person on street with clipboard: scuse me sir, do you have a moment to help raise minimum wage?

me: no, i'm late for my minimum wage job
RIP daisy and henrietta (dollars store ear buds). you lasted like, four months, which in your years is like 340 years. the times weren't always good, but together we always were. part of me thinks the way you went out, was more your doing (an admirable resignation) than mine. but let's just remember the times we had, me standing on the bus staring off on the way to work as you gave me your bass-less midrange terrible all.  i'll see you both when i get there.


'marked by extreme negativity'

review of 'clone' and 'person' on argentine site. 

picture by gena mohwish, koneko photography (konekophotography.com). highly recommend gena. she's my fayvwit photographer. this picture was taken during my meeting with sosa,
 robe and glasses provided by the Hollywood Daddy


that odd inclination people have to come up and remind you there is a huge tear in your shirt
walking four miles home in the cold rain thinking about killing yourself and then suddenly feeling better after picking a flower and tossing it in a puddle beneath a bridge


if an army of one million axe-carrying giants riding razor-toothed mutant dogs with laser eyes was going to attack chicago tomorrow, i'd be waiting barehanded to rush them.

but if the same army showed up to attack wrigleyville, i'd be waiting to say, 'k, what you wanna do is, hop on the redline going north and get off at addison.' then wink.


growing urge to dress in a trenchcoat with aviator sunglasses and walk into a small restaurant and go up to the counter and take the glasses off, raise my eyebrows and look around a little, then in a calm, raspy voice, say, 'what THE FUCK time do you guys close here?' then after someone answers, nod a little and put my sunglasses back on and walk out.
finished THE GARBAGE TIMES last night. going to print up a single copy at fedex (like a word doc nota book) and i'll sell it to whoever offers most by the end of the week. full transparency, the money will go towards rent. i'll sign it or write a note on it or whatever. sampinkisalive @ gmail  DOT com


trailer for THE GARBAGE TIMES.

video by empress starbright candylid

music by black dice

please help spread the video if you want


come see gustavo rivera's band tonight at 7pm, 1719 w albion, at Albion House. i'll be out with them later.

the apology of socrates is the only book that has gotten me close to crying
blow peoples' minds by not maaking a big deal of your birthday
being reasonable and unbiased and unegotistical will never be marketable, so there will always be the two sides.
predicting 'fuck you' will soon be politically incorrect to say because it implies sex
i'm selling the cover image for THE GARBAGE TIMES (pictured below) to raise money to put out the book. if  anyone is interested, email me  sampinkisalive  AT g mail dot com


this is my favorite regular at one of the bars i work at. her name is sasha. she likes popcorn and hanging out and falling asleep with her chin on the bar


and then, my friends, after months of uncertainty--questions unanswered, hope fading--you find that half-eaten pack of 'hubba bubba' strawberry watermelon bubble gum, and something in you is reborn


cover image for new book, 'the garbage times: a short story'

making someone laugh hard/long enough for you to say 'yeah but you'll abandon me when shit gets dark and depressing' without them hearing you
calmly becoming a red hot coal that burns anyone who touches it or exploding out the nails inside of you
my favorite part of working at bars is that i'm going to die
videogame where the goal in each level is to hunt yourself down and brutally stab yourself to death
urge to dress in a suit and carry a briefcase and go into a bar and sit at the bar and set my briefcase on the bar and open it and it's full of pretzels and i just sit there eating the pretzels not talking to anyone
don't tell anyone, but when i was alone in the basement at work last night my head exploded and--lying on the floor dead--i swept it back up onto my shoulders with my hands and kept going
started a new blog called THE BOTTOM LINE, where i'm going to post quickly written, unresearched essays on whatever people suggest, via this post, email (sampinkisalive at g mail dot com) or however else.  encourage you to suggest single word, not necessarily expansive topics, like 'blueberries' or 'nerf' or whatever. but whatever works jo.  also will consider guest posts, email me those.
when you progress from talking to yourself to just imagining random ways for you to fall and smash your face/head on something, and start laughing


if anyone can help, or knows someone who can help, lay out a book interior and cover (front and back), email me   sampinkisalive  AT   g mail  DOT com


walking home at 1am and crossing over a bridge that gaps a highway and looking at the moon above and feeling your heart beat harder just once, you raise your arms and fists and look at them raised in the shadow directly in front of you