so i will have to post this here.

dear anti,

im bummed out that you guys arent getting along. you two were super cute together when i met you the first time. im not picking sides on this. all sides lose anyway in these matters, except those of us who read this as literature.

and as literature, i must say, this post kicked ass.

i will steal as much of it as i can remember in upcoming screeds.

i also found interest in the whole canada/america thing. not until blogs did i ever know there was tension there – or even much difference.

anyway, if i were to describe the day that i met raymi, i would say that it was like meeting a younger, hotter, shorter, brunetter courtney love. the entire world was radiating through her and back out. warts and all as they say.

i think she expresses that pretty well in her blog, which is why we all like her blog.

love, in my case.

she is a rockstar several times over with just as many ways to inspire us as to make us wince. but somehow she has like eight rockstars in her trying to rock their way out.

toplessly.

it saddens me that it has come to this between you because i saw you take care of her when she needed someone and since no amount of pussy is worth that much stress, i knew you must have really loved her.

i’m glad that you posted what you did today and promised not to make more of it publicly (and i know posting this on my blog now isnt making it any less-public, but wtf.) not that life is all gorgeous all the time, nor should be portayed in such bullshit ways. but im pretty sure you will live up to your word. and im glad you didnt trash her.

i like that you explained to us all how you cheated on her.

you two are classic people and excellent souls. it is a absolute honor to be likened to either of you because i have the utmost respect for both of you. you both continue to push the envelope in far more ways than showing green buds and titties.

you inspire me each time i come to your blogs and i want to steal everything.

just remember that no matter what,

you’ll always be my third favorite blooger

hope things mellow out,

tony

i know there are people who lurk out there. i even know that some of them are quite famous and powerful.

some of my friends know these people and they ask me occasionally if i know how badass i am to have these people as readers, but im not impressed.

even the popular and famous need to read something on their internet screens.

hello, all of you: friends, foes, famous, not so famous, and the ignored.

i can understand why certain people would want to leave anonymous comments. some people have an awful lot to be ashamed about. some people play politics regarding what blogs they read and what they dont. some people are concerned by what their friends and associates would think, gads, if they signed their name to a comment on the busblog, or lord help them, agreed with me publicly.

what i can’t understand is why people would leave anonymous negative comments to me regarding my attack on Peeps.

PEEPS!

my happy easter photo essay is one of my favorites.

in it i denounced Christians for allowing their most holy religious holiday to be taken over by chocolate treats, jelly beans, and the easter bunny. i question them for giving their children peeps and letting the american culture water down the day that their messiah rose from the dead after paying for our sins.

and i did it by telling the story of Angus Young, my favorite guitarist of all time, who, like Jesus, also had four brothers. I asked if Angus would appreciate Quiet Riot music on his birthday instead of AC/DC anthems.

as a Christian I would have thought that other Christians would agree with me, but in the two and a half years I have gotten a variety of negative reaction from certain Christians.

last night’s being the most disturbing.

not only was there an anonymous comment that denounced me, calling me dumb, telling me that he didnt understand the Peeps point, but then went over to my friend and yours, danielle’s blog, and told me that she shouldnt be friends with me anymore, infact she should shoot me in the face!

fortunately danielle is a typical sagatarius and you cant tell those people to do anything, so i type to you from the cockpit of chopper one with no bullet holes in my lovely face

but i wonder if the Peeps industry wasn’t behind the couplet of comments that have infested this blog and danielle’s?

i never said that Peeps should be outlawed. Hell, make Jesus Peeps. make manger Peeps. make jenna fucking jamison peeps for all i care, but dont threaten to shoot me in the face because of a photo essay.

that you admit to not understand.

it will not suprise me if one day i do get killed by a gun + bullet + idiot, but i doubt that it will happen over a misunderstanding surrounding Peeps.

and if i do go down that way,

promise me that you will avenge my wrongful death

with an unrelenting barrage of Pez.

koganuts + sceinthire + rabbit blog

my hero. the greatest writer of all time. the reason for everything.

tonight i write to you from hollywood california, where the king of the world once lived. lived for a long time. drank mostly but lived a lot too.

bukowski, savior to the underclass, defender of the forgotten. hope to the ugly and the scarred and the uncool and the sick.

proof that poetry can come from everywhere, even the drunkard in the corner with the bag around his bottle.

like most great things, the Lord showed me bukowski in a library. procrastinating as always i roamed the 8th floor stacks in santa barbara and found a tidy little row of one bukowski novel after another. mixed in were poems. quick little ones, longer ones.

lines that floated in space

gave you time to think about them

everyday language in everyday settings like diners and hotel rooms and train stations and factories.

bukowski showed us that the hero of the story could have a nickel to his name and bad breath

and maybe not even the best intentions even, but he was alive and therefore somehow important, and the story would explain what first glance couldn’t.

the lesson of bukowski is the lesson for anything: don’t give up, you might not be an american idol at nineteen, you might not be born with the looks of a kennedy, you might not always have the luck o the irish, you might not even ever have a number one best seller on the ny times list. but you still have a shot at being the best because being the best isn’t about movie star looks, units moved, or luck.

being the best is about banging it out every day and every night better than the next guy, and definitely better than the pretty boy. its about taking back the night. its about picking fights until everyone knows that you’re in the ring and you might not be the king of each battle but you’re a force to be reckoned with. somehow.

bukowski didn’t have to speak french in his novels the way hemingway did. he didn’t have to tap dance around his drinking or stick his pinkie out or have to use the right glass or be international. he just fucking drank.

hem talked about wars and signed up and fought and buk fought too except he didn’t have the luxury of leaving after a few years, hank fought for decades. and lost for decades.

hemingway was 24 when he wrote the sun also rises and it was published immediately.

bukowski never had a steady publisher until he was nearly twice that, hell, he didn’t even start writing seriously until he was in his late thirties, but as soon as he started writing he never stopped. not even his mindless fulltime job at the LA post office that nearly killed him after his third year got in the way of his writing. in fact, when he returned to the grind and stayed there 12 more years, he finished his run by knocking out one of the finest novels of the american working class “Post Office.”

As a matter of fact, once John Martin launched Black Sparrow Press out of his own pocket, pretty much just to allow bukowski to quit his job and write as much as he wanted, he reeled off an impressive string of novels and poetry collections of high quality, creativity, and depth.

Notes of a Dirty Old Man, 1969

Post Office, 1971

Mockingbird Wish Me Luck, 1972

South of No North, 1973

Burning in Water Drowning in Flame, 1974

Factotum 1975

Love Is A Dog From Hell, 1977

Women, 1978

Play The Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin To Bleed A Bit, 1979

Dangling in the Tournefortia, 1981

Ham On Rye 1982

Hot Water Music, 1983

i like bukowski because he barely bitched about his lot in life. he didn’t run around saying oh woe is me. he didn’t write about how ts eliot was kicking his ass in book sales. he didn’t whine about how a certain young lady said she wouldn’t f him even if she lost a bet.

one thing bukowski did that i wish i had the guts to do was send his shit out to the world. he mailed off his poems and his stories and his everythings out to the publishers and magazine editors and newspapers and they mailed pretty much everything back.

far too punk rock for the good paying literature mags of his day, bukowski was forced to write for sex papers underground magazines and collections of unheard poets and writers. but unlike van gogh he kept at it. getting little nibbles here and there. writing regardless. telling the stories of everyday life in americas lower class.

he married a wealthy five-foot tall texan with a stiff neck, divorced her, and then married two other times.

late in his life good luck found him and not only did he die wealthy and famous, but he lived the last decade of his life respected for staying true to himself, never selling out or changing for the times or for the big bucks.

his stories and novels live on. his poems resonate stronger now than ever. theres not a writer alive who match him with the one-two punch of poetry and fiction, longevity, and production.

and unlike papa hemingway and the other quote unquote important american writers other than twain, bukowski could make you laugh.

kyle + kevin m. + xtracyx

by Charles Bukowski

In the betting line the other day

man behind me asked,

“are you Henry Chinaski?”

“uh huh,” I answered.

“I like your books,” he went on.

“thanks,” I answered.

“who do you like in this race?” he asked.

“uh uh,” I answered.

“I like the 4 horse,”

he told me.

I made my bet and went back

to my seat….

the next race I am standing in line

and here is this same man

standing behind me again.

there are at least 50 lines at

the windows but he has to find

mine again.

“I think this race favors the

closers,” he said to the back of

my neck.

“the track looks heavy.”

“listen,” I said,

not looking around,

“it’s the kiss of death to talk about horses

at the track…”

“what kind of rule is that?”

he asked. “God doesn’t make

rules…”

I turned around and looked at him:

“maybe not, but I do.”

after the next race

I got in line, glanced behind me:

he was not there:

lost another reader.

I lose 2 or 3 each week.

fine.

let ’em go back to Kafka.

here in this dark cold unfriendly city alone, today danielle was in the best mood i think ive ever seen her in.

the boys dont even strip search her the way they used to when she would try to gain access into the xbi, theyre all hey danielle how was your weekend.

she tells them and they smile and look down her dress but she doesnt care, shes outta here soon, shes off to rad school, shes playing that game of life the way you oughtta, taking the long cut through College and soon she will have a pink and blue peg in her lil car in no time

and you’ll see her shopping at the gelsons, watching the mexican load her mercedes, telling her kids to shush shush mommy has to make a phone call

and you’ll remember these days like i will when she skips to my desk in the hangar twirling around and hopping on my lap whispering in my ear and saying

lets blow this taco stand at noonish and have an early lunch.

to which i said, my love, ive forgotten my camera at the hideout.

and she replied, where for art thou camera of magic

and i said over by my hollywood hills cabana

and at noonish we sped across town feeling like a zillion bucks, exchanging good lucks, and she made a to-go order with palms thai via her cellular phone, and there it was waiting for us when we arrived. ta-da.

so we ate it at my place. we watched a little south park, she tried on several of the sunglasses that i purchased via ebay. and we had to drive home.

had to, i say, because it was so warm outside and so nice, and we were having so much fun, that we really just wanted to rip off each others clothes and hang out at my house drinking gin and juice and giving the finger to the man.

but alas we’re good little injuns and we drove back to work, where we arent loved the way we should be, work that doesnt pay us what we should earn, work that doesnt even really want us

and during the ride home danielle said “i will miss you so much tony.”

i said, “i dont believe you.”

she said, “how can i prove to you that i mean what i say?”

i said, “lift up your dress a little and let me photograph your lovely legs for the good readers of my blog.”

and she not only lifted her little dress for you, my sweet friends,

but for america as a whole.

and parts of canada.

jess + jennifer + sk smith

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I’m too tough for him,

I say, stay in there, I’m not going

to let anybody see you.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I pour whiskey on him and inhale

cigarette smoke

and the whores and the bartenders

and the grocery clerks

never know that

he’s in there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I’m too tough for him,

I say,

stay down, do you want to

mess me up?

you want to screw up the works?

you want to blow my book sales in Europe?

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I’m too clever, I only let him out

at night

sometimes

when everybody’s asleep.

I say, I know that you’re there,

so don’t be sad.

then I put him back,

but he’s singing a little

in there,

I haven’t quite let him die

and we sleep together like that

with our

secret pact

and it’s nice enough to

make a man weep,

but I don’t weep,

do you?

today is charles bukowski’s birthday 8/16/20

poem for my 43rd birthday + my bukowski photo essay + ebay listings “bukowski“

location: hollywood

hair color? skintone

eye color? brown and occassionally bloodshit

age? hundred and something

sexiest man ever? prince

do you like your breasts? they’re hairy, theyre firm, they dont sag, whats not to love?

color of your bathing suit: white, blue, and frequently unused

is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? depends on if the love was worth it.

give me a book, movie, CD, and song recommendation. cruddy, my life as a dog, loretta lynn’s van lear rose, band+girls+money

what could you never tell your parents? who wil wheaton is and how many more hits he gets than me every damn day.

are you in a romantic relationship right now? several, however, unfortunately none are sexual

paper or plastic? plastic which i then recycle at the store

favorite song lyric? if only you were lonely/i’d go home with you

tell me a secret: theres not as much lying going on here as i would like

are you a good liar? the best, which is why i try not to abuse it

opinion on gay marriage? if we enforced the “till death do you part” commitment then marriage would mean something. therefore all of this is just a piss test to see who the homosexual more. currently the president is winning that dubious honor.

if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? i would have interned for the LA Times a long time ago.

what’s your favorite accent? pillow talk

are you on antidepressants? fuck modern medicine until they can cure the common cold.

tell me a joke: half of america will vote for bush

everyone knows most people are… better than they come across on television

vous-parlez francais? un petite peut

is there a song or a CD or something that you strongly associate with a certain event in your life? i cant listen to the ramones’s version of “do you wanna dance” without thinking about the time that my friends’s apartment was being raided by the cops on the same night that the xbi poisoned me with six hits of liquid acid and i could barely walk let alone skateboard.

how have you changed in the past year? ive given up on all of my dreams. (in a good way.)

what is one thing you want to do before you die? triplets.

do you like to travel? mais oui.

states you’ve been to: almost all of them.

what countries have you been to? england, france, italy, sweden, denmark, belgium, switzerland, germany, mexico, aruba, spain.

where do/did you go to school?:

medinah high school, santa monica college, uc isla vista

smoke cigarettes? only while undercover

lucky number: 666

favorite super hero: underdog

favorite sport: competitive blogging

worst mistake you ever made: not marrying my true love in frisco

if you were an animal, what would you be? endangered

last cd you bought: American IV: The Man Comes Around by Johnny Cash

last movie you saw: magnolia

favorite tv channel: E!

ever been arrested? not yet

ever had to have surgery? im indestructible

kind of bike you had as a kid? schwinn with a banana seat and a sissy bar

kind of phone: lame ass big one.

lefty or righty: im a deadly slap hitter from both sides of the plate, but i have suprising power from the right side.

what would you want to do if you got drunk? smoke.

do you like your name? it’ll do for now.

what do you want to be when you grow up? fat(er)

favorite concert you have been to? replacements at the roxy in LA circa 1986

favorite board game: APBA

favorite drink: baileys tall with some ice and some cream

favorite sound: bacon crackling in the morning at a new girls house

favorite smell: freshly cut wrigley field grass in the early morning

drinks with or without ice cubes? this is 2004. such things shouldnt even have to be asked. the question should be what type of ice. i like the ones that look like little life preservers because the girls like to play little kissing games.

favorite thing to do on the weekends: think about writing

favorite soundtrack: urg: a music war

what was the first thing you thought to yourself when you woke up this morning: god im lucky.

what are you doing after you finish this? looking for a picture to put next to it. or two.

who did you get this from: fragrant de milo

litwack + planet sara + tim blair

and you know what happens when b-list bloggers come home tipsy, thats right, we leave comments on fcc chairman michael powell’s “blog” that he abandoned a month ago right before he said, “I am traveling for the next 2 weeks and will have limited internet access…”

know this: i will never be anywhere for two weeks with limited internet access. voluntarilly.

if i ever say something like that know that it’s code for “im being kidnapped, alert the authorities and search my house for clues!”.

but first, you really should click here to view the quickie little quicktime fisking that Outfoxed co-producer jim gilliam fine-tuned on everyone’s best friend bill o’reilly.

if you remember last week, gilliam posted a tv show where o’reilly was a guest. also on the panel was nyt columnist paul krugman. o’reilly visibly upset by Outfoxed, the currently released documentary that takes aim at Fox News and their talk shows led by o’reilly’s “The Factor”, began cracking and thus lying and exaggerating.

in this new clip gilliam splices that appearance with segments of Outfoxed that o’reilly is rallying against.

needless to say, we discover that the former host of A Current Affair is less than truthful.

gilliam wins.

o’reilly should probably either throw up the white flag and admit defeat, or put his tail between his legs and quit trying to fight Outfoxed, or at least stop saying that they edited his words when they clearly didn’t.

which brings us to the secretary of state’s son Chairman Powell

who thought it was not only a good idea to get a blog

but to get a blog with publicly displayed comments

hosted on a site called Always On, which, to its credit, lives up to its name.

anyone a little more familiar with the blogosphere, or even usenet, would know that if someone has a chance to call you an asshole via the internet, someone will.

which is why, if youre eligible for being called an asshole, you probably should host your own blog and have editorial control over your comments.

unless youre a kickass debater, and not a tool of the right, and totaly willing to be fair to people.

but if you have something to hide, as powell clearly does, you should probably do exactly as the chairman did, which was stop “blogging” immediately after three posts, never to return again.

well, i returned and i left a comment.

Dear Chairman,

I can understand why you wouldn’t want to blog about situations that you might have to make decisions about, but don’t you think it would be valueable to explain to the public and to current (and future) broadcasters and talent as to why you reached certain decisions?

For example when Howard Stern described anal/oral sex many years ago he was not fined. But then this year you went back in time to fine him. And then you didn’t fine him for all the stations that it was broadcast, just one. Detroit. Isn’t indecency in Detroit indecency in New York and LA and all the stations that Howard described blumpkins?

I have the same question about the Janet Jackson super bowl incident. Why were only a handful of the tv stations fined? Shouldn’t all of them been on a delay to protect their viewers from that tiny little brown spot on their television?

I would think that you would want to be very clear about your decision-making process and the reasons why only certain broadcasters and certain stations are fined while others are not. I would think that you would want everyone to know where the line is and why the line is there. I would think that you would want to silence your critics who say that you are nothing more than a tool of the right, and the best way to silence them is to show them that you are simply enforcing the rules and this is why you judged the way you did.

You were correct to start a blog. Blogs are perfect places to think outloud and get heard without having to call a press conference or speak to a reporter. Through a blog you can think about what you want to say, write it up, edit it, and then post it. By avoiding the more controversial/important topics you give creedence to the critics and appear to be hiding.

Why would the Chairman of the Federal Communications Commission want to censor his own communications in the freest form of communication in this new century: the blog?

tony_pierce | POSTED: 08.15.04 @02:07 + raymi + darling maggot + happy anniversary jack

the first time was when these hippie girls put weed in the spaghetti. true story.

then a month later in the dorms i accidentally put two of my roomates lsd laced sugar cubes in my cereal.

later that month, after that i came home drunk and started chewing on what i believed to be some dried out mushroom stems.

and then there was the time on new years eve where i drank from the ecstasy punch bowl

all reasons why i never thought i would get into the xbi

but they lie detectored me several times and saw that i was being truthful

and then They poisoned me while i was at college.

some of the drugs aren’t even on the market any more.

shit that should never had made it on the streets let alone behind the counter.

my childhood doctor wondered aloud why i had two kidney stones before i was 25 and i told him it was job related, he said what sort of job could do that to a man, i told him i was a soda tester, that i had to drink about a gallon of soda a day taste testing etc.

the doc said, wouldn’t you just spit it out after you had tasted it?

i said, i was also testing the caffeine levels. he said well it just produced a little kidney stone, i recommend that you find a new line of work.

but you cant quit the xbi.

once they poisoned me with a love potion.

i was on haight street at a bar called the midtown. these long dreadlocked vampire girls worked the bar. cute sparkley satan necklaces and noserings and powder. bleach white these girls with velvet long sleeves and striped turtlenecks and hair wrapped like a cobra around and around as it went up. barbed wire barrettes and doll head earrings.

i lived on 591 haight directly across the street from the midtown. a good girl who had just sexxed me called me from the payphone next to the liquor store and waved when i saw her. come over lets have a drink

i said im about to go out

she said one drink, she knew i never went out

i said

she said oooooone drink i swear how is one drink going to kill you

i said fine

and this was about the time when i thought i had quit the xbi

and maybe they thought that i had quit too

and the vampire girl with the shiny vinyl mini skirt and ripped running fishnets and tall boots uncorked a vial of the love potion

and spilled it into a frosty mug

knowing i would order a guinness

which i did

and i fell in love with that girl and did exactly what she wanted me to

and im still in love with her

but jeanine was a different story. there was no love potion. there weren’t even any good first dates. bad dates is what they were.

jeanine seduced me by singing for me, and playing guitar.

call of the wild.

and we were in super love deep deep love and two girls walked home from school with me. and they seemed to like me an awful lot.

and i liked both of them an awful lot.

and the girls sat down in my room with me, on the carpet, and it was the middle of the day like three p.m. and each of us had a bottle of beer in our hands, it was sunny outside, perfect, and we sat there and ate cookies and the feeling was exactly like the time when the xbi put ten hits of x in my baja burrito

accidentally.

and i was dressed up in a sombrero, i swear to you, and a poncho, for it was halloween, and my only assignment that night was to walk around del playa and make sure that the kids kept everything cool. so easy in such a mellow town.

apparently one of the guys would always number things with a decimal after it. so if you wanted two machettes he would type it up as 2.0 machete. so someone ordered one gram of mdma and he wrote it up as 1.0 but the guy in the supply room didn’t see the decimal point and grinded up 10 hits and there i was on dp loving everything that i saw.

and people say you cannot hallucinate on that shit but things were slow motion, the street looked like it was slightly wave-like like a gentle pond, and colors were slightly brighter. i did have a terrible headache in the morn.

so when me and those two girls were in my room finished with our cookies we sat there and looked at each other and one of the girls was very pale and tall and blonde and wore the reddest lipstick id ever seen

and i felt a trace of that ecstasy and the floors started to move and i could have definitely said lets kiss each other and it would have happened, not because im such a catch but because those girls could feel the overwhelming love that i was feeling for jeanine

and what solidified a deeper confidence in that love, my friend the truth blog, was by excusing myself from the room, going to the bathroom whose walls were “breathing” like the time the xbi put acid on my graham cracker during a campout in the woods

looking in the mirror and seeing that i had a slight sweat on my forehead

and saying to myself these girls are devils

super cute devils and probably not really devils but the flattery is all that is needed

fuck the followup.

and i went back in the room, i didn’t sit back down on the floor with them

i simply said i have to go now

even though i was in my own house

and the girls smiled at each other and walked out of the house together and we said that we’d see each other in class

sometimes you don’t know that you might be

the devil threat yourself.

doc searls + great pics from florida (scroll down), my wife was on dennis miller