Take one. Or two.

If it's lying on the bar, I'm nabbing it. Like, straight-up.

Manderson.

Never put Bones Swiss into old wheels. Some jerk-off told me that, years ago.

I get to be that asshole, now. Financial success is measured in such ways. Here's to peaking at sixteen.

Thank You Very Much.

Big ups, Jared.

Candy Apple Red

Matt texted me a few days ago and asked me if my apartment had burned down. I told him that I hadn't been there in half an hour, but that I was pretty sure it hadn't. Then I was nervous for however long it took me to get home.

I bet he was talking about this other house, close by. At 10th and a half and Heights Boulevard. Just noticed it today, on a walk. Had to drop off some bills.

Now that house, that place was burned to the fucking ground. I walked all around it. Chimney shot up to the sky, all alone. It was a two story, and excepting for the one on the bottom-right, you could see into every single room. The colors of the walls, the shit hanging on the walls, the mantle, the stairs...you could literally see everything in the place. The furniture, a  ton of carpet, and a bunch of shit too far gone to recognize were all heaped by the side of the house. Next to a brand new Corvette. Found that odd- the Corvette.

But back to that bottom-right room. It was still entirely intact. No fire had touched it. I walked by it last, and that's when I saw it. Through the window, a TV screen was glowing. A flat-screen. A big one.

Someone was in that bombed-out, burned-down house, watching television. In the only room that still had a roof over it, a person was using electricity that still fucking worked and watching television. I recognized the show that was playing on the screen, almost instantly. In the time it took to walk one block, I forgot it. What a shame.


I've never done acid, never will. But people I know who have- they've described acid flash-backs to me. Seeing that TV playing in that house- that's as close as I'm gonna get. Fucking surreal.

The Billy Bob Tapes

The bad guys are nameless, faceless characters who you know goddamn well are just going to get killed by Handsome Actor X. It's not important who they are or where they came from, so as a result you're not afraid of the bad guy, and the feeling you get from the commercial movie is not profound. 

But if you see a mobster in a movie sitting down to dinner with his family, playing with his son, giving him a toy- a little rabbit or some shit- talking to his wife about how the power's gone out in the garage, all of a sudden you got a real guy. If you got three scenes of a real guy playing with his kids, fixing the garage door opener, watching Lucy and Desi on TV, and laughing at it because Lucy got into another mess and Ricky ain't going to let her sing, and then getting in his Cadillac to drive across town where he goes to a building and waits around the corner for a woman in a red dress who comes walking out and he comes up behind her and puts a .22 caliber hollow-point in the back of her head, then fixes his briefcase and gets back into his car, you're scared of that motherfucker- all because he gave the kid the rabbit. If you never saw him give the kid the rabbit, you're not afraid of him because he ain't real.

Yggdrasil

Taken at kickball in the 'Trose. Many moon ago. Old acquaintances becoming new friends.

Shot by Juan D. Who, incidentally, could have been shot. When he was robbed at gun-point. In Katy. He didn't get shot, though.

Which is, needless to say, the raddest.

Lot of Triggers