hello. here is a myspace page for my music that ryan manning helped me set up. now people should be able to hear the music. i encourage you to leave really obscene and demented things on the myspace page, because myspace is for losers.



here is a video of the poem "move in with me" that chris killen played to people in manchester. i am glad that people in manchester got to see my dog and also hear what he was thinking.

Untitled from chris killen on Vimeo.



i have writing up at storyglossia.

and an interview up here.



i have something up here and here.


chris killen is going to play a video recording of "move in with me" for some people in manchester. shane jones did the last video. if you are reading this right now and you are in manchester or around manchester (like, you could open your front door and like, jump and end up there or ride a bike for a short amount of time and get there) then go and visit chris and watch the video and bite chris like we agreed. i will put the video up soon and also, hopefully, a written report/essay of the evening from chris killen, that is, if you fail with the biting.


i think i will have a video up soon at daniel bailey's site HERE EXPLODES MY GIANT FACE. right now though, there is a video by steven daniel lewis called THE SUN AND HOW IT KILLS PEOPLE that i like very much.



here is everything. i wrote poems about everyone. i also wrote some poems about random things that have nothing to do with literature. at the end is an old interview i did with brandon scott gorrell. happy internet literature monday.


another also, here is a link to all the link's of the writer's who wrote for today. that's right, i didn't even link all the articles, i just linked the link. bless the fucking internet and how does it feel brandon, to be used like this. i totally used you. ha ha motherfucker.


Chris Killen is a writer who lives in England.
He uses the word “dodgy”.
Chris Killen is nice.
I have a feeling that if you were at his “flat” and you were opening a bag of cereal and the bag totally ripped, sending the cereal all over the floor, he’d act like it was not at all your fault.
He wouldn’t yell about it.
He’d probably say, “oh, whoopsy then” and then he’d help you clean it up.
He’d even bring up a humorous anecdote about how something similar had happened to him once, and it would make you feel better (even though in the anecdote he’d make sure to blame himself which would implicitly be blaming you).
He’d realize this logical issue and then look quietly at the floor picking up little pieces of cereal that were shaped like giraffes with Mohawks.
He’d think, “Fuck Chris Killen”.
Chris Killen shits like everyone else except he never really has to wipe his “bum”.
I mean, he does like, a check wipe and everything, but every time it comes up clean.
Every time this happens he looks at the clean paper and says, “I am Chris Killen, motherfucker.”
Chris Killen does not own any type of transportation device.
He skips everywhere he goes.
Whenever someone says, “Chris Killen, this is dodgy. Why don’t you get a car or something man.”
He affects a cowboy accent and says, “I don’t go nowhere’s I can’t gets with my own two skips.”
Chris Killen eats toast and jam at every meal.
He weighs 75 pounds, which is something-stone in English. I think a stone is like 14 lbs maybe. We’ll say he weighs four stone. What I am trying to say is, he’s a thin little pussy.
He wrote a novel called “The Bird Room.”
It is awesome.
When I read it I set it down and went to my kitchen.
I got some water from the tap and stared out my window into the dark.
I thought about killing everyone that walked by.
Then planting the novel on their body so it would seem like Chris Killen did the murdering.
Then he’d get arrested and I’d take his novel and publish it.
Chris Killen would then do like a billion million pull-ups in jail.
He’d get the words “Fuck Sam Pink, he is dodgy” tattooed on his chest.
In jail, he’d be polite to his cellmate.
They’d arrange an understanding about who gets what in the cell.
And if Chris had to stab the guy, he’d look at the weapon in his hand and then the guy and be like, “um, oh dear, I believe I have to, uh, come here you, time to get uh, stabbed.”
He’d make it seem like it wasn’t the fault of the person getting stabbed.
He’d just say “oh, whoopsy then” and then tell the guy about a humorous anecdote in which he stabbed someone for spilling cereal all over his floor.
When he pulls the weapon out of the guy’s chest, he’d put the end in his mouth and lick it clean. He’d pull down his “knickers” and then violently fuck the stab-wound in the man’s chest. After he came into the man’s dead heart valves, he’d look at himself in the mirror and say, “I am Chris Killen, motherfuckers.”


Kendra Grant Malone is a writer who lives in New York.
She is always nice to me on gchat.
I sometimes imagine that Kendra is my sister because I never had a sister.
In my imagination it is nice to have her as my sister.
Having seen pictures of her on the internet, I know she has, like, a huge set of “tig ol’ bitties”.
As my sister, she would let me set my head on her lap and her “tig ol’ bitties” would rest on my head.
It wouldn’t be sexual, they would just be resting on my head (the “tig ol’ bitties” that is).
I have had boobs resting on my head before, but I imagine having Kendra Grant Malone’s boobs resting on your head would be different.
With the other boobs, them shits were like, just having a tennis ball on your ear.
But with Kendra’s, I think the pressure would be like being underwater and having your ears feel all tight and shit.
The problem is, that I would probably get a boner while resting my head in her lap.
I’d fight it, like “No, this is my imaginary sister—get a hold of yourself man, for god’s sake.”
Then I’d secretly push my “de-bonerizer” tablet into my boner. (my “de-bonerizer” tablet is actually a salt tablet but man it works).
Anyway, I totally forgot where this was going, so, uh, if you want some de-bonerizer tablets, just email me.
Oh yeah, Kendra is nice to me.
Read her blog.


Daniel Bailey is from Muncie Indiana.
I feel like this helps me understand him because I have lived in a lot of different places but mainly in the Midwest.
It is the bleakest place on earth.
There are factories and sky and that is it.
Daniel Bailey writes poems.
They are good.
Too good.
Which makes me think that he is not writing them.
I will check this out.
Of all the hot guys on the internet, Daniel Bailey is the hottest.
One time I saw a picture of him on the internet, and I got a boner, and that’s not all.
When the boner happened, it made a dinging sound like one of those circus things where you hit the lever with a hammer and the little object flies up determining your strength.
Daniel has a few chapbooks out and I am sure they are good.
When I asked him to mail them he never did.
Fuck Daniel Bailey.
Fuck him.


Noah Cicero lives in Ohio.
The first thing of his I read was a piece called “lost in shit” on word riot.
After I read it, I knew something had changed.
This was no typical shitty shit crap you find in most journals.
So I emailed him and I went to Ohio and Noah buttfucked me and then threw me out of his house.
If you have some money, buy some of his books.
One time Noah linked to a piece I wrote called “today I hope a bus accidentally kills me”.
I knew I liked Noah because he liked that piece.
Let me explain.
I am not vain, so it didn’t have anything to do with that.
But I sometimes know I like someone if I explain something a certain way, and they understand.
That’s why.
Also, he said, he showed the piece to someone who was getting off of heroin and crack and I thought, “he understands this piece and who to show it to because it is a distinct feeling.”
Noah Cicero recently posted a video of himself holding one of his newest publications “burning babies”.
On the video, he had on a cowboy hat and at the end of the video he danced to “battery” by metallica.
That is the best video on the internet, unless there is a video of Daniel Bailey shaving his legs.
I have never kissed a man, but I would make out with Noah Cicero.


Ellen Kennedy lives in New York.
I am pretty sure about that.
I read her book on bear parade.
I like it.
Sometimes her poems are violent.
For some reason, whenever I hear her name, I think about the things we could do together.
The main thing I think about doing with Ellen Kennedy is pushing someone down some stairs.
I think that after we did that, we’d turn and look at each other and then one of us would pull out a fruit roll up and we’d split it.


Ryan Manning lives in Virginia.
I used to live in Virginia.
I do not know Ryan Manning.
One time I was gchatting with Ryan Manning and he sent me a link.
I clicked on the link and it was a close up of a clitoris and vaginal hood and labia that were all wet.
Ryan typed “it looks like there is glue on it or something”
I laughed and agreed.
Ryan writes poems.
I like them.
Ryan writes lines like “the asian mark wahlberg” on everyone’s blog.
I laugh every time I see one.
My favorite is “the asian mark wahlberg”.
When I think of that line, I laugh.


Barry Graham lives in Michigan.
He is the editor for DOGZPLOT, an online journal.
I like Dogzplot.
One time he asked for some work and I sent him some new stuff, stuff that I did a little differently than usual.
He sent back: “What else ya got.”
That’s when I knew I liked him.
I sent him some shitty poop, and he wasn’t all stupid about it.
He just said, “what else ya got”
Then I sent him some other things that I knew were good.
He accepted them and asked me to lengthen one of the pieces to make into a column for the next fiction issue of his journal.
When I got the email about that, I thought, oh man, I will never be able to expand this.
Then I sat down and wrote the whole article without stopping.
I sent it to him and he said, “very good shit”.
The article will come out soon on Dogzplot.
When you read it, you will know why I value Barry Graham, because he actually asked for MORE of that kind of thing.
After emailing him, I read some of his work online.
He also sent some more work to me.
It is very good work.
He is able to tell a story.
One time I sent Barry an email about whether or not he knew any publishers that might want to publish my book.
I know very little about publishing so I thought he might be able to help.
He emailed me back not even a day later and said that he had started a press and that he would publish it.
I didn’t know he had a press.
I was excited.
I knew that either 1. Barry was on acid and was actually a ten year old kid or 2. he liked the book.
This made me feel happy about knowing Barry.
Like he was in my gang and if we were at a bar and someone pushed him I would get real close to whoever pushed him and put my face really close to their face so they’d know I would kill them if they did it again.
In the email about accepting my book, Barry said, “think before you decide whether or not you’d like to publish with me, check around, find out about me”
This made me feel good.
1. Because, he was already willing to take a chance with my book, why wouldn’t I trust him.
2. Because I could make sure he wasn’t a high schooler on acid.
After I got that email, I went outside and walked along the highway for a long time.
I felt amazing.
I waited a whole day to email him back, like he had asked me to the prom and I didn’t want to seem eager to go.
Shortly after, I saw a picture of Barry.
He reminded me of Kerry King from Slayer.
I thought, “this is a good sign”.
Barry worked on the cover with me.
He was never a douche.


Blake butler lives in Georgia.
He is published by everyone that has a journal.
He just got a book accepted.
He has always been very nice to me.
One time he asked for some work for lamination colony.
I sat down, wrote something, then gave it to him.
He said, “I will publish this”
A few days later, I emailed him back saying that I wanted to edit it again.
I edited it, sent it back and he was like “the other one was better. It smelled like cantaloupe rotting in the garbage. This new edit smells like a cantaloupe air freshener in the garbage” or something like that and I knew exactly what he was talking about.
He published the better version and he was right.
Blake sent Barry an email saying thanks for publishing my book.
He thanked someone else for publishing a book that wasn’t his.
Blake Butler is a genuine person who will help reading material make its way into the future with the stiffest hard on ever. Like on of those power-boners you get that actual hurt and you have to just chill a bit to let it go down.


Lamination Colony is part of the reason I keep writing.
Because there are places now that publish new things, not things that have been cleared by tradition.
Every time a new Lamination Colony comes out, I take a deep breath and then click on the link.
I read all the titles and the authors and then Blake’s address if he has written one to the reader.
Then I read all of the pieces regardless of whether or not I know the author or even like the way the title sounds.
If Lamination Colony were a monthly magazine, I would pay for it.


I am going to do these two together.
Steven Daniel Lewis is a writer from Kansas.
I am not exaggerating when I say his prose is among my favorite.
A while back he sent me a nice email about my work and how we should trade fiction sometime.
I said, yes please send me some work.
I read it and liked it.
I thought, ok, now I will edit some things and send them to him.
I never did.
I pussied out.
I am a pussy.
And SDL is huge penis.
SDL is such a huge penis that he accepted some of my work for ROBOT MELON.
The poem he published I still very much like.
SDL recently started posting again.
For a while, I kept checking his blog and going, “oh man, when’s he going to post again. What a cockmunch”
Then he posted and I coolly commented, like “oh nice work, I had totally forgotten about your blog.”


Catherine Lacey lives in New York.
I don’t really know anything about her.
If I remember right, I commented on her blog because I liked her art.
She has commented on my blog and said nice things.
She is one of the prettiest girls I have ever seen.
When I look at her pictures, I get that really sad feeling that comes along with really wanting to hug someone and maybe kiss them.
If I lived in New York, I would try to go on a date with her.
I don’t care if she has a boyfriend.
If she did and he confronted me, I would say, “listen man, I understand your situation but it is not going to change. I will fuck you up if you touch me.”
I think Catherine would like me.
I would set out a blanket for her on the ground by the couch.
Then I would tell her to sit on the blanket.
Then I would sit on the couch and comb her hair for her.

TTB, Mike Bushnell, The Golden Bear, and Daryl the Blacksmith, The Jaguar Uprising

I want to talk about all these people but they are a team.
Two Tears Boye is the motherfucking Mystic Man.
One time I challenged him to fist fight and he kind of accepted.
Then we realized how far Chicago is from Massachusetts.
We decided to be friends.
When the jaguar uprising, his crew, started up on the internet, I immediately thought, “this is good. I used to watch wrestling a lot and I like people with a sense of humor.”
Using wrestling ideas on the internet is a good idea.
TTB has a beard, like me.
His might be nicer than mine.
I judge this by how far up his cheek the beard goes.
The higher the beard, the fuller, the better.
If I saw a man with a beard that covered his face except for his eyes, I would think “he has the best beard ever”
TTB has emailed me and said nice things.
He and his crew published my chapbook.
Mike Bushnell seems like the captain.
I have chatted with him.
He is really cool and will one day be an important editor.
He is enthusiastic about writing.
He told me that he and the Jaguar Uprising went to a reading in New York.
He said they went in full Uprising gear.
He said one of the people at the reading told him that what they were doing “wasn’t cool”.
That story made me feel better about knowing Mike and his friends.
I sent him a chapbook that I was really proud of.
He liked it and said the Jaguar Uprising Press would publish it.
They published it with my choice of cover and then put an American flag on the cover.
I think the cover is great.
I am glad they put it out.
They make the book with their hands.
If you buy the chapbook, their hands will have touched it.
That makes me feel good.
The Golden Bear is also part of the Uprising.
I like his videos.
I don’t know what else to say about him except that he wrote “drink and you’ll feel fucking great” on boreparade.com
That is a funny book.
Please read it.
Daryl the Blacksmith is cool.
He wrote about a wrestling match with Noah Cicero.
He is also the author if the best blog on the internet.
It is called “ellen st. frances I like it!”
It is the best blog on the internet.
Read it and you will laugh.
After I read the first post, I laughed and then I waited for the next post.
The next post didn’t come.
I emailed mike bushnell to tell him thanks for making the chapbook for me.
I said, “say hi to everyone and tell daryl the blacksmith I wish he would update the ‘I like it!’ blog.”
A few days later he updated it.
I see a bright future for this blog.


XTX was one of the first people to comment on my blog.
She is really nice.
I like when I see a comment by her.
She has a blog of her own.
There are sometimes naked pictures or stories about handjobs and stuff.
I always get really horny when reading her blog.
When I heard her version of Nightowl, where she reads it, I felt horny.
A recent post on her blog said something about how she wanted to start a website that showed women putting cupcakes into their vaginas and then squeezing them out into peoples’ mouths.
If this website ever happens, I will link it here.


Justin Rands commented on my blog a long time ago when no one read it.
Then we became mates with DRUNK.
He posts a lot of poems on DRUNK.
I think he is really in control of what he writes.
It is good.
But sadly, he is a giant pussy-ass bitch-head dick-touching asswipe.
I don’t say that about many people, only people that are giant pussy-ass bitch-head dick- touching asswipes.
And he is one.
He writes angry blog posts.
I like them a lot.
He says what he is thinking.
I have a feeling that if we hung out, he would probably start a fake fight with me and then we would wrestle and one of us would get kind of hurt.


Jereme Dean lives in California.
He has started promoting internet literature in very helpful ways.
He buys books and then asks people to do something to obtain them for no money.
I feel like he is looking out for people who wouldn’t promote themselves as vigorously.
Jereme wrote a story that is in Beat the Dust and it is enjoyable to read.
He seems like he has done a lot in his life.
I bet I could sill kick his fucking ass though (no offense Jereme).
He makes nice comments on my blog.
I sometimes sit and wish that my doorbell would ring and someone would be at the door like, “Package, Sir”
Then I would undo the package and jereme would be curled up inside.
When he gets out of the package he stands up and shakes off his clothes and asks me if I have any lunchables.
Then we really don’t have anything to say so we just watch my copy of “ernest rides again” and halfway through jereme asks if he can use my bathroom and I never see him again.


Ken Baumann lives in Hollywood baby.
He runs No Posit.
I have read every edition of No Posit the whole way through.
Ken is partly responsible for bringing about NO COLONY
Ken is also partly responsible for the stitches in my butthole.
I don’t know why, but I bet if you were a hot girl and you rollerbladed by Ken Baumann and Ken Baumann was wearing sunglasses, he’s do that thing where he like, lifts the glasses and watches you pass.
If I ever meet Ken Baumann I will give him a hug.


Shane Jones lives in Buffalo.
He wrote a book called LIGHT BOXES.
It is better than the things you write (unless you are the person who wrote the Where’s Waldo books).
I like to gchat with shane jones.
He adapts well.
Sometimes when I am talking to someone in real life, and I break off into some digression, the people are like “wait, what are you doing” and then I genuinely feel like a stupid human.
Shane Jones knows though.
We will have a gchat published in Lamination Colony next issue and it will be funny.
Shane told me he once told some people about his book and they asked how many were going to be published.
They thought like millions.
He told them 500.
He said that everyone got real quiet then.
One time I told shane that his storytelling was like a little kid who told a whole story with one sentence and one breath while pinching his crotch and licking his kool aid moustache.
I still think that is both a compliment and accurate.


Kyle Buckley has nothing to do with internet literature.
He is someone from Brookfield, Illinois where I used to live.
This summer I went back to Brookfield and we hung out.
We went to a bar.
Kyle Buckley started telling me a story and during his story he had to illustrate what happened to him when he got into a car accident.
He threw himself back in his chair and threw his arms up and went, “whooaaa, shit”
When he did that his hat fell off behind him.
He kept telling me the story.
Some guy walked by.
The guy was doing that thing where you carry a million beers with your splayed-out fingers.
But even though he was doing that, he still took the time to stop, look at the hat on the ground and, while Kyle Buckley was still telling me his story, the man took the time to go, “YO,” [real loud] then, “you dropped your hat”.
He seemed really pissed that the hat was dropped.
It was weird.


Gena is from north Carolina.
She sent me a nice email once.
I like her.
I told her a secret.
No one else knows the secret.
That is how it remains a secret.
One time I misspelled Gena’s name.
She corrected me.
Now I am going to find her house and light her on fire.
No one corrects me.
No one goddamnit.
Gena, I know you are reading this.
So get ready to get lit on fire.
I am not sure how long it will take me to find you.
But whatever, let’s say, maybe give me a month, I am going to light you on fire.
After you are on fire, I will just stand there looking at you.
Then I will say, “this all could have been avoided, but you had to correct me.”
I am not sure why I am saying this, but I could probably lift her up over my head.
That is just speculation but for some reason it seems plausible to me.
Maybe before I light her on fire, I will try to pick her up over my head, simply so I could determine if it’s true or not.


Blow jobs have nothing to do with internet literature.
Or maybe they do.
The nicest aspect about getting a blow job is that you know no one will be looking into your eyes.


Nail clippers are for keeping one’s nails at a desirable (loosely interpreted) length.
That is all I have to say about nail clippers.


This group of people is the group I call: “The group of people I’d like to see dead”.


I really like carrots.
If I have a bag of raw carrots, I will eat the whole thing for sure.
One time when I did that, I actually almost shit my pants the next day.
I mean, seriously, it was fucking close.
But yeah, I really like carrots.


I have never worn ear muffs.
It seems like I will never wear them


Every once in a while people ask me if I am afraid of death.
It seems like I should be, but I am not sure what I’d be missing if I died,, so i am really not that worried.


Satan visited me during the fall once.
I was in my room, kneeling by my bed.
I had my head on the bed and my knees on the ground.
I heard a really loud noise, like an explosion in reverse.
Then I met satan.
I am not lying about this.


The googler is my idea for a mascot for google.
I think he’d wear a cloak of some kind.
And he’d speak in rhyming parables.
Other than that I don’t know what he’d be like.


Brandon Scott Gorrell lives in the pacific northwest.
Seattle, I think.
He worries about his hair.
The first contact I had with him was a series of emails.
In the first one, he wrote, “I am eating an everything bagel”.
I knew then that we’d be friends (Or at least that we both liked everything bagels).
The other day we were on gchat and he proposed to marry me.
I accepted, but I am going to just not show up.
It just wouldn’t work.
He’d be looking into the mirror, asking me if his hair looked ok, and I’d be lying in bed, naked, saying, “babe, you look fine, now come to bed so I can put my penis into your butthole.”
Brandon mainly writes poetry.
What I mean by that is that I have mainly read poetry by him.
He made so many poems, that he put them into a book.
I read the book and then thought it was so good I wrote a song and read some of the poems over it.
I think that the song and the poems got like, at least four comments.
When his book gets published, maybe my blurb will be on the back and hipsters will like me.
Anyway, here is an interview I did with Brandon a while back.
I feel like it is some of my best interview work.
Here it is.

brandon scott gorrell, let's get straight to business. what do you do when someone tells a joke and you laugh and a booger shoots out of your nose and lands on your shirt, hand, tip of shoe, table, pencil etc.?

i usually 'make light' of something like that, and usually the person just ignores that the thing happened entirely. this makes me feel uncomfortable.

i would much rather them say, 'brandon, when you laughed a booger flew from your nose
and now it is resting on your palm.'

it would make me feel like i had some sort of connection with that person, like our brains were able to access the same metaphysical point or something.

one time in high school, i laughed while i was talking with a girl and a booger came out of my nose and she went, 'ew.'

the problem was that i'm sure she didn't mean to, she just said it, like the word came out of her mouth unintentionally, and then we had an unspoken agreement that i wasn't supposed to have heard that, and that we would never speak or look at each other again, and we didn't talk until sometime later, after high school, when i was working as a server assistant at old spaghetti factory.
she came in with her friends.

i had to tell them my name and tell them that i was going to be their server assistant and ask them if they wanted any garlic cheese bread to start out with, and tell them the name of their server and then tell them that if they needed anything, to 'just ask me.'

then i stared at her and i knew who she was and she knew who she was.

then she said some shit to me about who i was.

i laughed and smiled at her and could only think of boogers but she acted like she had kind of forgotten about the incident, but i hated that night, so bad.

i usually like to start out with garlic cheese bread, personally. then i act like i’m reading the menu but i can’t really read so i just mention a food and hope the restaurant has it.

brandon scott gorrell, i read on your blog that you dislike when people refer to themselves as "poets." what is the best way to communicate your disgust to these people? is it mailing them a sandwich that has poop inside of it instead of normal sandwich ingredients? how about arranging to meet with him or her and then having someone get on all fours behind them and then the poet would be like "yeah, what do you want?" and then you go, "just a little iambic pentameter" as you push the poet over the crouching person and run away laughing? your thoughts.

when people refer to themselves as poets i think, 'do you really have to do this to me?' i feel like they think i'm stupid, and then i feel like they're lying to themselves about something, like they're glorifying life, a bit.

but this only happens because my perception probably contrasts with their perception, because i think too much about being 'honest' and 'real' or something, ('honest' and 'real' basically meaning my 'truths' about my reality), and because they don't have to feel like that, and that's probably good for them, they should be happy.

i don't want to take away to their happiness, and it's not a big hassle for me to validate them and contribute to their happiness, so i usually submit and act interested.

have you ever noticed when you're talking to someone, and they make a joke, and you don't respond to it or laugh or acknowledge it, that they will repeat the same joke like two sentences later? regardless of what you say between the first and second appearance of their joke?

yes, i have noticed that. when that happens to me i usually go home and clip my fingernails and collect all the clippings and put them in my mouth and the next time i see that person (which hopefully isn’t too long because fingernails make your mouth itchy and uncomfortable) i blow the clippings at that person’s face like torrents of broken glass and i say “this is how you make me feel when you say things i don’t want to hear or have already said and now that I think about it most things that are said i don’t want to hear but i’m not that big of an asshole where i’d say ‘please don’t say anything because it means nothing to me’ i think everyone should say whatever and the air will get heavy like a garbage bag full of rocks and the edges will expand and it’s too bad i started thinking while I was typing this because now i have no clue what’s going on.”

brandon scott gorrell, i have now said things to you that do not typically warrant a response and our communication has broken down. tell me something about yourself and i will nod and later on, i will write about you in my journal and use a heart to dot all the i’s.

one time in grade school i was able to manipulate someone psychologically.

i think it was the first time i realized that people are humans.

i remember thinking 'i will ask a person if they have watched a television channel that doesn't exist, and they will say that they haven't even heard of this channel, and then i will act surprised and make the person feel inferior, and then they will lie and say they know about the TV channel and have watched it.'

i approached a boy and asked him about the fake TV channel.

he said didn't know what the channel was.

i said, 'what? you really never heard of it? everyone knows about it!'
he said, 'oh yeah, i heard of it, i watched it the other day with my brother!!'
then i told him that i had just made the channel up, and he tried to say that he really had heard of this channel, that it really existed, and i made fun of him for lying then, i destroyed him slightly, he looked really dejected, and i felt bad.

brandon scott gorrell, i was that person and that fucking channel exists, i’m telling you. you’re a horrible person. you’re a depraved person brandon scott gorrell and i hope there is a hell so we can both go together and while we’re there i’ll say “hey brandon scott gorrell, have you ever heard of The Electric Nighthawks, they’re this band and they rock and stuff and they make me want to extend my forefinger and my pinky finger and worship the devil. have you ever listened to the band i just named?” and you’ll say, “i sure have” and that’s when i blow a huge stream of fingernail clippings at you and you realize your life is over.

but, moving on.

yesterday i was followed home by a woman in a blue dress. her head was turned backwards but she walked forwards. her hands were covered in hair. she held a giant nickel and kept taking bites from it. i told her a bunch of things about myself like "i have no food at my place and the water in my sink smells like an old lady's breath." what else can i do to impress her and eventually care little about her?

there are two options for people's faces when you pass them on the sidewalk; a blank stare or a smile/head nod. some variation of these options, maybe.
there's never a grimace or an insane facial expression, or a wave, or a squat or whatever.

i have found that if you walk on a sidewalk eating a banana, more people will smile at you. all people will look at you longer. some will laugh at you in an endearing and truly happy way.

you should eat a banana while walking on the sidewalk behind the woman that walks forwards with her head backwards.

make loud smacking sounds like alex does in clockwork orange when he eats spaghetti

in front of that man whose wife he later rapes.

talk about the banana with a deep, booming voice.

finish the banana and peel another banana and tell her that you're eating two bananas in a row, and ask her if she finds that at all funny, two bananas in a row.

there’s nothing funnier than eating a multitude of bananas except when someone’s doing it and bob saget narrates over and says something in a stupid voice like “wowee, i’m just bananas for these bananas”.

brandon scott gorrell, you are honest in your writing. why don't you lie more and write about things that really matter? like, oh just off the top of my head, girls who look nerdy in high school but are then discovered by the cool guy and made attractive. or people who want to be rappers and have to get through a lot of adversity. or whether or not people want to be millionaires or make deals or make no deals?

i don't know if i'm honest in my writing. sometimes i feel like i'm not honest. sometimes i feel like i'm just making shit up because it's funny and posting funny things will make people like me more and i feel more validated when people like me more, and my stats will go up, and i get emails from people, and comments and stuff.
in the beginning of my blog i wanted comments. i demanded comments from people.

i titled blog posts 'forward this blog to your friends and coworkers' and 'please comment here or i'll kill myself, i'm serious.'

i try being honest because i feel like it's the only way to 'progress' or something. like if you reach a point where you can't explain any more, because you've already explained it as you see it, then you can ...something.

then you'll be smart, and you'll have a legacy, one that is better than some other version of a legacy you might have had, some meaning will be added to your life or something, you'll die and people will remember you for longer than they would have if you didn't become smart, and that's supposed to be good i guess.

brandon scott gorrell, you are from the west coast. i have heard that a gigantic jellyfish named Alfred Beaumont the Third waits at the bottom of the ocean. he listens to Dio to prepare for his apocalyptic emergence. are you worried about getting stung by Alfred Beaumont the Third, the gigantic jellyfish who likes Dio and treats women poorly? in all honesty you will probably get stung and be like "ouch, damnit, this sucks." are you ready for that? Alfred Beaumont the Third also drinks a lot of keystone light and punches people in the arm because he thinks it’s cool and then says “whaddup bro?” (bro means friend I think).

if Alfred Beaumont the Third approaches me at a sea bottom i will very calmly attempt to befriend him and manipulate him into destroying all cars, because cars make people into assholes; big babies driving death machines with loud horns.

when one baby moves in front of another baby, or does not move fast enough or something, the babies don't like this, they don't like that another baby has moved in front of them or has gone too slow for them, so they hit something that makes a really loud sound, their horn, they pound their horn and feel an inner rage so great that they have to get everyone on the street to notice and pay attention to them and suffer their loss with them. this is horrible.

think of how it would be if people acted like this when they were not in cars?
if someone stepped in front of someone else or went too slow or stopped at a crosswalk that was green for a second, and the person started screaming and yelling shit for like 15 seconds at the volume level of a car horn.

is there any type of gumball that you don't like (i don't like the yellow ones and when i get one i feel exploited and i usually throw the gumball away and walk home forlornly and when i get home i put a handful of dirt in my mouth and chew it letting black streaks run down my chin)

i try talking to children and old people like normal human beings, but i guess you aren't supposed to do that.

like some people will talk in strange, mystical ways to children and old people. their tone will fluctuate like they're summoning demons or something. very patronizing.

and the people on maury povich. people patronize the people on maury povich.
when a little child says some nonsensical thing to me i just respond seriously with a very serious facial expression. i don't know if they realize what i'm doing for them.

what's next for brandon gorrell? where do you see yourself in five years?

i want to crush mel gibson.

i have a crush on mel gibson too. he’s that guy in the subway commercials right?


lastly, i will predict the end of my life and you tell me if your version differs:

i am at chuck e. cheese’s or some other kind of fun place celebrating my 25th birthday alone. i am playing mortal combat at the arcade and my quarter gets eaten by the machine. i become angry and punch the screen. the screen breaks and my arm goes into the machine and slashes my veins and arteries and tendons. i am alarmed and become speechless. i stumble around looking at my mangled arm and listening to kids say “awesome” and “radical” as they run around and spend their parents’ money. i knock a kid over who is holding a cup full of tokens (tokens are a fun way of creating the semblance of not spending real money). i continue to stumble and eventually make it to the birthday party room where some kid is acting like a king presiding over a group of kids his parents have allowed him to invite. he has just opened a present. it’s Connect Four. i fall onto the table and my blood sprays all over a little girl’s lap. the blood puts out the birthday candles and i try to re-assemble all the tendons and muscles in my arm so i can wave hi to the birthday boy but he is too busy pinching his crotch and asking for more tokens. i play his dad at Connect Four with my wobbly arm and win but then become dizzy and wander onto the stage and pass out and die on top of a robotic band playing music and periodically opening their mouths like they’re real. i watch them pretend to be real as i die.

i will either die unexpectedly, expectedly with a very small amount of time knowing i will die in the near future, or expectedly with a significant amount of time knowing i will die in the near future.

when i die unexpectedly someone will place sticks of dynamite around, underneath and on top of my head while i am passed out from drinking too much alcohol. something like this. my head will explode when the dynamite explodes. i will feel nothing before i die and then i will die and there won't be anything for me anymore.

when i die expectedly with a very small amount of time knowing i will die in the near future i'll be in a bus that's hijacked by a crazy man and driven off a bridge into freezing cold water. i'll feel afraid and won't be able to make any movements, just grip the seat or a human's face until the bus goes over, then i'll start to float around in the water, then i'll be experiencing cardiac arrest and thinking 'i'm going to die now, holy shit, fuck,' and then i'll die.

when i die expectedly with a significant amount of time knowing i will die in the near future, i will cry a lot and attempt to feel satisfied with dying, although i'm not sure how that's possible, to be satisfied with a non-existence, that doesn't even make sense to me, although it does sometimes, i think.









Yesterday I was walking down the street and I came to a four-way intersection. There was a car stopped in front of the crosswalk. A girl in the passenger side looked out the window at me. She put her thumbs in her ears and stuck her tongue out. I smiled at her and waved my hand. She laughed really hard and the car drove away. I stood in the street watching the car drive into the horizon. I let my smile drop. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a detonator and clicked it, laughing. Then I realized it was just one of those pens with a clicking device on the end and that I hadn’t even attached an explosive to the car. 0 for 2, I thought.

When I was younger I told my dad that I wouldn’t be happy until I saw someone dumping dirt onto his coffin. And that I wouldn’t be happy until I danced on his grave. I was totally lying though because I have no clue how to dance.

The next time I go to get a physical examination at the doctor’s office, and the doctor has his/her hands on my balls, I am going to run my hand through his/her hair and say, “You know I love you babe. Let’s never fight again.”


the jaguar uprising returns. the industry has lost it. ttb is more mystical than i can handle.


blurbs for CLONE are up. that one guy who wrote paradise lost has declined. what a fucker.



hello. i have a story up at thieves jargon. it is a piece of a novel i wrote. the novel is a little different than CLONE and YUM YUM and most things i write, in that it doesn't involve things like: using broken bones to stab people, smearing period blood on your face before a war, and you know, the other things i like to write about. i tried to write a book that is so normal and boring that it seems unreal.

here are some other motherfuckers at thieves jargon: blake butler, barry graham, steven daniel lewis, drew kalbach, marcos soriano and a bunch more. if you look in their art section there are some pictures of boobs.

also, here is the best blog ever made. the uprising continues to shit in mouths.


a new robot melon is up. now when people don't call me to not see what i am doing this weekend, i can say "i am busy doing something" and i won't be lying.



on monday the 18th, the internet writers will post things about each other. i am looking forward to this. i will not elaborate why but it involves me proliferating a virus on the internet. i am kidding. i don't know how to do that. i am going to post a lot of things. we are all supposed to write about one other blog, but i have a lot of things to say. so far, i am planning to post an old interview with brandon scott gorrell, an interview with justin rands, and then a bunch of poems, each with the name of an internet writer and some things about them. i have one called "chris killen", one called "kendra grant malone" one called "daniel bailey" one called "noah cicero" and i plan on doing one called "blake butler" one called "ken baumann" one called "shane jones" and one called "barry graham" and one called "ellen kennedy". i would like to do as many as possible. if you want me to do one about you and i forgot you, please leave a comment or send me an email. i want monday to be as large as possible.




Thank you for your submission. Unfortunately I've decided to pass on your story. The first line was very intriguing, but the piece ultimately turned into a very confusing, unsettling mix of adult content, violence, childishness, and innocence. I found it a little difficult to read.

Best wishes,




*****UPDATE the cover is up at the PAPER HERO PRESS WEBSITE. the cover will be two-fold, one on the outside and one on the inside UPDATE**************************

oh yes. the book has been accepted. I AM GOING TO CLONE MYSELF AND THEN KILL THE CLONE AND EAT IT has been accepted by PAPER HERO PRESS. they are a new press run by barry graham and peter schwartz. barry graham edits DOGZPLOT which you should submit to and read. peter schwartz is a sick fucking artist. he is going to do the cover. i am excited. when i went to peter's website, i saw a painting of his that featured a creature that i have seen in my dreams before. i am not joking. i used to have a dream where i was walking down a road with the forest preserve on either side. and a giant man who was a shadow would stand up out of the trees and put his face down by mine and we'd stare at each other. the book is pretty much done but i will make a few last edits. it is around 30,000 words and has prose, prose poems, flash fiction and whatever else. PAPER HERO also publishes paperback collections of chapbooks. i am putting together a chapbook too. i am proud of the jaguar uprising chapbook, the book and the PAPER HERO CHAPBOOK. i know i am supposed to say things about how much i hate my own work but i am proud of these works. right now i feel like a father who just watched his son catch a fly ball and then the father elbows the guy next to him in the stands and says "fuck you die" and then he stabs the other dad.

also, props to shane jones on his novel "LIGHT BOXES". this book kicks ass.

and blake butler on his novella "EVER". i started reading it today. oh shit.

shane and i did a gchat and it will be in the next issue of lamination colony. just to entice you, the gchat features the following:

don delillo slitting shane jones' throat.

shane and i working at quiznos together.

dave eggers getting blown by shane's girlfriend while shane serves them both subs.

and blake butler as a millionaire author who lives in a room with a bunch of tvs and electrodes attached to his skull.