2. "i should not be dealing with baby mama drama. I’m jewish. this isn’t in the script. i’ve seen the code, and nowhere does it say baby mama drama."

  3. better then 77 percent of the bullshit that will cross your radar on the me-thernet today. 

  4. I don’t know what makes me feel more soulless, the fact that I’d rather have a long term relationship with a cat then with you, or the fact that I’m publishing a blog about it.  and have they started referring to things that are gay as the more politically correct ghee yet? the future’s so bright, I gotta wear shades.

    I don’t know what makes me feel more soulless, the fact that I’d rather have a long term relationship with a cat then with you, or the fact that I’m publishing a blog about it. 

    and have they started referring to things that are gay as the more politically correct ghee yet? the future’s so bright, I gotta wear shades.

  5. market exploration for children’s books involving madwomen.

    So in my current retiree lifestyle and all of the semi-sensational living it entails, I find myself again sporting my phantom walker before i shake it at the kids, what with my crumpets and daisies falling the hell apart and phantom yiddish expletives getting hurled hither and thither, as I consider if I could successfully rock climb my way out of this hole without actually setting anyone (especially myself.. on fire.)

    You know what? new lows, and how much further south can we collectively go? we’ll fucking sort that out before the night is done together, aye tumblr? Everytime I come to tumblr the schizophrenia is getting it’s knobs polished. No and by that I mean most of these blogs.

    You see while I have a ridiculous amount of time on my hands, and am both devoutly broke and bloodcurdlingly desperate & bored, and barring my latent desires of invading the local indoor pool to supplant suburban mothers and their spawn, I am not yet carafe’ing a plan to wear, show you, declare a single thought, or really even take my own blogging that seriously…is it a lack of commitment or can we just realize that writing a slick looking blog doesn’t really make you appear any slicker? there’s way more actually I have to say, I just have yet to decide that tumbling my serious thoughts is something I can take seriously.

    Now if I could manage to enjoy this… I’d be getting somewhere…. But no, no enjoyment will be mine, it will just be a day spent in mock horror when I realize I’m part-giant fly and sporting a .02 attention span and can’t manage 5 laps at the pool without breaking into a pond-deep analysis of the socially engendered blindness of teenagers…. whereby I again realize that humanity has come to a literal fork sticking in the road, (on sale at bed, bath, and 30 steps beyond) that collectively we’re fucked, and I start imagining sensational suicides. A little too much febreze in the virgin mojito would do it and a highlighted copy of my blog - printed, colated, and in a panic about the overwhelming plasticity and my desires to hurl myself into a furrowed oblivion at the mere suggestion of another heart to toss onto my wearing a pickup-slint-stick dreams.

    I was sincere once, and I think you were too.

    and this too shall pass (but not quickly enough….)

  6. Occupy Wall Street message in a midnight projection onto the Verizon Building in NYC. One excellent moment in the insipid empty of the modern world.

  7. either love it or hate it… but at least check it.


    UP FROM THE 13TH CHAMBERRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

    DOWNLOAD HERE: http://bit.ly/o0z4jr OR http://bit.ly/qZFzYL

    Wugazi • 13 Chambers by WUGAZI

    Wu-Tang Clan on iTunes

    Fugazi on iTunes

  8. I don’t know, but I’ve been told.

    This morning I awoke, half-dazed, throwing coffee in a cup, clothes on the body, stumbling half-dementedly to an intake appt for some good old fashioned therapy. Unfortunately, in this scenario, good and old-fashioned are not agreeable adjectives, but I found myself filling out forms and giving out oral history… sensitive only to the slight awkwardness of the intake person, the strange and predictable surroundings that felt like an office out of a movie, each piece of furniture and complementary lighting creating an environment that felt part non-profit, and part 70’s psychoanalysis and david cronenberg set, replete with store bought blocks with some encouraging motivational catch phrase, and popcorn ceiling cork board above, with odd shelves and hooks and plastic buddhist bushes, and a flat screen that looked like it was pretty swank back in 2004. Motivational catch phrase home decoration. I hope there’s an artist somewhere reassembling these into sculptured kidnapping notes for the country’s collective soul. The woman who escorted me up from the waiting room, was so incredibly uncomfortable and awkward, barely making eye contact in the elevator, and while she seemed like stacked white bread sans the jam, and also basically fine after a short period of me just giving her my history, at least vaguely related to me, I had the distinct sense she was most likely a grad student or an intern completing a requirement. The irony never escapes me. My butcher block list of legitimate complaints will earn you a wedding one day where jewish relatives will pay for your middle-shelf white wine, and I’ll be going on night 9 of vampire like insomnia. I couldn’t quite keep up with the strangeness of the situation, focusing on the task at hand seemed to close out any deeper absorption. Giving a a student-stranger a very personal set of guinea pig history and tales is well… less awkward as it was unnatural and odd.

    It was the first cool-ish blisteringly hot day we’ve had here in a week. My heelish open-toe shoes felt unkind, and I wondered as I stood outside later if I looked like I was having some trouble as I walked. I traveled with my mother as passenger, both of us in mutual morning inebriation and ineptitude, and reminded her of my age at least twice in the waiting room as we exchanged half-wakeful words on the bathroom and her giving me constructive criticisms on when and how i needed to go.

    At the end of sharing my story of sorts, the woman seemed mostly unconfident that she could place me with the right person, and let me know she’d be in touch in several weeks. I felt no nervousness or anticipation or excitment or curiosity at this, just a partially disoriented and indifferent head nod as the gravity of my life suddenly seemed a great deal heavier then when I had walked in.

    At the very least this area had some life in it, northern blvd., douglaston-bayside area of queens, for some reason today it vaguely reminded me of the sunset district in san francisco, with it’s breezy asian shops beckoning in the sun, i felt almost part tourist to the neighborhood even though it is all of 15 minutes away…. a fact that once I realized it again reminded me of the many gravities suddenly weighted and unwelcome and maybe silently cruel. My mood changed from one of openness to heavyness as I wanted to explore the area, see the changes in the impressive amount of time since the last time I’d been there. New York felt a strange place, and I felt a stranger to it, as though cloistered and exiled maybe, and almost green to it’s windows and questions, ready to romance it for just a little while.

  9. and no porks were had on that day.

    for the first time since i started pressing those big special qwerty buttons, these buttons have been breaking peanut brittle out of small cans marked with nothing but my face. i am actually living the dream, if the dream had been cooked up by a nihilist existentialist asshole. my vegine is actually on fire as i write this, with several kinds of cramps, making my stomach a sideshow.

  10. all summer in a day - shitty poetry #2,101

    with the sifter making confectioner’s sugar out of the terror in my thoughts,
    broken lines that wave and linger as the night deepens,
    another crystalline breach,

    another was, should be, but can’t and not now,
    staring at the oceans between greater and lesser,
    and the wonderwoman stars worn laced in place,
    these are not the days you want to breathe your thoughts to anyone, or anything….. 
    just tear your flesh off silently,
    in reverie,
    in a million broken calls,
    reaching static on a dead line,
    feeling flaccid in their dead eyes,
    charming naked for the dead smiles, 

    fish on a wide hook,

    no breath,

    and in rails against everything.

  11. the black kettle’s whistle: destination unknown

    if only they knew.

    if only they knew that despite the condition, despite the forecast and the trends…

    if only they believed…

    if only they knew something other then the dark corners of their own skin.

    if only they saw, could see what I see.

    if only for a little while….

    If only they knew…

    if only they found their own strength raising the dawn with intrepid fingers, and knew the power of it. if only instead of bi-focals, they wore something that could lift the illusion from their eyes, and gave them a warm seat in a place that contained enough parchment paper to catch all the molting skin, all the pained thoughts, all the visible worries… a place that was strong enough to let the city burn, and leave it’s welts alone for a little while.

    If only I had the magical words…. the right combination of unearthly matter to give.

  12. »  for brilliant things you've thought and someone else wrote down...

  13. hellz yeahs - yeah tumblr is sadly lacking in metaphysical bathroom graffiti - but http://thedailydoodles.tumblr.com/ aka DMC does some different stuff
    and http://whatafoolbelieves.tumblr.com/ aka Josh Luft is good
    also Fireland aka Josh Allen has a new project http://www.tensexyladies.com/
    you got anything?
    hookersorcake

    i need time to swine on all of that… i will come back with stuff for you once i finish my grokking of all things you and those, and etc.

    give me a couple of days…

    all i seem to find are the jizzlobbers here.

    and i mean this with a passive taste of bile, mixed into occasional amusement, but mostly disgust.

    what’s the deal with all these people who just innocently bystand and post tons of stupid internet shit. the internet is dumb…there’s not enough of the tubes inside the tubes who are watching the tubes, and (tubing it. merrily.) i want more from tumblr, but it’s alot o’ dishwashers and soap.

    what’s funny too about all of this is here’s a site that makes everything ridiculously easy? and what do it’s users do? dumb down their heart and soul and recycle everyone else’s. it’s fucking weird.

  14. Aww I shall have to put on my sweet britches
    and sing openly to the sweet quiet black space
    that rolls in place - quietly all around me

    thank you
    hookersorcake

    I like the cut of your flim-flam. every single time.

    :)

    speaking of which can you direct me to the quality in this part of town? i’m frequent flying in a field of push-pin daisies.

    is there anything decent ‘round here?

    and your welcome.. you bring the bees to their knees.

    holy shit-slinging. i can’t stop. internet has me. sincerity is sputtering to a halt now.

    should i dress this up with hearts?

    I’m asking you actually because, i tumbl now and again, and have yet to find but a few greats here… and because once i reccomended your wares for tumblr’s top blogs i was sent to lunch on total crap. 

  15. Album Art
    [Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

    hookersorcake:

    Tom Waits read one of my poems last night at the open mic down at the bowling alley.

    hoc flies by silent crowds when he calls his poetry a shit crumpet. i declare a silent abiding stack of hot pancakes deserve this man for their dinner.

    which is to say… if you haven’t checked out what his table is made out of… now’s the time.

    Title
    el camino
    Artist
    Tom Waits
    Album
    Hookers or Cake

About me

you'll often find there's a fine line between insanity and enlightenment, and i like to play hopskotch with the best of them.

where are we going? how long have i been in this handbasket?

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