy metal rock star and weezer.

he was that sad little kid in the corner and the sleeping giant awakened.

he married the right girl and the wrong woman.

he was a fish swimming upstream and headed down hill.

he was the most spectacular disaster ever documented and i was right there so close that i still cant even believe it not even now ten years later.

and its still hard to listen to that music because it has become so personal.

but it blows away everything that has come after it, it destroyed metal almost singlehandedly, and it makes the lying liars seem that much more fake.

i miss kurt cobain and nirvana more than i miss everything that ive ever missed put together.

he influences this blog far more than i could possibly explain.

one of the few bands that makes me as happy as nirvana did is tsar, who i understand is playing tonight.

ken layne + matt welch + anita rowland

Speaking from the tongue of an experienced simpletion who obviously would rather be an emascluated, infantile complain-ee. This note should be pretty easy to understand. All the warnings from the punk rock 101 courses over the years, since my first introduction to the, shall we say, ethics involved with independence and the embracement of your community has proven to be very true .

I haven’t felt the excitement of listening to as well as creating music along with reading and writing for too many years now. I feel guilty beyond words about about these things.

For example when we’re backstage and the lights go out and the manic roar of the crowd begins, it doesn’t affect me the way in which it did for Freddy Mercury, who seemed to love, relish in the love and adoration from the crowd, which is something I totally admire and envy.

The fact is, I can’t fool you, any one of you. It simply isn’t fair to you or me. The worst crime I can think of would be to rip people off by faking it and pretending as if I’m having 100% fun. Sometimes I feel as if I should have a punch-in time clock before I walk out on stage . I’ve tried everything within my power to appreciate it (and I do, God believeme I do, but it’s not enough).

I appreciate the fact that I and we have affected and entertained a lot of people. I must be one of those narcissists who only appreciate things when they’re gone. I’m too sensitive. I need to be slightly numb in order to regain the enthusiasm I once had as a child.

On our last 3 tours, I’ve had a much better appreciation for all the people I’ve known personally and as fans of our music, but I still can’t get over the frustration, the guilt and empathy I have for everyone. There’s good in all of us and I think I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too fucking sad. The sad little sensitive, unappreciative, Pisces, Jesus man.

Why don’t you just enjoy it?

I dont know!

I have a goddess of a wife who sweats ambition and empathy and a daughter who reminds me too much of what I used to be, full of love and joy , kissing every person she meets because everyone is good and will do her no harm. And that terrifies me to the point where I can barely function.

I can’t stand the thought of Frances becoming the miserable, self-destructive, death rocker that I’ve become.

I have it good, very good, and I’m grateful, but since the age of seven, I’ve become hateful towards all humans in general. Only because it seems so easy for people to get along and have empathy. Only because I love and feel sorry for people too much I guess.

Thank you all from the pit of my burning, nauseous stomach for your letters and concern during the past years. I’m too much of an erratic, moody, baby!

I don’t have the passion anymore, and so remember, it’s better to burn out then to fade away.

Peace, Love, Empathy

Kurt Cobain

Frances and courtney, I’ll be at your altar. Pleas keep going Courtney, for Frances. For her life, which will be so much happier without me.

I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU!

keep on keeping on. saturday my truest took me out for barbeque ribs and we faught and i suppose that was to be expected then we made up then we faught some more. this afternoon she told me that she was madder at me than i thought and i was all whoa.

sunday i went to the laker game with my old roommie. they played well but still lost. i dont understand.

shaq and malone played well. kobe was hot. you’d think that would be enough but san antone are the defending chumps so you really have to whale on them if youre going to win.

thank god for parody.

parady.

however you spell that shit.

before the game liana and i had a mexican breakfast. she told me that she would wait for my divorce and then she will have little black babies with me. i told her shes going to find a nice jewish man to settle down with and if she wants black kids so badly she should adopt them with him but she dabbed a little hot sauce on her tortilla and picked the onions out of her taquito and told me i was loco.

im totally loco.

clipper girl was at the game and waved at me. she was sitting next to her cousin in a luxury suite sipping a cosmo out of a glass through a straw. she had on her clipper jersey. dork.

the laker girls came out in an outfit that i didnt recognize. it was long yellow sweat pants and a long sleeve yellow shirt with black stripes. and then i saw the lettering on the front. it said Kill Bill and on the back it said DVD comes out April 6. it was the dumbest ad ive ever seen.

dont ho out my hos, lakers. sheesh.

outside the game a brotha was selling kobe tshirts. on the back of the shirts it said, no more white chicks.

it was nice to go to a 12:30p game, cuz we were done at 3:30p and i had time to take a little nap and wait for my wife to come home from the market. the plan was to watch 60 minutes, the simpsons and the sopranos but we just made sweet love and let the spaghetti sauce burn the pot.

afterwards we ate bannana splits for dinner.

tsar plays tonight + go + rampant intellectualism

so as to celebrate my nuptuals. last night i went out with welch, basart, and karisa. we went to the dodgers/angels game. everyone drank except karisa cuz she was driving. she actually had one bud light. know how much one plastic bottle of budweiser light goes for at dodger stadium, seven fifty.

apparently i owed basart fifty bucks. actually he refreshed my memory that last year he gave me fifty bucks for the send my ass to the world series fund and i refunded everyone who paid in paypal instantly but ken paid cash so i never got it back to him.

so he said no problem pay me back in beers at the dodger game and i was all cool, that should send me back about a six pack and a hot dog.

we looked for an atm.

there was one on the whole level.

note to self, offer to pay the dodgers 20% of all atm transactions for the 5 atms that they will allow me to have on the the blue level, and 25% of all atm transactions that they will allow me to have on the other levels.

one atm per level is as retarded as the dodger lineup that will take the field this year.

afterwards we all drank in welches backyard and listened to old tapes of him singing princes purple rain.

and when i got home i realized that somehow i suddenly owed basart $80.

good times.

i got home at 4am and my wife didnt complain at all.

on monday you can meet us all, matt, ken, karisa, and moxie, at the tsar show at the el rey.

bring your friends and we can have a friend-off to see who has the coolest chums.

welch + basart + mc brown lives a better life than you do

today, my true love and i broke up and moved away from each other.

i didnt cry. i dont know why. i know why. cuz my new pad had so many boxes and no couch and i couldnt find a place to sit down. its hard for me to cry standing up.

its weird to think that its been so long since i was with renee maria garcia (pictured) who i would torture in so many ways. sometimes i wouldnt get out of bed for an entire weekend. this was before the blog. sometimes i wouldnt do the dishes for years. this was before the breakup. sometimes i wouldnt shower for days.

comparing her three years to mine, shes winning hands down. shes got a better pad than me, a better job, she looks better, she has a fairly new car.

me, ive got you. and a couple cheerleaders. a pot to piss in, but who wants to piss in pot? she comes over from time to time and i ask if we could get married and this morning she called and asked if i wanted to take the day off to help her find a new apartment in hollywood. i said whats wrong with living on the beach and she said, no good coffee shops. no style, no flair, no soull. and i said, marry me. and she said, but youre already married. and i was all, as a christian the government cannot get in the way of me having two wives. its biblical. king solomon, an ancestor of david and all the way down the line to jesus and up to adam had a thousand wives.

it’s my religious right.

she was all, i didnt want to marry you when you had no wives and i want to marry you less now that you have a very very pretty wife.

they say that everyone has a soul mate.

mine gave me five years to fuck up and i fucked up each and every year.

shows to go ya.

when i first moved into laynes old place + sad picture + charlize was down with me three years ago

lots of losers are married. my problem is now i only have two more goals to complete: have a kid, and go to heaven.

and im not even sure i want that first one any more. whats the point again? to have something that looks like me? ive never liked the way i look, why would i want to stare at something that will keep staring back?

my wife is passed out on the couch. shes been on the phone all day. ive been on the phone all day. all ive wanted to do is write. not necessarilly to you, but to someone. probably to me in the past. keep banging cheerleaders. theres nothing wrong with moxie. shes awesome. she cooks well. she always looks spectacular. very loving. far more emotional than she writes. intellectual. sensual. spiritual. and she likes to watch porn and crank call people by telling them that shes watching porn and wants to talk dirty to a stranger.

i do love her.

she knows i didnt really want to get married, but it was sorta like college: now is the time to do it. grow up fucker, everyone else is.

everywhere i go i hear the who. csi, slackers, fm, am. but passion of the christ is going to be the biggest movie of all time and how come i dont find myself in any more conversations about jesus than i had last year at this time? cuz people havent yet learned how to talk about the bible or religion or books or movies. i heard two guys talk about south park the other day and you know how they did it? they ran down the plot. thats it.

theres at least two times in the bible where jesus weeps and whats up with that mr mel gibson who’s fancy movie starts off with the first time the son of God cries. the second time is when he’s being crucified and hes about to die and he wails “why hath Thou forsaken me?” which is almost at the very end of mr gibsons brutal movie.

Jesus doesnt cry when he’s being whipped or when the nails go through his hands and feet or when he gets the crown of thorns or when peter denies him three times before the cock crows.

he cries at the begining of the movie because he’s bummed that this is his last night on Earth, the show, the big time, the reason for everything, the home planet, the grand experiment, the big blue marble, the third rock, the mothership. but hes also crying because he will never get to be a man again, because hes excited and nervous about paying for every sin that was ever committed and will ever go down. hes crying because the pressure must have been unreal, hes crying because he spent thirty some years on Earth and now hes going to have to go back to being otherworldly, more otherworldly than normal. and hes crying because even though his twelve were all knuckleheads, all of them, hes going to miss them because thats what mankind is, he learned, a slovenly hurrang of mediocre non-believers who wouldnt know God if he was freestyling parables next to them.

and for you kids out there who read the new testament and wonder where the peace loving hippie jesus is with flowers in his hair being all lovey dovey jefferson airplane its in those tears the night in the woods, right before the arrest. thats when you see that God loves you. cuz he met you and he dug you and now its time to say goodbye to all our family…

and as good as the passion is they dont talk about why jesus wept or when or what it meant, and thats cool. no really. thats cool. how could they have?

people ask why you cry at weddings and most people say its cuz weddings are beautiful. and ive been to some kickass beautiful weddings in my day from the rolling hills of france to the dramatic cliffs of baja california, from the presidio in frisco to the train station in la and many other places inbetween. ive seen lovebirds and ive seen beautiful things, trust me. i dont cry. theres beauty everywhere.

but i cried at my wedding the other day for probably the same reason why jesus wept on the cross waiting for the man. cuz a chapter, a huge chapter was ending, and just like the messiah, the only next chapter worth mentioning would be the last chapter. even the good book isnt interested in its main character after the crucifixion until revelations, end times, judgement day, the night of the locust which will come like a theif when youre least expecting it. the surprise ending.

all the stuff between the wedding and the funeral seemed to be filled with all the droll menutia that the savior must have to go through between the dawn of christianity and the end of the world. and women wonder why we need our televisions so big. because we want to forget that we’re alive.

the reason the clans of past generations got married at younger ages, im learning, is because you’ll do anything when you’re young dumb and full of idealism. you’ll sign up for the army, you’ll vote republican, you’ll get tattoos, you’ll knock up your girlfriend, and you’ll even swear to stick together until you die. all fucked up things that should probably be illegal. two kinds of not giving a fuck: when you dont know any better and when youve seen it all. get your cock sucked by three girls in one night and tell me how you feel about the new blah blah blah record and i bet your interest in top fourty music vanishes like vicodin at a dallas cowboy training camp buffet table.

youre being forsaken, jesus, because you forgot that no one here gets out alive.

and nobody is here to save you.

youre God, remember. you’re waiting on you. you wanted to be malkovich. you sent your son you down to the earth to save all the you’s made in your i mage. dont freak out when one crucifixion you looks like three yous and one of them is talking shit the whole time. youre being forsaken because youre a mustardseed short of a miracle but the miracle is that youre a mustardseed short of anything since you are after all perfect and God and this is your magic moment and in forgetting your line you deliver the most human line of all which is

get me out of here im a celebrity

but mel gibson is a catholic. and catholics created a world where on one hand they say the only way to the father is through the son but on the other hand they have all these saints and all these cardinals and all these bishops and then theres the pope and theres the virgin mary and theres priests who cant have sex for some reason, and all of those people are celebrities with their own prayers like the one to st christopher that as a boy i was taught to pray to before i played basketball so apparently the only way to the father might be through the son but if you want a double double the son cant help you out as well as the middle man. and that sort of teaching should be illegal too but its snot its not only tolerated but revered and now its one of the reasons why radio station talk show hosts cant talk about fucking which might be the sole reason that people keep on keeping on in the first place cuz it sure as hell aint cuz of the promise of the american dream or to wait for the next volume of kill bill to get released.

only in america, which kicks the shit out of anywhere else, would we tolerate adults telling other adults that they cant talk about their favorite topic because kids might hear. only in america would we dumb down our entertainment and limit our right to speech because of the possibility that little us’s might get the wrong idea about cocks going into cunts. heres the wrong idea about sex: that kids hearing about it on tv or radio could get damaged or scarred or twisted or fucked up or damaged. heres what damages people (children and adults) in regards to sex: when idiots do, key word is do, hurtful shameful dumbass sex shit to people who dont want that shit done to them.

show a kid 8 hours of sex a day for 10 years and i will show you a kid who will end up normal. how can i be so sure? because most kids have more than just basic cable and most kids end up around other kids and most kids have two working ears and two working eyes and over ten years they end up seeing and hearing and talking about sex tons and most of them turn out to be you and me which are fucked up humans but probably doing ok in regards to whats ok and whats not ok about our cocks and our cunts so leave howard stern alone and do something about these fucking gasoline problems like im paying you to you fucking asswipes.

i could go on more but my wife has risen from her little cat nap and wants to get boned again, and she should get what she signed up for when she chose a black man to be her lawfully wedded husband. we only had a few deals. we would never refuse the other physical pleasure, we would never lie, and we would never bring home a fuck disease. i never thought i would be in this sort of situation where i would be so happy and so empty at exactly the same time but here it is and its pretty much what i feared id feel if the cubs won the world series without deserving it. so i hope i stop feeling like a yankee fan by morning.

caught in the blog + nay has a new layout + r.i.p. sloopy

and moxie pleaded with me to announce this yesterday like she did so people would acutally believe us, but i put Lick up so it would be on time. then we got it on for the sixth time and because im olde i passed out in a happy little heap in the last bachelor pad that i will ever have.

the first person who knew was my landlord. I told him two weeks ago that I was going to propose and if she said yes I would like to get of my lease. Because I pay so little rent you could see his smile through the phone. He’s been trying to get me out of that apartment for years. The place on the left and the right are now renting for twice my rent and my place is bigger and better than both of them.

then i had to tell my college girlfriend Jeanine who picked out the ring and put in a bigger and better diamond. Moxie is a classy girl, so we decided a vintage ring was the way to go.

i also told karisa because of all the girls i know, for some weird reason i thought i would eventually marry her. she and i get along perfectly, and we share a lot of similar beliefs, but shes the wrong sign and we’ve never gotten past that. and now that she has a man who is all the things that i will never be: tall, rich, hung, i knew we’d only be Just Friends.

if only we woulda had one night in the sack, i know she woulda come around… oh well. a man needs friends. im told.

the last person i told was my “true love”. she knew how close moxie and i have been over this year, but i wanted to make sure that there was no way in hell that she wanted to get back with me. chris was clear. she said there was no way in hell. i was all what if hell froze over. she said even if hell froze over i wouldnt be getting back up in that shit.

i didnt tell my mom, cuz she woulda wanted to come to the ceremony, i didnt tell my friends cuz they woulda wanted to come, she didnt tell her friends or family cuz they probably woulda said, “youre marrying a black liberal?”

many funny things about this relationship and our blogs. even though i say that nothing in here is true, the belief out there is that i have a turnstyle to my apartment where all the hot young ladies of la just come in and out. so not true. shit, look at me!

then moxie has been sobbing over these totally ridiculous boring NOT HANDSOME bros and people totally believe it. have none of her readers ever met her or looked at her? the girl is fucking on fire. and smart. and funny! and totally parties.

who on earth would believe the crap that she has been writing over there?

apparentely everyone.

so we went with it. i wrote about dating cheerleaders (which i was doing up until about a year ago) and she wrote about being all bummed out with her love life (which was the furthest from the truth).

this valentines we had a super romantic day, and she tried to give her readers hints that she wasnt going out with a long haired pretty boy bush lover. tell me that illustration isnt the epitome of me and my new wife.

and lately, if youve noticed, ive been putting up lots of pictures up of my favorite family, the cobains. moxie has always wanted to tie me down, and ive always said that theres no way i could marry a republican with no ass. her arguement was that kurt got married in his twenties to a woman who might not have been the most stable person for him, but they made a beautiful baby who will probably save rock and roll.

she said our children would save america, and thus the world.

so i was in.

it didnt hurt that she f’s like a beast. 4 times a day is rare. normally we go 6-7. she claims thats what normal people do when theyre in love. apparently ive only been in love a few times cuz i dont remember that sort of action.

because we never talk about politics, ever, we never fight. if Bush does something stupid and we’re watching tv we will change the channel. i will laugh to myself quietly, but i wont bring it up. if i do she tells me she wont put on the little slinky thing she knows i like, so i shut my trap and say something like, ooh, look at the new beyonce video.

i will reserve talking about the special day that i proposed and we eloped cuz some things should remain private. both of our lives are generally public, to a point, but some things are extremely personal, and thats why we got hitched the way we did. shes a deeply personal person and i couldnt care less what people think one way or the other, so it was cool with me to keep the affair, proposal, and nuptials just between her me and the lord above.

feel free to meet us for drinks at Marie Callendar’s on Wilshire on Monday after 6pm, which is a few hours before the Tsar show at the El Rey.

we love all of you and we plan on celebrating with everyone on Monday and later this month.

mox’s announcement + the first time we met + more pics from that day