You Never Could Help Me With Math

Something happens, and I am reminded that all of the good words have been taken by the 80s. I can’t write you a heavy synth song, penned in black kohl; can’t dip my heart into inderivative hair dye— there’s no such thing, really. *** Something happens, and I am reminded that I can’t call you.

About Me–page not found

I have written and published eleventy “About Me” pages, only to go back and hit the trash a day later because each one plagued me at night; I’d wake up at bastard o’clock in the morning wondering, Am I really a cunt? All of my blasted attempts to write up a proper biography always seem

Virgins

Dear Virgins, Allow me to extend my genuine gratitude; I’m honored you have chosen to visit my blog. I hope your time does not prove wasted here, as building human connections through the written word is paramount to me. I’ve made many friends via WordPress. I’ve also offended a metric fuck-ton of people; these folks

Aliens Almost Abducted My Daughter

So we just saw a UFO YESTERDAY, 8:01 PM What?! YESTERDAY, 8:05 PM Are you fucking kidding me?! YESTERDAY, 8:06 PM Yeah we were on state road and Isaiah was like “woah that’s a weird star” and I looked over and we were both like wait that’s not a star. It was a really bright

Rotting Penis Disease

Memories are just fragments of film. It’s odd, some of the events our brains retain, be they home movies, or pure fiction–intricate fabrications focused tighter and tighter over time. The power of suggestion is strong, indeed. My mother is one of those story tellers who believes in the fables she’s invented, says my dad. I

Kindramatastic

Spooky sent this Urban Dictionary entry to me.   Hey, Noah D. Don’t call me. Like, fucking ever.

The “Smize”

This is my look today. I had to have a photo snapped at the local paper to accompany a brief write-up about me and my novel, and my upcoming book signing. The editor did not like my hair. Or my face. She kept trying to fluff up my fine hair. Jesus, fuck. Like, sorry I