I sat on the beach, my back leaning against a sizzling concrete wall as the surf licked my toes. The wall stretched along the length of the beach, and I watched the crowds enjoying the small patch of sand between the wall and the ocean. I stood up and walked into the ocean, the hot pebbles beneath the water tickled my feet and made me laugh. From the wall my mom yelled at me to take my sunglasses off. I dove down and grabbed a handful of hot marbles. When I resurfaced there were strands of spaghetti stuck in my sunglasses. I laughed and ran my hand over the surface of the water, collecting the noodles between my fingers. I was surprised and excited and said ‘wow the noodles are beautiful!’ and a woman swimming nearby rolled her eyes and with derision scoffed, “It’s the North Shore.”
My self-made, successful gay lawyer friend invited two of his young model girlfriends over. They left me in his five story townhouse and went to get pizza and then go to the club. From the view of his balcony I watched his nervous breakdown: like an exorcism, his face contorted in agony as he scaled an invisible fence that rose high above the neatly tree lined street in his upscale neighborhood, fucking hot dogs, splitting them open to further develop their resemblance to a broken urethra. His two hot friends returned home in the morning from the club in a cab, and I refused their entry to my friend’s townhouse because they were selfishly unaware of my friend’s mental instability and were bad friends for letting him eat hot dogs.
the term ‘shithead’
the feeling and sound of colliding mcguyver clamps
windmill slamming a p1p1 mythic
coconut infused peanut butter
half & half + cocoa crispies
consolidating the items in my refrigerator
the term ‘shitshow’
reading notes i find on the street
MTV’s True Life
Duck Tails Theme Song
the smell of fresh rubber
pregnant women in horizontal stripes
belly laughing in my sleep
some stuff i want/need after i pay my credit card bill on the 11th:
some stuff that i need to save up for over the next few months:
some stuff to think about:
i am not a greedy motherfucker because i don’t want millions of dollars or even hundreds of thousands of dollars, but i do want more money, just a couple of thousand more. i want more money because i want to own nicer things and live with less people and go on trips and not worry about spending my paltry supply of dollars and possibly becoming poor and bored.
after choosing to make more money thinking about making more money has become a part of my everyday routine. i wake up every morning and say to myself ‘what can i do to make more money today?’
there are two kinds of money: slow money and fast money. Fabolous once said, “Everybody knows slow money is way better than no money, except for those who don’t know shit, don’t know women and don’t know money.” Definitely Fabolous is smarter than I am because he spent his time working hard writing raps with a plan in mind, but as far as being someone “who don’t know shit” Fabolous can speak for himself because i do have a plan for slow money but right now i need fast money because in addition to the things that i need i am also expecting a lump of new bills with little ways to pay them.
to get fast money i need side hustle (which btw is antithetical to a salary because working on a salary is basically an agreement to make less money than is deserved).
(as i type this there are flies at my desk swing dancing with one another next to my mouth and my eyes. i spray them with my bleach hose but they won’t go away.)
a friend of mine does computer repairs. another friend sells psilocybin mushrooms. i used to sell subscriptions for the ny times on the weekends. but that was almost two years ago.
now i want to deal drugs. i will start dealing drugs to save up for the canon EF 17-40mm f/4L USM ultra wide angle zoom lens because once i have the lens i can use it to get better paying jobs and i won’t have to deal drugs unless i enjoy it, which i won’t, because i’ll be stressed and paranoid that the feds will be tipped off after somebody reads this post and reports me because they enjoy being an anonymous tattle tale faggot. I won’t publish to facebook for this one.
i haven’t started dealing drugs yet, but according to Sergio I should start by becoming sponsored: attain the trust of a successful drug dealer who is looking to become a supplier and convince them to lend me a sizable amount of drugs which i’ll agree to sell for them in too short a duration of time for a meager cut of the profits. basically: be persistent, charming, resilient and motivated. Hey, becoming those things were on my list of things to do anyway. This might just be the job for me.
I watched him hit the pipe, shaped like a leprechaun. He said ten more hits and he would feel high, so to add to his anxiety we played ding dong ditch. It must have been the summer after high school ended, before everyone moved away, then came back, then moved away, then came back again, then moved away, then some less people came back, but still, people came back, and then moved away again, and then came back and some stayed while others left and came back and others never came back and I stayed and left and came back and got mad that I came back, so I left and never came back. This was before all of that. This was when Devin still lived on Brook Street. Mark was not in the picture frame on the mantle yet. Devin’s doop ditched his family for Jesus, went away to make new babies with another whore of Christ, tried to brainwash my asshole with a balloon bag on stage to an audience of embarrassed heathens. I never spoke to him after that, after all, he was Devin’s dad. Enter: Mark the pilot. Actually he was a part of the life. He gave Devin 100$ for his high school graduation. We were in the front yard, my brother was ditching his friends to chill with mine and we played Surge don’t touch the ground or you get raped in the ass by a gang of wet virgins. (It sounds like breathing.) I was getting my ass raped at the graduation party when Mark and his mustache was taken onto the field by Lois, to present Devin with the dollars. I had never been sweatier and now deep blue and hiding in bushes. Whenever time passes, this was before Amanda grew into a woman and the first time I noticed the existence of the World Cup. Dave offered the leprechaun after he sucked it and I declined. Everyone now realizes where they went wrong and how little it mattered to them and how they might still be doing it now.
“Everybody is different and that’s love.”
Left a crumb of raw cocaine in Tommy’s belly button last night, he laid on his back with dingy undershirt pulled above it, twirling curls like a baby with a thumb in his mouth, sucking himself while I sucked him it was exactly like poetry. We were just people looking for fucks without giving any.
The man that asked the best questions at the green smoothie seminar looked like he had a fat suit on, maybe it was water weight, or maybe he exaggerated his fasting habits, but his questions were specific and advanced, leaving me suspicious: “Can I use water that I boiled my spinach in as a base for my smoothie?” Another great question, yes of course.
The only rapper to ever put a big girl on stage, doing pushups in a hotel room. Apply lubricant beneath the 2K, gives the appearance of perspiration, every ‘performance’ is filmed on a sound stage, Central Casting networks provides the extras, they get paid $50 each and leave with free bananas, six a piece. No real fans, but who needs fans when you’ve got gin? Pop does Tommy, gun bubbles, watch her go boom, all pink insides, like pepperoni pizza balloons, let her milk the green total scum, drinking the afternoon beside the lake we ate KFC, he bought a salad, vegan pussy won’t take cheese with his chicken cheese. I can’t eat Alfredo, I won’t eat Alfredo; my hate becomes a love so I can concentrate on painting my memories from memories. Ay Papi, que bonito.
“Men are malicious, and me being one of them, I know. I will wish no maliciousness on anyone nor will i inflict it. Men have an inner evil that keeps them from being able to level, from anybody, even from their fellow men. That’s why anybody asks the question really, just that men seem to, and don’t get me wrong, Margaret Mead says it takes a small group, I completely understand what it takes to make the world move. It’s not a law to be free…it’s not a right to be free, if we were free then free thinkers would be heard. Yeah we have a constitution, but it’s not upheld. My thoughts need to be opinionated upon.”
-Chris, 23, The Doe Fund