29 10 2013
There’s fruit flies the size of bats in here. You smack the damn things with your palm and the fuckers just get back up, dust themselves off, straighten their wings out like you would a hat then buzz your ear just to say, “Eat shit, fuck face.” They always get the last word, the last […]
diary of the bastard messiah, illegals, live and let live, stank you very much
10 05 2012
Some of the stories in my just finished novel, Picture Me Rollin’, are self contained enough so that I sought about publication for them in lit mags. ‘run,’ a story about a witnessed home invasion in the Western Addition, is now up on paragraphline.com share this:
ballin, picture me rollin'
15 12 2009
I keep on waiting for it to happen. For inspiration to hit. I walk around during the day and think how great it’s going to be when I make it.
ain't afraid to hustle, jesus, writing
5 08 2009
A thick creamy plume of smoke rises up into the stale air of the hotel room. Back at it
again. Canʼt believe it. Damn. Eloi, eloi lama sabbacthani and all that shit. Fucking truth
of the matter, though, is that Godʼs off the hook on this one. Gacked myself up, as
dealing, fuck ups, san francisco
15 06 2009
I smoked a cigarette down to my knuckles keeled against the dumpster; she never came out. Probably she still had tables.
code of the streets, fuck ups, illicit sex
22 04 2009
He checked himself at all angles, and when he was happy with his look said to his uncle, “Yo, I’m exullerated. I mean, wait, did I say that right?”
bad english, code of the streets, family, lost and found, tongue twister
14 03 2009
“Four days before dontcha know she’d cut herself,” my cousin paused through the phone. I could hear the phone scratching on something, his face, shoulder, while he was knocking at something with his free hands. “You know. Slashed her wrist.”
“Oh yeah,” was all I could think to say.
“Yeah. I mean, that’s the only reason I married her.”
“I thought your son introduced you.”
absurdist, family, fuck ups, women