I’m never alone, I’m alone all the time. That’s Bush. ¶ You had to know I’d do it again. I still have your memories folded neatly somewhere inside my head. ¶ I’ve been selfish lately. I think I’ll give 9AM to 9AM to my beloved disproductions. There are things to achieve around those parts. The next issue of Thirst For Fire needs to be constructed. It looks bomb. ¶ Don’t really know her but we’re keeping in touch. She’s a good girl who does not drink. ¶ Last night I was supposed to meet someone but they ditched me. That didn’t anger me as much as it relieved me. ¶ Someone screamed at me who was still in uniform at ten o’clock at night. They were mostly mad about their duties. I think it’s nonsense the way single soldiers are treated in the Army. Really. But so be it, this is what I signed up for. ¶ I haven’t broken any records yet. Lately my primary focus in life has been reading, writing, and burning fat. ¶ When people do the things that I pioneered and leave me no credit for the idea or anything, that bothers me. I’d say it bothers most people. It’s a method of marginalizing me and I’ve never appreciated it. Shit, after five years of mostly dedicated and hard work, still only a few people are going to read this. Meanwhile others will be famous within months of putting pen to page. ¶ Last night I dreamed that I received some weird e-mails. One day we’ll have instant replays of dreams. I look forward to that day.
Smoke-Free
dispatch headquarters at time of writing; i read in the one chair and write in the other; i love the director's chair i read in so much that i sometimes have nightmares about it being stolen from me
Yes, it’s true, but right now it’s fucking killing me. That’s because yesterday morning at 8AM I rose and attacked the day. I had a long list of things to get done and now, at 3AM the next day, it’s mostly complete. Meanwhile my iPod is pushing 1100 songs shuffled since I returned from vacation. I am hoping that I can get through the entire 9000+ songs without it crashing. This iSymphony thing is truly amazing.
One of the things I did was ship a little care package to my dearest Christy Call, who has been sick for awhile yet still managing to produce for dispatch. Isn’t that lovely? The care package had to be sent anyway, however, because it contains her copy of our first and perhaps only print edition–the one with Shane Jones in it that I’ve been annoying everyone about on Facebook, yeah.
Of course the biggest time-taker-upper was getting the previous two issues fit to fight in formats other than PDF. Had to create a new e-mail address for complaints and so on. So many things. But the site and magazine are better for all this labor, and so I cannot complain. Just raising my trumpet here a little bit I suppose. Not even drunk right now but I’ve been so efficient for the last like six hours that I can’t help it.
Another thing that I had to do was go to the gym. I squeezed that in before I went to the store and to mail the thing for Christy, plus I was also mailing a thing for my Dad. I know this post sounds juvenile. There’s no need for you to think things like that.
Moving on. I had a very strange text-message experience wherein a stranger who turned out to be a beautiful woman contacted me. I am still trying to close that deal.
Three writerly things to bother you about:
Still no fucking word on my PG Chapbook. It’s been in progress since November, 2008. When I saw Adam Robinson in Baltimore, it didn’t even come up. Can’t say I blame him. Saturday was the first day I’d touched my computer since Wednesday. Been reading a lot of magazines and such. Burning this belly off the rest of the time. Mostly exhausted but looking the better for it. I want to show my belly on the internet but have it be all tight and stuff; I want to increase the number of women who think about me as their limp-dick husbands fade inside them. I want to be flattered and flattering.
Also, I put this up at GwI today or yesterday or something. And more importantly, the Million Writers Award is back on and I have made the dispatch nominations (unsurprisingly): Amelia Gray, Steve Goerger, and Adam Moorad. All winners in my book but we all know the fucking thing is rigged anyways. Bladdascrabbafuck. Want a cigarette really bad. Ignoring it. It’s been over a week and there’s no need to back-pedal! Taking another commit lozenge. Drinking more water. Sleep will help. Soon.
There’s a lot I’m leaving out here. Mostly because I’ve been digesting more on the private side of things. And writing more. Longhand, even. And so forth. Tired and wired up and getting stronger by the day. I should be in good shape here pretty quick. I’ve lost a few pounds, maybe as many as ten, in about a week of working out 2-4 hours a day.
I think I’m about to celebrate my seventh or eighth month not reading HTMLGiant. So here’s to breaking addictions in 2010.
I’d write about pedophiles who lure young girls and what not, and how I’m so fit to judge them and what not, but I guess I just don’t feel up to the drama. People seem to be going from zero to drama this year worse than last. And don’t let your fashion sense rule your media intake, friends: do not fucking watch Twin Peaks or whatever it is. Please keep some originality in your life and wear different shoes from other people and things like that.
I think I’ll go to the next Five Things Austin and harass Amelia Gray for her signature. Everybody knows what an asshole I am in person.
For now,
PHM
PS — the new wireless keyboard and magic mouse fucking rock. A lot.
Madorean Irish Coffee
Special note, people! Fucking hell! Dig this drawing, thanks! (frsh.in/0210)
Greetings from the Hotel Felix on 111 W. Huron St. in Chicago. This instant I’m listening “Party for the Fight to Right” by Atmosphere (from the Lucy Ford album).
Some got pencils, some got guns.
Now before I go on, I’d like to announce that today I got a new tattoo.
Now before I actually go on, I’d like to announce that there was a time in my life when I would drink rum with anything, to include Old Time Pink Lemonade (the powder mix) and hot coffee (in the morning, yeah, on my way to horrible jobs). These days I think I’ve moved beyond rum. I think I am a gin drinker. Although it seems that whenever I am at a bar, John Jameson calls my name, and so I call this drink that I am about to describe, I call it Madorean Irish Coffee, although it is nothing like Irish Coffee, and any drinker of Irish Coffee will surely agree. Irish Coffee is a bit stupid for me, with the whip cream–how much of that can you actually drink?
Anyway, to make Madorean Irish Coffee:
- Take some iced coffee (preferably fresh)
- Take some gin (preferably Tanqueray or if the store’s out, as in my case this instant, then use something else half-decent or at least with a cool label, like New Amsterdam)
- Mix them together with machine-made ice cubes
Generally this drink is good in small quantities. Fucking Starbuck’s Frappucinno shit is a good substitute, but don’t do that too often if you love anything good in the world.
Today I bought a keyboard and a mouse for this netbook so I could write tonight. And I have written tonight. I’m just glad I actually have room to transport these things. I’m also glad that there was no bullshit when I just plugged them in. They worked.
“Stop wasting my time with your factory precision. Factory precision is your bad religion.”
Saying no to a bum is like lying no to your mother. It’s wrong on more levels than you’re aware of at the time, but somehow you always fucking justify it, don’t you?
Reasons I Have This Little Netbook
- If I’m traveling and I am robbed, it won’t bother me, or I think it won’t.
- It was cheap.
- It was damn cheap.
- I can use Linux on it.
- I like Linux.
- It can do a few things my iPhone cannot.
Freshen up!
If you are tired of short urls that are actually long and you are mostly sharing literary links then you should check out and promote and support my new shortening service at frsh.in
Also much happening at girlswithinsurance.com
Thanks.
