hey stupid! you can read a thing i wrote called "during sexual intercourse i envision my own brutal death" in the second issue of LA GRANADA. "during sexual intercourse..." is from "Frowns need friends too."

also, here are two things that are happening to me a lot lately.

1. thinking, "who the fuck gives a shit" right after hearing someone say something to someone else (not even talking to me). like, i'll hear someone say, "i got these shoes for thirty dollars" to someone else, and i'll make a mean face and think, "who the fuck gives a shit."

2. shaking my head in angry disbelief and laughing at random while thinking, "ooooh, these assholes, (laugh) (shaking head) oh man, these assholes are going to (laugh) (shaking head) oh boy, i'll tell you...(laugh through nose)" etc.



i finished a book of poetry. i think it's going to be called "no one can do anything worse to you than you can." it's four poems, each about three thousand words long. the titles of the poems are:

1. the midwest
2. human beings are toys
3. you hear ambulance sounds and think they are for you
4. a shield made of napkins

it took me almost three years to write this book. i like it.

is it the best book of american poetry ever written? simply put, yes. it's the most doomed emo shit out there. a thought i just had was "it will wipe that fucking smile off your fucking face."

here are some thoughts on each poem, and the title of the book.

the title of the book: i mean shit. so fucking powerful. it's like, you read it, and think you understand it, but then whoa, maybe you don't. it seems negative at first, but then, it's actually life-affirming. just kidding i dont know. at first i was hesitant, as it seems like a typical, "quirky" title. but then i was like, "no this is it, kid. this is it."

the first poem "the midwest" i mean shit. a good intro to the rest of the book. laughs, cries, deep fucking pain. real pain. all straight from the dark ass days of the midwest.

the second poem: "human beings are toys" shit. took me a long time to finish. feels like i worked on it for about all three years and just now finished it. this one is a little less "funny and weird" and more "straight into your ass with that dick action." i feel like this one would be in a norton anthology if the people who ran the norton anthology that year were noah cicero and maybe like, michael jordan (for some reason).

the third poem: "you hear ambulance sounds and think they are for you." i mean, the fucking goodreads ratings speak for themselves. this shit is money shoved way up into your asshole. repetition, all that shit. i dare you not to cut your arms after this one.

the fourth poem: "a shield made of napkins" i mean shit. i remember being really really depressed and angry for this one. pretty sure i was "blackout drunk" when i started it.

overall, this is a solid effort and the best book of american poetry ever written. i've been sober and focused lately, with the exception of taking exstacy with jordan castro and mallory whitten. those kids are so great. i really love them. what else, oh everything is fine and this should be a terrible winter and an ever more terrible year. think i might have a job as a janitor lined up so that feels good. wow, i just, everything is so great!

email me if you want to buy a drawing or painting or you want me to make you a handmade book or something. i need money. nine dollars an hour sucks! anyway, go fuck yourselves everyone and have a nice thanksgiving won't you!




i was in the stockroom with my co-worker, enrique, when two higher-up bosses who work in the store came through the swinging doors and into the stockroom. one of them put her hands up to her face and the other one stood by with her hand on the first woman's shoulder.

i said, "are you ok."

the one with her hands over her face took her hands down and her eyes were red and teary.

the other woman said, "we just saw a little girl shit her pants and the aunt didn't do anything. she was just like, 'come on' and pulled her arm."

the crying woman said, "the only thing the little girl said was, 'my mom is going to whoop me now.'"

i just stood there. it seemed like i was about to respond with sympathy but then i realized it would be fake. so i didn't say anything. the whole thing seemed really fake, except for deciding not to say anything.


the crying woman said, "the only thing the little girl said was, 'my mom is going to whoop me now.'"

i felt like i should say something sympathetic but then that seemed fake and i didn't really care so i didn't say anything.

i looked at enrique. i put my hand on his shoulder and said, "when enrique shits his pants i always help him clean it."

then enrique and i walked out of the stockroom and one of the women said, "bye guys." and i felt good because i knew i was a piece of shit but i was a piece of shit who was not trying to be anything else and it made me happy.


the crying woman said, "the only thing the little girl said was, 'my mom is going to whoop me now.'"

then they both stood there looking at me like i had to respond.

i said, "you're both just upset because you wanted to feel upset about something. many other things are bothering you, things about yourselves that you know you can change, but you ignore them, and you decided to let this bother you and be something you could get upset about because it seems right. you're both selfish. there are a million other mistreated kids and you don't give a fuck because you don't see it. so you're just being upset because you're both fake assholes who have gotten so used to being fake assholes that you've been promoted for it. everyone gets mistreated. it doesn't matter. everyone who works here is mistreated. i'm mistreated. you gave me a seventeen cent raise after working her for a year. you get paid more money if i work harder, but i dont get paid more money if i work harder. you give me shit for being late. you try to make me feel guilty for dumb shit but it's only because you want the store to be more appealing to other fake assholes who spend their money here on useless shit. if i shit my pants, you'd fire me. you'd have me escorted out. two months ago there was a homeless man in the store eating some pizza he bought from the store and he shit himself in the cafe area and you had him escorted out, then everyone laughed about the story when security told you about it. fuck you both. i hope you die on the way home. i hope a homeless man shits in your mouths after you become corpses. i hope you decay on the sidewalk, as a pigeon eats your fucking face off. i'm going on my fifteen minute break now."


expressionless disgust is my nationality


this is an open apology to anyone i've mistreated in the last few years. i feel like there's been a lot of people i've mistreated without realizing it. if you feel i've mistreated you then i apologize. it's hard for me to know how to behave.


here is a good review of THE NO HELLOS DIET

the character "Sour Cream" seems to be loved by many

also, if anyone brings a gun to the EAR EATER reading this saturday, i'll seriously either shoot myself or jordan castro with it.

also, i just finished writing the best book of american poetry ever written. it's called "north america, i hate you."

which gang is better, "vicelords" or "latin kings." they are fighting in uptown and i need to know which side to join.

i feel like "not giving a fuck" is something people say and then at some point you realize it's true and it's not as fun as it seemed when you were just saying it.

"person" is being translated into turkish i think but the press has stopped talking to me. "clone" is being translated into Argentinian spanish. if anyone else wants to translate some books and pay me for it or not, email me.

there's an abandoned store in uptown, right by the wilson red line, and it's boarded up and gated shut and there's a handpainted sign above it that reads "Internet Chat Room." it seems fucking terrifying.

i'm really depressed but i feel violent and angry.

american youth in chicago, no friends, no career, and no ambition.

"the coachwhips" and "meth teeth" are pretty good bands though.