I realized last night that my best friends are Gritt Jefferson Calhoon and Shark “Iron Gate” Gladiator

Yup!

Billy covered his head with his blanket again. He always covered his head when his mother came to see him in the mental ward—always got much sicker until she went away. It wasn’t that she was ugly, or had bad breath or a bad personality. She was a perfectly nice, standard-issue, brown-haired white woman with a high-school diploma.

She upset Billy simply by being his mother. She made him feel embarrassed and ungrateful and weak because she had gone to so much trouble to give him life, and to keep that life going, and Billy didn’t really like life at all.

(schlachthof-fünf)

Can I just go on record and say that I absolutely despise those black wide-brim hats everyone in LA (and now the Bay Area) wears

God, you people

Knock if off with those things

I take issue with what appears to be most people’s definition of the word “adventure”

new orleanz

‘pale, greasy, sleep-deprived’ just about sums it up for me i reckon

(Arnold Böcklin, 1862)

((this is a painting of a will-o’-the-wisp))

(((i love those freakin things)))

I am sitting on a stool outside the bar where I work reading a novel, and moments ago a young man on a bicycle appeared at my feet saying he had “fucked up big time” because he had taken a hit of a joint and was meeting with his parole officer in the morning. Then he asked me for my urine, apologizing every few words. I told him, sorry dude, I’m on the clock—and also, uhhh, my stuff ain’t clean neither, if you know what I mean.

“Fuck. OK. Man, sorry. Fuck.”

He shot down the sidewalk and swerved back onto San Pablo towards West Oakland.

I thought, hell, best of luck to you, man.