February 2012
17 posts
Old Hunter S Thompson meets young Chander Allen here in the living room of my dingy apartment. Its a pitched frenzy here in this bottom of the ninth Friday. I am watching this documentary, and trying to contain my soul from lashing out at all these crazy emotions that clog my brain.
I am doing okay so far. But it’s hard to be enlightened when watching all these madman make parades in front...
In the pitches of a vicious mania
Here it comes. After a whole year of waiting it’s arrived again to feed and procreate and spin me along in my yearly cycle. It’s never been this hungry, it’s improving with age, it’s making demands I can’t presently meet. It is mania, it is another Chandler, it is an old friend i haven’t seen in so long. I’m done giving him names. He’s had a...
Baby
baby
angel
pretty
you
you
you
you,
You.
Anonymous asked: You inspired me to start writing again. Thank you.
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A Roar
-When she was nineteen she had a fever
but the office was now closed
IS THAT YOUR BOYFRIEND
IS THAT YOUR GIRLFRIEND
all this nonsense
all the confusion-
strolling through city streets with my friend
whiskey sweet, startled girl
all the time speaking truths
to wild worlds
bring out the fun
releasing the demon
it’s the proper season for the breathin’
-when she was nineteen she had...
Write sober; edit drunk
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I had a dream of violence last night. These particular dreams are pretty rare and hard to come by so i’m taking the time to record it.
I was with a large party and we were en route to a festival. I recognized no one but my little brother and Nicholas Cage dressed as a cowbody, and several young-looking women and men. On our way to the festival, we stopped to rest for the night at this...
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“I have come, alas, to the great circle of shadow,
to the short day and to the...”
– Sestina, by Dante Alighieri
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“About All That (feat. Fat Joe)”
by...
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This weekend was hell on wheels. It’s the start of the Carnival season here in New Orleans, kicking off with the traditionally lewd and amusing Krewe du Vieux. I can sense something very powerful heading this way, and Mardi Gras only accounts for half of it. A great awakening; the vehicle of change has perched itself atop the apex waiting for that first push to set it all spiraling into...
January 2012
12 posts
2 tags
Book 1
Characters: Jake Barnes (nar.), Robert Cohn, Lady Brett Ashley, Frances Cohn, Mr. & Mrs. Braddocks, Harvey Stone, the Count.
Rereading this book has been a good experience for me, but i wouldn’t say it’s been an especially pleasant one. This novel strikes a few well-hidden nerves of mine. It’s that Brett Ashley; she reminds me too well of a woman i have loved. A woman i...
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Melanctha
Puncturing the skin,
driven from the legacy that sprouts out from the top of him,
gaining grains of sand in the space between sleep any wake,
hoping to push them altogether into a totem or a safe.
Plays it too close to the blade,
flies too far from the hanger,
cracking skulls in crowded halls just to make himself remembered.
He gathers nightly two bottles of piss then flicks a finger to...
Ruler of my Heart - Irma Thomas
Fuck you Gertrude Stein, you are making for a very difficult read, and i swear to any god that’ll listen that if there is no meat on the end of this very long hook you are putting out to me, i will maim you in my dreams. I’ll even do one better; i’ll travel back in time and put and end to your drawl modernism once and for all.
Just needed to get that out.
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i’m gonna get drunk, make impressions, and make love to the women of my dreams.
December 2011
10 posts
Pinot fucking noir. And a half gallon of bong water. And winter break in general. Great conversations and even better connections have been made within these sparse three weeks of freedom. Gives me the courage to plow forward with excellent resolve. So many improvments to make, and so make time, so much time it yawns before me like a great jaw, threaten to swallow my optimism. To i relent?...
Angel darlings you are so good to me, and believe me i appreciate it. But trust me when i say that imtimacy hasnt been good to me, but i move along like a straight 1940’s huslter, ya feel? Cause i sure dont, imma wait for the right lung to spike me when i come, but these people dont believe me when i say i’ve got freebees to spill, but best return when my spike comes to redeem the fun....
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bronze narazeth ft. the rza
nigga i’m ill,...
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Quicksand
David Bowie
This is my goodbye letter to you; fair drug of my fondest infatuations. I’ve broken free from the stoic readings of my philosophy texts and the attitude of avoidance to abscond out here to this mid-December backporch and type up some fond farewells. Firstly, i will mourn the loss of endless nighttime strolls to the accompanyment of noise-cancelling headphones that we often took together. Two am to...
I’m concenred that now that i’ve quit my job there will be nothing stopping me from purchasing a half-pint of Jameson every night for the rest of my life. This whole vendetta against inhebriation has gone horribly south since i enacted it around ten days ago. I suppose this is what happens when you try to quit multiple things at a single time, there simply isn’t enough...
November 2011
13 posts
batshit crazy wild prose that goes on for four...
I am obligated to write the hell out of this manifesto or whatever it is.
Despite all my thinly-veiled concerns towards keeping myself in check throughout all faucets of my life, I have been stumped. Stumped is the wrong word for it. But ever since this whole calamity of uncertainty happened within me I haven’t felt that there have been right words for anything. I haven’t read a decent book of...
How dare you, Academia, try and take my own home-grown vernacular from me. Have you no shame? You faceless jackass bathing in your own liposuctioned waste, you fuckgiving bastard child of an alcoholic goat. You are the fatherless son of a liquor bottle’s wet dream, you should have been the misfired sperm drizzled across the walls of the bathroom closet by your blackout drunk of a father on...
2 tags
I am exhausted. In a very existential manner do i experience this exhaustion. It feels like the compiled fatigue of a thousand generations of men before me hovering just above the crown of my head.
I am up tonight. No, this is not a whimsical adventure through the nighttime hours filled with themes of romance and explorations of the inner self cataloguing each early-morning hour as it passes me...
Meanwhile, i’m gonna get high and then start making vicious, unbridled, sloppy, sonorous, adjective-slathered love to my typewriter. She is going to feel this in the morning, i tell you.
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“Dawn Spent On A Greyhound Bus”
...
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“Poetry Is Demolition”
This is my...