“i bet i dont get into rad school”

tommy burrowed himself into

the weird nightmare

oblivious to pipes being banged as warnings

deaf to the shouts of encouragements

equipped only with a cassette copy of motely crue’s

too fast for love,

a loosely rolled collection of

mexican shake humbolt green sticky nice

and twigs

and a daypack filled with dozens of soft and melting

milky way dark candy bars

a chinese tune ching chung chwanged in his head

and then crazy drums

and he swore he could hear his mother calling out to him

as he made stoney love to his fiancee

while a muted tenor blew

and cherry blossoms floated



upon his sweaty white pimpley scratched back.

her name was elisa and she was sixteen


six Teen. Jeeze!

6 + teen

i am sixteen

she screamed

i screamed

he had other things to do with his time

like nothing

so he did it.


brevity my ass the colon argued

i dont care how nice you thought those two plops wound up

how strong and straight and clean and perfect

they became and are

and wont be.

we still have something that needs to come out

inside me.

and elisa said what is it

tommy took out a melted bar of candy

and rubbed it all over himself

and then another

and then one more

he walked over to a hive where the hornets lived

looked at elisa and kicked the hive

and then kicked it again

it fell

some pissed hornets flew out

and then just like at a jewish wedding tommy stepped

right ontop of that hive and squooshed it flatlike

sometimes in weird nightmares the shadow just wants to

chase not catch you

the dark wants to scare not kill you

evil wants to play not eat you

and girls want to sex not love you

she was sixteen with the finest blonde hair

and perfect lips

sixteen going on


and that fine hair was so light that when

it fell over her eyes

you could see her close

and then

open them

butterscotch windshade palms on my shoulderblades

airconditioned tv room downstairs its nearly noon

dancing like an imbecile, huffing like a dirty muffler

dressed up like a roman disco

laughing like a broken hiccup

this guy hates me + so does this guy + she loves me

i dont like award shows.

i hate the grammys the most, then the emmys, and then the oscars.

mtv awards bother me cuz those people should know better, but they dont.

so today the Oscar nominations were announced and there are two glaring ommisions as far as big awards go

Fahrenheit 9/11 and Passion of the Christ didnt get any big award nominations.

wtf is that all about?

did they not break enough records? did they not cause enough controversy? did they not make people think enough?

could it because they didnt cast Leo DiCaprio?

Titanic was a historical blockbuster that set records in boxoffice sales where its big star dies in the end, and Titanic got plenty of Oscar noms, why not Passion?

Isnt the story of how Mel Gibson put the money into it himself enough to get some love from Hollywood? Especially after it was so loved by the entire freaking world?

apparently not.

same goes for Michael Moore, who made the most-talked about documentary of all time. doesnt he get any props from the academy for delivering the top grossing doc ever? a film so huge that it changed the way people think of documentaries gets no respect from an industry that has never had much press about any documentary until Moore showed up a few years ago.

i thought hollywood was liberal.

i guess the instapundits were wrong about that too.

so yes, im disappointed in the award show that often disappoints more than it gets it right.

in my book if your job is to acknowledge films, directors, and actors that went above and beyond in the previous year theres no way that you have no room in the inn for the biggest r-rated film ever or the biggest doc ever?

meanwhile Shark Tale has a shot at best animated film.

nice job, dipshits.

bitter girl + sheila + narkoleptik

if you watch enough “Cops”

you’d think that all black folk are crazy, but you’ll never see a brotha jogging in the snow with no shirt on, or jumping into a swedish ice pond in the winter, or running on a football field as theyre about to kick an extra point. so step.

a new chick came over last night and was talking and talking and talking and i was smiling and smiling and i know im a bastard because all i kept thinking was, when can i kiss her, and if we dont kiss, can she leave so i can play with my newly fixed computer.

im not at all the man i thought i would grow up to be.

sean bonner, who has beautifully redesigned his blog will be turning thirty next month and is stressing.

i unrolled some of my scrolls from the early 20th century when i had celebrated my third decade and the memories came rushing back to me. my notes tell me that i had my girlfriend at the time dress like a harlot and stand at a street corner.

i pulled up to her and asked her how much. she said, for you tony pierce, just $500.

i said, how about for all night? she said, for you, $666. and she climbed in.

we drove to a fancy hotel that i had reserved for the evening.

afterwards we sat in the unused bed and ate chicken right from the bucket until my mobile phone rang. it was my old band. they had reunited just for my special day.

so me and my gal got dressed and i arrived at my home and there were all my friends and there was my old band and i went upstairs to the bathroom and there was a huge Pokey outfit. i slipped into it, put on the head, walked downstairs and rocked out with the band.

afterwards we drove back to the hotel, she dressed up like a different dirty little girl and there was much rejoicing.

i passed out with a thigh in my mouth.

not sure if it was my baby’s or the colonels, but it did have several spices and it was finger licking good.

so sean, may i suggest that you do everything that you can to numb the pain

but also realize that youre younger than you think.

id do anything to go back to that penthouse room many moons ago.

not to mention jam with that band again.

but most of all, enjoy every birthday that you get to celebrate.

zulieka + welchie + sk smith

“the baby nodded”

church. rock music. sex. drugs. you.

all these things are mixed inside,

churning, breathing, oozing seeping.

seeking for that right combo

and you know how you can tell when

ive had the right amount:

my hair.

sometimes its nicely proportionate

you look adorable in peppermint

sometimes it looks like dirty weeds

i was at Wal-Mart yesterday thinking

about how i will turn out as a parent

moms were pussyfooting around with their precious angels

and the dads werent putting up with jack

id say junior hand daddy that baseball bat

are you buying that for us poppa

no im going to beat you better yet

go over to the gun section and get me a single

pump rifle and either you shut up and just

look at the merchandise like good children

or point and scream at what you want

and i will try to shoot your little pointy finger

and if i hit you, well, you lose

but if i miss then i will buy the item

your little heart desires.

i think i’ll have good kids.

i think i’ll raise the type of kids who’ll either

understand all

or grow up planning my death with such detail

and creativity that even i’ll be

proud to have sired them.

born on a whim.

the lightbulb is dim.

shes dancing and smiling and motioning and drinking gin

all the red auras of yesterday are sinking in

grateful dead matriarch smoking dope in peoples park

in oakland its another thing

in chinatown a man named Ding

and you expect me to understand

i do i dont i give a damn

i was aiming at your finger Sally but i picked off

the babies hand the babies hand oh god a doctor

i shot the babies hand

well he was pointing my oldest said

and stinking up and crying, dad

whats fair is fair my girl agreed

the baby nodded and looked at me.

a twenty something life + soxaholix + danielle is back