Saturday, July 02, 2005

("I BRUSH MY TEETH WITH ABSTRACT EXPRESSIONISM AND I WIPE MY BUM WITH DADAISM" is a short-short story about an art critic going through his morning routine. Does it sound boring ? Well does passion sound boring ? Does the anguish of always being in a state of artistic awe sound boring ? Oh yes it's all that and more.

sockyung hong riverdale
Today's story is based on a painting by the very talented Sockyung Hong.



He opens his eyes and yells out, "Who goes there ? Friend or foe ? What kind of a day are you ? Are you going to provide me with aesthetic joys unparalleled or will you dash my hopes against the harsh realities of your 24 hours ? Will your 24 children shower me in ethereal gifts or will they run up to me one at a time in a tedious succession of open-handed begging ? No matter. I will deign to trust you Saturday July 2nd, if that is your real name."

He stretches himself up into a seated position on the edge of the bed. His tailor made pajamas sport a Kandinsky style print. He is ready to live his life for art.

Friday, July 01, 2005

("SMOOCHING UNDER THE KNIFE" is a tale of flirtation, fantasy and cataract surgery.

Once again this story is based on a photograph taken by the lovely and talented Marieta Tsenova



I love women. Is that a crime ? If loving women were a crime I would be...a criminal - he winks slowly with a tilt of his head - Yes, I am a criminal for love. Is that a crime ? Is it a crime to be a criminal ? I don't know about law. I only know about the laws of love - he makes a smooching sound with his lips - The laws of love are written on my heart in a romantic language like... French. I can't read French but I would understand the laws of love if they were written in French... if you translated them for me into English - he takes a bite out of an imaginary peach and smiles - How did I get my cute little scar you ask ? I was in the hospital for cataract surgery but the surgeon was such a vision of beauty even behind her white bandit mask and surgical gown that I had to have her. I lost sight of her once a napkin type cloth was placed over my good eye but I knew she was there and that I needed her. Her beauty shone through - he makes a bird-song sound - I flirted as best as I could even while she was working her way into my cloudy eye. I raised an eyebrow here and made a smooching sound there. I recited classical poetry that I made up for her right there on the spot - he narrows his eyes briefly as if in a yawn - I promised her the moon, the man in the moon and the truth as to whether or not the moon landing was a hoax. I kidded. I said all of this in a soft voice - he raises an eyebrow - She told me to be quiet, that she was trying to concentrate. I reached my hand out to her warm body and that's when I was cut. That's when cupid punished me for being too full of love.

Thursday, June 30, 2005

("COCAINE BONUS HOUR" is a story that could be written out on a tiny piece of paper that you could roll up and snoot a line with.

You could. I wouldn't.

Once again the inspiration for my words has come from the lovely and talented Marieta Tsenova.


"Well after my parents bit the bullet in that crash, I really needed some time on my own. You know, I needed some time to be self-absorbed. Some time to get my head together. Oh Christ, you wouldn't believe how deep I went into my head. I learned all this stuff about myself and how, you know, if I stare at the wall for a long time, I get really depressed. I learned shit like that while I was putting myself back together," as he talks a mile a minute, he spins around and around on the ceiling fan that his legs and arms are wrapped around. Red drops from his nose fall onto the table below.

His friend stares up at him. His friend wonders why. His friend wishes he'd gone to bed an hour ago.

Wednesday, June 29, 2005

("FAT MAN PROPOSING WITH KETCHUP ON HIS BODY" is the perfect piece of prose to read to your loved one with several mouthfuls of hamburger.



The sunshine splashed down all over his white flesh that spread out voluminously across the green front lawn of his beloved.

A closed window, however, seemed to be her only response.

Maybe I mispelled something, he thought lifting his head to check his belly.

"Will you be my love-bun"

Maybe I can still make use of some of this ketchup, he thought to himself.

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

"WIRES AND EYES CROSSED IN THE WRITER'S BLOCK" is a short little self-help monologue full of madness and anxiety. It is based on this image.

Over the next month I'll be receiving a total of six male and six female portraits from the very talented Marieta Tsenova .

If you are a painter, photographer or any other kind of visual artist and you want to collaborate, drop me an email.



And then there are times when I just can't get a single word on the page. Writer's Block is what they call it but I think it's more like the Writer's Chopping Block. The WCB will finish your career if you stay there too long. Headed for a beheading.

When I find myself speechless on the Writer's Chopping Block, I first of all get a safe distance away from my wordprocessor. Your pad of paper, typewriter or computer is really the chopping block and if you sit there just staring into white emptiness you are basically lowering your head down in defeat, waiting for the axe to fall. If you find yourself with nothing to say get as far away from your writing desk as possible. Thus your safety is guaranteed.

I like to sit in some part of my place which requires no commitments. In the living room I can relax, take my mind off writing and survey my homely little castle.

Of course if you've lived in your place for a long time things might look rather familiar that's why I like to move my head back and forth while crossing my eyes. That's a great way to see things differently. I also deliberately confuse myself by leaving notes in my books and magazines. The notes will say things like "Don't forget that it's so and so's birthday" but the name of the person will be illegible, but then I'll leave another note that says the opposite: "Remember not to do anything for so and so's birthday because he hates celebrating it." I try to cross my own wires, so to speak.

All this helps me through the WCB.

My last novel which came out five years ago featured a cross-eyed protagonist that saved the world through some misunderstanding.

I've been seated here ever since, but at least I'm not on the writer's chopping block.

Monday, June 27, 2005

("AND ROCK N’ ROLL AND THE WISDOM OF MEN" is the third and final installment in a trilogy of monologues about the know-how hidden away in sex, drugs n’ rock n’ roll.

Fuckin’ eh !! And that’s the fuckin’ Eh, B, C’s to you, eh.

We conclude with our group of aging metal heads standing around a camp fire.


Christ, enjoy your own goddamn enlightenment….


Christ, acid’ll give you fucked up shit that doesn’t make any sense to say. That’s what it gives you. That’s retarded man. There’s no way you can know what dogs are dreaming. Of course that idea came to you when you were messed up on drugs. You can turn your brain into a mushy substance that’s super absorbent so that it’ll take in any bullshit idea, that’s what you get after a hundred hits of acid.


I’m listening to you guys talk about banging chicks and doing drugs and I while I will say that they have their place for sure, you’re missing the most essential thing out there. What ? Rock n’ Fuckin’ Roll that’s what fuckin’ what !!


You see everything in rock n’ roll. Black Sabbath ?! Come on, that shit’s got it all. Iron Man ?!! That’s all my kids are gonna fuckin’ need. Screw school. Iron Man. Is he alive or dead, has he thoughts within his head ?!! That lines fuckin’ got it all man. That’s the most fuckin’ basic distinction in this universe and they’re asking it of this iron guy dude. He’s like this fuckin’ in between dude. Like a transvestite. He’s like a transvestite of existence. That’s fuckin’ deep man.


Osbourn, Iommi and those other guys were from fuckin’ England man. They learned more by grade three than you knew after you dropped out of grade ten or whatever. And they were the fuckin’ stoned idiots of their country but they still knew more than we’ll ever know. They were fuckin’ deep. Iron Man !!? Come on.

When he traveled time for the future of mankind. That shit just comes out of nowhere. It’s like decades before Terminator. Way ahead of it’s time man. Fuckin’ brilliant.

And this iron man dude was just way ahead of his time which is really all about how guys are on time but where are the chicks in the song ? We’re waiting for them to come into the song but they’re late that’s why they’re not mentioned.


Sunday, June 26, 2005

("DRUGS AND THE WISDOM OF MEN" is the second installment in a trilogy of monologues about the know-how hidden away in sex, drugs n’ rock n’ roll.

Fuckin’ eh !! And that’s the fuckin’ Eh, B, C’s to you, eh.

We continue with a group of aging metal heads standing around a camp fire.


Enjoy your own fuckin’ enlightenment….


Fuck that’s some weird ass advice. My chick wants to look me in the eyes when we’re going at it, You know love and everything. I’m not gay but you gotta respect that shit.


I do know for a fact that Viagra is seriously fucked. There are drugs n’ then there are drugs. Know what I’m saying ? Some drugs are just so fuckin’ redundant it’s a joke. It’s a big scam to wrench more money out of people. I mean we’ve already got acid. What do we need another drug for ? Acid is the fuck drug, I bullshit you not. It’ll keep you going forever. It’s weird and shit if you do it and just like watch the walls breath. That’ll make you go crazy but if you stay focused on something it’ll really fuckin’ help you. Just fuckin’ focus right. That’s all you have to remember.


You learn interesting shit when you’re on acid too. For example I didn’t realize that dogs dreamt in color but they do because I made eye contact with Crunch, you know my rottweiller, and I just figured it out from what his eyes were telling me. You learn so much from eye contact with people but it’s all like unconscious but when I was on acid I made this intense eye-contact with Crunch and he told me through his eyes that he dreamt in color. That’s a fuckin’ miracle. I mean dogs only see in black n’ white but how do they dream in color !! Another miracle compliments of mother fuckin’ nature that’s how. I mean fuckin’ evolution n’ shit is amazing and dogs dream in color.


Acid’ll give you shit to say when you’re out at parties n’ shit.