Writing sober is challenging. But I'm about challenges lately. Challenging myself to be happy. Challenging myself to not be so judgmental. Challenging myself to swordfight monsters until they grow tired and share with me their darkest secrets before they take their final raspy breath.
Monsters are okay. They just need to be reminded of their place in stories from time to time.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED BOOK - "Veronica" by Mary Gaitskill.

It's the middle of august - I think - or sometime in august - but it feels like fall. That is a blessing. Fall's the best time of year. Things feel less intense and more hopeful. People don't seem to doubt one another as much. It's the season of holding hands, that's what I say.
Hold my hand, you, and whisper me a sweet Ramones lyric in my ear. Slip candy corn in my pocket and dress up as my favorite hero for Halloween.
Oh, fall.

Sometimes all I need is a walk around Soho and this man's voice in my ears and all's okay again. No, all's fantastic.

Its one thing to be woken up every morning by the sound of shattering glass and banging hammers by a crew of construction workers here to replace all the windows but its another to be STALKED by them. I’m so tired and not in the mood to have them knocking on my fucking door like I’m actually going to answer. I called the office downstairs and complained. I’d like to walk down the hall without someone making a comment about how I look. I KNOW what the fuck I look like. They’re called mirrors. I don’t need this added stress right now.

Can’t anyone act civilized anymore? FUCK.

Letter from my ex-agent regarding new material:

You're fucking insane. When I first read your manuscript I recommended you a therapist. But somehow the book got published, and now you tell me your friends are depressed after reading it. Well this isn't my fault. What do you want me to do? And now you're writing sci-fi? Good luck with that, I can only imagine. And the puke fetish, I can't possible get through this part - some drunken boy going down on a girl and throwing up in her crotch? You are mentally disturbed. How can you be turned on by such grotesque acts?
Please don't contact me again.
Good luck with finding "Neuron Wrench" a home.
There are simply two many rapes and then the boy with no limbs who writes by sticking a pen in his tongue and that's how he fucks too? Are you kidding me?
And just for the record, I still very much recommend some kind of psychiatric help.

Off,
Like the lights of the empire state building,
For paranoia of a black out,

Off.

Like the hair he pulled,
So she just had it cut.

Off.

Like the boy with the bad scar
The scar multiplied into giant worms
Crawling up her legs to get her off.

Off.

Beware of what you turn on.

Don't blow a fuse.
If she's quiet and still let her be.
Don't switch on her network of blues.
I beg you just let her rock herself to sleep tonight.
I beg
Beg
Beg you.
She's dark maybe because she just doesn't want to see.

okay. guess i'm gonna stick around for a bit longer. i don't have the energy to go into details, but the reason i was considering leaving had nothing to do with the site itself.

"i'm goin' through changes"
-ozzy.

mmhmm.
i can't say anymore about it.
but there are many amazing women on this site and i'd miss 'em too much. like cain and of course my wife, doherty and we still have to shoot our set together. we owe it to ourselves, and i'd like to give you dogs a bone too.

now goddamn it. october 2nd. come on. so many beautiful people will be tied to that day. like my woman, doherty. and this MAN.


oh, bret, you're so dark.
don't forget everything you need for our date:
the rat, some cheese, habitrail tube, some grey poupon, and don't forget to play some frankie valli!!!
god. what. a. mind.

okay, i need to get back to working on my new book.
love to all my bitches.
and to quote my amazingly cool boss this morning, "ya know...sug...anything's better than being bored."

so long and good night.

First.
meet my wife.
tell her how much you love her and that you're sick of jealousy because her heart already belongs to me. ahahaha. she's coming to stay with me for a week in october.
first we're off to meet this guy:

in case you had a brain tumor for breakfast, that be mr. bret easton ellis. we're goin to his book signing where i'll probably drunkenly ask "so are you gonna publish Teenage Pussy or what?" before jumping over the table and humping his leg.
then we're gonna have fun torturing our slave:

then i'm taking her for a walk through central park, we'll wine and dine and oh yeah, we're shooting a set together.

my head's spinnin right now and its not from liquor, its from all the amazing people in my life.yes, there has been quite a lot going on in my life. i recently got back in touch with someone from my past.
back in 98, when we both lived in chicago, onewhoinjects walked into my record store. i was incredibly attracted to him and i know the feeling was mutual. we were both shy, lost, we held each other's hand but didn't say much. we walked through the park. we kissed at the subway entrance. i came across his profile a few months back and didn't know he was that same guy, i just read his journal and wanted to reach out and now BAM here we are. back in touch. its left me dizzy and a bit disorderly. its left me a lot of things, but most of all its left me smiling.
been so busy. boardgame talk, let's just say, i'm a lot better at playing twister than life.
oh yeah, go out and buy a Time Out, new yorkers, my event tomorrow night is posted in there.
see you at eight at Think Coffee at 248 Mercer Street between 3rd and 4th streets, take either the b, d, f, or v to braodway-lafayette. please by there at eight, i will go on second or third.
the linup includes the lovely and talented author of "Go Ask Ogre" littleredwriter, and Lori Jakiela (Miss New York Has Everything).
if you can't make it but live in new york my book's for sale now at spoonbill and sugartown books!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
okay, one final thing. so yeah me and doherty are shooting a set with the fabulous jacob pritchard. check him out here. and suicide girls, he's looking for models. this is the fine set he shot of me.

there will be plenty more. right now i'm flying off too much espresso. can't keep talking and posting so many flippin links.
love you all!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
:kiss))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

UPDATE - Wonderful New Yorkers, pick up a copy of Time Out today, my reading event is listed in the books section, "women writers," and there's a mention of me. note the event is not free, you'll have to fork out 3 bones at the door. see you then!!!!!


hey babies,
here's the set i shot with jacob pritchard
he's has a brillliant eye, as you see, and he's looking to photograph more models!!!!

view more of his work at jacobpritchard.net

I LOVE YOU GUYS AND DOLLS!!!!

looky, it's me. in a fur coat and its ninety-nine degrees.

new novel on the way, next year, and its a followup to the one out now.
anyway,
i'm doing an interview with Ms. Lily for SG on my novel, Everyone Is Chuckers

also my reading is next week, on the 26th, Think Coffee in Manhattan on Mercer Street. If you want more info please email me and you shall recieve.
and if ya can't make it here's a little what you mighta heard if ya could.

"Everyone Is Chuckers"
Excerpt.....

He was in Kokomo, along with a bunch of other squatters. He looked over at me as soon as I walked in and he didn’t look away or even blink until I was next to him. We apologized simultaneously and hugged for what seemed like an hour.
“She wouldn’t let me in, your sister,” he told me. “I came over a lot.” I could tell by the look in his eyes he was telling the truth. We hugged again then he took my hand and got off the stool. He had been playing a game with someone, some homeless kid I think, and they eyed the board game sadly when Jack walked off. He hurried me to the bathroom, aggressively pulling my hand. I was so happy to be with him again, I was overwhelmed with comfort. Velvet Underground was on the jukebox again.

Marguerita Passion had to get her fix
She wasn't well, she was getting sick
Went to sell her soul, she wasn't high
Didn't know, thinks she could buy it
And she would run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run

We rushed through a clueless chattering crowd. He pushed the heavy door open and quickly locked it behind us.
“So what…” He slapped his hand over my mouth and shook his head. Once I understood well enough not to talk he removed his hand and played with my hair, like he was primping me up for a beauty pageant and everything must be in perfect place.
“It’s my birthday and what I want for my birthday is to play a game. Just do what I say.”
I closed my eyes. The voices in the packed café were like an illusion; softened now. This was the only thing that felt real anymore; Jack and Me, sex, the rush I got from the first drag of a smoke, not knowing where night would take us; unpredictability and pain. “Now be a good girl and turn around.” I felt his hand against my face. When I looked at him again his eyes were hard and dark. I turned around, facing the cold dirty wall.
“Are you gonna fuck me?” I asked in between short breaths.
“You said a dirty word. You don’t talk dirty to Daddy.” I heard him unzip his pants, felt him push his blistering cock against me. He pulled my skirt up and my shirt too. Then he pushed me against the wall and grabbed a bunch of my hair to hold my head back. I saw his hand move from the corner of my eye. He put soap on his index finger and brought it to my lips.
“Open,” he said. I shook my head and disobeyed. He spanked me with his free hand and I tried to move but he threw an arm around my neck. “Open your fucking mouth,” he said, his anger increasing. Someone was pulling on the door. They had no luck because it was locked. I parted my lips and Jack jammed his finger in, forcing me to suck the soap off. I started gagging but he brought his arm up so he could cover my mouth with his hand. Then he started fucking me really hard from behind; quick violent thrusts. I came three times before he was finished.
I stumbled from the bathroom a major mess, feeling dizzy and red faced, feeling everyone’s eyes on us as we headed back up to the coffee bar.

'Cause he had to run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run
Gypsy Death and you
Tell you whatcha do

Jack reached into his back pocket and I sipped some of his coffee. He took out a
wad of twenties.
“Tonight we can go anywhere,” he told me, showing me the money.
“How the hell did you get all of that?”
“A job, dishwashing.” I knew he was lying but I didn’t care. I couldn’t stop
looking at the money. It wasn’t that much, maybe a hundred, but it was much more than I’d seen in a long time. Teal, whatever, I was glad he made it.