A guy who worked for us the previous two years died this morning. This entry is to guilt myself into writing something about it in the next day or so.

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I want to be Charles Bukowski but I don't drink enough. And I don't smoke. Or fuck. And I've kept the same job for fifteen years. I haven't traveled much. Or spent nights in jail. I don't have a gambling problem. I'm neither a good writer or a prolific one. I have no wisdom to share. No life experience. Nothing interesting to say or any means to ( Read more... )

My childhood coincided with the decline of the juke joint. Real "jucks." Today people confuse them with clubs or former jukes co-opted by white college kids who mistake a dying lifestyle for cool. Granted most of my knowledge is retroactive. I was too young at the time to grasp the concept. Store by day, juke by night. Work the devil out of you and ( Read more... )

My first wife will leave me. No doubt I'll drive her to it. I won't hold it against her for long. Work always comes first but she knew that going in. I won't make plans more than a day in advance. I won't take time off. I won't even mention it. Her friends and I won't get along though I'll be nice. I barely want to see my own friends as it is. Hers ( Read more... )

( mememememe )

Whoever told you to be yourself lied. At least when you pretended to be someone else you had a shot. You were fun. Maybe even interesting. You were out of your comfort zone. Making things happen. Living a life even if it wasn't your own. But you didn't ride it out. You crept through. That's when it broke down. Being yourself with three cats hanging ( Read more... )

I gave my brother a ride the other day. On the way he pulled a book off my dash. "I doubt you'll like Berryman." He shrugged and opened to somewhere near the middle. A minute later he tossed the book back on the dash. He slouched in his seat. "Yeah, fuck that guy." His tone didn't reveal boredom. He took offense on a personal level. The remainder ( Read more... )

inhale left right left exhale right left right ( Read more... )

I started a bar to become a writer. I cordoned off an arena. I secured myself a control group. And I set about swiping their stories. Their trials became mine. My pen stabbed the words from mid-air like I was a trustee picking up trash on the side of 49. Then I Pollacked it all on paper to steal adoration from those none the wiser. No chance of ( Read more... )