Hey! I made a new shirt the other day. Here it is:

Yes, there are now two Macho Man Randy Savage shirts on KING METEOR. Believe it or not, this is an actual quote of his. This dude was incredible and he’s one of my heroes. RIP. Though yeah, I think it looks pretty cool. Question is: do you?

ALSO: Thank you to everyone who has bought a shirt! I’ve sold more than I imagined. I guess I supposed I wouldn’t sell any at all, so hey. To be clear, I make pretty much no money from these, and while it ain’t exactly charity, I just wanted to make stuff that did not otherwise exist. Why not? The ethos of this thing, or whatever you want to call it, is to create T-shirts that look like they would be sold in a truck stop gas station on the moon . . . shirts that are maybe one or two levels removed from being dumb trash, though that is exactly what they are in spirit of course.

Imagine something like this, which I saw at a gas station in Lebanon, Indiana, on my way to see my friend Monty, and then onward to Tennessee with my friend Mable Palombo last month:

So like that, except kind of cool. Yeah??

I’m cooking up a few more. I think they’ll be pretty all right. One of them has Jack Nicholson’s face on it, and it’s about cocaine. I’m definitely going to get that one.


I get so down on myself, and then I have a strange-good night in the Berkeley Hills, and I feel like the old wild version of myself again. I can’t ever let that part of me die. It’s just too much fun. And I think: everything good that ever happened to me happened in California. I always think that on nights like this.

And now with endorphins pumping through me like gasoline, I walk many miles downhill through thermal pockets and beneath dark palm trees towards the San Francisco Bay to get a few hours of sleep before the sun rises.

this will come as a surprise to absolutely no one, but as it turns out, combining an edible and a melatonin pill just before going to sleep sure does turn your brain into a fucking haunted house

i say this as i now enter month six of an insane and unscientific experiment to tunnel as far down into the thing as i can

talk about going down to skeleton town. i don’t recommend it!

It is such a sadness to me to slowly realize that I have believed the myths of my life, and that I somehow poisoned the well of my own memories through years of secret daydreaming. Maybe this is difficult to explain. But with horror I have come to understand that I have greatly romanticized eras of my life, have made them huge when in reality they only existed for a little while, and if viewed coldly and objectively, these places in time that I seem to recall so vividly are not ones I would return to if given the opportunity. I have been dishonest with myself out of self-preservation. I’m always dreaming, and so I have made my past into a dream so that I have someplace to go. It felt harmless at first, but it is true that I have grown increasingly disoriented by what I guess you might call dueling realities. It’s just that the alternative feels to me like such a grim place to be.

All those places I used to know are now just dark streets in Oakland, and all those people I used to know are phantoms. Stripped of meaning, and cursed with remembering, I am laden with this heaviness that I can’t seem to get out from under.

christina and brandon and their dog pocket at bushrod park today

yeah baby . . . it’s skeleton season 💀

it’s getting spooky out there

also some of y’all are about to get some letters with these new stickers i made


good-night ☆彡

This is just to say that I have been working on a long post, which is something like several thousands of words now. It has been a while since I did one of these. I want to start doing them again . . . it just takes a little while to write them is all.

Anyway here’s a Halloween house I saw last night when I was stoned and walking around North Berkeley:

. . . and here is a cool movie I watched when I got back:

Yeah. Prescient. Or maybe just the evergreen status of planet earth.

I’m working on it! OK? I’m not just jerking around over here, at least not full-time. . . .