Archive | July, 2012

What’s a writing tit look like?

31 Jul

I was talking with a friend when he asked if I had begun prepping for the new school year. As much as I am freaking out about all the work I have to do, I said, “No, I’m milking the writing tit for as long as I can.”

“That’s a gross metaphor. What’s a writing tit look like anyway?” he asks.

“Probably a pen tip.”

“Oh.” He paused. “I had an old-timey picture of Virginia Woolf with one tit out.”


Running thoughts from this afternoon. A walk through Hollywood.

12 Jul

I just ordered a hamburger from a truck.

I’m walking with a hamburger in my hand.

Yum, that’s a good hamburger and I don’t even like hamburgers.

And it’s from a truck.

That man needs a larger shirt. By about 16X.

Dude in silver metal chains… you freakin’. Look normal otherwise. Oh, wait. Just yelled. But yous young. But…

Car stop. Car stop. Thank god. Oh, look a Versa. I was almost hit by my very own car on Sunset Blvd. How hitting… I mean fitting. Then I realized of all streets to die, Sunset would be apt. Better than being hit on a street like Irene.

I’m taking pictures of buildings that I want to eventually build/live. People are staring at me. But they’re cool buildings. Like works of art.

All I can think of right now is some fat lady’s sweaty arm touched the top of my hand and forearm. Where do I wipe that nastiness? On my own clothes? On hers? I have nothing.

The world is over: near Douglass Fairbanks and Tom Hanks is the Twilight cast in cement at the Chinese Theatre. The world is over.

Darth Vader is pissed. His helmet is off [that alone means something]. He’s yelling at two older white guys with curly beards about being patronized. I keep thinking, I didn’t know Darth Vader was a young black man.

I’m going to start a non-profit organization/rebel group/gorilla group called “Random Acts of Art” and people are going to go around and paint beautiful things on ugly buildings. Like murals of flowers, trees, happiness, love, and they’ll do it for free. Especially in areas where there is limited natural beauty.

Oh, there’s a chair missing parts. And beat up. And upside down. It’s a homeless chair. I wonder how it got to be homeless. Like maybe started life all good in a nice office, but got a little too sassy, and lost its job. Then was thrown out and started doing street drugs. Then didn’t pay and got beat up. It’s a sad homeless chair. I should help it. Oh, people are coming, I better stop staring at the chair and walk.

[Shameless plug. I have been working on another blog of craziness: Check it out. Martin Crispin is probably missing you.]