Thursday, January 31, 2008

you tickle my ears and the very fine hairs that rest just above the nape of my neck

this one time
i met you
and then this other time
i met you again
and again
i cant figure
it out
something about you
feels like a whisper
to me


Sam Pink now writes for DRUNK now. Its fun, go read.


Tuesday, January 29, 2008

internet friends can be your real friends now, lets bake cakes!

This week there are some suspicious characters looming around New York, due to the AWP conference.

Tomorrow, come to this and be friendly with hoops and hollers. And bring a basket of boiled broccoli to throw on stage.

The day after tomorrow come to this. Bring extra broccoli for Tao Lin. He will probably eat it all.

Friends are fun. Come be friendly.

Monday, January 28, 2008

because he has rabies

Because He Has Rabies
by Jake Sylvester Yuzna
8 x 10
sharpie on paper

My coworker and friend, Jake does the motion graphics for the show I work on. I walk over to his desk to ask him a question. He was hunched (he is tall and skinny as hell, looks a little like a vampire) over with a ruler and a pen drawing what I thought was graphics. When he sat up I saw this drawing and said, "What the fuck are you doing?"

In a creepy calm voice he said, "Oh, just drawing mutant broccoli."

The original is on sale for $50 or highest bid. Email me for more info if you are interested.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Not liking cliché is the new black.

A while back, I read Politics and the English Language, by George Orwell. I liked it quite a bit. I can see how it inspired some of my favorite writers.

However, I've notice something recently. Surfing across blogland, it feels as though people are fetishizing the intent of George Orwell's essay. The way cliché is referenced and talked about to a nauseating degree. I'm by no means "for cliché" but also, not really "against cliché" either. It seems to me that it is a literary tool, a short cut of imbued meaning. The cliché has been vilified, but really, its just one of many many many tools in writing.

I really like writers who don't embrace cliché. But I also really like some writers who do. Cliché can be very funny when used self consciously. There is just something funny to be observed here- I realized the other day when someone said to me "oh thats just a cliché", with a certain distain in their voice, that not liking cliché, has attained a feeling of cliché to me. So basically everything is fucked. We are all doomed. Cliché is a cliché, not a cliché is also a cliché too.

"It is a cliché that most clichés are true, but then, like most clichés, that cliché is untrue.”
— Stephen Fry

Saturday, January 26, 2008

Oh you know, just casting very magical protection spells, no biggie.

(photos by Mike Young)

Ellen and I built a magical structure to protect Tao last night. Don't worry he is safe now.

I mean it, stop worrying.


The Hotel Chelsea blog wrote about ART NIGHT. Sweet.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

Call For Interns

Hello. I need an intern at the TV production company I work for. You will be my personal bitch, but I will bestow my benevolence on you. Hours are flexible. Must live in the New York area (and be cute- jews preferred {gay blondes acceptable as well}). If any one is interested, please email me.

P.S. We will be in production on feature film this summer. Interns will be allowed to breath our air if they prove their worth in the office.

P.P.S. I am not joking. If you want to get involved in film/tv, this is an awesome way to do it. I started at my company as someone's personal bitch, and I only have a few scars on my lower left leg, and now I get a nice pay check.

P.P.P.S. Photo required.


* ability to read
* ability to punch holes in paper
* an understanding of how to operate a three ring binder
* strong butt and legs
* rich parents/student loans/another job because we will not be paying you at first
* ability to click a mouse
* experience working on a mac
* have watched TV at least once in your life
* ability to catch bats with your teeth
* ability to not talk back
* ability to guess what your superiors are thinking at all times
* six sense-like knowledge of where to get coffee in local area
* strong butt and legs
* no girlfriend/boyfriend (unless they are open to threesomes {also cute})
* drivers license
* not be fucking stupid
* no outstanding warrants (a record is okay, sometimes preferred)
* has cellular phone
* strong butt and legs
* must be 18 years of age or older

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

A Text I Got From My Brother Just Now

9000 people are having sex right now,
2000 are kissing, 100 are giving head a

- Juan Pedro Perez Hernandez

Monday, January 21, 2008


I would like to remind you all to check DRUNK. We update semi-regularly. Also, it has a picture of the book, which is about to be printed. I will let you all know when to order it. Oh and also also also, Justin Rands, is this lovely fellow who is now also writing with Daniel and myself on DRUNK blog.

To be honest, I'm a wee bit drunk right now. I believe I will go write on the other blog soon. Horrah.

The Moon Won't Stop Staring At Me

Two incredibly lively photos of me (yes I am always just that much fun) taken at ART NIGHT. Photos by Julian Gilbert.

See more here.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Nicole Gelormino

My roommate, Nicole, who has quickly become one of my bestest, finally has her website up.

Go look here.

Friday, January 18, 2008


Ellen had her salon for geniuses last night. I am so hung-over I can barely speak complete sentences. I watched the saddest movie I have ever seen, which is also my favorite movie, three times today. It was a nice day. I don't feel like writing about the art party, but Ellen already did so that is cool.


I'll post pictures tomorrow when my brain hurts less.

Ellen and I are making a magazine called Dinosaur, for print. It will be awesome.

Drunk is almost finished. Bleh. Bed-time again.

Grey Sweater

this morning
i woke up
in hotel chelsea
with a headache
and a boy
and a pretty girl
and about 10 empty
bottles of wine

last night
there were so many
people to talk to
and laugh with
and we did
a bit
of laughing
it really was nothing
too serious

his grey sweater
is what impressed me
but i must admit
the conversation
with someone who
and makes movies
was a relief

i get so exhausted
of pretending
like one of those
two things is more
important than
the other

and so terribly tired
of writers
who talk about
and directors
who talk about
just sitting during
those conversations
trying not to roll
my eyes

i suppose
his pretty face
was not too bad
to be around

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Unfortunate Things

i might think about
my bones too much
i can see them clearly

at one point or
i have broken most of them
i was fond of climbing trees
as a small child

and i suppose i just
didn't care so much
when i fell
to protect my body
from damage

i was always just
one to let unfortunate
things happen

I Enjoy Having Small And Mildly Hateful Friends

there was
this one time
we sat on a
bench eating
ice cream
talking about
our desires
to murder people
and we giggled
so much

when people
walked by
and you said
"don't look at me"
under your breath
but they looked
and we giggled
i thought
i like this person
he is my friend

Tuesday, January 15, 2008


Are there any graphic designers or the like, living in New York City, that can help me learn Adobe InDesign? The tutorials on the web blow, and I'm having a really hard time making really simple page design. If someone were to tutor me, I would supply them with a home cooked meal and plenty of wine. I'm a decent cook.

Email me if you feel generous.


Monday, January 14, 2008

Pomegranate Seeds

i remember
when i was
a kid
being in a
grocery store
with my mother
and i saw
a pomegranate
and i wanted it

my mother
she told me
when she was
young in
she and her
friend would
buy pomegranates
and delicately
with deep consideration
they would eat the
and spit
the seeds
because they
did not know
you can eat
the seeds

in the grocery
my mother
bought me
the pomegranate
and i took it home
and up to my room
and ate the meat
but not the seeds

i always thought
she was trying to
tell me something
more with that story
but unfortunately
i was never
clever enough
to figure it out

The Only Thing I Cannot Relate To, With You, Is Your Ability To Hold A Grudge

i will never understand
what i did
to make you so angry
it is strange
the hate
when you put some
thought into it
nothing significantly
bad happened

if you think about it
the little affair was
rather nice
and easy

and if you put it
maybe a bit
too rationally
there were far
more interesting
and happy moments
than there were

i still like
all the things
i liked about you before

only now
though experience
and minor regret
i have discovered
things that i take
lightly may
offend you
and now i know

i still like
all the things
i liked about you
before, dear

it is a pity
we could not
follow through
on our plans
of being
excellent friends

Saturday, January 12, 2008

Nothing Makes Me Feel Less Lonely

I listened to my roommates talk. It was strange to see them in a bar. We had never been to a bar before. They met me at a bar because I was house sitting for my sister and I think they worried that I was lonely. That was nice because I was indeed lonely. I had only left the house once to walk the dogs. My eyelids felt very heavy all day.

Nicole looked amazing in the red light. Brynn had a delicate way about her from across the table. When we all talked about what kind of women we were attracted to I blushed when I said that I was only attracted to women who looked a little like me. Nicole was sitting very close, and does look a little like me. I love Nicole. I love Brynn too.

We all spoke of so many things. Mostly, we talked about boys. I had nothing to say. They traded stories about recent STD scares, and romantic phone calls from the tops of moutains and I smiled and nodded. What I did not realize would happen when I decided to resign myself to love was that I had now very little to add to most casual conversations. It was nice to just be in the company of people who wanted to be around me. The thought of it brought me near tears now and again, but I don’t think they noticed.

“I wish you would come home tonight,” Nicole said to me.

She was standing too close to me. I backed up.

“I do to kind of.”

She stepped closer to me.

“I think I’m going to start a small press.”

She shook her head and stepped closer.

“I admire how you constantly work on things.”

“What else should I be doing?”

“People find things to do.”

“I’m just finding something to do I suppose.”

“Do you want me to come over hon?”

“Yes, but I have a sad friend who asked me to write a story for her and I think I finally know what I am going to write to her.”

“Okay, goodnight.”


I wanted her to come home. I wanted her to sleep in bed with me. I went to my sister’s house and wrote a story for my sad friend. Then I masturbated and drank myself to sleep.

Friday, January 11, 2008

Painting Lessons With My Lovely Nicole

My blessed roommate, Nicole, is studying at Columbia Teachers College to be an art teacher. Nicole is a tiny, beautiful little beast. She tested out a lesson plan she's been working on, on me, seeing as I've never painted in any way before. She does a lot of paintings of cakes and a lot of eating of cakes, so we did a simple lesson on color theory using frosting.

This is one of Nicole's paintings hanging in our kitchen. She also does a lot of erotic paintings, someday, we are going to make a book together, I have not told her this yet though.

Nicole prepared the heart-shaped tins for our batter while I read Revolutionary Road and took pictures.

The preparations.

I gave Pip some cake batter. I would have liked to given Delores some too, but she would not stop growling underneath my bed and it was scary.

Give a mother fucker an inch . . .

We readied our pallettes. Nicole patiently explained medium and pigments.

Nicole has amazing tits. And prolly the best little italian belly this world has ever seen. Basically, she was designed for me to snuggle.

My first two paintings. I'm sending them to my mother.

Beautiful colors.

I made all of these. I am really proud of how the vagina turned out.

Nicole made an awesome skull and some cool boobs. I did all the ones with words, and the ugly ones.

My other roommate, Brynn, made this one. It was my favorite of the night. She thinks she is not "artistic". Bullshit.

Delores finally came out from under my bed and guarded the bookcase.

Thursday, January 10, 2008


Daniel Bailey and I have finished writing our poetry chapbook, DRUNK. I've started making prototypes for how it will look. I'd like to print very many, and give them away for free, or maybe for cost if there are a lot that are requested. I need to know how many people in the blogging community world would like to claim a copy, so I have a vague idea of how many to produce. They are going to be very pretty, with gold! SERIOUSLY GOLD! TONS AND TONS OF GOLD! and zebras! GOLD ZEBRAS! do you hear me? GOLD, BITCHES! They kind look like old Black Sparrow Press (RIP) books. BUT WITH GOLD!

Please leave me a comment here if you would like one. It just gives me an idea of how many to make and if I can do it all on my own dime. Thank you.

Oh also, we started a DRUNK blog, because we just liked writing those poems so much. And it validates our drinking habits.

Monday, January 07, 2008

My Magic 8 Ball's Interview With Me

Magic 8 Balls are inatimate objects that do not have the nessessary capabilities to facilitate an interview with a human being.

Interview With My Magic 8 Ball

K: Do you really tell the future?

M8B: My reply is no.

K: Will I live to be over 1000 years old?

M8B: My reply is no.

K: Do you believe that existence precedes essence?

M8B: You may rely on it.

K: Will my cat outlive me?

M8B: Better not tell you now.

K: Is the idea of concrete emotions a completely subjective understanding, rendering existential psychoanalysis a complicated process of comparisons between the subject and the anaylsist that may or may not always be futile?

M8B: Ask again later.

K: Do you think if I were to have children I would drown them in the river because the devil told me to?

M8B: My sources say no.

K: Is Delores secretly a nihilist?

M8B: Most likely.

K: Do donkeys have dreams?

M8B: Cannot predict now.

K: Was my grandmother’s premonition of me dying in a sledding accident a true fortune?

M8B: Most likely.

K: Does the purple rubber squid nailed to my wall have emotions?

M8B: It is decidedly so.

K: Do you prefer stilettos to flats?

M8B: Without a doubt.

K: Is anyone planning to assassinate me right now?

M8B: It is decidedly so.

Thursday, January 03, 2008

Excerpt from Mr. Luck

“Excuse me, sir, do you repair hats?”

“This is a shoe repair shop.”


“What’s the problem with it?”

“My feather is torn.”

Jake Luck took the hat off his head and offered it to the old liver spotted man behind the counter. It looked as though the man was thinking quiet deeply over the near pristine hat. He held it to the light, and inspected its many angles.

“This is a nice hat.”

“Yes, I know.”

“We don’t carry replacement feathers.”

“That’s fine.”

Jake Luck spun on his worn-in heels and walked to the door. He stumbled on the warped floorboard.

“Sir, you’re hat!”

Once again Jake spun on his heels to face the small old man standing in a small mountain of broken heels and worn-through leather. The old man extended his shaking hand to Jake, with the hat in it. Jake took the hat from him.

“You know . . . “

“Yes sir?”

“ . . . uhh . . . sorry, I completely lost track of what I was going to say to you.”

“Oh, that’s just fine. Good luck with your hat sir.”

Again, Jake Luck stumbled out of the shoe repair shop. Outside it was cold. Jake pulled up his pink hoodie over his hat. He walked at a leisurely pace to his red ford festiva. With two swift blows, he kicked the accumulated snow from the under side of his tires. The old ford festiva was stubborn to start in the cold, but rarely needed assistance after a few turn overs. Jake looked into the rear view mirror before taking off, and felt dissatisfied with his appearance, then shifted the festiva into gear.

Wednesday, January 02, 2008

I went home for christmas, this is what it looked like.

I car tripped with my sister for two days. This was what most of it looked like to me.

This gas station has a giant dinosaur built into it, which is cool. I particularly liked its pot belly.

It was blizzarding the whole way. There were many cars in the ditch. Most of them were SUVs, which made me and my sis happy.

This is what my dad got me for Christmas. I named the monkey after him and the books it came with, Ronald Nietzsche.

Tristan and his lady lover, Sarah, had the most beautiful Christmas tree. They let me keep one of the jellyfish ornaments that Sarah made. It is now Ronald Nietzsche's pet. Ronald named him Anton Nietzsche.

Sarah does a lot of art direction for movies, so they have lots of beautiful weird stuff left over from film shoots.

I didn't like these three guys. I thought they looked suspicious and rude.

Tristan got Breathless for Christmas, so we watched it.

I got excitable and made Tristan take pictures of our hands together.

I stayed at my old house for a night. My old roommate, Ki-Ki has been breeding a farm of knitted squid things.

Ki-Ki and Crystal also made a nice Christmas tree.

Crystal and I woke up early and read letters and made breakfast for everyone. Then we watched My Neighbor Totoro.

There is a new cat living in the house. Its name is Pepa. She is incredibly clumsy and sweet and kinda fucking dumb.

I took James on a date to Matt's Bar, where we indulged in juicy lucys, a midwestern delicacy.

Sometimes James lookes like a Jimmy Stewart movie.

We call this, The Nest From Whence Awesome Was Hatched.

My last morning in town, I went out for breakfast with Jake Luck. He has a really good band who wrote a soundtrack for my last movie called Thunder In The Valley. He is also working on a puppet show adaptation of The Trial by Kafka. I am currently writing a novella about him called, Mr. Luck. He is a Gypsy.

It was a happy plane ride home. I was on my best behavior. I didn't bother anybody.

The next day was New Years Day, and Ellen called in sick so I went to her house and watched BBC documentaries, and A Woman Is A Woman.

Ellen's dog nuzzeled between my boobs and refused to move. She wouldn't stop staring at me.

Ellen's dog collection is choice.

It's unrelated to my trip, but I rearranged my room tonight. I needed to remove everything that was on the floor and put in on my bed to vaccum. I don't own anything that isn't a book, aparently.