i'm filling out a job application for a grocery store and where it says, "what abilities/aptitudes do you have that would make this job easier" i want to write: "stacking cans and also, makin' yo bitch's ass red." 

i feel interested in killing myself at a reading but only if the bullet goes through my head and into someone else's head/face


go motherfucking hawks. 
can someone email me the mp3s for the ministry album 'filth pig.'  i bought the cd when i was younger and it got scratched up and i think i left it in a small puddle of kool aid and the kool aid dried on it (ugh don't ask!!!!). thanks.

reading 'dreams from bunker hill' by john fante.  recommend it and 'ask the dust.' 
i never understand why people label books/writing as 'negative' or 'positive.'  a book can't be negative. even if it was full of the most hateful, antagonistic shit, it would still be somebody's expression.  it would still be someone taking experiences and ideas from his/her life and making it into something.  it's always positive.  it's always the result of someone taking time to create something.  you have to suppose an idea of what is 'positive' first to then say someone's shit isn't that.  and that is negative because as one person you design a way to dismiss and label someone else. sadness, anger, hate, all those things are positive depending on how you deal with them. like, if i write a book about sadness and hate and anger, it's positive--because instead of killing myself or someone else, i sat down and made something.  i engaged my thoughts and tested them and wrote them down.  that's positive.  most people i know who are 'pessimistic' or 'negative' or 'unchill' are much more realistic and willing/able to help others.  it's incredibly negative to accuse someone else and his/her writing of being negative, when it's an expression of his/her life. calling someone else 'negative' or his/her writing 'negative' is dismissing the entirety of what lead that person to do what they did.  that is the most negative thing i can think of.

but here's a joke so people don't think i'm being 'unchill.'

(in 'larry the cable guy' voice):  y'ever have summa that rice pilaf?  you know, when ya fall asleep eatin chi-neece food and then you have ta peel some rice off ya titties.


does anybody know another website besides shitty craigslist where i can find a cheap room for rent in chicago.   email me    sampinkisalive   at  gmail  dot com

also, someone googled 'murder sam pink' to find this blog today.  all you had to do was ask!!



if i bought a romance novel and like, 'rewrote' it, or like, added notes to it/changed it, would i get sued.  i want to do this.  what's a good way around whatever bullshit i'd encounter?  sheer violence? i'm serious about this. hit me up with any advice. 



fucking sweet poem


i have a new rule.  if you offer to pay me for something, like a drawing/a translation/whatever, and you dont pay me (even if it's 50 cents), i'm going to kill you.  not because money is important, but because i need to have rules and values in my life.  i do a lot of shit for free/little money, so don't worry about offering money... but if you do, and then don't pay it, i'll kill you.  like in your home.  like putting a knife into your chest over and over until you're dead.  like strangling you until you die.  like walking into a shitty bar where a reading is going on and someone is up on the mic taking ten minutes to preface a five minute story, and then that's the last thing you see before i set you on fire.    


i have two copies of 'hurt others' if anybody wants to buy one.   sampinkisalive   at  gmail  dot com.

EDIT:  if you want a copy of 'hurt others' you can have it for free if you agree to mail it to someone else after you read it.  after you read it, let me know and i'll put something up about who wants it and you can mail it to that address.

also, this is 'pig destroyers' facebook. can someone figure out how to contact them.  i want to mail them books.   

i mailed everything out that needed to be mailed out. if i owe you something it is coming. 


kelly and i are looking for someone to mix/master this 'king cobra ep.'  it's eight songs.  we need them mastered to improve the sound quality.  if you or someone you know knows how to do this, email me sampinkisalive   at   gmail dot com.  we can probably pay a very very small amount and would need it done relatively soon.  also, and i haven't discussed this with kelly, but pretty sure we can also throw in allowing you to 'honk' one of kelly's titties and/or give my cack a solid 'yank.'  the world is yours. 


something i've always felt attracted to is ruining something i've worked for.  like, work hard for something to see if i can achieve it, then after it's achieved, ruin it and see if i can start over. 
i took down 'gerald mcclellan vs nigel benn.' 

most of it will be included in the collected suicide notes book. 



whenever someone describes a book/character as 'nihilistic' i imagine that person staring at the book lying closed on a coffee table, and the person keeps doing sounds with his/her lips--thinking--then says, "hmmm, nihilistic?" like someone guessing on a gameshow. 
a good ending to a book would be the main character breaking into a random house and making a lot of sloppy joe's then leaving all the sloppy joe's on a plate for the people who live there to find when they get back. 
if you feeling that deep down 'wish i was cut into pieces in a dumpster' type doom, lemme hear you say, 'helllll yeahhhhhhh.'

the danny character from the story 'danny who lives in a doorway...' in 'gerald mcclellan vs nigel benn' was crossing the street and got hit by a drunk driver the other day and now has a compressed spine.



i feel ashamed/spoiled/indulgent with a lot of things.  like even eating some cheap food i feel like 'why do i get to have this.'  sitting in a chair i think, "why do i get to have this.'  i dont identify with my 'peers.'  i dont like drinking at bars or going to concerts all the time or trying to fit in.  it feels dumb owning more than a little clothing.  feel like most of my life is that feeling when you just got new shoes but they feel too good for you. even doing drugs seems stupid and spoiled to me now.  even sitting here typing this shit feels dumb because there's little kids in chicago who feel terrified of where they live, and will likely be killed on some bullshit.  next time you're about to complain about something, imagine a fucking preteen kid lying in the street full of bullets and bleeding to death.  thrown out like something worse than garbage.  for no fucking reason.  and the worst part is, not identifying with anyone makes me start to attack myself, but when i'm by myself i feel fine.  i feel sad a little maybe that something made me attack myself, but i realize it's other peoples' worlds that sicken me, not mine.  i don't know what's wrong with me, i'm like, sitting here feeling tingles from being pissed.  
if it's going to cost me more than like, 60 dollars (round trip) to come do a reading, i can't do it.  i live off of like [laughable dollar amount] dollars a year, and that's with supporting rontel's nasty 'virginia slims' habit.  whole foods wouldn't even hire me to fucking bag groceries.  BOO HOO i'm so helpless. 


when you're at the park by yourself playing soccer with a semi-deflated ball, don't worry when a group of your 'peers' assembles around  you.  just keep juggling the soccer ball as a trendy girl lays out a blanket and her zany male friends--most of them dressed as either a 1950s greaser/biker but with a nicely trimmed beard and full arm tattoos or an 80s glam rocker with feathered/styled/dyed hair and full arm tatoos--begin to play with water balloons around  you.  just keep juggling the soccer ball until they notice you're not going to move.  just wait until they move somewhere else. keep juggling the semi-deflated soccer ball.  after they're gone, and someone runs by with a dog, watch how the dog's ears and tongue keep going up and down, like the dog is flying.  and think about you should be able to remember the ears and tongue going up and down, no matter where you are/what's going on, and that should be enough.  think, "that's all there is." 
when you dont have a lot of spending money, the city feels like a shitty videogame you accidentally found a way to enter yourself into.  but there's no goal.  no way to 'power up' or get a 'free guy.'  the only thing you can do is walk around looking at things.  every store, restaurant, art gallery, yoga place, dance place, carwash place, etc, they just look at you like "fuck do you want."  and you walk by scowling at people enjoying themselves. but you don't even want to be there with them. you want to ask them what they're doing.  like, you can see what they're doing, but no, like, really, 'what are you doing.'  and you start thinking you'd trade a million friends for one or two solid, indestructible enemies. a war.  you think about how if a war suddenly broke out in chicago, you'd immediately know what to do.  you'd have a purpose.  people would follow you.  they'd look at you and you'd go from 'shithead scowling on street' to someone they needed.  and after you won the war, you'd put everybody back into the restaurants/stores and lock them in, to be looked at by people passing by outside.  


i mean yeah, i'm worried about that white powdery shit they put on 'big league chew' but fuck it. 

this is a "romantic encounters" ad i want to post on craigslist:

hey!!! so, i dont know what i'm really doing here but.....basically i'm looking for someone to spend time with.  ideally, i come over with a 'special bag' and sit on your couch.  i set the special bag down on the coffee table.  maybe we have a little conversation, hold hands whatever.  then, and this is important, i say, "Could i please have a glass of water."  at which point you get up to get me the water and i loudly say, "better tie my shoe" and lean forward, exposing the back of my head (the softest part) and as you go to get the water you grab the 'special bag' and take out the softball-sized rock inside and bring it down on the back of my head as hard as you can and keep doing that until my head is two-dimensional. 



writers who claim to want to help you or make you better or claim to want to do anything other than make something are full of shit and shouldn't be trusted.  nobody has any idea what it's like to live even three seconds of your life.  wanting to 'help' someone means that you close them off as a concept, with an arbitrary goal.  you make someone into a fucking idea.  you make his/her life into an idea.  if someone's writing helps you in some way, thank him/her and move on.  i'm thankful whenever says something i wrote helped them or made them feel better but that's not what i'm trying to do.  writing barely even helps me understand my life, let alone anyone else's.   i have no idea how to help people and i also have no idea whose life should be made better or what that would even mean.  mostly, i envision the whole writer/reader/living process as an endless dark body of water where everyone is always sinking and sometimes you get close enough to someone to see them, but they're sinking too and you both just shrug and keep sinking.  the only kind of writers/writing that can help you, is 'how to' books on like, building a cabinet or something science related, and that's only if you are building a cabinet or trying to do some science.  not trying to be a 'salty-ass dick' here but like, whenever i read writers 'getting their bullshit on' during an interview it's really ignorant. at the same time, this is coming from someone whose best friend is a cat.


does anybody know why i can't upload images here anymore.  every time i try to do it, it either says, "uploading" but then never uploads, or it just keeps saying, "an error occurred while trying to save." 
i have a few copies of 'person' 'no hellos diet' and 'hurt others.'   i also have some drawings and a few original copies of 'you ruined it' by my band 'young family.' 



i like columbus, ohio a lot.  i've read there a few times now and it's really good.  feel like when i hear 'columbus' a vertical meter of some kind lights up quickly in my head.  danielle 'uncle dan' gagliano is really good.  if you live in columbus, don't kill her or her friends. 


most reviews seem like a combination of vague/abstract/sweeping statements, lies, inaccurate chains of thought, irrelevant information, personal prejudices, blind allegiance to traditions, personal belief in one's ability to judge for others, passive insults, reluctant/qualified acceptance of talent, asskissing, exagerrated statements, reference to older authors and his/her work as template for how one can be better, unresolved psychological issues, jealously, desire for acceptance/shittalking how 'cool' the author and his/her group is, and other insecurities/pettiness.