Twisted Treatises

  But why? It helps me live to help something else live. Plants in the yard, see, are totally fucking helpless. They’re just like domesticated animals in certain respects. You probably think your dog or cat is feral, I promise it isn’t. I’ll tell you how I know. Because I’ve seen hawks and owls snatch unwary animals and take them up into the sky. Often these are mice from my own backyard. My pets have been fine. There are others in Fernley and Fallon who aren’t so lucky. Hawks and owls do NOT fuck around. At all. They will pluck your pet from the yard. Domesticated animals don’t have that sixth sense their feral cousins have, so they won’t feel the hawk’s approach and thus fuck off. They’ll stand there being cute until they become lunch.             Plants, where the climate is concerned, are the same. In our case, climate is the hawk. Here in Northern Nevada, there are trees and creosote plants, purple sages, occasional cacti, and of course the ubiquitous jack pines that thrive wil

  A quick one. What is going on? Did I take a deep breath and get real high? What's got me pumped? Hm. Projects. I'm so close to finishing this query. That's cool for a bunch of reasons, but the one that makes me happiest is-- On the 21st, my short story "Polarity" should be coming out, so I can send them my novel... and I might have a good chance. They like speculative and prose as long as there's lots of crime--and there is. Drugs. Violence. Robbery. A Hurricane. Crazy dealers. More drugs. Streets. Hobos. Lunatics...and Eye Worms. Lots of eye worms. The horrors of drug addiction on a street level (second only to rock star) laid bare. There's even an angel, briefly. Signed contracts for three (3) anthologies. Nature Triumphs, and two poetry anthologies: The Devil's Playground and The Beauty in Darkness. Got an editing gig--Confessions from the Think Tank (pictured above)--an anthology for dystopian tales. DARPA think tanks. Aliens doing who knows w

  Fear it. It was a long time ago, what movie just came out, The Rum Diary. We saw it at a theatre John P. Bruni knew of, I want to say it was one of the many Carmikes in the area. At this time, it’s 2011 in the fall, I remember that because I was trying to catch the Christmas rush for workers and wrangle myself up some employment…my ex-wife and I had just moved to Warrenville to stay with my sister. She lived in a ghetto shithole with a felon on the run for an old man, so I felt right at home. Dude wasn’t that much of a twat. Now the viewing of the film was uneventful. You can’t watch Thompson and not go a little ham afterward, this I’ve found. Speed and booze was on the table. The Doctor would’ve appreciated the poor man’s smorgasbord we had in front of us.  Paul brought a bottle of Fleischmann’s to the party that night. He didn’t indulge in the white crosses I had, no—at this time, he liked 5 Hour Energy (HARRS N HARRS of ENERGY—I’m probably the only man on the planet who remember

  First off, this isn’t a retort, it’s an expansion.  Everything in here is me disgusted with MAGA. And you should read  this first.    Last night, siamese twin and professional author John Bruni wrote a piece based on that joke meme, which I made for him. He loves to say no, see, and for years I’ve been begging the man to write something with me. I’m not going to go into the ins and outs of that, suffice to say I made him the meme after I presented some goofy project idea to him (it wasn’t serious) and he said “No.”  Well, he doesn’t know this—he’s about to—every time John says “No” to me, I imagine him making that bunny face…that’s why I made the meme. I was seeing if I could trick him into saying something was entirely possible.   As you see, it worked famously. But this isn’t about him. It’s about some of what he jokingly said might be entirely possible—none of which he believes, I’ll make that clear. The main thing being that Donald J Trump might be a swell guy and the t

  And behind me the glorious trailer park.  I said I’d keep this up—doing good so far. It’s a challenge. Sometimes it seems like spinning wheels, but it isn’t, no more than a guitarist spending six hours a day running sweeps is spinning wheels. When he hits the stage, the shred will be awesome. What did I say I wanted to do last time? I was talking about extending my poetic range. Writing about other things besides addiction and the street. Nature is what crosses my mind first when I think about doing this. I could spend a little time in the desert with the plants and the sand and get the feel for the way the planet’s magnetism moves the weather and how they both curl into each other to make storms...maybe sit in the middle of a dust devil. They’re not as bad as they look, though they do suck. I’ve been downtown here in Fernley—nothing doing. The only thing worth writing about is the homeless camp behind the Flying J, and that would just be me writing other people’s street stories. W