From the lion's moldy, beat-up heart

5 things i learned this week:

1. I'm dumber than I thought
2. People accidentally ate LSD in their rye bread's fungal pathogens three hundred years ago and they went crazy
3. Waking life can be more dreamlike than dreams
4. A speaker is the same design as a microphone: a diaphram, a coil, and two magnets. One can be used as the other.
5. The stuff I got will bust your brains out, baby. It will really make you lose your mind.


Favorite drugs:
1. Warm blood that's still inside a human being
2. THC
3. Alcohol
4. Sugar
5. Dreams
6. Jenkem
*Actually, my favorite would be all six mixed together with some Squirt

Rogerville in Summer, or A Sorry Excuse for a Post

Excretion was an enterprise of pain and effort unparalleled for Charles. He sat on the toilet with a wringed out sweat dripping countenance, breathing heavily and burriyng his head in the trembling bones of his hands. Charles hated his anus for the exact opposite reason that he hated his mind: it constantly spewed out rotten shit, whereas his mind constantly absorbed it. The two were linked to Charles, like his soul was a celestial swallowing black hole that gobbled up all honest emotion and real sensations into the mysterious singularity at its center, then leaked what it had digested back into the universe as toxic radiation, a thin and shadowy string of awfulness that now drained slowly into the toilet in the back of Ed's Appliances. Charles did not feel well that day. His mind, as it usually did when he was alone, looped neurotically around his own unfortunate situation in the world. That morning he had flown in from a two week stay at his grandmother's home in Savannah. One night, after a Casian schmorgusborg of spicy delights shared family style with his grandmother and cousin, Charles disappeared into the restaurant's men's room for twenty minutes before his cousin came to confirm that he had not just dove out of the window to avoid he and his grandmother's company. Charles explained in a hoarse whisper that he had had what he called a "bombastic and evil shit" that had become in the last few minutes, particularly unpleasant in the last few minutes since the flow of soupy brown excrement had turned to hot blood and plead for his cousin to take him to the hospital. Charles had ignored the symptom before, but this time it was much too alarming to leave unchecked and so he found himself in a paper gown in the emergency room for an entire night, where he was invaded by three different doctors. Just after the crack of dawn, the most professional of three doctors sent Charles's cousin out of the room and explained to Charles that he likely had some advanced form of colon cancer. Three days later another doctor was conveying to him with a southern accent thick as the bayou air that Charles had somewhere between ten and twelve months to live, and probably about only four or five before his symptoms would keep him permanently tied to the bed and the bedpan. That was Charles Harms's southern vacation: a bloody shit and a death sentence. His life had never been what he wanted to be, neither had he, and he realized on the north-bound plane ride back home that his dissatisfaction was as irreversible as his malignant colon cancer. He would die without ever caring much about life, without life and the other characters who populated it caring much about him, and he would do it in a very unpleasant and literally shitty way.

Thanks for sticking around for that. Here's a picture of a talented dog:

TAKE THE MONEY AND RUN

This heres a story about billy joe and bobbie sue
Two young lovers with nothin better to do
Than sit around the house, get high, and watch the tube
And here is what happened when they decided to cut loose

They headed down to, ooh, old el paso
Thats where they ran into a great big hassle
Billy joe shot a man while robbing his castle
Bobbie sue took the money and run

Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run

Billy mack is a detective down in texas
You know he knows just exactly what the facts is
He aint gonna let those two escape justice
He makes his livin off of the peoples taxes

Bobbie sue, whoa, whoa, she slipped away
Billy joe caught up to her the very next day
They got the money, hey
You know they got away
They headed down south and theyre still running today
Singin go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run

payments of patience

Holes and hell and Christmas bells, all shaking and quaking and ringing towards nothing.

I tried mama, and trying is trying, so try

Onward and further through burdens of calling

Numbers

And letters

And things that could make us feel so much better

I tried mama

Failed, but did.

So lets do justice to football and phantoms

Long shots or no, we must take them.

We must take them as far as we can, forever like that.

Let us take them. Lets take them.

must be the day that all of my dreams come true.

carraging through the shadow island strings
what care can mean
to a mother of five
when she hits the treble pangs
she asked someone once
if they knew what violin strings
were doing vibrating in her clavicle
and they answered that that's what
toastiness feels like right before the pop and ding
that signals doneness and jamness and digestion
in the stomach of the earth's soul
and the wise ones say then she gets excreted in
a panda bear mold on the polar opposite of the globe
and they'll give you a book called "Perfect Answers to Perfect Questions"
if you donate them a donation and they'll spend it on fodder
for their own digestion and razors for their scalps.



An absolutely great movie by my good friend Micah Bennker is up at the Man Eating Fish Entertainment website right here. I implore you to watch it and know that you will not regret having done as such.

coming this fall

"Does that sound like anyone we know?"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QQ-YzhaTjuw

this website is where you will find the trailer for the upcoming life-changing film In Spring.... It was created by my frenzied friend Micah Bennker and, just like countless gnarly crack whores in the southern Wisconsin area, I had a little part in it. Take a look. It is funny!!!

the letters i know of

a is for ambling like Avery when he gets done gambling
b is for broaching like Bee when she tires of bad coaching
c is for camouflaging like Carl when he wants to hide his montaging
d is for burrying like when Daryl wants to see what soil tastes like
e is for forwardness like when Bee has to grant a pardon
f is for frankness like when Frank goes to Loch Ness
g is for believability like when Loch Ness poses for a pictoral
h is for haughty like Harry after half-time
i is for plagorism like when Parker says its for Indian Ink
j is for jay like the thing that Screamin Jay Hawkins smoked
k is for Karl like Carl's alias
m is for malicousnessacity like Bee when she teases Cassidy
n is for ambling Avery when he boils yams to make yambling
o is for operating like Daryl when he's under the influence and dating
p is for performance like every second of your daily dance
q is quietude for living in a world subdued
r is for righteousness like when Alanis corrects a guess
s is for sanguinity like when Gretchen pulls a shitty
t is for obvious like when Uncle Tommy endangers us
u is for under like approaching the precipice of plunder
v is very like very very Tom and Jerry
w is forever like wild Mathis up from Denver
x is for z, please let it be me
y is for yours and when Frank rambles, he pours
z is for you, you shaking statue, glittering glaring, forever fortuned, bested and buttered, soulless, thankless, wrist and ankle-less, mapley mothering, partially perforated, tenuously tolerated, nappingly inaugurated, indian ink indoctrinated, just and just now, new and never more than momentary, wary and wonderful, scary and under fall you

P-A-R-T-why?

because it's about damn time
WORLD WIDE DIRT is having a party on OCTOBER 4TH
release of "Bad Like A Cracken" magazine and celebrating the soon release of sean's fucking novel The House of Will
mark your calendar, the two people who read this blog who are sean and myself
there will be drink and dreams and finger food and the witches of whitewater
and the mitches (mitch orsburn has not RSVP'd yet) of whitewater and if you avoid my poison oak garden, then no itches of whitewater
and of course, special guests Michael Emerson of Lost fame and his lovely wife Janine Duguddery Phillips Emerson Esquire!:


and also the cool crooning styles of Sir Jim Winship, tripping the lights fantastic down the corner of easy street and kickass motherfucker lane.
all nonsensical ramblings aside, this will be a pretty good PARTY probably and it will occur on the 4TH OF OCTOBER and all proceeds will go to the Make A Wish Foundation (that was supposed to be the end of the post, but then i remember i actually met a dude who was a sick kid who made a wish to the Make A Wish Foundation and he asked for a trip to europe and they gave him a laptop computer. thought that was a funny anecdote. and totally true. he got better, but he smokes like a chimney now. come to the party....)

the long distance call

the flower winding over the stone edge
and sitting in the sun for a while, bored and baked and contented
kristin filling rhubarb into the crossword
meeting bollywood, carlton banks, and riotous
that balding bastard feeling life for a second
bad poetry is of the essence
nipping one of your cigarettes - a manchester lady in fishnets
no, but you can have a drag
after which it will be properly singed and sanitized
letting happiness find your vibrating head against a coach window
and letting it drift when it wears out it's welcome
letting yourself believe she's yours for a second
like you used to pretend you were aquaman and could breath underwater
not expressing emotions, but the beatles make you cry
do they? they make dolphins laugh and baby leopards bashful
and real beetles survive the final blast, according to the proper authorities
who finished school without a sweat and are sleeping under air-conditioned halos
and have interesting gigs like deciding what species are likely to outlive our own
bad poetry isn't good just because it acknowledges it's poorness
the president still probably has to jerk it occasionally,
on long trips to venezuela or the newly eu-embraced lithuania
and what does he think about after,
with the light glistening off of perfect white fixtures
sounds awful awful awful
not enough words to describe the awfulness of this poem,
and life imitates art, even bad art, which makes for awful life,
gone stale like j.j. cale*



*look him up if you don't know him, because he was pretty good
see also karen dalton
see also sick boy's unifying theory of life

Whats the difference between a Harley and A Hoover?

fuck milwaukee transit.

cheers to Harleys.

cheers to Harley Riders.

Fuck Harley fest.

I had to walk downtown to catch a bus yesterday. in pinstripes and wing tips. jesus.

the number for Milwaukee transit is some bullshit voicemail. next time your at the bus stop check it out. Or if you have a car be glad you don't ride the bus. either way.

October 4th is the WWD kickoff show. in Whitewater. At the Armory.

it' the position of the dirtbag, by the way.