People have been honest with me. They’ve told me they want power.

Recently, I looked up the term “intimacy” on Wikipedia and have been dealing with the repercussions ever since: A major sleep debt accumulated over several restless nights, what little sleep I’ve gotten interrupted by frequent night terrors.

Dreamed I designed the Golden Corral logo and was reasonably well off financially as a result.

Dreamed my brother maintains a blog where he posts Upskirt Pics he’s taken of mannequins while wandering around the mall on his lunch break. He works at the Vans store.

Dreamed I was driving into the city to see my girlfriend and saw a billboard that just read Voluptuous Homeboy in 72 pt. black Tahoma font over a white background. The billboard was paid for by the government. Typical, if you ask me.

I see myself posted up outside a surprisingly nice McDonald’s. I enter and there’s a chandelier. They let me behind the counter for some reason. Thought, “this cannot end well.”

Now you are dreaming too. You are dreaming that you’ve krumped off the sears tower and into a fulfilling long-term relationship with a thoughtful / sensitive / sexually attractive Lover who understands you.

You are standing in a crowd of slack jawed onlookers watching me pistol-whip a Baked Alaska at the Policeman’s Ball. Now everyone’s chanting my name. Making friends and influencing people is easy when you’re mad, but this is a lesson you will not learn until Lindsay Lohan’s mom gives you a pants-down spanking in Urban Outfitters for ‘mouthing off’ and nobody does shit. There is no justice on this Earth, but I don’t blame her. She’s just a person, and so are you. Other people are like you but they aren’t you. I am like you but you are not me. Seems simple enough, but it is important to get the big things out of the way first.

Regardless, I have decided to make the most of my delusions and fantasies. They exist for a reason, maybe. They serve a function, perhaps. Tonight I am pouring cosmos into my coach purse until it is soaking wet. I am becoming the girl of my own dreams.








The baddest bad boy in the history of Poor Decision Making is doing donuts on your lawn, but here’s the catch: You are in love with yourself.

Touch my neck in the forest preserve near my parent’s house. All trails lead back to the same place. This is a Safe Zone. Not a real forest.

Relate to me through popular song lyrics. Rub my back through this Eddie Bauer windbreaker in a Deep Thicket. Girl, we are truly Roughing it.

An underground VHS tape I purchased online called Greatest Underground Husband Tantrums 8 just arrived in the male. These hubbies are pissed and moaning. It’s not that funny, but I’m just doing some research for the future. Want to know how to whine my way out of a tough jam.

This hubber is insanely jealous of his Sexually Attractive Wife. Pounding his fists into a bunt cake he made to prove he can Feminine Bake but is Masculine Strong. Seems like a cogent strategy.

This evening, I retire to my boudoir to relentlessly ‘hump’ a memory foam mattress just to prove a point: The point being that I am more on top of my game than ever before. A debatable claim, I’m sure, hence the urgency.

But what do you do once you have attracted a woman? Like, do you have to keep talking to her?

Baby, I have something to tell you: I am cheating on you with Mrs. Claus. But I love you, girl. I have loved you from the very beginning. I knew because when we first met I was interested in hearing about your pets (haha.)

You make me stand up straighter without noticing.

You make me want to wear nicer pants.

Some people want to have arguments about what Love means.

I do not.

I want to talk about how it feels.

I actually don’t want to talk about that anymore either.









Reduce complex problems into false dichotomies to comfort yourself in the face of paralyzing ambiguity.

Choose to focus on the negative side of your fraudulent binary, further reducing the scope of reality’s consequences and increasing the depth of your superficial comfort.

Congratulations, you have made yourself feel Good by feeling Bad. Likewise, you have made yourself feel Bad by making yourself feel Good.

I ask myself, if neurosis is an attempt to avoid real pain, will accepting actual pain treat it? Should I hire someone to whip me with a flyswatter? To be honest, it is difficult to hold myself accountable to anyone or take responsibility for my actions because I am so much smarter than everyone else. Been winning arguments at my local Gamestop all afternoon by proclaiming myself to be a Realist before making my point. This is too easy.

I drive home with an unearned sense of satisfaction and make a conscious effort to live up to everything Chillaxing may entail. It’s a lot of pressure, but the cool thing about excessive comfort seeking is that if you do it well enough, you get to be alone all the time. You can work on your Life’s Work. That’s what I do. For instance, I am watching a nature documentary and just feeling sorry for everything.

People accumulate damage, but growth is the only True Love. In all honesty, at any given moment, I would rather be experiencing Intense Pleasure. This reminds me of a musing I have yet to profit from. Kraft Macaroni and Cheese should change their slogan to “Ladies Love It,” and they probably will after they read this.

The coolest people are the ones who remind you that they live in the best city. They are cool because they’ve been to all the cities and they know. Sometimes the people you need aren’t where you are. This is possibly unfortunate. Sometimes people are worth more together. This is probably tragic. Either way, our fates are more or less sealed, but there is an ample amount of wiggle room to make it worthwhile/cool/tolerable.

I just want you to imagine Jerry Seinfeld researching for the movie Bee Movie by watching bee footage.

Now imagine yourself doing what you really want to do with your own life.




even title



This afternoon I am simply sitting on a park bench. I am watching a man maintain balance on roller blades while chatting up a Major Babe and deftly controlling an excited pug.

Thinking, “this guy will never commit suicide.”

Now I am thinking about my life. I wish it had gone differently. I had a three-year relationship with the girl from the Verizon Wireless commercials before she was on TV and, I’ll be honest, it hurts to watch her have so much success.

However, despite my failures, I am not so short on successes myself. Will Smith wants me to come to his backyard BBQ & Swim Party to lecture his kids on how to be better people, but I am teaching my mom about zen.

Michael Jordan invited me over to his house to watch youtube videos on his projector but I am busy talking to my dad about mistakes he’s made. Michael Jordan’s wireless network is called HisBadMajesty23Man and the password is ‘Pussy’ (go figure.)

But presently, in this blissful instant, I am high on caffeine, imagining petting a dog.

I will not waste this grace.

I will rise to meet the moment.

Going to write Real Power / Real Results in sharpie on my forearms and challenge the strongest lifter at the gym to an arm wrestling competition to prove to kids that it’s ok to be a loser.

It is three hours later and I did not do that. I am, however, officially High On Life: Drank an expired milk chug (2%) and wrote an entire season of entourage episodes just because I liked the way it felt.

Now I am listening to Lullaby by Shawn Mullins and thinking about all the times I wanted someone else to stop talking so I could talk about myself.

Yeah, I’m sitting on my lily pad, feeling high-def.







I spend every moment I’m not eating thinking about the next time I will eat. Creates and maintains tension. This is how I have cultivated bliss within, and yet my greatest strengths are alternately my biggest weaknesses. For instance, I died in a house fire in 2004. Tried to make four toasts in a two-toast toaster.

You need to know: You are in the fight of your life. If you don’t Grow, this fucked up hellscape of a reality we inhabit will ravage your mind/body/soul.

No pressure.

It is no wonder I’ve been a Bad Person and so have you. We’d like to think that’s all in the past now. We are getting older and wiser and less terrified but the stimulus that scares us is getting stronger.

So let’s talk about Bad People: Bad People betray their friends and themselves for no good reason because they have too much fear they’ve chosen to ignore rather than confront. On a seemingly related but unrelated note, this world has betrayed me, so I am commenting on youtube vids, lamenting the death of Good Music. Forsaken by a world that has abandoned me, I wander into my bathtub and drown. It was already filled from a previous bath. (Cold and gross.)

The fact remains that the majority of my youth is gone and I spent a lot of it being upset. Considering suicide as a means of avoiding future work and general discomfort, yet I look at you in your cargo shorts and think, “you are not going to make it, probably.” I think this because I am a survivor and am also into men’s fashion.

Animals are doing all kinds of crazy things to survive and so are you. You bought your daughter a Justin Biebre CD and listened to it to try to feel Good. Incidentally, I still cannot get over the fact that there are animals that live underwater.

You aren’t allowed to commit suicide until your mom has died. These are the rules. I don’t make them. Living is better than not living, even though it’s painful a lot of the time. Just make plans for the future. You don’t even have to do them.

When you are having a serious problem and there’s no one you can talk to about it because they wouldn’t understand, that’s when you’re You.








My grandfather was the first person to refer to a piece of fruit as being Gay. He said this during one of the wars when he forgot how to open an orange for a minute.

My grandmother was the first person to perform a downward facing dog in a

Wal-mart parking lot. Not sure why she did this. Lack the background knowledge to elaborate any further. (Sorry.)

Haters are always riding my jock, so if you want me to give you attitude, here it is: I got a big dick and I call my parents three times a week. I love my family, but I am getting to the age where when I tell people that I love my family, they assume I mean my wife and children. I don’t. I mean my mom and dad. And my siblings, I guess. We’ve been through a lot together. When my brother was an Awkward Teen, my dad told him to call me for dinner. He said: “Dad wants you. Well, he doesn’t want you want you.“ Then he walked away. I don’t remember what happened next. (Sorry.)

My dad wears a hat all the time because he’s bald and his head gets cold. This is the sort of integrity my generation is sorely lacking. I always interpreted Stay-at-Home Mom to be a command, but that seemed alright to me. Us kids grew up under a bridge so our mom was more of a Stay-Under-the-Bridge Mom. It is truly the hardest job there is. Most rewarding too. Bridges are really cool.

Seeing searchlights as a kid, I thought something really great was happening in some magical place in the distance. It was probably so wonderful they were lighting up the sky to let kids like me know where the cool things were happening. Maybe it was a Candy Factory Slumber Party, or perhaps that was where they filmed Pokemon. Found out when I was older that the searchlights were just coming from car dealerships, which is actually even better. Now I know where to find new cars.

Things get complicated for us Post-Kids, but the world has not passed us by. The solution is to be fashionable alone at night.

No one else needs to see this.

You can think your own private, beautiful thoughts, and forget them, wake up, and go to work.








It is strange to think that your parents are just other people. Becoming aware of this fact feels the way saying a word over and over until you realize it is just noise feels. I did this just now and am now wondering if music actually exists.

Coming to the conclusion that it does not because I have never actually seen it.

In the heat of the moment, I indignantly spit my Surge on the floor of this Alternative Rock Music Venue and skip out the door in 5/4 time. (I am making a statement about the predictability of pop music structures.)

Now I am back at home, slowing down youtube clips of The Price Is Right audiences. I am watching celebrity funerals before I go to bed.

Now I am sleeping and I am dreaming again.

I am dreaming that my daughter is a Hot Server at a Pan-Asian Seafood Restaurant a lot of my close man friends attend regularly and it makes me uncomfortable. These men cannot be trusted.

People always reveal themselves to you. They want you to see what they want you to see, but this is not how it usually works.

People show their true selves to you when they least expect it. Last week I saw an elderly gentleman’s Fuck Face as he lifted a tire into the back of his van in the parking lot of an Ace Hardware.

Maybe the Name of the Game is to make the faces that you like, to feel the way your face likes to feel, but this is none of my concern at the moment.

I am overstaying my own welcome at my own celebrity-themed Halloween party, pop locking to the irregular beat of my own heart, dressed as myself (a famous author.) Society has a lot of flaws, but I probably don’t.

I am wearing a powder blue cardigan tied around my neck and I want to ravage you in the bushes of my family’s beach house with two (2) thoughts:


(1) Life is for Lovers
(2) People should have just never stopped being farmers


Just imagine how much progress we could make if people could be trusted well enough to communicate through a series of Rub Downs.









I am trying to become excited about my life again. Bought a football jersey with another person’s name on it. I wear it around, but not the helmet. I’m not crazy.

You can trust me. I own several small animals including America’s finest pet, the Dog.

I must admit, however, it does get lonely around the house. Last Sunday afternoon I was feeling Ready for some football so I swallowed a pigskin whole. I felt nothing. I said to myself, “I feel nothing.”  

Lately I have not been feeling things on a level that I once did.

I remember noticing the light change in a room as a boy and thinking I was the only one who noticed because everyone else ignored it.

I remember thinking I was the only person whose memory was stimulated by the smell of wet earth in the springtime.

Now, all these years later, I have forgotten how to fall in love with things, so I just go around trying out Funky New Eateries in my town.

This is my reward. I played by the rules and now I get to eat different kinds of meals outside of my house.

Everything happens for a reason, is what I always say. For example, I have spent my entire life eating various foods so I would know which ones I would want to keep eating later.

Measured decision-making has not always characterized my lifestyle, however. In fact, it was only last summer that I bought what I thought was a cigar from a gas station with a bulletproof glass window. It smelled like fruit so I gave it to my step dad when I got home.

He said to me, “Years of having white skin have made you hopelessly insane. Now take that pineapple blunt rap and go back to the gas station and work there.”

So I did, and now I know the Value of a Dollar. (Just $1.)

Indeed, the working man’s struggle is fraught with peril. Forgot the hyphen in Reasonable-Ass Man on my job application and now everyone at this Wendy’s thinks I’m some sort of butt philosopher.








I want to be from a small tribe.

Want to dance with my childhood friends around a fire.

Want to grow my own food.

I want to die defending my wife in a field against people who hate us.

A human being needs humans to love and humans to hate and I am a human being.

Two people are having sex against the railing of the Grand Canyon.

It gives way and they fall in and don’t stop till they hit the bottom.

That is the kind of life I want for us sometimes.

Other times I wish you wouldn’t move past me so fast.

It is early in the morning and we are underneath the covers and Underneath the Covers is Antarctica and we have to huddle together for warmth.

I am wondering if you are ok even though there is no reason why you wouldn’t be.

I am pressed against your warm body and feel concerned about our quality of death. I am worried about how you feel during your last sentient moments because someone told me your pineal gland releases a lot of DMT and you see a lot of things and feel a lot of things.

What if you felt guilty about your life?

Someone once wrote to me that they were “eating a hot dog with the same despair as a pilot who had fallen out of love with the sky,” and that is how badly I need you right now.






Like a network of little ponds stocked full of fish for people to just walk up to and stick their poles into. The fish are easy to catch because they don’t have anywhere to go. They are probably bored and they would probably take any chance to get out of Fish Prison, even if they understood the implication of a lure.

We didn’t just have a lure though. We used cheddar cheese that we bought from the grocery store as bait. My grandpa showed me how to put the cheese onto the end of the lure. I was young enough that I needed to be shown how to impale a soft thing on a hard thing, so I’m guessing I was pretty young. I don’t remember how young, but I do remember the fish.

We caught a lot of fish that day. I felt satisfied and I decided I liked my grandpa a lot.

He used to call us The Family That Loves Each Other with a big smile on his face. I liked this, because he would usually call us this when my siblings, my mom, and I were all fighting. I think maybe we fought a lot, but I appreciated the support.

When I was a little older, my dad told me that he was not being supportive; he was just being a dick. They didn’t really get along. My dad was in college while he and my mom were dating and my grandpa used to tell him that he (himself) Could Have Been A Lawyer if he had Wanted To. He told him this on more than one occasion.

My grandpa was not a lawyer; he was a cement truck driver. I’m not sure if he Wanted to be one or not. During the summer, when lots of construction was going on, my mother always used to point at the rolling cylinders mounted on the cabs of the cement trucks and tell me that Grandpa Used To Drive Those Cool Trucks.

She loved her father.

These are some of his Vital Statistics:


✓  He was short and bald.
✓  He drank a lot.
✓  He gambled away the family savings and would pass out on the front porch early in the morning after drinking all night.
✓  He got a 17-year-old girl pregnant and left my grandmother with 4 kids.


My grandmother knew about the 17-year-old girl. So did my mom. She and my grandpa decided to get married after they found out she was pregnant. I think you kind of had to in those days. Not sure if they Wanted to or not.

Once at dinner, my mom asked them why their first child was born less than nine months after the wedding and my grandpa got very angry with her. My mom was young at the time, but she probably knew what she was doing. I don’t think she bothered him about this again.

My grandpa avoided paying alimony to my grandmother. She never took him to court, but she did bother him about it pretty often, I would imagine. She had four kids, worked full-time, and wouldn’t apply for welfare because she was too proud, I think.

One time, he agreed to give her some money and told her to send my mom’s older brother to meet him at a bar where he was drinking with his friends. His friends were probably also construction workers.

Incidentally, I wonder if they ever did the thing where they Hooted & Hollered at attractive women when they walked past the construction site.

I wonder if they ate their lunches out of metal pails.

Ah, Tuna Fish Again, they might say.

Oh, There Goes An Attractive Lady, they might also say.

In my mind, they would say Lady because this is how I imagine grandpas talking in the past. Maybe I imagine this because I’m naive and/or dumb. Now that I think about it, they probably said something ruder because they weren’t grandpas yet. They were just bros from the past and this would be consistent with the Hooting & Hollering.

Anyway, when my uncle met his father at the bar, he was given a bag of pennies and told something to the extent of Give This To That Bitch and all the people at the bar laughed. I wonder how this made my uncle feel. Maybe angry. Probably more sad.

He took the pennies home to her anyway. Pennies were worth more money in the past, but still not very much.

When my grandpa was older, he moved to the suburbs with the 17-year-old girl. She wasn’t 17 anymore. By now she was somewhat of an Old Lady.

I don’t know how old she was.

I do know she worked at Wal-Mart. One time, she complained at a family function that they made her clock out and keep working and said if she didn’t, they would fire her. Seems like a pretty bad place to work.

This was after my grandpa had died.

While he was alive and in the suburbs, he had an above ground pool that I was really excited about swimming in. It had a chlorine dispenser designed to look like an alligator that floated around. I wasn’t allowed to touch it.

My grandpa was very strict about his Pool Rules.

My grandpa died relatively young. He had a heart attack when he was 70 and he died. I think he had a stressful life.

I don’t know if I am going to die young.

I might.

I wonder what will happen to me. I am certainly highly invested in the outcome.

I hope I get what I want, but there is no Reason why I should.

It is up to me.

There is no Reason for me to be here, I just am.

I decide why and it becomes real.

There is no reason for tigers to be beautiful, they just are.

There is no reason for you to be beautiful either, but you can be.


It’s the thoughts that you think.