form letters

When I get this:

Thank you very much for your poetic submission to "X Magazine". I enjoyed reading your poetry, but will not be accepting any of these for publication.

I send this:

It's all good.

I'll write better poems next time!

xoxo,
Steve

I'm reading not in the Bay Area

Awesome.
I'm doing a reading in Brooklyn, NY on Friday March 25th. At Pete's Candy Store. It's part of Dorothea Lasky's 'Multifarious Array' reading series. But Corina Copp is hosting this one. Thanks Corina!

It starts early at like 6pm. Featuring wonderful writers: Lonely Christopher, David Buuck, Astrid Lorange, and myself.

Show up! It'll change the game. You'll think that you have the answers, but this reading will change the questions. Boom For Reals!

For Rent

moving east
like east bay
by the lake
or by the place that sells
those fried chicken sandwiches
with my lady
my love
my heart monger.
realtors, please
uh...uh...
approve me?
my credit reports
need credit repair
steady income as meaninglessness
But here's the thing:I'm not sorry.
Macy's fucking sucks.
And everyone, once in a while
should be entitled to a free bag of socks.
OK, I am sorry
I'll fix it. I'll call up
my collectors.
In the meantime,
you and me let's
cruise and find
out where people
like us live
buh-rip

rock bottom at Poet's Theatre

Poem

I want money lots and lots of money
What band read my diary and wrote that song? I’d google it but I’m busy writing more thought provoking poetry. The kind that the King of Finland will read, hopefully in the new issue of Mrs. Maybe (if they accept my submission, and if they have that type of distribution) and ask one of his many servants to write a letter to me, asking if I would bring my words and wisdom to their fair country. Where I’ll be set up with a modest apartment and will only write when the muse permits. And I won’t have to even walk inside a grocery store and I’ll drink green tea by the sea side. That's if Finland does have a sea side. If Finland does have a king. All I want is my soul not fall out of my mouth. Be it in America or Finland.

week's end

Weekend. Watched a lot of the 1985 World Series that I recently purchased. Lots of big ass glasses (Pat Sheridan & Darrel Porter, I'm looking at you. I know that you're looking at me with those big ass glasses), big ass mustaches, tight pants, astro turf, huge wads of chew. I still can't escape Tim McCarver, even in a time machine.

Read a lot of stuff. Ted Berrigan's Collected Poems. Jack Spicer's Black Sparrow Collected Books. Hung out with John Sakkis and listened to Donna Summer. Stole off bites of Lindsey Boldt's grilled veggie burrito. Drank beers. Walked to over to Wazemia, saw Cedar Sigo, Patrick Dunnigan, Jason Morris, and Michael Carr. I think that they were talking about poetry. I think that I was talking about tennis. But that doesn't seem right. I don't know much about poetry, even less about tennis.

Back home with Lindsey and John. Drank more beers, listened to the Pogues. Tried out our stand up routines with the divine help of Milton Berle. None of the jokes were funny. And we all got boo'd off the stage.

We all went to a play rehearsal the next day. Waited half an hour for the bus. Bus came and was packed. Ran into my former co worker Georgia, said that we should go to the video game exhibit at CCA. The bus driver made everyone get off the crowded ass bus at Valencia. Waited for another crowded ass bus. It finally showed up. We were forty minutes late. We felt like punks. We play punks in the play. Even Kennedy and David Brazil are directing. Rehearsals ended. We forgot about the video games and went over to Thee Parkside. Lindsey and I split a fried chicken sandwich. The fried chicken sandwich is like, "our sandwich". Some couples have "their song". Lindsey and I have "our sandwich".

There was more. But I have to go to my good ass job. I'll tell you the rest later.

We're Fucked

I'm having one of those "hate my life" feelings. Usually when I have that feeling I don't know why I'm feeling it. Tonight, I know why.

There's no reason, for anyone, to be hand cuffed to a job 40 hours a week. That's just..god...it's disgusting. I need someone to blame so I guess that I blame Reagan. You have to, in a way, right? But Reagan's dead, and my life goes on. So what to do with myself in my current situation. A current situation that means that I have to be at work 40 hours a week. Also try to be a good partner to Lindsey. Try to write books. Read books. Watch movies. Be with friends. I'm just so grossed out by all of it. I mean, if you care about these things that isn't your job. You'll make it work, right?

I spend so much of my energy on being amazing at my job. I don't like my job. I fucking hate it. But I have to be amazing at my job. Because that's the only way that I'll be allowed to have some sort of freedom. In this way. Like no matter what I do, I'll be there 40 hours a week. But if I am amazing at my job, then I make more money. By making more money I can afford to make Summer BF Press more sustainable. I can afford to take trips to NYC. And maybe France or Holland. So there's cause to be awesome at your job. Two years ago, I quit bartending. Mainly cause it made me hate people. And I wish that I wasn't too sensitive for it. I worked 3-4 days a week, made tons of money, paid a low rent. But I had to quit. For me, bartending gave me this weird super power: the ability to see people at their worst. I don't really know how to explain it. Ask Russ Dillon.


The low rent is gone because I hated where I lived. I hated my roommate. And if I saw him today it would be pretty hard not to smash his face in.

My rent is higher now. But that's okay, cause my apartment is clean and I love my roommate, John, to death. When I quit bartending, I figured that I would keep my life really simple: work at a grocery store, get a discount on groceries, go to school. After a few months, I realized that working at a grocery store doesn't pay your bills and that working 40 hours a week and going to school full time made me a crazy person. So I stopped going to school, and I just worked at a grocery store. And became awesome at my job. In two years, I went from making $11.25 an hour to $18.50 an hour. Which is kind of ridiculous. Which is the kind of pay an entry level admin worker gets paid. Which is kind of ridiculous.

So, as of today, I make $18.50 an hour. And my life sucks. Money is the most disgusting thing in the world to me. Art is the most magical. They co-mingle everywhere. And seeing them co-mingle makes me sick. I am a part of it. I publish small books because I love the books. Then I think about sales. I can't even help it. Will the profit of this book afford me to put out the next book. The book sells well, so people must love it. It's tragic. Life is tragic. Dollars and cents are tragic. The $2.47 (seriously) in my bank account is tragic. And it's all so tragic that you have to make the tragedy into a comedy. Just to get through it all. Playing tricks on our own brains just to get through our lives, so we don't have to think about what a sham it all is. And what actually we could be doing.

New Poem

OK, here's a new poem for y'all.

Tomorrow is a parakeet in your dream
Today is I am Leonard Zelig,
I am omnipresent and I'm totally
Sobbing up the lite rock, I am holding
and petting a baby ostrich, trying to make it purr.
There's a family of Philanders sleeping on the floor
I go all vortex and can't stop brushing my tongue
In the mood for violent activity and irresistible force
I have a certain irresistible force and it smells musky.
But just too embarrassed.
I pull out an old VHS tape of me doing magic.
I watch myself make my kitty disappear.
And with it's success, I smoke another cigarette.
To have an ostrich in your dreams means
or might just suggest that you are not facing
reality and living in a world of your own.
So how is it possible to be omnipresent
and still hold a baby ostrich in your lap?
It's easy. It's not a dream.

Have a good weekend everybody. I'm going to see the movie Metropolis tonight at the Castro Theatre. It's a new cut of the film with about 25 additional minutes. So apparently the narrative kinda makes sense? Maybe? They found the footage in Buenos Aires in 2008. See, I think that when Metropolis debuted in Berlin in 1927, Fritz Lang and his team had several discussions. One of those was from a gentleman in South America, who loved it coughed up some dough and left for somewhere in South America to show the film. One of the other conversations that were had were studio heads that thought that film was way too fucking long and that film would bomb if it wasn't cut. So they cut the film from 153 minutes to 90 minutes. Quite the cut. And a lot of times back in those days, after they cut a film, they would sometime just through the parts that were cut in to the trash heap. Sometimes they would just put the films in some room unprotected and the film would eventually turn into something that is not unlike vinegar. Needless, I don't know which of these two paths of destruction the cut parts of the film took. But it was gone.

There was some found footage in the late 90's/early 2000's. And they put another version together that was about 124 minutes. This version was what everyone thought would be probably the most complete version that would ever be of the film. Until 2008. The 16mm version that was taken from Germany into South America was actually found and it actually existed. So they restored it (again). And now it's playing tonight in The Silent Film Festival. Which I will be attending because it was my birthday a week ago, and Lindsey gave me that and other wonderful presents.

I might also go to this on Saturday:



Also, many hangouts with wonderful friends.

Lunch Poems

I feel bad about that post down below.

I was at Lindsey's house reading an issue of Mrs. Maybe and I was reading Brandon Brown's poem "Columbus Day" I was really moved by it, the honesty of the piece. The language of the piece. I consider that poem to be, in all seriousness, great art. Why? Because it made me think honestly about my life and it made me want to make art. Lindsey was in the shower, so I went out on the stoop to smoke. There in my head I conjured up a little paragraph, about my life, about Frank O'Hara, about how I just haven't been doing anything lately. I went through my paragraph in my head twice, reworking it. It was wonderful and full of magic in my head. I sort of rushed back inside of the house and sat at Lindsey's computer. I wrote it out. But I didn't have it the same way as I had just had had it on the stoop. The theme was the same. But somewhere in my dash from stoop to computer my perceived magic of the language had fallen apart. I looked at the words on the screen and I knew that I had gotten it wrong. I was kinda pissed.

The piece was about how I read Frank O'Hara's Lunch poems on my lunch break at work. And what a bummer it was that I was having my lunch break around the same time that my friends were meeting up and being social. I think what I wanted to convey was that the bummer was actually that here I am at 30, working the night shift and living a very uninteresting life. Or maybe I'm just revising my own thoughts and those thoughts didn't show up until this morning. But let's just say that was what I wanted to say, then and now.

My hat is off to those of you that work your 40 hour a week soul crushing job and still keep your soul intact and make art or something art like. I'm not very good at it. Or haven't been lately. I come home from work and I'm tired and my feet hurt and I just want to sit around. Not think. Not move. I think that part of the reason that I enjoy 'studying' film is that so I can sit around all day watching movies. And I can sleep very easy thinking about all that I accomplished.

The poem that was so wonderful in my head and so mediocre on the screen, wasn't very honest. I haven't read much of Frank O'Hara's Lunch Poems. I play this nasty trick on myself daily. I keep a copy of it in my apron while I work. And then I get ready for lunch and during that time I will go to the computer and type out the poems and begin getting myself out of my unstimulated funk. I will learn what these poems mean and see what if any purpose they can bring to my brain. I got the idea to do this from Dana Ward.

But what actually happens is that it's lunch time. I take my apron off, I clock out, I smoke, I get my lunch from the break room, I heat it up in the microwave, I take the elevator back to the sales floor, I go to the office, I get on the computer, I read about celebrity gossip, I look at the clock, and count the minutes until I have to be back, I realize that I have ten minutes, I realize that I forgot again about the Lunch Poems, I feel angry at myself, I clock in.

Oh and on a side note, why do I have to wear an apron at work? I'm not cooking food. There's actually very little nastiness that could harm my garments.

So, that's my current relationship with that book. And it's sort of become a symbol for my current life. This thing that's right there with me at all times that I just forget about, that goes to waste because I subconsciously don't want to deal with it. Is it fear that I won't understand the text? Is it a fear of pushing my brain into somewhere dark that I don't want to go? Is it a fear or trying and then the presumed failing? I'm not sure. I'm just fairly certain that my action/lack of action is fear based. And isn't that terrifying?

But there's no time like the present to get yourself unstuck. So, I'm awake, sitting in my pajamas, drinking coffee, and writing. It's not a big deal. But it's good and it's what I feel like I need to be doing. And I'm telling myself, "You've got to write today, because you are, at some point, going to get old and your brain's going to only work well enough to realize that you've have wasted your potential, but not well enough to do anything about it. And your bald. And you're wrinkley. And you smell like cotton balls."

See that fear. I just flipped it on you. Topsy turvey. You're working for me today.

This is an idea that I had for a poems called, "Customer Service Associate Team Leader"


I'm sitting in the break room reading Frank O'Hara's Lunch Poems. And I thought "Hey! That's funny I'm reading Lunch Poems on my lunch break". But why am I'm taking a lunch break at seven o'clock? And why am I working on a Saturday, while my friends are meeting up at some bar, smoking cigarettes and enjoying free popcorn? Who besides me eats lunch so late?

Unsatisified Customer Inspires Formation of R&B Group And Other Stories

Sometimes people buy things. All kinds of people. All kinds of things. Some of these people buy things that they at one time thought that would like. But for one reason or another, they found that they don't like it. So they bring it back to the store that they bought it from in order to get their money back. This is called a return. And when they come to do their return at my store, they usually have to speak to me.

Sometimes the people who would like to return things feel the need to explain the exact reasons why they are returning an item. Now, if you readers are ever in position where you must return something, let me tell you that the person that is handling your return does not care why you are returning this. Well, most of the time they don't care. They might care if they themselves actually made the actual product. They might also care if they have power issues. Now, I'll admit that I have some power issues. But these issues have never manifested themselves into caring why you're mad that all three of the avocados that you bought were "sorta brownish".

Every return that I do, I have to fill out a little piece of paper and on that piece of paper I have to list a reason as to why the item was returned. So I figured that if they're going to all of this trouble of explaining why they must return it, I would just quote them on the reason slip. Here's a list of some reasons that I received today:

"sorta brownish avocados"
"hurt my teeth"
"mom wouldn't eat it"
"cod smelled fishy"
"burned her tongue"
"nasty aftertaste"


Nasty Aftertaste. This phrase kind of moved me. And it kind of inspired me. But then I thought that just the word "Aftertaste" had more weight, was kinda secretive, kinda sexier. Was it a nice aftertaste? Or was it a nasty aftertaste? You be the judge. Yes, Aftertaste was a powerful name. And it would become the name of my new R&B group.

I then enlisted three of my coworkers to see if they would be interested in starting an R&B group called Aftertaste. And they were. Of course. And we immediately found our roles for the group. Here's what's up:

Colton would be the soulful cute one that all the girls would want to have tender moments with.

Calvin would be the overtly sexual one that wants to get real freaky.

Bradley would be the artistic one, the studio mastermind and control freak.

And I would be the one that would have a drug problem, who also has an on again off again relationship with Whitney Houston.

We'll probably have choreography.

We came up with three songs through the course of our eight hour shift, which only lasted about six hours cause I was asked if I wanted to go home early because I wasn't doing any work. "Let Me Suck The Cheetos Dust From Your Fingers", "Let Me Be Your Babysitter" and "Don't Be A Bum In Bed". I imagine we'll probably rename "Let Me Suck The Cheetos Dust From Your Fingers" to just "Cheetos Dust". Or maybe it should be "Let Me Suck (The Cheetos Dust From Your Fingers)". Which ever. Doesn't really matter. I'm just really excited about Aftertaste. And I'm really excited to be the one that gets to have the drug problem. Get your itunes store ready.

Gout Blog

I'm so with you, John Sakkis.

I want to bring the blogs back. I initially started this blog as a way to get myself to write everyday, mainly so that I could learn to write to a daily audience. I really wanted to become a better writer and I thought that blogging would help. And, for a while, it did work. I wrote a lot everyday and I learned a lot. I also learned that I was truly in love with Bruce Springsteen. And that I was addicted to meth. And that I wanted to smell really fucking good. And that I really loved writing. And I think, through this blog, that I became slightly better at writing. Then I joined facebook. Oh, facebook, it was once so wonderful. If I had a month where I was really into early Bee Gees records, it was just much easier and efficient to post a few youtube videos of early Bee Gees songs than it was to write about how I was really into early Bee Gees records at that time. And I'd get a lot more comments on facebook than I would on the blog. Ok, maybe the same amount. But it was much easier.


You like this

But for my own good, I need to be writing about these things that all of a sudden take my interest. But what do I write about now? I dunno. What if nothing is taking my interest? So I listened to 'The Joshua Tree' and looked at John's blog, one of the blogs that inspired this one, and it dawned on me: I'm going to write about the food/beverage that I've consummated in the last two weeks, which is:

43 pieces of fried chicken
7.25 pounds of ribs
3.5 pounds of shrimp
11.25 pounds of red meat
3 pounds of bacon
1 serving of orange juice
12 eggs over easy
A pear
9 ounces of water
225 ounces of coffee
37 pieces of nicotine chewing gum
217 American Spirit ultra lights
40 servings of Ben & Jerry's Cookie Dough Ice Cream
3.5 servings of greens
Two green beans
319 cans of Tecate

This recent look at my diet led to my (ir)rational fear of getting The Gout.

In case, you don't want to read through wikipedia's take on gout. Let me just show you this sentence:

About 12% of gout is attributed to dietary causes.[1] This includes a strong association with the consumption of alcohol, sugar, meat, and seafood

I'm kinda fucked, right? I thought so. I still kind of think so. The Gout is fucked up, it's like you have to try and get it. But I feel like if I continue with my current dietary lifestyle, then I'm totally going to fucking get it. I was explaining this fear of The Gout to my very-special-lady-friend, Lindsey. Lindsey cut me up a bunch of fruit and told me that my gout fears were kinda irrational. I told her about my recent diet. I told her that I'm afraid of getting The Gout because getting The Gout is so easy to avoid. She told me that I should be more worried about the 217 American Spirit ultra lights that I had smoked. And the 1,342 American Spirits I was planning to smoke. And then somehow we got to talking about my writing and how I don't do that much of it anymore. And she told me that I should write for McSweeney's. Cause the kind of writing that I used to write would be perfect for McSweeney's. I thought about it. I thought about this blog. And I think that she's right. I should be more prepared for writing an article in McSweeney's than prepared for dealing with The Gout. And I think that I have a new goal. To write. To eat leafy green vegetables. To not be ashamed for being in love with Bruce Springsteen. To not get The Gout and to write. And to spit in the face of these badlands.


You like this

Thanks John! Thanks Lindsey!

Chapbook Press

Hey friends,

Just wanted to let you know what I've been up to. I recently started a chapbook press with the lovely Lindsey Boldt, called Summer BF Press. Today is the official release of our first book, Typing Wild Speech, by Dana Ward. I'm very proud to be part of this and I highly recommend that you pick up a copy of it and also of Lindsey's Oh My, Hell Yes at our website summerbfpress.blogspot.com

Oscar Fever

Wow, yesterday was pretty gnarly. I woke up feverish and wasn't sure if I could get out of bed. Then I had to get out of bed as quickly became crazy nauseous. After a while I started to feel a little better, so I tried to get myself together to go to work. I'm a workaholic, so I can't really just take a day off. But by the time I got to the "office" I couldn't feel my hands. What was wrong with me? I'm glad that you asked. I was suffering from 'Oscar Fever'.

So like I said, I was sick as a dog and stuck at the "office". But what was I going to do? I either needed to lay down or to watch me some Oscars. So instead of just working really hard like I usually do, I just stayed over by the computer, I'd watch the Yahoo live results. And then I would yell at my "colleagues" and "clients" the results.

I usually don't see a lot of movies while they're out in theatres. But this year I tried to make an effort to see some and I ended up seeing some stuff that actually got nominated for awards. But, I still didn't really care who won or lost. Which makes the fact that I got a terrible case of Oscar Fever well, rather silly. Anyway, here's a list off the top of my head of the 2009 films I saw:

Inglorious Basterds
Up
Star Trek
Avatar
Fantastic Mr. Fox
Crazy Heart
Broken Embraces
The Hangover

That's all that I can think of right now. I liked'em all. Here I'll review them all really quickly.

Inglorious Basterds: It's totally an American snuff film about killing Nazis. There's basically two stories of revenge playing at the same time. I wish that the movie was longer so you got to see more of both stories or that there was only one of those two stories going on. I definitely would have been into watching nothing but the basterds gone on crazy nazi killing adventures for 3 hours. And the same goes for the movie theatre proprietor. My two favorite things about Inglorious Basterds: the history lesson on what happens to nitrate film and Chistoph Waltz, being a nutty fucking Nazi.

Wait, these are supposed to be real short reviews.

Up: It's cute and it's fucking depressing. Here I am in a movie theatre, a 30 year old man, at the movies by himself, surrounded by kids and I'm sobbing. I'm sobbing a bunch of times

Star Trek: Pretty bad ass and way fun. And the ladies love Spock. They really do.

Crazy Heart: Is movies about alcoholic country singers a film genre? If it is, then Crazy Heart is about as perfect as you can get for what it is.

Avatar: Totally stupid. And totally fun. My favorite thing was the big tough Marine guy, who is just so happy to be blowing up giant shit.

Fantastic Mr. Fox: Super great. You have to be impressed with stop motion animation, it's fucking insane. And it's also a really good heist movie.

Broken Embraces: Probably my favorite 2009 movie. I was so into the melodrama. And I love that movie within a movie thing. I think that if I were to make a movie today I would do one of those movies within a movie. things. Oh and I'd also try to get Penelope Cruz get naked in it. That never hurts.

The Hangover: No Oscar nod for Zach Galifianakis? Criminal.

OK, so I didn't see last night's big winner, 'The Hurt Locker'. I think that a lot of people haven't seen it. I heard that no film has ever made as little as the box office and won the Best Picture Award. Kathryn Bigelow won Best Director which makes her the first woman to win the award. Which is kind of...about time, right? I think it was more of an apology Oscar. Like "sorry, we should have given Kathryn the award for directing 'Point Break' so we'll just go ahead and make up for that blunder by giving you one for this Hurt Locker thing. Sorry. Our bad."

Also, Sandra Bullock won an apology Oscar. She should have one for Speed 2: Cruise Control.

I'm just kidding about Sandra. I haven't seen 'The Blind Side' but I am convinced that it's awful. Cause it stars Sandra Bullock and she's pretty not very good in every movie that she's appeared in. WTF!

More similar WTF? moments: Avatar won best cinematography. Really? There was probably 15 minutes of the movie that was actually "filmed".

Christoph Watlz winning is probably my favorite award for the night. That was probably the one I was rooting for the most. I guess I'm glad that Jeff Bridges won, but I mean I think that a lot of people could have played that role. I think Robert Duvall should've gotten a best supporting nod for Crazy Heart. I think Robert Duvall and Zack Galifianakis should make a cop buddy movie. Or a remake of 'Colors'.

Ok, so that's all that I got for Oscar thoughts right now. If I think of more, I'll let you know.

Barry Bonds

Sorry dude although everyone saw this coming. Not a one of you is without flaw. Not a one of you would talk smack to the mans face and you know it! How could you have no policy against it? At least you didn't cheat on your wife, Looking forward to being insulted for my stance. At least I think so. Now we're appalled.

Barry Bonds has not done himself any favors with his crappy attitude, Maybe Bonds was not "BIG" enough if you catch my drift. Steroids never produced the beautiful swing he had. Barry was a Hall of Fame player even before the steroid controversy. Face it, people just can't stand the fact that there has never been any concrete proof he used steroids. BARRY could hit that ball fool. U r stoopid

I love how the media and fans claim to want Barry banned from baseball all together. He has never admited to using steroids. every time he eats chicken and waffles, or happens to divorce his wife. Jesus Chris! You people have got to get over it. Otherwise the baseball season will continue to resemble a game of Monopoly.

At least Barry fell from grace defending himself. Half of the league used and only a handful got caught.
Could you live with Barry Bonds 23/7? guess it is true about drugs and shrinkage. May enhance your baseball skills but it sure don't enhance what matters to the wife. Ouch. LOL @ her wanting custody big shocker there, his balls probably too small after all those roids he took. Didn't read the article, The guy is terrible to be around I'm sure. Wouldn't you leave and be happy with a million dollars a year!

He cheated on his wife numerous times and is a jerk-off no doubt. He has turned more tail down, then we can say we had! have no respect for him and am more than glad he's no longer in baseball. its probably because he's at home all the time instead of playing baseball 8-9 months a year. since barry cheated in FRONT OF MILLIONS, so odd he might cheat on ONE??? Only kiddin... I seriously doubt she will win Joint Custody of their daughter after whats she has done. I wonder how she would be able to support the kid on her own because she doesnt currently work.

She didn't want to have to visit him in prison. I'm a cub fan, and YES, i'd put Scammin Slammy Sosa in same boat. He made his bed now he has to sleep in it, alone that is! Pujols will have the record one day and Bonds will be an afterthought. so not too bad. Not like those punks A Rod, Clemens,and McGwire. I really hope the next commissioner has a pair of testicles. Plays video games all day, eats like a pig, snores, farts,and insults the wife.

Bonds is one of the biggest frauds in baseball. Why is this news? why do you write this sh*t?? maybe the woman found out he is gay. She must have had enough of his acne breakouts. How many of you ran down Jordan when he cheated on his wife and got caught? making him the scapegoat is ridiculous. I love how the list of 104 guys who tested positive was part of a test. A good percentage of major league players were juiced and writers do not have any thing else to do. Tough one Barry.

Jamie Bolton's Minimalistic Movie Posters:

Back again (and trying to sell you stuff)

Ok! So I finally have internet in the house again. And this time I think it's going to stay. Sorry about all of that. I got a couple of very exciting projects that will be on the way. I don't want to say too much about it, but I'll give you a clue: One's a chapbook and the other is a talk show. And that's all that I am going to say about that. For Now. So start getting stoked! Updates to come!

So in the meantime I have three recommendations for you:

The first one is that Brandon Brown will be self releasing 3 chapbooks in early 2010. TOOTH FAIRY, THE ORGY, and YOUR MOM'S A FALCONRESS AND OTHER POEMS. These chapbooks will be available in limited edition for $4.00 apiece of $10.00 for all three. I've already sent Brandon my $10 and I strongly suggest that you do the same. Visit his website and put your money down.

Second, Have you still not bought John Sakkis' book Rude Girl from Blaze Vox? It's fanfuckingtastic. I own a copy and I feel great. Don't you wanna feel great? You finally can. Right now. Right Here.

And third, Chicago's finest unemployed resident, Logan Ryan Smith has a new chapbook, Tracks, out on ypolita press. I haven't read Tracks, but I only assume that it is fucking genius. And crazy as fuck. I'd suggest that you visit Logan's blog to see just how smart, crazy, and also handsome he actually is. But I won't. He put the blog on private. Because Logan is terrified that his would be employer might read his blog, find out how crazy, smart, and handsome Logan actually is and be too intimated to give him a job. What a pity. So buy his chapbook.

Neighbors and Daniel Johnston. I'm neighbors with Daniel Johnston.

So like, I said before, I moved. I'm somewhere around lower Haight and Western Addition. It's sort of incredible to be out of the Tenderloin. I mean, I'll be walking, and I'll almost step into some dogshit. And I'll think, "Fuck, I almost walked into dogshit." In the Tenderloin, I was never quite sure, from where or who the shit came from. It was almost always, I assumed, personshit. Because for every dog that I saw walking around the Tenderloin, I'd see about 2.8 batshit crazy persons pooping on the sidewalk. But I think that the weirdest part is that it never seemed out of the ordinary, I never felt weird about some batshit crazy person doing their business on the sidewalk. "That's just city living."

How did I become so desensitized?


But now, living here in my new neighborhood, I realize that it is not ok for humans to be pooping on the sidewalk. And it's not ok for me to think that it's ok, that it's "just city living". It's really gross and it should be thought of as gross. Or at least off-putting. OK, it was always off-putting. But it was accepted for some strange reason.


I'm sorry if this is gross. I understand if you don't want to read anymore.


But the point that I was trying to get across is this:
I feel very lucky and fortunate to sometimes almost step in dogshit.


Another thing about living around here. I used to work in this neighborhood as a bartender. So I know quite a few people around. And every time I leave the house, I usually run into someone I know. Sometimes I don't like that at all. Sometimes I do, and I feel popular and that people generally like me and are happy to see me.I sometimes wonder if people are trying to get my attention, cause they think that I can hook them up with free beers. I can not. But don't tell anyone.


I'm going to see Daniel Johnston on Thursday. I was trying to think of the first time that I became aware of Daniel Johnston. It wasn't that movie, The Devil and Daniel Johnston, which I haven't seen. And yes, I already know what you're going to say. So feel free to copy & paste this in the comment box:


"Oh you got to see that movie. You would love it. I can't believe that you haven't seen it. It's so good. You're so incredibly good looking, Steve. Rent that movie. I can't believe such a wonderful and beautiful man like yourself hasn't seen that movie. Do yourself a favor and watch it. It'll blow your mind. You're so amazing, Steve. I love you and everything you do is art."


So, I'm trying to do my best to remember Daniel Johnston, and when I first heard him. Granted, it's fairly new to my life. While I was being so cool, I forgot to be so hip. I think it might have been from a mixtape that someone made me. But then I started thinking, "Who would have made me that mixtape?" And I couldn't think of a soul. Or maybe it was cause I saw this Daniel Johnston tribute record that had Tom Waits, Beck, TV On The Radio on it. And though, "Well, there must be something to this guy." Then I just downloaded a few of his records. I don't remember. It doesn't really matter, although a good story to tell about it is what I prefer. But I guess that I don't have one. I'll think about it and leave with a cliffhanger.

COMIN' RIGHT BACK (like a heart attack)

Hey y'all. It's been a while since there's been anything up on this blog. Shit got weird. Or actually shit stopped being weird. I dunno. Something happened. But I think that I just wasn't feeling like blogging for a bit and now I do. 

Let's get started. I stopped blogging in June. I was in the process of moving and I no longer had any connection to the internet. I was also in a bad mood about 90% of the time and didn't want to blog about how I hated everything. And also I didn't see the point of telling my friends a bunch of bullshit. Like:

I got married. 

I am addicted to crystal meth.

I stopped wearing deodorant. 

I have fleas.

Lies. All lies. Sorry.

Ok, so at one point in my life I had fleas. Brandon Brown and I had an apartment at Clayton and Hayes. And if you've ever spent extended amounts of time with Brandon and/or I around 2001-2003, then you probably lived there. At some point in life, somehow, it was just Brandon and I living there. So Brandon immediately bailed to spend the summer in Chicago. He set me up with a subletting hippie from Santa Cruz, Amanda. Amanda immediately had her cokehead friend move in as well. I had recently bought a mattress off of craigslist and was no longer sleeping in a cot. Yes, I slept in a cot for about 6 months. I told people that I had tuberculous. One night, I, somehow, convinced a girl to sleep with me. And in the five minutes of passionate love making, we broke the cot. So then I slept on the floor. Then I got the bed. Then Brandon left. Then Amanda and her cokeheaded home girl moved in. Then we got fleas. I assumed, probably because of a guilt complex that I have, it was because of the matress. So I put it out on the street, with a note: 

"Probably flea infested"

It was gone within half an hour. What's up San Francisco?

Then I told the girls to leave town for the weekend. They did. They probably went to some breathing exercise clinic up around Sasha Mountain or met some sailors and got coked up on some elderly man's house boat. I dunno. So I bombed the house and stayed at my then girlfriend's house. 

I still remember not being able to sleep that night. Totally anxious that I either:

A.) poisoned all of my neighbors to death, 

or 

B.) burned down the apartment building. 

I didn't do either. And the bomb worked. And we no longer had fleas.

Then Amanda and her coke head homie left. Brandon came back and we had the place to ourselves. Brandon started taking inventory of his room, that Amanda and her coke head homie had been in, and Brandon found millions upon millions of dead fleas upon his bookshelf. The same place where Amanda and her coke head homie had all their plants. So I figure that it was from there plants that the fleas came from. So it maybe wasn't my shady mattress after all. 

So then Brandon and I then bought a French press and had the best cup of coffee of our lives. Then we bought a bar. A personal bar for our living room. Then Matthew Arnone moved in, then John Griener moved in. And then Logan Ryan Smith was there. Then John Sakkis was there. It was good times. There was hecka pizza and Miller High Life. 

I don't know why I told that story. Hope you liked it.

So what's up with me now.

I am now the proud roommate of John Sakkis. We live in the lower Haight. We drink hecka Miller High Life. We eat hecka tuna salad. We listen to Boz Scaggs and just cool out.

I have a special lady friend. She's an absolute gem. A sensation. She's like the north star. She makes me all giggly.

Yeah, I said giggly. But fuck you. I ain't soft. I'll still cut you. I'm like DMX: I'm not a nice person.

I'm still rocking that art house movie bullshit. Just watched Woman In The Dunes. Fuck Yeah, y'all. I wanna write a review of that soon. In fact, I have plans to start up a website film journal sort of thing. I hope to do it before 2010. If any of you wanna write movie reviews, send'em my way and let's rock that shit. 

And lastly, I've been writing a book about time travel. I have had a few missteps, but it seems to have finally taken it's shape. It's also about stand up comedy, impoverished slave children of Haiti, larceny, kidnapping, cock fighting, Germans fleeing to South America, and easy ways to land a job in housekeeping. It'll be ready in couple of years.