weak signal

EVER WALK IN A ROOM AND GET A FEELING SOMETHING IS GOING TO END

2011-02-20T09:10:00.000-08:00

I have 3 nicknames for my cat: BLAKIE; HEATHEN NIGGLET; LITTLE ASSHOLE.

He likes to fetch a chain and eat cupcakes.

Gena likes to start her day by eating a cupcake.

Blake taught himself to fetch a chain after Sam ran away.

I guess being alone is lonely.

Frank Hinton has a new blog. Like an actual Google Blog.

Nobody blogs anymore.

Except Sam Pink.

Started reading THE AGONY OF POWER. I like it in a frustrating way.

A couple weeks ago I finished reading Sam's PERSON.

It is fucking awesome the way a child suddenly opens a door to find his mother masturbating with a shampoo bottle; or a toothbrush.

I finished reading it right before I got my new MRI's done.

One MRI scan caused white flashes in my brain.

Magnets are supposed to be safer than x-rays.

Science.

LOL

LICK THE SKIN UNTIL IT WOUNDS

2010-10-28T13:47:00.000-07:00

CLEAN STUMP

2010-10-12T13:22:00.001-07:00

MAN SHIT

2010-10-03T11:49:00.000-07:00

fuck, yes!

2010-09-30T17:42:00.000-07:00

sometimes i dream about it

it feels good
to shift

EVERYONE YOU KNOW IS AN IDIOT;

2010-09-22T18:06:00.000-07:00

it is okay

fret not

ZAXXON TRANSITION

2010-09-10T16:00:00.000-07:00

BEAUTY TAKEN OUT OF CONTEXT IS VANITY

2010-06-17T18:25:00.000-07:00

i want to drink a beer with poth of the two below. they are fucking rad.

BIRD OF PARADISE

2010-06-14T15:14:00.000-07:00

Type of my disciples. To those human beings in whom I have a stake I wish suffering, being forsaken, sickness, maltreatment, humiliation—I wish that that profound self-contempt, the torture of mistrust of oneself, and the misery of him who is overcome, not remain unknown to them: I have no pity for them because I wish them the only thing which can prove today whether one has worth or not—that one holds out.

I HAVE HANDS AND ENJOY NOTHING

2010-06-11T10:48:00.000-07:00

Crystal Dean you and gena never comment on my f/b ............did you two block me off :)
Yesterday at 6:33am · Comment · LikeUnlike

Jereme Dean mom, i wanted to say something about the goat but i couldn't thin of anything nice to say.

you are not blocked.
Yesterday at 9:54am ·

Crystal Dean OMG ......REALLEEEEEEEEEE ???? OH COME ON NOW.YOUCAN COMMENT WITHOUT BEING SEXUAL INAPPROPRIATE ! i KNOW YOU CAN DO IT :) :-)
Yesterday at 6:56pm ·

Jereme Dean I CUNT DO IT MOM.
Yesterday at 7:00pm via Email Reply ·

Crystal Dean ok disrespect....... what ever .
4 hours ago ·

Jereme Dean i am not a worthwhile human being mom. i'm sorry.
2 hours ago ·

Crystal Dean OMG ! you have a girl friend and son and brother and sister and mom who think the world of you .the self pity will only kill your spirit !
I dont know how to make you feel better ,
If I did not think you were worthwile I would have a borted you
have a peaceful day today ok
lov ma
about an hour ago via Email Reply ·

Jereme Dean it was mock self pity. but thank you for the encouraging words!
about an hour ago via Email Reply ·

LET'S DO SOME HOMOSEXUAL SHIT AND NOT TELL OUR WIVES.

2010-06-09T17:06:00.000-07:00

I am going to interview Tony O'Neill in July.

hopefully i don't fuck it up.

I need to write about meeting Michael Kimball.

i need to write a lot of shit.

Meeting MK went horrible. How's that for foreshadowing?

i am not a worthwhile human being.

Hi, How are you?

MAGGOTS IN RICE

2010-05-20T14:25:00.000-07:00

Tonight, Michael Kimball is in LA for the local premier (care of Ken Baumann) of his collaborative films 60 Writers/60 Places & I Will Smash You.

Michael is a worthwhile sentient being. It is rare I think such a notion about a person.

Come support words, images and smiling. 10pm tonight.

In the wood.

***

Rohmer on poetry:

hips, hips, motherfucking hips

2010-05-14T10:35:00.001-07:00

this is playing in the theater of my thought, at any sudden moment:

sadie on poetry:

move for me my dream:

opie makes me want to dream eternal electric:

i am going to attempt to crack the earth with my penis now:

ONLY THE TERRIFIED DIE OLD.

2010-05-13T10:18:00.000-07:00

FFC on poetry:

Every minute I stay in this room, I get weaker, and every minute Charlie squats in the bush, he gets stronger.

laughter in the landslide

2010-05-11T12:20:00.000-07:00

Toshiaki Toyoda on one of my favorite newish movies, 9 souls:

orson welles in 9 inch heels

2010-05-09T16:19:00.000-07:00

"All I have done to fight sexism. The whole Twisted Sister thing is very ambiguous: guys wearing makeup. We do not act like women; we act like men. We do not cater to the males or females in the audience. It is just one audience." -- dee snider

echo of the song

2010-04-23T16:42:00.001-07:00

Gena: :)
OMG I THINK I HEAR ARMENIAN SEX AGAIN
AHAHAHAHAHAHA
i need a dog whistle
so whenever she fucks
the dogs will all start barking at once
and she'll think it's because of her moans
me: hahaha
i agree
is she enjoying it?
or is it more like a trite moan?
Gena: eh it sounded like she was holding back
lame armenian sex
last time was a little better
me: yeah
she hasn't been fucked good
Gena: hahahah
me: she needs to let herself be taken
and consumed
by the act
like a beast
wailing
at the moon
Gena: hahahahahaahah
nice detail
today i give her a 3 out of 10
i could do better :D
hehehehe
me: you could fuck her better?
Gena: NOOOO EW
me: or mimic armenian sex noises better?
Gena: HAHAHA NO
I COULD GET FUCKED BETTER
BY YOU
me: hahaha
well i'm not laying pipe on her
so it is a difficult thing to discern
Gena: hahahaha good!
me: maybe she is a dead fuck
mannequin pussy
Gena: ew
that's weird
haha okay i don't want to talk about this anymore

if sorrow were a game, i would be the dragon of your spatial loneliness

2010-04-19T13:54:00.000-07:00

saturday i watched over some creatures recently squirted into this thing we call existence.

i volunteered my time to do so.

people laughed in my face when i told them my babysitting plans.

i guess it doesn't pay to give a shit about anything in hollywood.

silly me.

here are some pics (care of gena) of the creatures:

i brought the sexy back and put that shit away

2010-04-14T11:51:00.000-07:00

i am back from the book fair thing. i wasn't going to write about it.

some people asked me to write about it.

not sure why.

but i will acquiesce, in time.

really enjoyed meeting two people: jamie iredell & nicolle elizabeth.

dragon power.

the rain will perish before the sun.

2010-03-26T10:58:00.000-07:00

this guy made a lot of sense:

&

here is a poorly lit video of blake almost rolling off my record player:

***update***

here are some pics of sam & blake, with their respective work:

dandelions & dragons

2010-03-25T10:40:00.000-07:00

my son sent me a text this morning. here it is:

"hey dude blood meridian is bomb like i'm on the 2nd chapter and 12 people have died."

He was originally tasked with reading the entire collection of Mallory's "King Arthur" mythology, but he kept putting it down. My son indicated the language was too "old". He didn't understand it.

He has heard me speak of Blood Meridian previously, I guess, because he asked to read it instead of Mallory. I thought the choice was interesting. Many people have had problems reading the book.

To me, Blood Meridian is nothing more than a brilliant illustration of the intelligent male mind--isolated & violent--and I have always contended that the language of the book is not the issue.

I suspect women have a hard time reading it.

My son will be 13 in May. In three days he has made it to chapter 2. I'll let you know if he finishes the book.

transgender fist pump at the sadie hawkins dance.

2010-03-23T18:52:00.000-07:00

so, i guess, i am obligated to talk of this.

the collection is just my bullshit poetry. most of the poems i wrote to myself when i was very sad and alone.

i don't think anyone will really like the poetry book, because i wrote mostly with my mind in focus.

the title comes from an unpublished poem about suicide. i wrote the poem thinking about gena primarily but the poem is a love poem for all people existing within the confinement of society.

the aim of the poem is to devalue suicide by making it commonplace--to remove the romanticism.

i hate explaining poetry. let's do nitrous balloons and titty suck all night instead.

a polaroid picture of screaming.

2010-03-19T05:41:00.001-07:00

in dream, vision is clean.

that is actually a truthful statement. in my dreamstate my eyesight is 20/20.

what this means is i have been lucid dreaming, to some degree, for, i think, about 8 years now. that's non-stop--8 years of dream recognition.

i miss the pure dreams of childhood, when i was fearful of everything. those were real strong dreams.

sometimes intelligence and awareness sucks.

i think.

in dream, vision is clean.

2010-03-18T13:04:00.000-07:00

"Dreams are truthful manifestations. When I occasionally
have dreams of dying in battle or committing seppuku, if I brace
myself with courage, my frame of mind within the dream gradually
changes.

This concerns the dream I had on the night of the twentyseventh
day of the fifth month.

If one were to say in a word what the condition of being a
samurai is, its basis lies first in seriously devoting one’s body
and soul to his master. And if one is asked what to do beyond
this, it would be to fit oneself inwardly with intelligence,
humanity and courage.’ The combining of these three virtues
may seem unobtainable to the ordinary person, but it is easy."

fist of the beast

2010-03-16T11:27:00.000-07:00

(super long post about meeting ken baumann)

"A plague of fleas in the streets. The heat is bringing them out," I thought as i ascended from the underground rail to Hollywood Boulevard. Gena at my side. The people were everywhere for no apparent reason, they were just there, milling around in circles, looking to their feet.

I felt weakened in their ranks. Gena and I pushed through and away from the pack. We were on our way to meet Ken Baumann at Musso and Frank's at 8pm. Musso and Frank's restaurant is the oldest food service establishment in Hollywood, over a hundred years. Bukowski often wrote about it which is precisely the reason why i picked the location: we both appreciated Bukowski's work.

Normally I get very nervous meeting new people, but, earlier that day, I had met a very interesting lady who survived WWII by living in 4 years of seclusion. She had a very genuine nature about her, and, at one point during the encounter, Gena and her embraced and cried.

She also called me a guru.

It was a very strange day.

I walked down the boulevard without a firm concept of time. Time suffocates me and I try to avoid it at all cost. Gena did not indicate we were too late, so I did not fret. We came to an interesting situation: two hispanic males being interrogated by the Hollywood PD.

The men stood nose to wall, hands cuffed behind, and I could see the frustration reflected in their blue, red, blue, red faces. I think authority is funny, something to be laughed at, and try to subvert it, to some degree, at any opportunity.

Gena snapped photos of me feigning scared faces with the interrogation scene behind me.

I was having a very fun time when she pointed out we had walked past Musso and Frank's. We entered the restaurant.

I noticed a "Ken-esque" shape sitting in an alcove next to the door entrance. I turned to see him. He was much taller than I originally thought, and I thought this was odd, because I really had no frame of reference for how tall Ken was, it was just an assumption.

The assumption bothered me.

Ken's hair was unbelievable. It was fluffed to be at least 3 inches above his head. I made a comment about him reminding me of "Young Einstein", a movie reference, which Ken didn't seem to recognize. But to his defense, no one gets that reference when employed in other situations. I do think I am the only asshole who has watched the movie.

Ken and I shook hands, but, wanting to show brotherly love, I started to go in to hug him. He responded with a "aww let's hug" remark. We embraced.

During the embrace I started analyzing what I was doing. Normally, I would not hug another human being. I am not used to touching people, nor am I used to being touched. This time I was not bothered to hug Ken but felt a little nervous. He had a certain earnest nature about him that I immediately identified and enjoyed.

But the hug bothered me and my mind wandered to when Sam Pink went to hug me at AWP. That resulted in me shying away abruptly and avoiding him altogether. The shying away from Sam seemed different than my normal anti-social behavior and had been something I often thought about Post AWP.

I realized what had bothered me about Sam was his genuine nature, he reminded me of me, something I had never come across before, and it scared me. It was a revelation.

Ken embraced Gena. I made a joke about the two making me look fat and short.

We were then escorted to a table. Normally I like booths because I can hide. The booths were all taken. We sat in the open.

The place was gorgeous. I commented to Ken that it was the first place on Hollywood Blvd that didn't feel pretentious. Ken enjoyed the ambiance also.

The patrons were older, of some degree of wealth, and mostly uninteresting to me.

We sat in a triangle at a square white-clothed table: Ken to my right, Gena to my left. The room ceiling and walls were adorned with rectangular patterns, wood crossing over wood.

A man in a green vest handed us our menus. The menus had all sorts of odd and strange named food items I had not been accustomed to. Before I could feel insecure, Ken pointed out the exact same observation--what's all this shit?

Gena was small and quiet in her chair. She often snapped photographs of Ken and myself as we talked bullshit.

Making eye contact with Ken was troublesome. I still have difficulty doing it in certain situations. For a reason, this was one of those situations. The shyness bothered me and my goal was to make reasonable eye contact by the end of the night.

Our conversation was light and plethoric.

We talked about my attire: heart-shaped aqua glasses, simpsons t-shirt with aqua highlights and a rust-brown vintage leather jacket. Ken was able to identify the allusive nature of my glasses. I was impressed.

We spoke of Blake, Gian, HTMLG, Sam Pink, "Motorman", "The Red Truck", and Choose Your Own Adventure books. I admitted to Ken that I was thinking of writing such a book for the fun of it.

The topic jumped to Marvin K. Mooney & Sator Press. I congratulated Ken and commended his choice of Chris Higgs for publication.

I had known I knew (of) the person behind Mooney, because, he had commented something on my blog. The comment felt familiar.

Hearing it was Ken was a nice surprise.

I forgot to ask Ken the significance of the name SATOR.

Ken began to tell me about his novel, but with extreme hesitation and an anxious nature. I could tell he felt uncomfortable talking about it.

I have been working on a novella for over 6 months, something I don't like to talk about because it subverts the very nature of what I am trying to achieve within the work, but I felt Ken deserved to hear about it since he struggled to share his work.

Our ideas were similar but different.

Ken is the second person I have told about it. I hope to not talk about it again, ever.

Ordering time: Mac and Cheese for the kitten face, I ordered pounded-steak, mostly because i thought the word was sexually suggestive, but, it also had country gravy on the side, which always reminded me of my childhood, and Ken ordered the pounded steak same as me.

At one point during our banter the topic of Tao Lin was broached. I think people feel that I "hate" Tao, am overly critical of him, or am just plain mean to him. The way I view Tao is a position of disdain. The disdain is because I expect better from him. I know he has something great waiting to surface but he keeps fucking around with the easy.

Ken asked me what I thought about Tao's writing. I was honest and told him I did not care for his novels, and that the writing i really enjoyed was the short stories and poems from his earlier days. He seemed to have some heart to his writing I did not find in the novels.

The food came. Pounded steak and country gravy felt pretty good. We all shut up and ate.

I fled to the bathroom at one point. Something I do when I want to escape to my thoughts. Next to the men's bathroom was a stairway leading upwards to a destination unknown. This excited me and I told Ken about the prospects of it leading to somewhere interesting and exciting.

Later Ken would show me it was only the exit to the outer parking lot. A place foreign enough to me.

Ken emphatically suggested we order dessert, which I don't particularly care for often, and ordered a diplomat pudding. The pudding was a new experience. Gena got a slice of cheesecake and Ken a german chocolate slice.

There was something familiar about Ken but I found difficulty trying to immediately recognize the distinction.

The bill came. I knew Ken was going to try to pay, which he did, and I refused. There was only a slight struggle over the bill ending with Ken acquiescing to me. I refused chiefly for two reasons: 1.) I refuse to let a guy who was a sperm ball in his fathers loin when I was doing gangster shit in the streets to survive pay for our initial meal. I know it sounds arrogant and egotistical but sometimes it is hard to let old ways die. 2.)I suspected some people took advantage of Ken's generosity and wondered when was the last time someone bought him dinner. So I treated him.

Before retreating to Hollywood Boulevard, I managed to knock over a piece of furniture while almost knocking over a nice looking older lady.

We decided to walk around the block. We turned to see police officers interrogating more males under the changing lights of the prowl car. As we approached the next turn of the street a car rear ended another car directly in front of us, Gena started snapping pictures. To our surprise a cop car happened to be waiting at the intersection and flashed on his lights, pulling both cars over and onto the third street of the block.

I was starting to get a little nervous. Too many cops with nothing to do but exert their power over civilians frightens me. Call me a pussy.

We turned to complete the block, on this 4th street it appeared we had just missed a fortuitous meeting with the police--they were leaving after a finished harassment of a male.

It was decided to dump the leftovers in Ken's car and to continue our walk around the boulevard area. The car was an expensive Audi model, dark and elegant. Cars don't exist in my reality so I tend not to pay much attention to them and don't remember much more about the thing.

An ample breasted lady, drunk i surmised, passed loudly. I commended Ken on his maturity and made a joke about the "20 year old jereme would have been snorting coke off that girl's tits."

We stopped at the corner of Hollywood and Highland to light up the cuban cigars i brought to smoke. Ken took to it like a natural.

Out in the day gleam of Hollywood night I was able to pay closer attention to Ken. Or maybe the cigar was relaxing me but it didn't feel that way. In the light I noticed a posturing--Ken was measured in everything he did.

Normally something like this would put me off the person. But with him it seemed in earnest. He was not posturing out of anything other than necessity.

During my initial correspondence with Ken, back when he was 18 or 19, he confided a desire to lose himself to Buddhism. I thought this notion very odd for such a young man. I felt a sadness in him then. I felt the same sadness again.

Upon closer inspection I noticed a second Ken, a diminished self, working to keep everything at a certain level of safety. As a child, I would watch Sesame Street and focus on the puppets, imagining a sweating hand gesticulating inside fabric and cloth, ever gesticulating for my favor.

I couldn't distract myself from thinking Ken was a hand under brightly colored cloth.

Ken's resolve puzzled me. There was a loneliness to him that seemed out of place at cursory inspection too. My suspicion was familial obligation. In my experience, no child yearns to be an actor/actress. The entire affair an unasked burden.

I wondered if Ken was keeping his family financially afloat. A massive burden for a man of young age to suffer through. In that light, he reminded me of another writer.

I respected him very much in that light.

The topic of Ken's acting came up. I expressed my dissatisfaction with people who immediately brought up his current vocation when speaking of him. I have always thought of Ken as a person, not a fucking actor, and I see no value in his face being shown on a million electronic devices. The idea nauseated me. The weak minded i mean. They nauseated me.

In the Hollywood streets, young black males ran amok, careening in and out of street traffic with booze cups in hand.

We decided to stop at a franchise coffee shop. I fled to the bathroom. I made smile faces in the mirror but found no comfort.

Upon returning to Ken and Gena's side, they informed me that the store was closed. The clerk told them it was closed because the television shut off and that designated the time to close.

It felt Orwellian.

We puffed out more cuban smoke to the night. A marquee indicated "cool negroes" were present. For some reason, this was funny to our trio. We laughed.

Homeless people would walk periodically out of the building shadows and query us for monies. I had given most of my pocket money away already. The homeless were a concern of mine. Two had died recently, one on my apartment street and another, king george, behind a local 7-11.

Both deaths occurred when it rained.

We walked by a check cashing store, and I broke into a story about a homeless man with no hands screaming words, words that haunted me. At this point of the evening i went from sounding moderate crazy to full blown eat my own shit crazy.

The cigars were spent. I invited Ken to my home. Letting people into my home has always been an issue with me. Concrete relationships in my life, even relationships spanning over 5 years, have not seen one inch of inner wall.

I trusted Ken. He had a genuine nature about him.

We arrived at my home sometime fairly late in the evening/early morning hour. I put "Mannish Boy" on my record player and Ken rattled off the artist and the movie allusion of the song.

I fled to the bathroom again. Made more smile faces in the mirror then returned.

Ken and I engaged in film discussion, the details I will not bore you with, but it was a conversation that felt really good to me. It was rare when I met a normal person who was into film. Normal as in not an argumentative film geek.

The discussion excited me. I felt young and pure again, a feeling I had not felt often in my life, and started ripping out all the dvds I owned, asking if Ken had seen this and that movie or not. Any movie he had not watched was piled on his lap. The sum total was around 30-40 approximately.

Ken and I blabbed about directors, specifically Kubrick. One of my favorite works of his is "the killing", which I own, and was a movie Ken had not watched.

The movie was put on. Sterling Hayden was still a glorious man.

I lit up a joint, then a cigar. We watched.

Ken pointed out a few really good scenes.

The whirlwind came and the movie ended.

The clock on the microwave indicated it was around 4 am. Ken decided to depart. I walked him out.

In the lambent pattern of Hollywood fluorescence we hugged. This time I felt completely comfortable. I had found a brother.

I made the peace sign as Ken drove off into the night's end.

hollywood madrigalist

2010-02-25T10:27:00.001-08:00

Gena:4:37 PM i think i hear armenian sex

lololol

me: hahahaha

4:38 PM Gena: i think it is

ahahahahahaha

oh my god!

it's so weird

like i hear an armenian girl's moans

4:39 PM and then nearby ihear that bitch yelling at kids

me: shit

record it for me

i have never heard an armenian girl moan

Gena: ahh

i don't know how to record it

i don't know how to describe it

me: hahahaha

you suck

Gena: kind of like a regular moan but in armenian?

and it sounds kind of pained?

me: like a girl is casting a magic spell kind of shit?

4:40 PM Gena: hahahaha sort of

me: or more like a curse

something a witch would blurt out on an unsuspecting person

the witch's curse

that bitch is a witch

not an armenian

she is cursing your soul

run!

reflection of a simulacrum

2010-01-29T18:03:00.000-08:00

Pale Light

I felt fevered on the floor. I was grinning behind the rat-mask. In my mask and hat, I lay there and drifted into sleep.

Half-asleep I had a dream vision of Teddianne cutting through the houses at Secret Town. I opened my eyes to see out the eye holes in my mask. I saw Teddi lighting matches at the windows, looking in.

She saw me. Then she was up to me, kneeling down. She lit a last match and held it high above her head and the light shone down on us. She whispered something , she put a finger to her lips. Then she laughed, at my looks. I made room for her in my blanket. Then she stood up and took off first her shoes, then her pants. I saw her naked from behind her. She was a pale light of the room. I reached out and touched her behind her knee.

When she got in with me, she lay with her face to me, up to mine. My hand touched her backside. She spoke to me, close. She said, "I'd take my shirt off too, but my breasts aren't very big at all." She leaned in closer against me. I saw my face break into a thousand lines. -- Rudy Wilson "The Red Truck"

schizophrenia runs in the family

2010-01-29T15:38:00.000-08:00

Schizophrenia may have a variety of symptoms. Usually the illness develops slowly over months or even years.
At first, the symptoms may not be noticeable. For example, you may feel tense, or have trouble sleeping or concentrating. You can become isolated and withdrawn, and have trouble making or keeping friends.

your mouth a ship, my heart a stowaway

2010-01-26T17:04:00.000-08:00

there is a sickness in the hands

after the smile broke

a weariness

in the moving

of parts

a feeling

felt

a frustration of sorts

with

and

without

yo(u)

winston churchill with a pussy sitting on my lap mouthing "there is no entrance."

2010-01-21T17:29:00.000-08:00

i was going to write a long blog post but i'm just not feeling it.

maybe later.

send pictures of your mother and/or father in compromising positions. might cheer me up.

kabuki dick dance dance revolution

2009-12-31T12:15:00.000-08:00

this morning i woke to blackness, staggered out to the living room to sit, then, an epiphany blossomed in the quiet of my mind. a very nice start to the day.

i watched the tourists vie for nothing on the boulevard this morning as i passed by on my way to work. I was really amazed at how many people were packed into a small area for no apparent reason other than they have been told "hollywood" is a place to go and "new year's eve" is a meaningful date.

new year is not meaningful.

it is not going to be 2010 dummy. it is going to be ???.

we only started counting 2010 years ago.

this earth has existed.

this universe has existed.

this everything has existed longer than the collective ages of everyone everywhere.

it is silly to think it is important.

with that said, i am going to some mansion party up in the hollywood hills tonight. before that i think i'm going to go people watch out on the boulevard.

my new favorite activity is snapping black and white photos of tourists without their knowledge.

i only feel slightly weird about that statement.

finally got off my ass and ordered a bunch of books i've been meaning to.

here's the list:

the invention of morel

motorman

my romance

almost transparent blue

american genius: a comedy

the lazy boys

log of the s.s. the mrs unguentine

the red truck

europeana

the tunnel

a few people mentioned they wanted to meet me in 2010. i feel sort of anxious about this and still am always surprised to hear when someone says they want to interact with me.

i feel anxious because i know despite how hard i try, eventually, i will say something to push people away which is why i don't like meeting people.

i'm a hard dick to swallow.

i think people think i like being mean to people.

i do not.

i do possess a sense of humor.

evidenced here:

i hope everyone has a joyful heart tonight.

see you in the gutters.

i can no longer drown

2009-12-30T16:44:00.001-08:00

here are a couple pictures i took of mannequins:

they are just as real as you

my loneliness is the distance between here and the sun.

2009-12-21T18:19:00.001-08:00

some shit that has happened:

sort of watched the midnight showing of "donnie darko." i kept falling asleep because i smoked a lot of weed and ate a lot of weed too. The end scene with the blue sky is beautiful on the big movie screen.

a neighborhood bum, king george, drank himself to death last week during the awesome rainstorm.

i stopped and talked to some protesters outside one of the ominous Scientology buildings on hollywood boulevard. he was wearing the "V for Vendetta," mask and a 60 year old scientologist woman held ballons in front of him to "distract" the passerby from noticing that a dude in a mask is holding a giant "scientology lies" sign.

every time i walk out on the boulevard i see at minimum one tranny. some are really hot. some are really obvious and funny.

had a coffe and cigar with the black midget man who dresses up as "chucky," and gets tourists to pay him $$$ for picture posing. he was an okay guy.

i have counted 4 'american apparel' stores in walking distance. i hope they burn down.

the blake buutler kitty got his balls chopped out. furry flapjack 4 lyfe. poor little guy.

sam is in fucking heat again. oh how i will dance when that cat loses her insides.

the numbers 63 together look like a sad penis.

63

the universe suffers frail humans to dance.

2009-12-10T02:55:00.000-08:00

solitude is the portal to true beauty.

2009-11-29T09:56:00.000-08:00

the past couple months i have been wrestling with something inside of my mind. it has been consuming most of my thought to the point where i feel exhausted at times. i have not been able to come to a conclusion.

when i want to escape myself i occupy my mind with cigar smoking or people observation or walks. before I broke my foot last week, there was a saturday i woke with a very restless mind. i walked down Hollywood Blvd at 6am and took some pictures.

There were no interlopers at this hour. just the occasional bum. it was nice.

more pictures to come. i have to find them.

gobble gobble motherfuckers time to be sad it's the holidays

2009-11-25T13:30:00.001-08:00

Cat update

Sam is in heat. I need to remove her innards because she is driving me nuts. I seriously want to cement her vagina right now. She still hides in the dark and is elusive which completely fucks my picture taking efforts of her. One day I will get a decent picture of her paranoid kitty ass.

Blake is, well, Blake. He acts more like a dog than a cat. His recent favorite activity is waiting for nightfall and stealing pumpkin cookies my girlfriend recently baked or pizza crust from the pizza box. Each morning I wake to find remnants of the secret eating. I sort of want to commit sodomy on him to teach him a lesson but have not done so, yet.

He is also an attention whore when he wants to be. Here are a couple pics of him doing his attention whoring while i was reading htmlgiant in bed.

**shortly after this post the pig that is blake decided to eat a white cheddar cheeto. here is a video of him doing so:

a ladder you can feel but not touch

2009-11-06T14:54:00.000-08:00

at what point do you hear the tapping outside the box

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

everything is wrong

wait...

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

everything is right

wait...

everything is wrong

you can write my biography the day i lose my appeal

2009-11-05T12:13:00.000-08:00

"holidays"

emotional forgery and cheap beer

2009-10-13T18:22:00.000-07:00

today it is raining in southern california.

october just keeps getting better.

no tits. for real.

I was culling through old emails and came across a video/poem thing I had made for Daniel Bailey's video poem site "here explodes my giant face".

Not many people were submitting video poems to Daniel's site when it premiered and he seemed low about it. I kept thinking "I need to make a video and support Daniel. I like what Daniel is doing."

So i took one of my crappy poems, made a video and submitted it to Daniel.

That was over a year ago. He never sent an email saying if it was accepted or denied so I have just now come to the conclusion that he probably hated the poem or just forgot about it.

It's cool either way.

Here is the video poem for those who might be curious:

My voice sounds nervous.

is any one on facebook that reads this blog and is not my friend? you should become my friend. i say random stupid shit all the time on facebook. i also upload a couple hundred pictures of my hot girlfriend so if you are a perv you should definitely become my friend on facebook.

there are also pictures of me putting my finger in her nose while she's sleeping.

"classic jereme dean" antics and stuff.

one of the three of my hermit crabs died this week. his name was stuart "stubacca" crabbybottoms. stubacca had left his shell home and died trying to commandeer a bigger spiked shell.

it was a good death.

RIP Stubacca

loving pet

seasonal happiness

2009-10-05T09:55:00.000-07:00

man, am i the only one who wants to have hardcore sex with october?

this is my happy month.

this is the one month i usually feel absolutely no sadness compared to the other 11 months. those 11 i am a moody, lonely bitch.

it is finally a little cold in southern california.

i want to swallow everything at once and satiate my mind.

fullness.

here are two quotes from my weekend:

"for a guy who doesn't like mirrors, you have a lot of mirrors." - girlfriend

"when they twitter, or tweet, or twat, whatever it is they do i hate it." - my son

and a picture from outside my apartment door this morning:

feral parrots and the defiant moon

masturbation as self-mutilation

2009-09-30T14:42:00.001-07:00

i had an idea the other day that i would like to write a poem with scratch and sniff stickers from the 80s.

the 80s being my childhood of course.

something like:

when my mom neglects me i feel like : *sticker of a pickle wearing a ten gallon hat and boots smelling like pickle*

when i feel alienated i feel like : *sticker of garfield eating a chocolate cake smelling like chocolate*

when i masturbate i feel like : *sticker of an orange with the words "orange-tastic" smelling like orange*

when i think about my self worth i feel like : *sticker of a black hole smelling like black hole*

<<<

tao lin said he would send me his book to "shit-talk review". I cannot guarantee a shit-talk review until i really read the book but i will provide an honest review which most people view as shit-talking anyways so i think it is safe to say i will shit-talk in the review.

he also mentioned he needed/wanted it to be published in a "large forum". I have no idea what a large forum is. If there are any large forums that would like to publish my review please contact me.

>>>

a brief gchat snippet with my girlfriend:

Gena: i can't believe there's only been like 17 people to enter blake's contest

me: that's how it always is
i hate ppl

Gena: :(

i saw a black pigeon pecking at cracked cement for nourishment and named it loneliness

2009-09-28T15:09:00.000-07:00

with the arrival came a marsh.

i ordered and received Blake Butler's "Scorch Atlas" a week or so ago. it is hard to discern. i don't really pay attention to time.

the book arrived thoroughly destroyed. it adds to the charm. seriously.

when it arrived i tore it open and started reading it. the structure of words==intensity. soon after i started reading it a puddle emerged from below my carpet. the puddle has gotten bigger and more pungent.

i have no clue what it is. i'll take a pic soon.

after the first puddle another puddle made its face known in my carpet. this time in a different location.

i have no concrete evidence that SA is to blame but my hunch is that it is.

i have not finished the book yet and won't speak fully on it until i do. but half way through my dick is hard and my mouth is salivating furiously and it has been a long time since i felt that way from reading a book.

blake is giving away a couple copies of SA over at his blog. If you don't have the book, go enter in the fucking contest. it's not hard. so many people don't want to put forth any effort for something. it is odd to me.

the entries should be in the 100's by now.

don't be a lame dick. go get the book.

on another topic, people keep asking me to do shit and it's really fucking with my mind.

i am not sure why.

expectations.

man's ruin

2009-09-25T17:54:00.000-07:00

you will hold my fear when the horns descend upon you

2009-09-10T18:22:00.000-07:00

for xtx, because she asked:

you can live in my heart and pay no rent

2009-09-08T11:21:00.000-07:00

fuck. what happened? labor day weekend was crazy.

friday night i drank $100 + worth of belgian beer with my friend nino. later that night i got in a fight with my neighbors.

i really don't like explaining myself. i think sam pink is the only person i know who interprets what i say/write correctly without any follow up by me.

in the end, everything is a question of heart.

saturday was more street fair.

sunday i left for balboa pier with the girlfriend and boy in tow. i skipped the street fair for the most part.

monday was pure debauchery.

i feel broken and exhausted today.

i did learn a viking helmet brings a sense of empowerment. sort of like shooting/holding a firearm. the mounted horns induced many compliments from the lady folk. it was a strange happening. also, men frequently sought me out for challenge.

despite our best efforts, we are still territorial beasts.

anyways, let's talk about words and shit.

i am currently reading Molly Gaudry's "We Take Me Apart" and taking notes for a review i need to write up. I am going to be interviewing her too. Email me any questions you want to ask Molly if ya got questions to be asked.

I took over this thing from Paul Toth named "poesy planet". basically it is a poetry podcast.

i am going to change many things about it. probably everything including the name.

i will be sending an email out soon asking for words to be read and recorded.

expect the email.

both my heads hurt.

there is no loveliness in a place so quiet as the heart

2009-08-31T10:14:00.000-07:00

in my campaign to corrupt the youth of america, i took my girlfriend to the heart of the anaheim ghetto to visit a piercing/tattoo shop. we were there to get a 3 hole ear piercing for some spiral jewelery thing my girlfriend wanted. she has been talking about getting the piercing since i have known her. i am not one to say no to reckless excess.

i am the fucking king of reckless excess.

some highlights in words:

the piercer referring to me as my girlfriend's dad when I was taking a piss.

me telling the piercer how i pretty much hate all piercings and think they are ugly and atrocious but some i will put up with.

walking into the tattoo portion of the shop which was complete with cholo gangster types and saying "yeah he's not a pussy" in response to a question from my girlfriend. the entire place went quiet and all brown eyes were on me.

now the highlights in picture:

fingers in the smoke

2009-08-14T12:45:00.000-07:00

WHAT A LITTLE GIRL
HAD ON HER MIND

What a little girl had on her mind was:
Why do the shoulders of other men’s wives
give off so strong a smell like magnolia;
or like gardenias?
What is it,
that faint veil of mist,
over the shoulders of other men’s wives?
She wanted to have one,
that wonderful thing
even the prettiest virgin cannot have.

The little girl grew up.
She became a wife and then a mother.
One day she suddenly realized;
the tenderness
that gathers over the shoulders of wives,
is only fatigue
from loving others day after day.

-IBARAGI NORIKO

LABOR PAINS

I am sick today,
sick in my body,
eyes wide open, silent,
I lie on the bed of childbirth.

Why do I, so used to the nearness of death,
to pain and blood and screaming,
now uncontrollably tremble with dread?

A nice young doctor tried to comfort me,
and talked about the joy of giving birth.
Since I know better than he about this matter,
what good purpose can his prattle serve?

Knowledge is not reality.
Experience belongs to the past.
Let those who lack immediacy be silent.
Let observers be content to observe.

I am all alone,
totally, utterly, entirely on my own,
gnawing my lips, holding my body rigid,
waiting on inexorable fate.

There is only one truth.
I shall give birth to a child,
truth driving outward from my inwardness.
Neither good nor bad; real, no sham about it.

With the first labor pains,
suddenly the sun goes pale.
The indifferent world goes strangely calm.
I am alone.
It is alone I am.

-YOSANO AKIKO

a crow will eventually forget the sky if it comes upon a field covered in shiny scrap metals.

2009-08-09T06:48:00.000-07:00

i had an epiphany. i am not sure precisely when the epiphany occurred, but, it did occur at some time in my adult life. it occurred one night during a brief walk down a street. on this street were many shops, of all varieties, small and big, complete with giant glowing signs with brand names illuminated.

i looked up at the stars and realized this was all bullshit.

the easiest way to keep a man a slave is to teach him from birth that he is not a slave at all.

teach him that his cage is not an imprisonment.

the bars do not exist.

no, sir, the slave master will say, these are not bars. no way.

why these bars are your universe, your earth, your city, your home.

see where these bars are?

yes you'll say

this is your dawn
this is your dusk
this is your church
this is your family
this is your obligation
this is your cemetery
this is your grave
this is you
this is all you will know
the cage bars do not exist
recites the slave master

few will question the cage

great evil rarely exists, but it does exist today. media they call it.

electronic and analog media in the 21st century exists solely to direct a person's thinking a certain way.

buy this. vote that. feel this. hate that.

influence over millions with small effort. this concept is very scary to me.

media needs to be communicated. the faster the communication the better.

thus we have twitter.

look at such a great tool! a device to ensnare the minds of millions, a distraction from their mundane lives. it is free too!

twitter goes down and millions of people are in woe and confusion. they don't know what to do with their mind without the constant distraction of twitter updates.

oh no.

of course poetry is dead, literature is dying and the mind of the youth is superficial.

these are not bars. no sir. this here, well, this is an ipod, this here is a blackberry handheld device, and this is twitter. not bars at all.

today i felt like a mannequin staring at its reflection in a store front window as the muted strangers passed on by

2009-08-06T10:39:00.000-07:00

what's up people. or person. i have no clue who reads my blog. i killed the stat counter the last time i deleted my blog. sometimes eliminating something small feels good.

i haven't felt like writing much. i keep thinking "fuck i need to finish those two novels i am working on." i think it but never go forward with any writing really. i am a little scared to i think.

at a young age i realized forward is progress and progress comes directly before an end. i am aware of my type of personality, very black or white, in extremes. i am scared of myself really.

for a very long time i have tried to do nothing. just stare at my feet and let the world go by. i don't really make plans. my way of thinking can really frustrate some people including my girlfriend i think. she is the opposite. trying to control very small things to feel safe.

i do not feel safe knowing details or making progress. i try very hard to be like seaweed, sway with the cosmic waves i guess.

anyways. whatever. i'm a douche.

i will recap stuff that has happened since the last time i felt like typing in a public forum.

*)finished "blood meridian". the captain of indie publishing/writing blake butler suggested this book on his blog. i didn't want to buy it because it was a western genre book. i remember reading old pulp westerns as a kid, while i did not dislike them, it really isn't my type of handjob any more. so boring. but i acquiesced and put faith in butler and picked up the book. fuck i'm not going to lie. how many different ways can you describe the same shitty desert? the book reads like a mental fuck. cormac has a way with the word i think few could imitate. his genius is patent. i almost put it down but then the first verse of real violence hit. the apaches swooped down and made their strength known. i fell in love right there. while the book was boring and repetitious when the violence wasn't going down, plus the ending was a little disappointing, not like a total bullshit hollywood ending or something, just i was expecting steak and got chicken, while chicken isn't bad it isn't steak either, anyways i forgot where i was going with this. i liked the book and recommend it.

*)i was hanging out at the orange circle where the fountain exists on a sunday night around 9:30pm with my girlfriend. i took quick notice of how quiet the place seemed. i usually see a cop drive by every 7 minutes and hadn't seen any in 20 minutes. i forget what spurred it but i started tickling the shit out of my girlfriend for about 10 minutes straight. she was flopping this and that way like a fish sucking for air or something. i mean i got a good tickle on. you know the kind when the person can only make an open mouthed retard face and only get the sound "unggggggggg" out? i stopped, grabbed her empty can of soda and tossed it in the trash bin. suddenly i see cop lights off in the distance and make a joke to my girlfriend that they are coming to get me for tickling her. the cop roars up and stops dead in front of me in the roundabout blocking traffic. at this point i'm a little confused as the officer exits the dodge charger quickly and draws a heavy black nightstick from his waistband. "huh" i think. seriously i am perplexed. the cop asks some college kids kissing in the grass if they have seen a man assault a woman. "huh" i think again. then officer dickhead waltzes up to me the way men who enforce power but do not abide by it do and asks me if i have seen a man strangling a woman. "uh no" i reply while feeling weird and scared and out of place. the cop starts whispering in his shoulder. i turn to my girlfriend to ask her if she saw anything suspect and notice 5 or 6 cop cars pulling up strategically around the circle behind me, hear more screaming off in the distance and the epiphany hits me: they are there for me. quickly i say "i was tickling my girlfriend. is that what you mean?". the cop asks me to demonstrate the tickling and i get my girlfriend good and she makes the retard spasm that tickling incites. "oh okay. well we got a report of a bearded man strangling a woman" the cop informs me and i realize he was after me the entire time. all cops lie. the entire situation felt surreal and i remember saying "are you joking with me?". i left and crossed the street. cop cars roared for another 5 minutes and periodically patrolled the area. it was ridiculous. i swear the weirdest shit happens to me. i don't know why. it comes regardless.

*)went to the used bookstore "the bookman" in this failing strip mail off of tustin street. the bookstore has been there for as long as I can remember but i only started going recently. they have a huge selection of science fiction and everything else is hit or miss. i scrounged around and bought "ray" by barry hannah. i remember either blake or justin taylor recommending hannah over at htmlgiant. i am in love with this guy. i read most of the thing in a sitting and stopped with about 10 pages to go. i don't want to finish it. i love how this guy writes. if his other stuff is like this then i have some quality reading ahead of me.

*)went to a cvs pharmacy and wandered around. it was about 10 pm. i picked up this massive black plastic bat with a wiffle balle attached to the end of it. swinging the bat around my head, i imagined myself destroying everything in the store. the wiffle ball went sailing after a good swing and this prick in a cvs vest scampers over and picks the ball up. he had dirty looking skin and sunken scarred cheeks. the guy remined me of a meth head. he asked me if i was going to buy anything or just swing the bat. i informed the petty shithead that i would leave if i wasn't welcome. he told me to leave so i returned his comment with "you're a dick" complete with extra emphasis on the "ck" noise. this seemed to enrage the worker and he told me i "hurt his feelings". i laughed in his face and left. so i got kicked out of a cvs. sort of.

*)ate at in-n-out. i feel bad for you people who do not know the luscious kiss of an in-n-out burger. for real. make a trip. try one. if it isn't the best fast food burger you have tasted, then i will suck your balls or whatever you might have down there. believe it.

*)received a surprise email from ja tyler asking me to read/review/interview molly gaudry and her upcoming mud luscious novella. i think it is a novella. the interview/review is for word riot and jackie corley suggested i do it. i thought this was odd. i haven't talked to jackie ever. she seems cool. hi jackie if you read this. whatever. so i said yes i will do it. now i have anxiety. i don't know how to review things. all i really say is "i like" or "i no like" but that's just my opinion.

other shit has occurred but who cares. i tire of type type type typing.

the sun hasn't exploded yet.

neither has my cock.

shame.

everything with a pricetag is ugly

2009-07-30T09:51:00.000-07:00

brando was my type of guy:

(it's a little long but let it play through)

it's all about the *$*

i am already a corpse at your feet

2009-07-15T12:09:00.000-07:00

Although it stands to reason that a samurai should be mindful of the Way of the Samurai, it would seem that we are
all negligent. Consequently, if someone were to ask, "What is the true meaning of the Way of the Samurai?" the
person who would be able to answer promptly is rare. This is because it has not been established in one's mind
beforehand. From this, one's unmindfulness of the Way can be known.

Negligence is an extreme thing.

The Way of the Samurai is found in death. When it comes to either/or, there is only the quick choice of death. It is not
particularly difficult. Be determined and advance. To say that dying without reaching one's aim is to die a dog's death
is the frivolous way of sophisticates. When pressed with the choice of life or death, it is not necessary to gain one's
aim.

We all want to live. And in large part we make our logic according to what we like. But not having attained our aim
and continuing to live is cowardice. This is a thin dangerous line. To die without gaming one's aim is a dog's death
and fanaticism. But there is no shame in this. This is the substance of the Way of the Samurai. If by setting one's heart
right every morning and evening, one is able to live as though his body were already dead, he pains freedom in the
Way.

His whole life will be without blame, and he will succeed in his calling.

- the hagakure

i found your smile within my frown

2009-07-13T15:30:00.001-07:00

my weekend as a list:

1. vietnamese coffee
2. blue smoke
3. rolling papers
4. 15 minutes of dick
5. wet mouth
6. accidental stingray death
7. sand
8. sand
9. sand
10. red seaweed
11. death of an army
12. a.m. enlightenment
13. italian breakfast
14. dog collar
15. machine gun waltz

if you were a bird, i would free you from your pet store cage

2009-07-10T16:15:00.000-07:00

my little friend molly gaudry is questioning her vocation over at her blog.

i feel her pain. i am capable of empathy at times.

she thinks money is going to help her.

i don't know if it will or not.

during my 32 year existence I have had big swings when it comes to money.

i grew up what would be considered lower to lower middle class depending on my age/location.

around age 16 i was homeless for weeks on end due to a dysfunctional family.

i have been to jail a couple times.

for some reason i was really good with computers. some of us are born with it holmes.

as a result i have made 120k in a year without really doing much physical work.

then came the drug addiction, the failed marriage, the house in foreclosure, the repossessed car, the depression and constant suicidal thoughts.

been on welfare a few times, even had to attend a month long class on "getting employed"

(i ended up liking the class because it was composed of all single young women plus me)

now i am back in the 6 figure range.

i am riding the high horse and to be honest it doesn't really matter.

molly's post made me think quite a bit about money and the elusive happiness.

money is money. i've been poor and won't lie. money feels good. waking up with money in your pocket creates a peacefulness.

knowing i can go to disneyland when i want feels good.

it shouldn't but it does.

all my favorite memories occurred regardless of the existence of money though.

it really wasn't a factor in my happiness.

the time i hit that transient lady in the head with an accidental throw of a rock, running straight through a wooden fence to escape a squad car (i was too big to jump over it and willed myself through), watching the stars as i slept homeless in a small man made fort in a public park, all the interesting people i've met traveling, fishing on the clackamas river, smoking a cigar in the portland rain, the countless smog created red sunsets, that feeling of being somewhere unfamiliar, the birth of my son, and i could go on and on.

money ain't shit. live life.

that's what i'm saying.

i will drown you child

2009-07-09T15:22:00.000-07:00

have you ever had one of those days when you just feel good?

this isn't one of them.

i'm joking it is.

i like to laugh a lot.

do you like to laugh?

you should laugh a lot too.

i mean how can you not laugh when you contemplate the fact we are all going to die a solitary death?

the rich
&
the poor
&
the smug
&
the earnest
&
the struggling poet
&
the opulent insurance salesman
&
your dog
&
your children
&
the ocean
&
the sun
&
the cosmos
&
whatever the fuck is past the cosmos human beings cannot comprehend.

all of us are going to die utterly alone.

laugh with me.

it's all we can do.

the fish winked as i gutted it in the field

2009-07-06T09:42:00.000-07:00

sometimes i blow bubbles on the weekend

i go to the circle with the fountain where children play

i blow the bubbles and feel alone

each bubble a prison of my breath

drifting away

some bubbles crash at my feet

others make it 10 or 20 feet into the agnostic hands

of a gleeful child

the few rise up to the blue sky

out of my sight

but i know they will not escape rupture

each bubble i create reminds me i am not a bubble

but a god of bubbles

and gods are alone

by definition

if you are ever in southern california

and want to blow bubbles with me

shoot me an email

and we can act like gods together

my heart is made from sparrow bones and wrapped in shiny tin foil so you'll think it glows

2009-06-18T08:43:00.000-07:00

here is a super emo poem i wrote thinking about sam pink's writing:

sometimes when you leave i pretend i am a huge dragon with a scar over my breast and i fly out the window into the restless night looking for something to destroy until i realize there is nothing valuable to destroy with my dragon fire and perch myself on top of a mountain to watch the city lights sparkle in my moon cast shadow.

when you are looking at your painted nails i pretend to drug your food with a small handful of my hairs and wait excitedly while you eat your poisoned cereal where the hairs will sit at the bottom of your stomach and combine and grow into a large glass jar filled with wet flies until the pressure cracks open the jar spilling the flies into your stomach juice where they will dissolve into your consciousness and show up randomly at awkward times during your wet dreams and nightmares.

when you are in the shower i watch you from the doorway and pretend my soul is the shower water spilling warmly over your naked body and each droplet is my mouth and my hands and my dick trying to suffocate you with my wetness until you exit the shower and wipe me away with an old towel and drop it to the floor where i dissipate into the sun warmed carpet.

on occassion i forget to pretend and panic until my skin feels like it is going to explode off my bone and my mind begins to echo until it is collapsing and my throat closes so no scream or gasp can escape and i am fettered and trapped inside myself as my being implodes.

mostly when you are around i feel empty and pretend to be happy because i do not want you to stop smiling and when you aren't around i feel sick but i pretend i feel empty because emptiness does not frighten me.

regardless if you are here i pretend to not to pretend because it has been such length since i have felt comfortable within the confines of my own mind i do not remember how to be genuine any more.

i like to pretend because it is all i know.

in the next life i hope i am a tape worm attached to your colon so i can swallow all your shit and feel purposeful

2009-06-15T06:36:00.000-07:00

my weekend in terms of negative/positive emotional responses:

friday: a very pretty asian girl greeted me with "i love your glasses" as i exited the bus.

saturday: a different asian girl told me she liked my glasses at the mall.

sunday: harassed by NO on Prop 8 picket girl. She said something about my glasses being sexy or me being sexy. I don't really remember. I don't take compliments well and kind of black out when i get them.

so that was the positive emotional experiences.

there was only one negative and it was the first to start the weekend off.

i was riding the bus from work on my way to cash my check near my house when a girl got on the bus. the girl had jet black hair and very pale skin and she sat down directly across from me. she was pretty i think. it is hard to gauge pretty i guess. she was pretty to me.

i took note of her eyelashes outlined against the sun shining through the window behind her. the eyelashes looked really long. i thought "girls love those long lashes. i wonder if they are fake or real?"

so i guess i thought about that for the entire bus ride which was only about 5 minutes. we both got off at tustin and chapman stop, she in front of me.

the check cashing place was over in a mexican neighborhood. it is not the nicest neighborhood but nothing bad really. some drug deals, rowdy kids, quiet illegals. nothing big. i guess you could consider it "bad" in terms of orange county.

we both cut through the back parking lot of a non-descriptive dentist building, orange as a city is rife with these small brown buildings adorned with white generic signs promising different simple slogans.

the pretty girl turned around, gave me the "don[t rape me smile", looked at her feet the entire time, and scurried in the opposite direction like she had just made some grave error and needed to be back immediately.

i thought it was kind of weird. i walked for a few minutes, turned around, witnessed the girl in tow, thought "am i really that fucking scary looking?"

one event compared to three and the one event is what affected me the most. the girl thought i was going to rape her or kidnap her or something.

what the fuck.. i mean i know i am kind of scary or odd looking. i have gotten it since childhood, people giving me double-takes.

i am wearing bright neon-pink sunglasses i bought at "forever 21" or some other horrible estrogen rich playground for young women.

do i really look like i am going to rape some one? really?

i never found out if her eyelashes were real or fake. i kind of felt stupid for most of my relationship with her and never got the guts to ask a harmless question.

the butcher cut his arm with his cleaver to remind himself he is nothing more than an animal

2009-06-12T12:03:00.000-07:00

i hate them all

on the train i take notice of
the countless numb faces

the kid slurp-sucking at her red lollipop

the bull dyke with her badly dyed hair
complete with butch style cut

the numerous lawyers standing in uniform
muted colored ties and petty leather cases

the japanese man intently reading his
cartoon porn magazine

i can hear monotone voice softly from an electronic device

the conductor reminding us to use the hand rails

my beard can harbor only
so many insecurities

my sensitivity is weakness
only because i hide it

my negativity a construct
to save me from myself

i hate them all

i loathe all their dumb faces

because they exist solely to reflect
my self worth

or lack thereof

***

lilacs and truth

on the bus i saw a girl
carrying bright lilacs

she was smiling
as she pushed her nose
to smell the fragrance
of the petals

i calmly reached over
gripped the flowers with both hands
and made a wringing motion

until they spilled below her
and i crushed them under foot

i whispered to her ear

"no one truly loves you,
all your relationships will
rot and die."

i exited the bus
leaving the kindly girl
sobbing in her bus seat

made note of the position of the sun

people think i enjoy being right

only the ocean will remember the dead fish and only the universe will remember the dead oceans

2009-06-11T11:25:00.001-07:00

what the fuck is the point?

this is how every thing ends.

the dolphin who realized the ocean is an indifferent prison sings a love poem to the moon

2009-05-27T13:51:00.000-07:00

kitties update:

blake and sam are growing. i think they eat about a full can of wet food each day and probably would eat more if i allowed it. sam is definitely maturing quicker than blake. she is constantly running amok and looking for adventure.

blake wanders around softly and stares at things. he needs a lot of mothering and attention. i think he might be a little slow.

i find myself having 15 minute conversations with blake discussing his inability to piss and shit in the litter box and how good the litter will feel between his furry toes. he only purrs when food is present. my persuasion efforts continue to fail.

sam often touches her paw against the mirrored closet door. i found her hiding in my books playing with the cover of "blood meridian" a few days ago. she makes me smile a lot.

i am no mother and lucky to have a girlfriend who is able to coddle the little assholes.

my inability to show normal affection is overwhelmed by frequent feedings.

***

D.H. Lawrence was a genius. i think people undervalue his poetry and really should read him more. here is a DH poem i really enjoy:

A Baby Asleep After Pain

     As a drenched, drowned bee
Hangs numb and heavy from a bending flower,
     So clings to me
My baby, her brown hair brushed with wet tears
    And laid against her cheek;
Her soft white legs hanging heavily over my arm
Swinging heavily to my movement as I walk.
    My sleeping baby hangs upon my life,
Like a burden she hangs on me.
    She has always seemed so light,
But now she is wet with tears and numb with pain
Even her floating hair sinks heavily,
    Reaching downwards;
As the wings of a drenched, drowned bee
    Are a heaviness, and a weariness.

the sun only shines to remind a person of their insignificance

2009-05-22T11:20:00.000-07:00

today on the train i watched the faces of people

took notice of how few were reading

what they were reading

the epiphany "i have never randomly seen a person reading a poetry book in public" occurred

the train shook a lot

i watched the passing graffiti through the window

the loneliness broke when i saw the word

CUNT

spray painted on a freeway overpass

and finally felt a small connection

but not with any of the people

around me

and the deer said "i love you" to the hunter as the gun steadied

2009-05-17T17:33:00.000-07:00

i was thinking the other day "every one hates me".

i think that frequently.

i decided i needed some unconditional acceptance in my life and went on the hunt for a kitten.

a few weeks went by. no kittens around which i thought was odd.

i asked a random lady if she knew where to find kittens because my heart was big and i felt sad a lot. she took my number.

the next day i had two kittens: a black male and a gray female.

the kittens are only 7 weeks old. i have been staring at them for two weeks not knowing what to name them.

naming something is difficult.

the easiest way to offend a stranger is to mispronounce their name.

then i remembered: unconditional acceptance.

so i named the kittens after a couple people i know.

the black kitten is blake butler.

the gray is sam pink.

here are some pics of the little assholes:

and the hyena stopped laughing because he realized his death was imminent and everything was struggle

2009-05-13T15:25:00.000-07:00

i got my brain mri back. nothing big going on. i do have xrays of my brain which seems odd to me. humans are not supposed to know what their brains look like. it is perverse.

my doc said he thought i had the beginning stages of MS. More tests ensue.

things i have been thinking about:

i wish i were a crow so i could know the wind and only fear the sea.

masturbation as distraction.

mammal loneliness.

i will die today at any given moment.

my dick for pleasure or for business.

the robot who does not want to rust and decay is not a robot at all.

the emptiness will never die.

i abhor your entrance and lament your departure.

low

so this man taught his asshole to smoke pot/stop me if you've heard this one

2009-04-20T11:35:00.000-07:00

i sit here holding a diet dr. pepper recently purchased from the vending machine

i wasn't really thirsty or desiring a diet dr. pepper

i think i was just bored

"there is no nutritional value in diet soda" i state to myself

the ingredient list of the can confirms my assumption

diet soda is a chemical representation of a sugar and water mixture

diet soda has no intrinsic value

the diet soda is habit

habit is a trait of an addict

today idiots are celebrating adolf hitler's birthday and the smoking of marijuana

it is two separate celebrations

at least the neo-nazi asshole has something concrete to believe in

ask a pot head why today is more valuable than other days

questions are good

now pass the bong

cancer of the soul but you would never know

2009-04-14T12:04:00.001-07:00

***UPDATE***

today on the commute home I came to a conclusion to start taking myself seriously as a writer.

from now on i will be writing under the pen name "TITTY SCOUNDREL".

consider this your only notice.

***

today is tuesday i think or wednesday? i don't know. it matters because i have a brain mri on thursday. maybe science can tell me where the good thoughts went.

i think my sarcasm and sense of humor is lost in translation frequently.

the profile picture of me holding the "poetry" sign is very sarcastic.

i also own a tshirt with the words "chick magnet" on it.

I am thinking of having my headstone read "Jereme 'Poon Pounder' Dean - In Loving Memory"

Gena Mohwish harassed me ++++5 to "collaborate" with her. I always gave her my stock answer: I don't collaborate.

Then she pointed out I broke my rule twice: once with HTMLGIANT and the other with PIFFLE.

Collaborating always ends the same. I eventually stop holding back and alienate every one with my personality. it's what i do.

i push people away so I can judge the fakes from the genuine.

Anyways I am collaborating over here November Echo.

We are writing about childhood secrets. It is meant to be honest and fun.

I wonder if I can smoke a cigar while getting an MRI. Need to check on that.

bye.

which way isn't here?

2009-04-13T12:05:00.000-07:00

rinse

gargle

spit

and tomorrow i may finally smile in the loneliness of the setting sun because it is a sun and it was destined to set

2009-04-12T02:03:00.000-07:00

man what the fuck is wrong with me. it is 2 am and i cannot sleep.

i have a half naked girl sleeping next to me.

all i can think of is the loneliness in my mind, of the end of everything, of this reality being none as soon as i am dead, of everything spinning in suffocating black "space" above my dumb head.

i am going to be reading some of Sam Pink's poems for a project. there will be video. i have several ideas. one of my ideas might get me punched. we'll see. it'll be good for him if i get punched i think. i don't know. others are particpating too. blake butler, elizabeth ellen and barry graham are a few.

fuck i need to change my name. it is not a cool alliteration like jereme jones or something. i could change it to my first and middle name but i think it would be obvious it is a pen name.

blake's is only slightly obvious i think.

i don't know. jereme jerae is weird. jerae is a word of make believe. every time i say my middle name i remember the journals my mother gave me of when she was pregnant with me and all the acid she did.

i think my middle name was born out of lsd and prison sex.

do you know who daniel johnston is? i suggest you know.

go you tube him.

it is not called jeremetube. it's youtube. go do it yourself. actually my cut and paste isn't working. i'll embed some vids from him later.

i'm going to go smoke a cigar and try to escape myself.

my negativity will destroy this relationship and i am sorry because i am tired of being alone but my negativity is the defense mechanism that saves me

2009-03-27T21:51:00.000-07:00

i was going to post a poem. i don't feel like posting a poem. who cares.

my writing is shit. always has been. i guess i should try harder. some times i try harder but 99% of the time i give up because i know anything i do is less than.

let's do another secret. yes, let's go with secret #2. i am tired of hiding things. i am tired of protecting myself from everyone.

endless weariness.

i have severe social anxiety. it is not the secret. i rarely go out and interact with people directly. typically i just sit around strangers and observe their body language.

i see how people treat the obese. like they are less than something important.

i think obesity is a defense mechanism of sort. "i think i am worthless so i will make myself worthless" kind of thing. people won't value you if you are worthless and fat.

at the beginning of July 08 i weighed 305-315 lbs. it is hard to gauge because the scale only went up to 300. it is the heaviest i have ever been. severe depression has a lot to do with it i think. maybe not.

i went to awp in february 10-14th weighing 200-205lbs (i ate like a pig there and gained lbs). I weighed 190 in high school.

weight loss was accomplished by eating 800 calorie a day diet.

a guy at the cigar lounge got the lap band surgery before i started to diet. i surpassed his weight loss in 2-3 months.

my resolve is stronger than anything known.

resolve is rare though. it is infrequent i feel the need to do anything. anger is usually the outlet when i choose to display my willpower.

it scares me a little.

one day i will finally give up on trying to be accepted by any one.

i will completely embrace what i am.

the day i decide to make my stand against society and show my resolve.

i am scared of that day.

hopefully i will end up only hurting myself.

***

my time at the docs went okay i suppose, thanks for asking.

bye.

if god were a woman she would have made me with 6 assholes and a never ending appetite so i could shit on everything that much faster

2009-03-26T23:22:00.001-07:00

hi, this is a 'new' blog so i am going to start fresh.

i am going to see 4 doctors tomorrow. yay for me. i digress....

i will vocalize a secret. it is something i don't talk about.

people start treating me differently once they know.

i have a cleft penis. no i am joking.

i cross dress.

well that is not a joke but i don't think it is a secret either.

around age 20 my right eye began to get irritated. sort of like pink eye but it wasn't pink eye. the salve didn't help.

then my right cornea ulcerated resulting in permanent scar damage to it.

then the left eye.

the eyes continue to ulcerate and scar.

i am legally blind in my right eye and about a point off in my left eye? it's been a couple years since i went to the optometrist and my sight has degraded since. so i may be at 100% legally blind.

eventually i won't be able to read. reading/writing has been really hard for me which is frustrating because i do enjoy reading/writing.

this is one of the main reasons why my output is kind of erratic and i am not that well read. well that and i get bored really easy. pain + boredom === jereme not finishing a novel.

every day is struggle.

word to that.

i am light sensitive too. all i see is black shadow and light halo so i can't really read outside or drive any more.

everything is blurry. i do see shapes and colors.

my fucked up sight allows me to stay in my head a lot. i just dismiss things because i can't really see them or i'll see some blurry thing and project a memory from my childhood when my sight was 20/20.

the awp post reminded me of how i kept thinking adam robinson was blake butler because their body shapes/colors are very similar. i remember walking up to adam several times, squinting and realizing it wasn't blake and walking away. he probably thinks i am a spent douche or something.

i think i do a decent job of hiding my weaknesses from people. if it wasn't for gena's pictures of awp, i wouldn't really know what people looked like. it is that bad.

like mike young's shirt. i could see colors but that was it. it wasn't until i perused the awp pics that i noticed how homo-erotic/johnny cash it was. i liked that shirt.

the computer helps me because i have large monitors at work and at home. the viewing space is nice. this is why i comment so much on blogs and stuff. they are easy to read.

i remember colin basset was nice enough to send me a chapbook a while back but i couldn't read it because the font was so small but that was by aesthetic design.

i used a magnifying glass on the pages. reading that thing was a bitch and made me feel stupid and weak because it was so hard to see.

i really enjoyed the BSG and CB poems. Matthews I didn't read. his writing i find boring and don't relate to.

any ways who cares.

my cross to bear.

bye.

AWP: The Interloper

2009-02-17T12:05:00.000-08:00

The blog is sort of back. I don't know. I am wrestling with it.

here is the AWP post I never posted. I did not change it from when I originally wrote.

***

Here is my AWP experience. Get ready for the real real.

Tuesday: Bought my airplane ticket to Chicago. Realized I had no way to get to LAX in the morning. Begged a friend at the cigar lounge for a ride. He acquiesced.

Wednesday: One of the benefits of using Priceline to purchase a plane ticket 12 hours prior to departure is that you get to make connecting flights for no apparent intuitive reason. Flew from LAX to PHX. Waited a couple hours. Flew from PHX to CHI. A moderately attractive middle-aged blond woman sat next to me on the plane. She seemed very nervous and made great efforts to ignore my existence. She never looked in my direction for the entire 4 hour flight.

My flight was delayed and I didn't land until about 9:30pm. This was disheartening because I wanted to attend the Orange Alert reading very badly. Barry Graham, Molly Gaudry, Jason Jordan and Blake Butler were reading and I desired to hear their voices. My phone also received no service in Chicago so I was sans communication.

Molly and I were going to meet up that night and discuss our reading at a local radio station the next day. I gave up on the idea of attending the reading.

I took a taxi from O'Hare to downtown Chicago. The country side was bland. Everything looked really mediocre to me. The cabbie was listening to the radio and the news informed me of possible snow on Friday. I was excited. I hadn't felt snow in numerous years.

The taxi trip cost $37. I had no money and did not tip. I didn't feel the taxi driver deserved a tip either. He didn't offer any information about the city or ask how I was feeling. I went to my room and fell asleep around 6am to an episode of "Married With Children".

THURSDAY:

I woke up around 9 or 10 am. Showered, dressed, realized I had not packed any socks and met up with Gena for breakfast. We walked around a little. We both noticed how rude and inconsiderate the locals were. Gena is fond of Panera Bread so we decided to eat breakfast there. I ate a ham and swiss on rye sandwich. It was very tasty but over priced. During breakfast I realized an extreme dearth of attractive women living within the city. Gena concurred.

We left Panera Bread and walked around. Some degenerate black guy told me he liked my shoes, ran a dirty rag over the tops of them, did the same to Gena's boots, made a couple funny rhyming statements and asked for $8 per shoe. He made me laugh so much I gave him some money and so did Gena. I forget how much but it was too much regardless.

I walked with Gena up and down Michigan avenue looking for the Hilton AWP conference dick dance thing. The weather was cold and felt good against my freckled skin. I think my viking blood kicked in or something because I wasn't cold at all. Gena exclaimed "there's Molly!" after every asian woman we encountered on the street and it made me chuckle each time.

We finally found the Hilton after about a 40 minute walk. Gena had taken about 25 pictures and I counted only one attractive woman. Outside the Hilton Daniel Bailey and Peter Cavanaugh stood defiant. We talked to them a little bit. Daniel was going to go sit in on some AWP discussion with some arab named poet guy.

AWP wanted me to pay $200 to go to a glorified grade school book fair because I was not a student. They were penalizing me for being an outsider. I was an interloper to them. I didn't have the $200 dollars. I was not going to pay it even if I had it though. Gena asked Peter to find Blake Butler and bring him out to meet us. The AWP lanyards were of rudimentary design and I contemplated forging one at a kinkos later that night. Peter came back and said he couldn't find Blake. Peter seemed really sad and alone. He said we could hang out at his dorm if we wanted. Some guy asked me for money as we made our way out of the Hilton. I didn't look up at the guy and said I thought I just gave the last of my money away to the last person but let me check my pocket. Gena sounded excited and asked "do you know who that is?". I looked up. Saw a normal looking guy. I mean normal in terms of non-writer looking. I realized it was Sam Pink exactly at the same time Gena told me who it was.

We talked to Sam for awhile. He told me his real name. I told Sam he will always be Sam Pink to me and I thought his birth name was the moniker of a douche bag anyways. Sam laughed. Sam and I made fun of writers and their egos. We laughed a lot. I realized Peter was standing quiet and awkward waiting for us to go back to his dorm. I told Peter we were going to hang out with Sam and he said goodbye.

Sam, Gena and I meandered around the city a little. We went to the Art Museum and I put my head between the legs of a lion statue. I pointed out to Gena that the statue had balls. She found this very amusing. Some black guy asked us for money to help children. All three of us gave him money. The black man stuffed the money in his pocket and i felt like we had been swindled. The man informed us that the Shedd aquarium was free today (free thursdays). Before I could inquire what the Shedd aquarium was, Sam became very animated and told us excitedly we were going to the Shedd. I liked his enthusiasm.

The aquarium was housed next to Lake Michigan. The lake was massive and looked more like a personal ocean.

Inside Sam, Gena and I stared at various aquatic creatures. Gena kept trying to kiss the turtles through the glass, Sam was intrigued by the eels, and I was mesmerized by the Japanese Spine Crabs. The spine crab slowly maneuvered itself up and down this little corner of rock wall. I thought about it the entire time at AWP, the fact that at any point in my current existence a japanese spine crab was methodically climbing up and down the same rock wall in a small man made aquarium housed in a building sitting on a great lake as the earth spins wildly through immense space.

I took a big shit at the aquarium and we left. Sam saw some crazy old guy jogging shirtless and in shorts. We departed.

That night Gena and I were going to hang out with Ryan and Christy Call but (excuse the lame pun) they never called Gena to give us directions of where to go. I was tired from walking sans sock anyways and fell asleep around 9:00pm.

FRIDAY:

Woke up, washed my balls, ate McDonald's for breakfast and met a couple of fluffy white dogs named Cassie and Cocoa. I never eat fast food any more so this was kind of a big deal for me. Ryan Call stole a AWP badge on my behalf. He was super nice and awesome. I embarked to the Hilton.

Hot girl count was only up to 3.

Met up with Ryan. He handed me a badge with the name "Adam Robinson" printed on the front of it. The name was known to me. Adam is the guy from Publishing Genius. He walked up and Ryan introduced us. He seemed nice. A little eccentric but i think it is a positive trait. Adam told me "i feel confident you will represent my name well".

Apparently Adam was not familiar with "Jereme Dean".

Ryan walked us to the Noo/Publishing Genius/No Colony table. There was a rumor Mike Young had been thrown out for flying the remote controlled mini-helicopter. The thought "how lame is the hilton and/or awp convention that they felt the need to remove a person from the premises over flying a harmless remote controlled plastic helicopter." I arrived at a table with various penis bearing human beings. The helicopter was not confiscated and Mike Young had not been incarcerated. Ryan was slightly disappointed the rumor was false.

I met Shane Jones. Shane was tall and long and spoke with a slight speech impediment. I shook his hand and said hello. This being the only words we would speak during my entire tenure at AWP (except when i said 'bye' the last day but i don't remember shane saying any words in response).

Next I met Mike Young. Mike was wearing some sort of homo-erotic johnny cash/cowboy shirt. I liked it. Mike had a slightly nervous voice and i thought his accent was interesting.

I asked where Blake was several times. I found Aaron Burch at the Hobart's table and gave him 3 cigars from the stash i had brought from Orange County. Aaron smiled frequently and had a glorious beard reminiscent of Pennsylvania Dutch. The Hobarts table attracted large groups of passersby because of the free shots of Evan Williams and cigarettes. There was a sexy blond woman standing next to the table. I told her she was 'hot' or something similar to that. Later I would find out it was Elizabeth Ellen and feel bad for hitting on her in such a lame manner.

I found Barry Graham at the Dogzplot booth (it was right next to the NC/PG/NOO table) and introduced myself to Barry. I instantly liked Barry and felt very comfortable. Barry is a massive man. He reminded me of a comic book character like the Juggernaut or the Thing. I thought 'if i end up in a fight later, i want barry and sam at my side'. I did not feel this way about any other writer type at awp.

I kept mistaking Adam Robinson for Blake Butler. Their body shapes are similar i think.

Ryan and Mike started flying the remote control helicopter. People were getting very excited over it and running around like little children. I did not want any one to think I was weird and lonely because I was not participating in the flying of the helicopter. I walked over and pretended to care/be enthused about the flying toy. People kept crashing the helicopter. Ryan Call was able to pilot it the best.

Blake and Gene Morgan walked up to the table. Blake didn't seem to notice who I was so I introduced myself. He said 'hello' and walked off to talk to some one else. Gene was a big man but looked like a cuddly bear in neon. Gene wore lots of brightly colored clothing and accessories. I thought he would be intimidating and grumpy but was the opposite. I introduced myself to Gene.

I bought Blake's novella "Ever". Blake signed it for me. I did not read the inscription immediately because I thought it would seem needy and lame like I had a school girl crush on him or something. I put the book in my bag with Gena's books.

I went looking for Molly Gaudry and found her by the Keyhole booth. Molly is super nice to me via email. Meeting her in person seemed different. I don't know. She seemed really nervous around me and didn't use many words to talk. I couldn't tell if she hated my guts or not.

I said goodbye and walked back to the booth.

At the table people were talking amongst themselves. I was starting to feel alienated and negative about myself because no one really seemed interested in talking to me.

I noticed many people (mostly women) walking by the table but hardly any one stopping to look at the books. My retardation kicked in and I thought it would be a good idea to say something stupid to every woman passing. Such great lines like "hey! you! come here! do you like words? check out these fucking words!" while pointing at the last copy of Blake's novella "ever". This occurred for 30-45 minutes I believe? It is hard to discern.

Justin Taylor visited the table and seemed really nervous around me. I was not sure if he knew who I was since my badge read "adam robinson".

I crouched low and hugged justin's waist hoping to make him a little nervous but also showing I had no real ill will towards him.

Some one decided we should all go eat as a group. I was happy because the book fair was starting to bore me.

Ryan Call, Christy Call, Sam, Blake, Mike, Gene, Gena, Daniel and myself wandered the cold night of Chicago looking for something to eat. Christi Call has got to be one of the coolest chicks I have met. She was not intimidated by me at all. I kept testing her limits throughout the night forage for food and Christi laughed at each childish remark. Despite my best efforts to push her away, she never seemed offended or put off by anything I said. She is one of my favorite people from AWP.

The collective decided on some Chicago style pizza restaurant. It looked mediocre, cookie-cutter corporate america bullshit. There was no soul or charm in the place but every one was hungry so I didn't speak against going in. I asked Sam if it was any good and he shrugged.

Inside we sat at a makeshift long table reminiscent of the last supper of Christ. My social anxiety was flaring and I secluded myself at the end of the table next to Gena and Daniel. I felt safe there. I think I had heard Daniel utter about 5 words during my entire concrete reality relationship with him. I felt somewhat comfortable.

Our waitress was outgoing but very inept. She didn't pay attention very well and messed up several times. My negativity surges when I am anxious and kept prodding the waitress with sarcastic remarks. Hopefully she took it in stride (we tipped her well).

I didn't really get a chance to talk to any one. Daniel was quiet. Blake/Gena were talking to people at the other end of the table. I started to get really bored again and felt like entertaining myself by making a crawling spider out of paper straw covers. It failed. I showed Ryan how I am a dickhead and like to play pranks on random people. by unscrewing the top of a parmesan cheese shaker, flipping the shaker over so the open end was flush against the table, then placing the lid of the shaker on the exposed bottom end. It looks like a normal shaker until some one grabs it and cheese goes all over the fucking place.

Blake got excited about something and pounded the table with his fist. The lid of the shaker slid off and I used gum to glue it back in place. Blake pounded a couple more times but the shaker kept hold.

The pizza was bread thick. Holy shit. I felt like I accomplished something by eating two slices. Gene took down 3. He is master samurai.

We left, others made plans, people split up and Gena and I followed Blake/Gene to a liquor store where Gene bought some mescal tequila. Gena had said she didn't like beer. I bought her some lambic, pear i think, to show her that beer is not all budweiser and garbage. We walked to Gene's room and started drinking. Gene was staying in a Hilton hotel but the hotel looked like it was transplanted from 1983 Las Vegas. I loved it. I think this was my favorite time at awp. I was not in a large group and felt comfortable to sort of be myself. At some point Mike Young showed up to the drink party.

We left for the L train reading. Outside we met up with Sam, Molly and Blythe Winslow. Blythe was tall and blonde. I think hitler would have been proud if she were born in 1932 germany. I did not talk much on the way to the reading.

Mike was worried we were not going to make it in time and was getting slightly annoyed by the levity of the group I think. Gena had to stop and pee at some point which slowed us down dramatically. A great thing about large cities is indifference towards fellow man and the lack of public bathrooms. I helped Gena find a bathroom and almost destroyed a Barnes and Nobles (or was it borders?) worker for taking her license so she could pee.

We got to the train station in time. I heard Mike shrieking in the background for people to get in formation. A large group of people was standing nuts to ass waiting for the train. I stayed near the back away from the people until the train came. I carved a path through the people once boarding commenced boarded at the very end of the last train car.

Normally I despise readings. They are boring and self-ejaculatory to me but the masses seem to want them and the writers seem to bask in the attention. It always puts me off.

The reading started out with some black guys bantering back and forth, then suddenly they ran off the train. I think that was part of the reading right? Adam Robinson was taking film of it at least. I liked it.

The close proximity of people made it hard for me to focus on anything. My agoraphobia was pounding in my weak head and the only thought I had was "get the fuck off the train as fast as fucking possible fuck this reading shit fuck I need to escape". The thought was finally interrupted when Sam started talking loudly and began reading about taking a bubble bath together. I felt calm and good.

Sam was done reading. The anxiety instantly came back but worse. My mind snapped out of nowhere when I heard Blake begin to drunk scream read. His reading was my favorite moment of literary things I have thus experienced. He has a weird delivery of words, emphasizing things, but not over the top. His reading completely quieted my mind, everything diminished but his head and book clutched within fingers. The reading felt personal, a commitment or marriage between his words and my mind. I would change my philosophy regarding readings if they were always like Blake's.

Sadly, they are not. Blake finished abruptly just as he started and I couldn't focus again. An unknown voice from the crowd announced we had only a few more minutes until our stop at the Book Cellar. I looked at my feet and counted seconds in my head until the train reached our destination and exited. I don't know who read after Blake. My mind ruined things as usual.

Slowly people walked from the train station to the book cellar. Snow was beginning to drift down from the sky. I heard Mike Young ask people if they thought he 'put on a good reading?' several times. He didn't seem to be asking out of insecurity. It was more of a clever way to say 'I did this. I want you to know I did this'. I purposely resisted telling him it was good as a result which makes me just as childish.

Ryan Call was scheduled to read at the Book Cellar. All those people started packing into this little shop. I started to panic about it but wanted to support Ryan by being there for his reading. I left for a quick walk to a 7-11 with Gena. We were gone for only 10 minutes. Cuddly Gene and Sam were standing outside when we returned and informed us the reading was already over. I felt bad I was not there to support Ryan.

Gene and I started smoking cigars. In terms of cigar etiquette, a person gifted with a cigar is supposed to make some effort to smoke with the person gifting the cigar. Gene was the only person who showed 'good' cigar etiquette. Gene and I puffed away as the snow fell.

Some russian guy with girl in tow asked Sam for an autograph. Sam seemed really nervous by the request but was not a dickhole and signed something funny for the guy. I think he said something funny too. It is hard to remember because I was trying to get the russian girl to talk to me. I don't think she said one word.

People came and went. I smoked. Gene hinted that he was going to get sick from the cigar but kept pulling drags of smoke from it. I was proud of him.

Blake's drunken ass thought it was a good idea to go to some release party by cab fare with some others. I queried him 3 times if the place was a bar and he said no each time. Gena wasn't 21 and thought it would suck if she got stuck outside in the snow while the rest of us drank and soused it up.

The cab was ridiculously packed.

We arrived at a bar. My fault for trusting drunk people. It made me laugh. Sam, Gene, Gena and I stood outside while others went in. The bar looked like a bar to me. Nothing special. Various people stood outside smoking.

I saw a very attractive girl walk out of the bar to smoke a cigarette and motioned her over to me. We talked about why she was there and how the 'party' thing was. I showed her Sam's book after she admitted her ignorance of him. The pretty girl (I forget her name) said she liked the writing which was my (intended) segue to introducing Sam to the girl. After yelling and prodding Sam finally walked up to talk to her and I immediately removed myself from their proximity. I think I made comments to Gene that I hoped Sam would get laid but I thought he looked too nervous.

A car pulled up with two young black girls. They were not shy and asked posed a question to Gene I did not hear. The black girls were not scared of Gene, Sam and myself. I thought that was interesting. Gene shrugged and asked Sam to assist because he was a local. Sam seemed really confused by the question which I heard (but do not remember the phrasing). They were asking where to buy drug paraphanelia. I translated to Sam and laughed.

I am the drug lexicon.

Blake, Gene, Molly, Blythe, Gena, Sam and myself took a taxi back to Gene's hotel where Molly and Blythe were also staying. At arrival I volunteered to hunt down booze and took orders. Mike showed up as I was departing, informed me he normally drank whiskey but wanted something sweet. The comment seemed out of place funny and made me smile.

Finally I felt normal as I walked alone under the Chicago night snow. The booze hunt took some time. Two 7-11's sold absolutely no beer/wine. The third 7-11 possessed a small collection. "What is wrong with this gravel sucking shit hole of a town where booze is this hard to find?" I thought while perusing the shitty collection of adult beverages.

It was one of the few moments I missed Southern California.

Upon return, hotel hallway furnishings were misplaced randomly and Gene's room was vacant.

Apparently Blake had been running around doing drunken shit to inanimate objects while I was out hunting booze for the groups happiness.

I found people downstairs in the bar. Sam had left unannounced which saddened me. I bought two 40's of King Cobra for us to drink together. The mescal was breakdancing in Gene's stomach/head regions and he retired for the night.

Blake, Molly, Blythe, Mike, Gena, myself and a writer type guy I did not know headed to Molly/Blythe's room. Blake was flip floppy every where and had me smirking frequently.

Molly didn't really speak in the room just like at AWP. I found it odd. She left for snacks.

I took Gena's camera and snapped a blurry pic of Blake which I felt was a decent representation of how I see things. Blythe was being grizzled and would not allow me to take a picture of her. I eventually gave up.

Molly came back with processed snack loot. Blake was getting exponentially drunker much to my amusement. He is a happy drunk.

Gena, Blake and I made escapes into the night.

Saturday:

Packed my shit, met up with Gena and left to AWP book fair. Gena was supposed to fly out that night but decided to say 'fuck it' and stay behind. I was going to crash in Barry's room that night and go apeshit crazy drunk but I felt bad leaving Gena alone. I did not want her to get murdered or something. Gene was nice enough to invite us both to crash in his room for the night which we took up.

The book fair was snorestown. Gena drank from a bottle of sweet wine until she busted it into a million pieces under the NC/PG/NOO table next to Daniel's feet.

I talked to Barry frequently. He had last day deals. Sam's book was $5 and his own only a $1. $6 precisely existed in my pocket at that unique moment in time. Both were purchased adding my book count to 3.

Gena was trying to fly the remote control helicopter. She was failing badly. I inquired when the helicopter was going to be given away to a lucky NOO Journal supporter. Mike was telling me he was fond of the helicopter and wanted to keep it for himself. I disagreed with that thought process but Gena destroyed the helicopter's functionality before I could vocalize my objection.

Gene, Gena and I left for Gene's room. The 'group' was supposed to meet up for some reading at some college later that night.

In Gene's room we watched a nature show where large birds of prey soared the desert horizon searching for tasty animals to eat.

An iguana living in the day sun realized its ephemeral life and panicked, running awkward with hips pistoning left to right, finally being snatched by swooping claws and ripped open by beak.

I fell asleep replaying the image of the scared iguana running on desert sand.

Gene woke me and we left for the reading, meeting up with Ryan, Christi, Blake, Mike, and Daniel in the street.

The atmosphere immediately put me off. It felt very contrived and bourgeois to me. A guy serving red wine was present. Manicured people talked highly of themselves. I missed Sam and felt trapped.

I tried to talk to Blake but there were too many people around me and I couldn't think well. I did get a chance to nervously tell him something about myself that I normally hide from people.

Gena and I walked into a large auditorium, found seats near the front next to Daniel/Gene and sat down. I saved an empty seat next to me for Blake and was hoping to finally talk to him on a personal level as I am fully aware of how polarized my personality is when interacting within a social group compared to talking privately with another person.

Blake ended up sitting far away by Justin Taylor and some other guy. I felt a little sad because it was going to be my last chance to talk to him. Blake is very ambitious and sort of like an ambassador of independent lit and I figured he was doing the ambassador thing. Or maybe I am wrong and he hated my guts too. I had not been wearing socks the entire fucking trip.

Gene and I chatted about literary type things. We discussed Noah Cicero and Sam Pink. We talked about HTMLGiant, where it was going and I made a joke that they would have to get rid of me to be 'professional'.

The readings started. I was extremely bored and tired, started criticizing/making fun of the readings to Gena who did not seem amused, fell asleep frequently, kept waking up to more and more endless readings. They would not stop. God why wouldn't they stop.

Fell asleep again. Gena was gone. Daniel looked like he was as bored as me.

I got up and left. Looked for Gena. Couldn't find her. Decided I would walk back alone to the hotel but went back to the auditorium one last time and found her with Blake. My stomach felt sick and cold. People were constantly moving around me and I was getting angry sweats.

I asked what Blake and the others were doing after the reading and kept getting weird non-answers which I took as 'we don't want you around'.

Gena and I left for Gene's hotel room and I passed out almost immediately after arriving at his room. Some time later that night Gene came in and I moved/slept on the floor.

Sunday:

Departed in the 4ams with Gena in rear to the airport. Took the subway. Subway is always fun that early in the morning. Gena took a picture of a black man passed out on the train.

We had to make a connecting train to the airport. Walked through an underground tunnel where a black man sat on the concrete floor far down near the other end while singing 'stand by me'. His sad weathered voice echoed into my head.

I told him he was beautiful.

Said goodbye to Gena and escaped back into the high air dwelling about many things:

My imminent death, Chicago seeming mediocre, Sam Pink, books, alienating people and wondering why I cannot stop myself from acting that way, eternal loneliness, flying across the united states to buy 3 books totalling $16, meaninglessness, the fact that I bought the book "the baby sitter's club" from a thrift store to give to Sam but I had forgotten it, what the fuck was I doing at AWP, interloping, giving up writing, Ryan Call taking home all that damn pizza, that midget lady, drugs, married with children, electronic helicopter destruction, my beard was pretty sweet, lorca, where the fuck were the hot girls in chicago, pessoa, drunken readings, secrets, how am i getting home from lax, friendships, lack of friendships, parmesan explosion, ego, worthlessness, and death.

One idea I cannot get out of my head since chicago, despite my best efforts, is that japanese spine crab housed in a glass cage, in a room with very dim lighting, in a mediocre city located on the surface of a spinning rock floating through an inexplicable vastness, spending minute, hour, day, week, year and life slowly maneuvering the same piece of underwater rock for no particular purpose at all.

existing without philosophy, without language, without academia, without addiction, without any of our approval.

alone at the bottom of a tiny personal sea.

and this is a post of something unspecial

2008-12-15T16:49:00.000-08:00

at times i feel like a balloon floating in space
the meaning of the balloon lost without gravity

space debris

other times i feel like a fork resting in a bowl of soup
the functionality of the fork lost within the liquid

hot residue

at this time i feel like blood extracted into a vial
the value of the blood lost without a human body

trapped fluid

tomorrow i will feel like an orphan waking from a bad dream
crying out lost into the cascading darkness

hollow confusion

a few old poems i wrote at 6 am in a notebook while drinking alcohol and shivering in the park at christmas time

2008-09-25T13:47:00.000-07:00

i have been watching a father and son

play frisbee for one half hour

each time the father gleefully hurls

the plastic disc over the boy's little head

the child chasing every throw tirelessly

not knowing why the disc

is being thrown too far

wanting to please the only man he trusts

10

15

20

minutes pass

when will the torture end

i should stride over there
grab that disc
pluck it from the air

in defiance

hand it to the smiling child

a champion

a moment's hero

but i remain unmoved and watch on

i would never rob a child of his own poetry

***

the tree does not remember autumn's leaves
          spent and shed on the wet ground

the undertaker does not remember yesterday's ashes
          consumed in the fire of time

the dope sick forget the withdrawal
          hell of their addiction

but i remember

every time you smiled
every time you laughed
every time you suffered

it is both a burden and a joy

the only emotions i can remember

***

i am sitting here

stranded on grey sand
of this deserted beach

surrounded by spiraling cliff
and infinite sea

the gulls circling above
resolute with greed

i write beautiful poesy
in the earth with my finger

only for high tide to erase

my labor
my love

time has aged quickly

beard long with decay
eyes haggard

the realization of inaction

soon i will be dead

temporary food for the sea birds

the ocean will carry
my skeleton out

to its belly floor
where i shall rest

for eternity

uncertain that my mark
was ever felt

staring blankly at
the curtain of my life

i wait a little longer

and this post is a smile turned upside down

2008-09-01T10:15:00.000-07:00

i really don't like any of you

i am not like you or him or her

every blog a flagrant reminder

of my perceived aloneness

there are no life experiences

we can share

psychotherapy would try to

universalize me

to alleviate my explicit alienation

there is an ex-con sleeping on my floor

as i type this

and yesterday i saw a mexican child

with an amputated leg wheelchair himself

uphill to buy a frozen juice bar

other authors are not writing

anything i can identify with

i really do not like any of you

can you relate?

and this post contains a Senryu

2008-08-21T12:05:00.000-07:00

I have been reading too much psychology lately. The post is coming soon. It will be long. Alienation is the topic. Sometime soon after the 'research' is done. Psychology wears my balls thin at times. So dogmatic. Uhg.

I don't have much to say. Well I do but not the interest to vocalize my internal feelings and thoughts. Maybe later today.

Here is a Senryu, not to be confused as a Haiku.

***

sorrow found today

i had forgotten about

i'm overjoyed

***

bye

and this post is a jungle tiger caught in a torrential rain

2008-08-18T10:44:00.000-07:00

Today is a unique day. Today is the day of bloggers or something. I don't know. We didn't give it a name.

A month or so ago, Brandon Gorrell had an idea to blog about other bloggers. Tao Lin said 'good idea'. I joined. Now this is the day of blogging about bloggers. Each blogger was tasked to blog about an assigned blogger. Here is the list:

Blake Butler writes about Mike Bushnell
Brandon Gorrell writes about Colin Bassett
Chris Killen writes about Ken Baumann
Colin Bassett writes about Chris Killen
Connor O'Brien writes about Tao Lin
Gena Mohwish writes about Sam Pink
Gene Morgan writes about Noah Cicero
Jereme Dean writes about Blake Butler
Jillian Clark writes about Kathryn Regina
Justin Rands writes about Matthew Savoca
Kathryn Regina writes about Kendra Malone
Ken Baumann writes about Jereme Dean
Kendra Malone writes about Brandon Gorrell
Matthew Savoca writes about Gena Mohwish
Mike Bushnell writes about Zachary German
Noah Cicero writes about Shane Jones
Sam Pink writes about Justin Rands
Shane Jones writes about Jillian Clark
Stephen Daniel Lewis writes about Two Tears Boy
Tao Lin writes about Gene Morgan
Two Tears Boy writes about Connor O'Brien
Zachary German writes about Stephen Daniel Lewis

Brandon did a wonderful job organizing this 'project'. I commend him (i don't have the patience to organize my sock drawer). The participant list was small initially and grew very large via 'word of mouth'.

I was interviewed by Ken Baumann, who was tasked to blog about me, and found Ken to be very interesting through our correspondence. Ken is one of the 'good ones'. I am excited to read about myself. My ego is swelling. Watch out.

Now for my assignment. The ubiquitous Blake Motherfucking Butler.

!******!

YOU ARE A GIFT FROM THE CREATOR

Blake Butler is not like you or me or any one we know. Blake Butler was a shooting star in his previous life. Blake Butler is the original government super soldier who was constructed in a secret underground bunker somewhere in the desert of New Mexico. Blake Butler once mouth fucked a great white off of the Australian coast because it was Tuesday and Blake Butler was bored. A strand of Blake Butler's golden hair can buy you a small island in the philipines. Blake Butler placed the gun in hitler's hand before his suicide using his time machine he created out of bear traps and old vhs mix tapes of prime time television shows in the 80s.

Blake Butler is one of the few genuine, kind, interesting people I have met in the course of my internet blogging existence. And the bitch can write too.

An exhaustive list of Blake's accomplishments can be found here:

Literary BDSM

I read this list and my balls shrivel at a very rapid pace. I feel small like a button or a doorknob or a hanger.

I was able to sit down with the "CREATOR" and baffle him with my panoply of bullshit. Interview starts now:

JD: Describe your past 10 years in a short synopsis.

BB: I don’t know, I think I ate a baby, if I didn’t I will change my memory to reflect that I did. I did that on the first day of the 10 year interim you are asking for a synopsis of. After the baby, I joined a small sewing circle where each Tuesday we would get together and place our tongues all on the same chair. That was definitive to my creation, and to the creation of the baby inside me, I am sure it’s still alive, I watched The Jerk probably 1100 times or so, with American Movie as a close second. I did a lot of standing up and sitting down, and probably some laying down, I learned its important to get your face wet before you comb your hair, I didn’t eat enough tacos, that’s a promise.

JD: What is the total of your published work as of August 9th, 2008? How many online? How many print?

BB: I don’t know, I think I stopped paying attention, that’s not true, but I’d like to act like that’s true. You can look at http://www.laminationcolony.com/butler.html if you really give a shit. Maybe next month I’ll send a copy of that page to my mortgage company and they’ll adjust my interest rate, or I could mail that bitch that sold me my mortgage a coupon for a handjob, I would give it to her, I would wear the powerglove.

JD: Do you have an incline toward online or print publications? Can you explain why?

BB: I have an incline towards publications made with obvious care. If it looks good, I don’t give a shit what it’s printed on, it could be printed on my mother’s thorax or the inside of a certain box of Crispix, as long as it was designed well and didn’t look like shit and had some level of something, I would something something something. I like to read contributor notes before anything else. Diagram looks really good online, so does Wigleaf, so does some others. Print there are even more good looking, but just as many you wouldn’t want to clean your shoes with.

JD: You are very active in the literary community and participate in the editing of several literary journals. Which journals have you been involved with past and present? Can you explain a little about each?

BB: I’ve edited Lamination Colony for about 5 years now, something like that, in the past year or two I’ve been putting a lot more effort into it, making it look better, be more its own thing, etc. Ken Baumann and I just started a print leg of that mixed with his own online journal No Posit, I just finished proofing the first issue, I have happy inside my glub. I like to publish shit I know most other places wouldn’t get through their first ‘core’ of readers, sometimes publishing is like Contra, some places have good readers, some have their fingers up their anuses.

JD: Please describe your opinion on the last 5 years of the ‘literary scene’ and your feelings toward the current online community and/or small press publications.

BB: I don’t know, I’m so moody I tend to go back and forth between extreme emotions, some days I’d like to delete the internet, some days I’d like to mail my car keys to people I have become strong friends with just via email, that’s kind of amazing, I have friends online I would trust more than my ‘real life’ friends. As far as publishing, it’s a big network, it keeps change, I try to think of it as a stumor in my rezrum, I try to go outside sometimes.

JD: Where do you see the current literary scene in 5 years from now?

BB: I don’t know. I’ve always thought the world would blow up before then.

JD: List 5 of your favorite authors complete with the reasoning behind each decision.

BB: Man, you are really pounding my dick with these big’ns, aren’t you? I like these questions, I feel like I should stop and write long long shits in response, but I should probably try to be brief so people read them. I will write my 5 favorite authors without trying to think too much about it, if you asked me some other time it would probably be different.
David Foster Wallace: he is, I think, the most misunderstood fiction author of all time. I could write an essay on that, I’ll just stick to that premonition. There are probably a handful of people who get what he’s doing, most of the lit scene I think overlooks him on purpose. I am a writer because of him.
Cormac McCarthy: Not so much his recent books, though The Road was cool, I really like his 70’s and 80’s Appalachian novels, SUTTREE, CHILD OF GOD, plus BLOOD MERIDIAN, those books were carved out of flesh.
Brian Evenson: Pretty much the best model in my mind for how to write exactly what you want, to be diligent, to evoke mood, and to control the mind to such an extent that you are creating, for real.
Roald Dahl will always hold a special place in my heart, from childhood until now.
I can’t pick a 5th, I really like William Burroughs, David Markson, Stephen Dixon, William Gass, Donald Barthelme, Nicholson Baker, others, I don’t know, sometimes just one book by a certain person, I don’t know.

JD: Are you the gatekeeper?

BB: Of my anus, and another thing, and of sanserrebrum cloisis btet.

JD: 5 of your most cherished words and an exemplary sentence.

BB: Bibsdennum yointslit bahtsnee elvava twoink.

JD: If you had to label yourself, maybe by gunpoint or something similar, what would you label yourself as?

BB: Retarded.

JD: Have you heard any humorous cliché jokes lately? If so, please tell it.

BB: What did the baby tell the other baby?
The other baby told the other baby about the baby he saw crying into the long tube tunnel that led into a sunroom where seven massive women were taking turns folding and unfolding the skin that would soon become another section of the baby as the baby continued to grow, and the sun was eating a lollipop with gold urethras swimming up from it that attached to the nodules in my pustule’s father’s eyes.

JD: How many hours do you sleep on average, at what time range typically, and how many hours have you gone successively without sleep?

BB: It varies widely, right now I’m getting like 7 a night, which is as good as it gets, if that changes after me answering this question I am going to cut your voice fold first via email, more often I think I average 4 or 5, and sometimes just like 2 or 3, but regardless of anything I usually wake up every couple hours, and it’s a matter of whether my brain gets invoked before I fall back asleep or not.

The longest I went w/o sleep was 129 hours when I had mono, it wasn’t fun.

JD: Where is the strangest place you have masturbated?

BB: In the urinal at the Georgia Tech library? I remember that one pretty well. Um, at Jerry Garcia’s grave site? In the ICU next to an old woman with a goiter?

JD: Are you aware that you look like a famous Hollywood melodramatic actor (although his dearth of work lately makes him less relevant)? Does it bother you when people bring this to your attention?

BB: I will smother your baby, Jereme. Shh.

JD: Any strange talents?

BB: I am strangely excellent at folding napkins, I always do it right the first time. I can spin a dish set on my pinky. I’ve never seen Top Gun. When I look at a bullet I see a cradle, that’s pretty talented.

JD: What are you passionate about currently in your life?

BB: Coffee, fiber, email, girlfriend, candy, running, anti-dentist, I really do want to bite a baby I’m not kidding, chocolate, looking at the internet, my macbook pro.

JD: Can you say something ‘inspirational’ to the other writers out there who have not found the success you have had?

B:: Do what makes you happy.
Fuck the man.
Read a lot.
Vomit is important.
It feels good to beat your head against the wall it really does.

JD: Do you suffer from existential despair?

BB: I can’t feel my face, does that count?

JD: What adult beverage do you ‘typically’ drink?

BB: I drink ‘bitch’ drinks, I like sugar, I have trained myself to absorb beer when that’s what’s around, I don’t know, I didn’t drink at all until a couple years ago, I was ‘straight edge’ in the mind, High Life is cheap but I like Guinness, Guinness with Sprite is actually really good, I can fuck a margarita’s anus.

JD: What the fuck was eating Gilbert Grape?

BB: He knew he was about to turn into a big shitty action movie star and he’d already scheduled all his best performances, and he had a pustule to pop on his aorta, his doctor’s hands were cold, he could ever tie his shoes correctly because of the imbalance in his nonexistent sibling’s head. Also he liked Dead Kennedys too much.

JD: Do you believe in ‘love’?

BB: Cher is a whore.

JD: Have you ever written love poems only to feel ashamed and regretful once the relationship was over?

BB: When I was 16 I wrote seriously about 200 love poems to this one girl in like a couple months, we weren’t even dating, we were supposedly ‘best friends,’ she knew I had it in my mind, I would give them to her at lunch, she would read them while she ate her low-cal lunch and mark them with thumbs up, 1 or 2 or half a thumb or sometimes nothing, I’m not sad about it now, they are in a box somewhere, I would toss them in a ditch if I had enough energy to stand up and look, and really it doesn’t matter.

JD: Do you fold or crumple your toilet paper in your bathroom rituals?

BB: I would say crumple, that way you are maximizing the surface area and the peak formatting of the ass to paper ratio, though if I really had my choice I would take a shower after every time, even just peeing.

JD: Do you have a southern accent?

BB: Atlanta is the north of the south, I don’t have a southern accent in a distinctly distinct way, extreme northerners can detect it, though it is slight, and it comes out more when I certain words or when I get excited maybe.

JD: 3 random words to google?

BB: TITTY FORTUNE
EXPLODEDED
GREEN ANUS RASH

Okay, I am done with the rapid questions. A few situational ones now.

Are you familiar with the game Fuck, Marry, Kill? If not, please take a look here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fuck,_Marry,_Kill

Whom would you fuck, marry and kill?

ROUND 1

Gordon Lish

David Lynch

Crispin Glover

BB: Can I fuck Gordon Lish’s ear? Maybe I’d end up in a story somehow, I hear he fucks a lot of women, he probably can get it done. Marry David Lynch, we would drink coffee and look at wood. Then I guess kill Crispin Glover, in a film he is directing. Ultimate.

ROUND 2

Rosie O’Donnell

Barbara Bush

Gene Hackman

BB: I would face fuck Barbara Bush, mean and rapid. Marry Gene Hackman, he’s funny sometimes. Kill the christing fuck out of Rosie O’Donnell, I have a recurring dream of being trapped in a small hot elevator with her and Joan Rivers, in each dream I beat my head until I am bleeding and I still am there.

ROUND 3

Tao Lin

Brandon Scott Gorrell

Sam Pink

BB: I think by pure web motivation alone I have to fuck Sam Pink, you can tell he’s got a concrete cock and a buzzsaw forehead, he would ejactulate blood or something. I guess then since I am going to see Tao in a week or so I should kill him rather than marry, cause that would be awkward, plus Brandon has the legendary hair, and he once touched Little Richard I hear.

Just a couple questions more.

JD: What is your favorite curse word and please demonstrate its use.

BB: Right now it’s CUNT PALACE, that is beautiful. In use I would run into the doorframe as I do roughly 55% of times I pass through a door and I will say in a loud aggressive voice CUNT PALACE, then I will walk on continuing to curse about the frequency of times I run my shoulders into a door, jesus of god. I like that one too, JESUS OF GOD, is that a curse word?

JD: You have died and are at the gates of heaven, assuming the Christian god exists, and converse with St. Peter. St. Peter tells you “Blake, you have lived a decent life, we would like you to come in to heaven, but there is one last test. Please use a single sentence, and only one sentence, to make god feel emotion. If you can do that, you shall join us in inexplicable infinite bliss.” What is your sentence to god?

BB: God, I am sorry I told you to suck my dick so many times when I was angry, when I get angry my mouth becomes a liquid grease den and I can’t keep the women I’ve implanted in my scrote skin from going ouch ouch ouch, will you please let me sit down, I am ready to sit down, all I need is wifi, candy and a nice thing to lay on, and though I can’t promise I won’t get mad and say something about you sucking my dick again, I will at least touch my forehead once with the scissors each time from now on, and I will scrunch my aorta for you some, mmmk?

JD: Does the loneliness ever go away?

BB: Drink more coffee, yes.

Blake Butler has been cutting dicks off for a very long time. The rest of us should strive to step up our game and join him in the winner's circle.

I will miss him after the fame and money start rolling in. It simply is a matter of when.

[EOF]

and this post admits every day is the same, yeah!

2008-08-12T09:39:00.000-07:00

Mark Baumer is some sort of magical creature who did not die for your sins and does not give two shits where you go to worship.

What Mark Baumer does do is put together a refreshing online journal. The kids call it EVERY DAY YEAH

Friday I received an unexpected email from Mark inquiring if I would provide my 'two minute mind'. My initial thought was "what the fuck is a two minute mind"? Mark was not extremely helpful in defining what it was either. He said he didn't want to influence my 'two minute mind'. The concept of not knowing what a two minute mind is but feeling nervousness over possibly influencing the two minute led me to mild panic.

Mark did a good job of not influencing my corrupt mind.

Here is my two minute mind (which is very near my actual thought process throughout the day):

THE TWO MINUTE MIND OF JEREME DEAN

and this post contains a poem that should not be perceived as misogynistic

2008-07-31T20:24:00.000-07:00

can you hear sound in space?

sound does not exist in space

it is too vast and vacuous

but they say soundwaves could exist

if they were trapped within gas

riding the shockwave from a supernova

but you would have to be very close

and only hear it in the time

before your ultimate destruction

i am here now

watching a star in turmoil

i am very close

i can see bright energy

swirling and consuming itself

it is terrifying

okay this is it

it is happening now

this is the precise moment

before oblivion

i can hear it

it is inexplicable

it sounds

like you

and this post contains the next hello

2008-07-23T15:26:00.000-07:00

here are a few poems. if you hate them, please let me know in the comments section. if you love them, well do a kick flip and praise jesus. and if you don't care either way about my poetry, well i think that makes two of us

***

you will never know

what it is like

to sleep next to you

to feel your warmth and body

pressed against me

to watch your breath

escape softly

as you dream of

love and light

my wish only

if i could show

the same

beauty

that you

cannot see

***

i think back to

those horrific days

of my younger years

i was homeless at times

hated and abused

and they casted their

righteous judgement on me

with prompt ease

they told me that

i was a monster

that i was the fuck up

and that i should accept

this destiny of mine

i got free lunch and had

no new clothes

took the city bus if

i had the money

but often would end up

walking home

and i watched them

basking in their perceived glory

with their confidence and money

and loving families

but now i realize

what was perceived is a lie

it was all high school drama

because soon after graduation

the vicious times came

and they all broke under

the poverty

the madness

the shit jobs

the drugs

the drink

the religion

they all broke down

i guess they did not realize

the terror and despair

of daily life

is the true monster

***

if you are

trapped

in fiery hell

and agony

do not expect

the devil

and his minions

to allow

or vocalize

anything positive

and this post contains a poem i wrote for some one special and wanted to share

2008-07-22T00:23:00.000-07:00

i can't get that rat out of my mind

it ran right by my foot

it was quick

i thought rats were ferocious

with their yellow fangs

and hiss/growl noise

like warriors

but this rat wasn't like that

he was small and grey

he was tiny compared

to what notion i have of rats

he was not a warrior

he was a runner

he just wanted to be left alone

and find some place safe

i can empathize with that

actually the rat

was beautiful

you find beauty

in the strangest

of places

i guess

and this is a poem by definition although i can not write poetry

2008-07-20T22:06:00.000-07:00

i feel that my love is the universe

big

grand

vast

inexplicable

pulsing

infinite

out to you

and this post contains no spoiler information

2008-07-18T11:35:00.000-07:00

i am not going to lie

i saw the new batman movie

and i am kind of tired

i only got 2 hours of sleep

but it is okay

i am strong

but i do feel kind of confused

and maybe it is attributed to sleep

or not sleeping i guess

but i feel confused

and cannot remember if

my penis is for aesthetics or functionality

if jesus turned water into boones fine wine

or what exactly is the pepsi challenge

but the movie was good

it deals with feelings of desperation and loneliness and despair

and of course the madness that follows

when you allow yourself to be consumed

by internal forces

and this contains a poem i guess

2008-07-16T00:52:00.000-07:00

i support human cloning. I like the idea of it.

there is much controversy over human cloning.

they say it is against god, it is unnatural and blasphemy.

the other side says that human cloning is the panacea to all disease and ailment.

they put great importance on it.

i thought about it and don't care for either arguement

i like human cloning for purely self serving reasons

i want to clone myself

and watch it grow

and give it all the love, the joy and the acceptance i never got

i want to cottle myself into a beautiful human being

can you imagine?

a self in the world

free of guilt, free of terror, free of despair

no more self destructing or self loathing or self mutilating

a self filled with love and confidence and hope

a new self

without the scars of abandonment, abuse and addiction

a perfect self

yes you are right. it is not you feeling those emotions.

you are the interloper watching

something broken can be rebuilt

but it is no longer capable of 'whole'

but i would rather witness myself

smiling free and pure

then go through life

filled with self-doubt

that all of this is

my fault

and this post proves mother theresa is better than god

2008-07-14T23:11:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have been constantly dwelling on existence and also love. I think I need to define love first. True love is outward not inward. True love is unconditional. You can steal from me, hurt me, and even kill me and I will always love you. There is no need to fill my needs because that is not love. That is ego and want. It is perverse to me. I will still love you. That is 'love' defined by me.

I analyzed who has been capable of this love, true love. I must say it was difficult to find many examples.

Mother Theresa is an example of true love. She loved every one; the poor, the unclean, the forgotten, the diseased. She loved them all regardless of what they did and she asked for nothing in return. She did that until she died in her 80's I think.

That is an example of true love.

I thought deeply on this and noticed something funny.

God is always professed as truely loving his children. He loves us all. Jesus saves. That sounds awesome but his love is no longer given if you defy his tenants. If you do not conform to his rules then you will suffer forever in unimaginable pain. That is not love. That is not love at all.

I then analyzed why Mother Theresa could be capable of love but the omniscient God could not. I came to the conclusion that god cannot be real. Not real as we have defined it.

True love is free of all ego and want. God is not capable of true love. He creates these concrete rules out of a true emotion. Love or Anger. That said keep in mind that god is not capable of true love so love is thrown out. That leaves anger. He created us out of anger. Anger is ego. Anger is an emotion felt when your ego is not cottled and fed.

Otherwise why would you get angry if you were capable of true love.

So God cannot exist in these terms. Only MAN could fabricate such a perverse god. A god of ego. Only a being with ego could think of such perversion. That is man. We fabricated this definition of god to suite our egos.

God is not as we understand it.

So the bottom line, to recapitualate, is that mother theresa is better than god.

true love

***

influences contained within this post

Jacques Lacan

OSHO

D.T. Suzuki

Mother Theresa

god

my life experiences

and this post contains extreme penile guilt and gender despair

2008-07-14T15:57:00.000-07:00

A conversation between two alcoholics I over heard at the cigar lounge while smoking a churchill sized cigar exported from the Bahamas and thinking about you

"yeah, hello"

"yeah hold on. this stupid phone isn't working."

"okay i have you on speaker. Can you hear me now?"

"yes"

"okay good."

"yeah did you hear about Stacey?"

"which one is Stacey?"

"the blond. the cute one. she was there last night."

"oh yeah Stacey."

"yeah Stacey."

"heh, yeah Stacey..."

"what about her?"

"she needs to stay in the program but she keeps saying she can do it on her own."

"well we both know she can't do it on her own."

"yeah that is what I told her. I told her the only thing keeping her sober is the program but she keeps insisting the program is not the reason."

"yes the program is the cure."

"yeah, i think she is going to be drinking a fifth of vodka a day again if she goes off the program."

"yeah the program is the only way to quit it."

"yeah"

"oh, oh. You know how we thought she was only 17 because she looks so young?"

"yeah"

"Jim just found out she is 22! fucking 22!"

"oh that is great news. are you calling her tonight?"

"no i am busy. i will call her tomorrow. you can hit it tonight."

"awesome"

"let me know how it goes"

"yeah will do"

"hahahaha"

"okay i gotta pay and leave. let me know how it turns out."

"okay. will do"