THE POINT

There should always be a point where there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. All you can do is be patient and allow it to surface all on its own. And this is where most people get into trouble. It's where I often get into trouble. You'll drive yourself crazy and you'll think too much and drink too much, and then you'll make the biggest mistake of all, which is involving other people. And you'll just drive them crazy too. All you're doing is wallowing around unnecessarily in the fear and confusion and self doubt. And worse, you risk the chance that when it finally does appear, you will no longer be in a position to see it, you'll be too distracted worrying about it, looking elsewhere for answers. But if you can teach yourself to avoid this, to actually enjoy it, to enjoy the magic and excitement of it, when it finally comes, it will always be perfect and as indisputable as the body at the morgue. The way I see it, the way I gage what I'm doing, if there isn't this point, if this moment doesn't come about, then I'm clearly onto the wrong thing.

SHIT LIKE THAT

Yeah, I don't know, man. Shit like that just doesn't impress me anymore. I'm not even that jealous of great climbers or musicians or actors anymore. It's like you don't have to do all that shit. People are also hiding behind their doings. They'll do anything to avoid facing what's actually there. And hey, I don't blame them. What's there is fucking frightening. And if you're gonna do something, you might as well do something badass and get some reward. But anyway, you know, it's just that the things I'm after these days can be conveyed with simple words and stick figures. Or it's like you don't even have to do it at all, you could just explain to someone what you WOULD do if you were to do it. You know what I mean? Maybe in some ways that's enough? That's why I like doing those undrawn cartoons. I mean, why would they ever need to be drawn? In the end, no matter what we do, we're left no better or worse than where we started. It's the ridiculousness of our expectations that makes the emptiness so hard to swallow. You know, I see Obama or pretty much any man, a surgeon or a pilot or whomever, and I just think, yeah, but then a huge part of that man just wants to be left alone so he can jack-off to porn. It's true, right? That's pretty much what I see whenever I'm face to face with another man, it's just some creature that recently jacked-off to an ass or is about to jack-off to an ass. You can talk about whatever you want but that's pretty much all that's going on there. And women, they're just as fucked up as men. They want their man but then they're completely repulsed by their man. I heard a woman say to another woman the other day, "It's funny, we knew each other for years and I never once thought of him that way. But now here we are. I don't know what I would do without him. He's my rock." There was something so sad about that to me, so delusional and weak. To need someone like that, to have to fill a gap like that. I don't know, man, maybe I'm just not seeing things clearly anymore? I'm just so fucking exhausted. If I don't start getting some sleep, something's gonna get me, I know I'm gonna die. I got angry at the little ring pulley thing on the new half and half container this morning. I mean, I yelled out loud at it. Fuck, man. Anyway, people think I've gone dark, but really, what's darker than turning your back to the darkness?

I DON'T KNOW, IS THIS IRONY?

One afternoon in the dead of winter, I saw a homeless man walk up to a foggy window of a diner and he stood there and stared at the contented people eating their warm lunches. He then reached a hand down and pulled at his filthy pant leg while kicking his foot a bit, and lo and behold, out rolled a steamy wet turd about the size of a mouse. What was most interesting about this was that he just kept staring at the people. He never once looked down to see what had come out of him. I was on my way to shoot a job for Men's Health that day. I tell ya, I was far less disturbed by that homeless man than the people I ended up working with. Oh, and then they ended up not even running the editorial.

THE T-SHIRT INCIDENT

Yeah, he just came right up to me all pissed off and he goes, "Dude, why would you wear that shirt?" Oh, man, you should've seen this fucker. He was just this great big overgrown fuckin' baby. I bet he's never had sex with a chick who wasn't completely ashamed of herself. I don't know, he was probably 26 or 27 years old? He was fucking huge, like six three or six four and maybe 270 or 280 pounds. He had been talking loudly, trying to let everyone know that he had been a soldier. But I bet he wasn't even. I bet he was just in the National Guard, you know. Either way, I'm sure he didn't see much while he was over there. There was just nothing to him, he was just this big fat pasty blob of nothing. I actually heard him say something earlier about going to see System Of A Down. I mean, Jesus Christ! Seriously, that's the one thing with people that I can't get over, that I can never forgive, if they listen to shitty music. I have no idea what it is about it. I mean, hell, man, you can be a Republican or you can be one of those fucking assholes that drive up the mountain in their goddamn 4X4s and shit. I have friends that drive fucking sports cars and ride goddamn Harleys. I have a few friends on here (Facebook) that work for big oil companies and even one that used to work for fucking Monsanto. I'm just saying, I'm a very forgiving person. I even have a friend who just had all these little pieces of wood engraved at the same studio I had my pieces done at, and the little fucker burned Lou Reed quotes in 'em and put 'em up all around town. I mean, I can't tell you how many people have come up to me, asking me if they were mine. But aside from that, aside from the embarrassment of anyone thinking they were mine, I couldn't care less. I actually enjoy being ridiculed. I love being mocked and attacked. But anyway, back to the dude, I said, "What?" And then he said, "Terrorist Are People too?! What the hell kind of shit is that? I don't understand. That shit's not cool. Why would you wear a shirt like that?" It was then that I looked down from those two empty eyes buried in that fat disgusting face. That's what he looked like, he looked like a potato, like a boiled potato. And so I looked down and saw that he was wearing a goddamn Abrecombe & Fitch sweatshirt. I mean, I'm talking one of those ones with the goddamn logo across the chest. I mean, seriously, I would rather walk around in a godamn bunny outfit than wear something like that. It really makes you wonder about a person. I'm not sure if I could ever be friends with someone who wore a shirt like that. I mean, they'd REALLY have to redeem themselves in other ways. Anyway, I looked at this poor bastard, at this happenstance of a creature, and without any expression, I pointed at his shirt and I said, "Why the hell would you wear a shirt like that?" He looked at me, baffled. "Seriously, man," I said, "I'm really curious, why the hell would you wear something like that? You realize, you're the one wearing a lie, right? He looked around for a second, then he looked back at me. I waited for him to say something else. I could see it in his eyes that he had just realized he had stumbled into something which he had not the capacity to comprehend. He sort of smiled and shook his head. "Whatever, man," he said as he walked away.

It feels like your brain is on the outside of your head or something. You turn to look at something and it takes a second or two for it to catch back up. It's dizzying and you feel like you're gonna pass out or vomit. And it's like people are barely even there, ya know. They're like ghosts. It's a very strange dichotomy, you have more sympathy and love than ever before, but then you no longer feel the need to show it. And then suffering and death becomes more and more insignificant. It's like there becomes less and less of a difference between the perpetrator and the victim. I really have no idea what to make of it. All I know is that I enjoy being here FAR more than the alternative.

UNDRAWN CARTOON with title: Look! It's Frosty The Snowman, kids! Oh Wait, Jesus!

A neat family- Father, mother, son and daughter (8 & 10 respectively) stand in front of good old Frosty on a pleasant winter day, only everyone is absolutely shocked because... Frosty is in a deranged stupor (coal eyes spinning around and around), furiously masturbating (fat, gnarly, erect, slightly crooked carrot for a penis). CAPTION: "Fuckity fuck fuck, fuckity fuck fuck, look at Frosty go!"

THE LEAP

I would say it feels like some sort of necessary sprouting, but no, I think what's in store for us is a Darwinian leap, a mandatory letting go so that we may have the chance to somehow grab on to something else. Right now, we're simply crowding the rim at the misty edge of everything we've ever known. You look back and see nothing but more and more of your fellow man staggering blindly towards it as well. The great exodus. It's funny how everyone knows it but so few are willing to state it out loud. The toll booth attendant knows it, your kid's teacher knows it. The mayor of your town knows it. Obama knows it. The waitress knows it. We've become as lifeless and locked in our doings as those mechanical puppets at Chucky Cheese. Ah, the whole thing is just so goddamn embarrassing, yet more and more, just so wonderfully comical. The cop in his uniform makes me laugh. The checkout lady makes me laugh. Just to look over and see another person sitting behind the wheel in their car, makes me laugh. I remember sitting in the warm sun at the edge of our yard, playing with my army men beside my mother. She was picking weeds and she looked as beautiful as a person could ever be. Those long tan legs sticking out of her cutoffs, a red bandana tied around her head. The wind blew a bit and she looked over and smiled. I guess I had been watching her. "What is it, Philby?" she asked. I just smiled and went back to playing. I didn't know what to say. I still don't.

That's the thing about Conservatives, they just fuckin' applaud themselves so goddamn much about how hard they think they've worked to get where they are. But I've noticed something, they tend to be the least adventurous people I know, people who've never really traveled and truly exposed themselves to much of anything. Oh, they may go somewhere on vacation, but they don't REALLY go anywhere, they don't REALLY experience anything. Hell, they don't even know where the good restaurants are. "Fuck you, Phil, you fuckin' asshole prick! I spent 20 years in the goddamn Navy and I've been all over this fucking world!" Yeah, sorry, dude, that's not traveling, that's like going to the city zoo and saying you have a great understand of animals. My point is, they have little knowledge and therefore, sympathy, of anything outside of their own little worlds. So it makes sense that they think poor people are lazy and don't work hard because they don't know any truly poor people. In most cases, if you knew a Republican 20 years ago, you'll usually discover that they'll pretty much have the same goddamn things to say about the same goddamn things. And for some reason, they always seem to fall for the lamest tricks in the book when it comes to music, movies, television, even housewares and home decor and bullshit like that. Basically, if you walk into a house and you see mass produced artworks and picture frames surrounded by sappy, lame ass sayings, you've entered the domain of a family of Republicans. On the other hand, most liberal Democrats are just as blind. They have too healthy of an opinion for the potential of the average human and refuse to admit that most people are simply horrible fucking creatures, shackled until death into their miserable hopelessness. And I've noticed something about them on a personal level, they are actually less tolerant when it comes to differences of opinion. I'm telling you, they will turn on you like a rabid animal if you don't agree with them. And that's the funniest things of all. I find more and more, that most Conservatives will at least engage you in a civilized argument about just about anything, while the more Liberal someone is, the more vicious they become. So, to sum this little rant up, I would say Republican should try to think about 80%-90% more like Democrats while Democrats should try to think about 10%-20% more like Republicans. And also, we must start admitting to ourselves that no one really knows a fucking thing about what's really going on anymore. We've less chance at escaping our miserable fate than cows slipping and sliding their way up the ramp to the kill floor. GO SOONERS!

IT'S A DAMN GOOD THING THERE'S LOVE!

Hey, man, I've pretty much seen everything in this crazy life but war. I've been pulled over on the side of the road in Caracas, Venezuela, with a half dozen heavily armed teenage policemen laughing at me while tossing my passport around like a hot potato. I thought for sure I was going to be kidnapped and killed. I was in the back of a cab once, headed home in the worst part of Brooklyn and while we were stopped at a light, I looked over just in time to see a hooded creature whip out his gun and point it right at my face. All I could do was close my eyes and wait for the sound. The cabbie hit the locks just in time and stepped on the gas and we were off. I've lived through the gut wrenching aftermath of a double homicide I probably shouldn't be talking about. I once watched a man get gunned down right outside my window in Miami. I watched him hit the ground and saw the man who was chasing him close in and fire three more shots into his back. I once found myself, foolishly, 100 feet up on a 5.10d climb in the Gunks in the rain. I was 60 feet out from my last piece and I was trembling and my feet could do nothing but slip and blood began to pool around my fingernails as I clung with all my might to the sharp wet rock. I most certainly should have died that day. And the stories only go on and on from there. But you get the gist of those wild days of my life. But that said, I will tell you in all honestly, that none of those things even remotely compare to the stresses and traumas of the normal, every day doings of the modern day man/husband/father that I have become. It's a damn good thing there's love!

THE DEVOURING

It's seldom the major wounds that destroy us anymore. It's the buildup of all the daily atrocities, the accumulation of all those little nips and jabs that alone would hardly do a thing. It's having to wait in line for the bathroom. It's your credit card being declined. It's forgetting to buy coffee or toilet paper or your goddamn dishwasher breaking. It's the stack of bills on the counter, your car not starting, your internet not working. It's the asshole cutting in line or passing you on the right. It's another Christmas and all the goddamn presents we must buy. It's a friend borrowing money or worse, you having to borrow it from them. It's never being able to say what you truly want to say. It's not being able to figure out what you want for dinner. It's having to stand there and listen to some asshole tell you his fucking joke. It's seeing the dead dog on the side of the road. It's having to watch someone be shitty to their child. It's hearing Jon Mayer or having to see Jon Mayer's stupid face. It's Good Morning America and Dancing With The Stars and The Housewives Of Where The Fuck Ever. It's your endless hard-ons, the stomach aches, the toothaches, the mean pimple on the tip of your nose. It's having to go get a haircut or your oil changed or your car inspected. It's the middle aged man who just blew buy you in a convertible. It's the unwanted house guests, the favors, the falsity... Ah yes, there it is! Falsity. More than anything, it's all those little fragments of falsity. That is what truly does us in.

THE EASY SURRENDER

People, ya know, when they run into each other after it's been a while, you often hear them say things like, "Wow, you look great!" or "You haven't changed a bit!". Me, I like to see people look like they've just gotten totally fucking hammered by life. I want leathery skin and sunken eyes. Hell, I want one eye going one way and the other, another, like they've just gotten beaten over the head with a baseball bat. I want to see deep lines running across their forehead and up and down their face. I want those lines to have those thin lips so surrounded that it looks like I'm talking to an enormous, ancient butthole. But mostly, you'll find people have gone for the easy surrender. They tend to go one way or the other, and both are disheartening and boring as hell. Both are in a sense a way to pretend that it isn't happening. Either you'll find them 4 or 5 times a week at the gym while sticking to a low carb, possibly gluten free diet, or ya know, they'll just get fat.

SLIVER OF LIGHT

I'm tellin' ya, it's a new time, a new world. you've gotta do it differently, you've gotta do it your way, on your own terms. all those things that once worked, that allowed all those others to proceed, to endure, well, they're just not gonna work here any longer. and it's gonna get tough, tougher than you could ever imagine. you're gonna feel so lost and alone that you might just go totally insane or maybe you'll become a drunk or a drug addict? or maybe you'll go ahead and finally do yourself in once and for all? and be warned, your friends, your family, your wife or your husband, your coworkers, your kids, you can't expect any of them to understand, you can't expect them to see this thing that you see. and so it's gonna get vicious, as deadly as war. they're going to mistake your movements your decisions as selfishness as cowardliness as a betrayal to all that they are and love. but there's no way to help that, you've just got to let it run its course. all you can do is fight on and hope for the best. you just gotta keep going, that's all you can do. just keep going at all cost. let nothing interfere, let nothing dissuade you. you've been given a rare voice, and you must trust in it, you must honor it. believe me, it's your only chance, it's your only sliver of light.

ARTS AND CRAFTS

if it's not life or death, it's just not gonna ever be much

"I think they have a lot of money." "Why?" "They're both fat but then they're always dressed real nice."

SET IT AND FORGET IT

I don't have time to do shit anymore. I have to make impossible decisions. Do I finally go cut my toenails or do I go get rid of this pesky hard-on real quick? It's utter chaos, this modern family life. I feel like I'm trying to fish while getting attacked by bees. But then, you know, the absolute worst thing you can do is start worrying about your fleeting time, about your pitiful chances for even being allowed to merely attempt what's needed to be done. Worrying about time is like a teenage boy worrying about performing sexually for the first time. And me, you know, with what I want to do, with what I NEED to do, it's like having your first time be with some voluptuous goddess who's standing in the doorway in her lingerie, smoking a cigarette, smirking. But then, of course, you still need to be aware of it, it's gotta be there in the back of your mind. Haha! Holy shit! I don't know why, but just now that Ronco informercial just popped into my mind. That rotisserie thing, you know, "set it and forget it". Hey, do you think people who bought that thing really use it?

TRUST AND TAXES

It was just like in school. I could never accept that I was actually there or that it mattered to anyone if I was there or not. The teacher would be talking and I would look out the window and see like an old man walking his dog or something, and I would think, why am I not him? Or hell, why am I not his dog? And the other kids just frightened the hell out of me. They just seemed like fucking animals. I got along with them only because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn't. I still feel that way about people. I feel like at any moment they can turn on you like wild beasts. I feel that way even about my family. But anyway, yeah, the whole tax thing. I still don't know why I allowed it to happen. There was a handful of years where I made a lot of money and, you know, when April came around, I just couldn't quite accept that it was really something that I had to do. That anyone gave a shit about any money I made or anything like that, or that I existed at all, just seemed ridiculous. I mean, why didn't squirrels or giraffes have to pay taxes? I had started to go pretty crazy by then. Every time I got my mail, I would just stand there and stare at my name printed on all the envelopes. It just didn't seem possible that anyone would take the time to type out my name. And I could never really figure out what the hell I was doing living in New York anyway. The years would go by and I would travel a bit but I would always wind up back in some shitty apartment somewhere in that fucking city. It really got to me. I mean, I really did go totally nuts a couple of times. I remember once, jogging up and down 3rd Avenue completely naked. One time, I was walking with some friends and for some reason, I decided to dive into a pile of blue trash bags beside some sort of strange rehab clinic or something. I landed on my back and I looked around and saw all these needles poking out. I would climb scaffolding or sometimes the side of buildings themselves and I would be totally fucking wasted while people would gather and cheer me on, many, I'm sure, hoping I would fall to my death. But, actually, that wasn't the real crazy shit. The real crazy shit always took place inside those apartments with whomever I happened to be living with at the time. That was always where true madness went down. I was already seriously committed to becoming a writer, desperately trying to learn how to let go of my stupid brain and just receive the information. It's pretty scary stuff at first. It's still scary. It's like being blind folded and led to the edge of a cliff and there's this voice telling you, "It's okay, man, trust me, there's water down there. Alright, you ready? Here we go... one... two... three..." and you just have to trust it, you just have to fucking jump.

Gallery

 The full gallery of 38 Pieces can be viewed here: www.photosnack.com

"Dude, that's what you gotta do. It's just like prison, you go in there that first day and try to take the biggest guy down. It's the same thing, only the biggest guy is you." -friend on marriage

THE SHOW MUST GO ON

What the hell's the difference? I mean, why isn't your rent or mortgage $20,000 a month? Why isn't a gallon of milk $18? It wouldn't surprise me in the least if I were to open my cell phone bill or my electric bill and discover that it was something like $10,000. I'm not ashamed to admit anymore that I don't vote. I'm damn proud of it actually. Outside of local elections, yourvote means absolutely nothing. Many Republicans think Obama is a socialist and is hell bent on destroying capitalism. Some will go so far as to think he is some sort of undercover Muslim extremist. But seriously, think about it, how could any of that be when the cocksucker basically handed over the FDA to Monsanto?! What I now think is that they're all in it together, from Obama to John Boehner, from Pelosi to McCain. That's right, they're all carefully chosen cast members of this horrifying play. They probably all hang out together and drink and laugh and try to fuck each other's spouses. And we're just the schmucks sitting on our itchy assholes in this decrepit theater called "America". There's just no end to the madness of our existence. About the only thing we can all agree on is that for now at least, there really is no escape. It's like they say, the show must go on.

GORILLA WARFARE

People have it all wrong. I had it all wrong. There's actually never been a better time to be a writer. The sea is swirling. I don't think it's ever come alive like this! But it must be done differently now, you can't allow it to be too precious. And I love that about it. I love the way it looks on all the little wannabes who studied poetry and literature, who think they've done it right, who think they're entitled to the prize. But those days are over now. It's time to move away from all of that. Seriously, just go to a book store and pick up a new release. You don't even have to read any of it, just turn to the back and look at their goddamn author photo. I mean, if that doesn't tell you everything, if that doesn't make you fucking sick. Or worse yet, go to a reading, any reading. Try to sit through that. So now, you know, you just write on the fly. It's like gorilla warfare. I write while I'm running or when I'm at work or sitting on the pot, or while I'm bouncing around with a screaming baby. I'm telling ya, it works. It's the only way it works. You get so goddamn good at it. You just punch the shit into your phone like I'm doing now. That's it. You punch it in and forget about it. You never think about it again. And it's SO much better that way. It's like it's only between you and yourself, or the Gods if there really are some. But the only problem is, you've got to realize that it's all for naught, that there's no chance for it to ever do anything other than hopefully allow you to continue doing it. That's it. That's all you're gonna get out of it. There will be no books for you, no readings, no praise. You'll never get a chance to sit at the table with Charlie Rose. It really is gorilla warfare, man. I'm telling you, it really is!

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HEY, WHAT DO YOU THINK?

You think Dylan laughed at the Honey Badger video? Do you think some misunderstanding might actually be necessary? I mean, think about it, it must serve some sort of purpose, right? Ya know, I remember once after being stuck in the city for far too long and when I finally got a chance to fly back to Oklahoma, that first night I got there, I was in my old room where it all began and I heard the sound of a lone cricket and I cried. Hey, do you think the guys in the band, Train, know their music sucks but they're not going to allow themselves to feel ashamed of it, not every band can be a Radiohead or a Nirvana, so, you know, they're just gonna play and have fun with it and, hey, people are into it so what the hell do I care, what does it matter to me?... On second thought, fuck that! Those guys should be pulled off the stage and shot!... I do hope people know I really do try to concentrate and listen to them when I'm listening to them, but it's just that I tend to find most conversations to be about the biggest waste of time here on earth there is. Ya know, I now tend to believe people and sympathize with them when they say they're tired. Life is a fuckin' motherfucker, especially when you have kids. But anyway, listen, up north along the Hudson, there's a neat little town called, Beacon, and if you ask around, people will tell you about a man named (Chip). He's perfectly bearded and when you hear that soft voice and when you look into those eyes, those kind, twinkling eyes, you get the feeling that things might actually be alright, that there just may be a way for it to work out okay. You know that feeling when you walk through a quiet neighborhood at night? Or when all of a sudden, you look around at everyone and you know without a doubt that it's the end of a certain time for you? I'm looking at the stars tonight. I walking home and I'm looking at the stars, thinking about these things, thinking about a lot of things.

IT TAKES ALL KINDS

I appreciate growth. I respect the hell out of people with discipline and patience. Seriously, I wish I could be more like them, but I'm not. I just don't have that kind of focus. I'm attracted to things that ignite, things that disappear and appear in an instant where they once were or weren't.

GET IT TOGETHER

All things in moderation are revoltingly boring

OH, NOTHING

I was gonna say something about turning, how everything's turning, it's always been turning. And how we must turn. But if you don't know that, you don't know shit.

HEY, WAIT!

I just figured something out! No one knows what the fuck is going on!

A PLEASANT SIGHT

Aside from babies and that rare if ever event of experiencing in yourself or witnessing in others, a colossal breakdown of an immense wall of fear, anger, sadness, guilt, and denial, to me, seeing an elderly, deeply in love, gay couple has got to be one the more pleasant sights humanity still has to offer.

COME ON, I LIKE A LOT OF THINGS!

I like that cat on the old Eveready batteries. I like seeing people trip. I like catching old men checking out young girls' asses. I love seeing mangy ferrel cats disappear into the woods when I'm running. I like dead flies on window sills or at the bottom of light fixtures. I like looking at large men's hands and old people's elbows. I like seeing people standing outside of buildings, smoking, thinking while on a break. I like seeing the pilot's hands reach out and flip all those switches when I get on a plane. I like decrepit, vacant buildings and houses. I like seeing old couches and tires tossed off to the side of a road. I like hearing people not be able to start their car. I like seeing couples sitting miserable in silence at restaurants. I like seeing people obviously pretending to be interested in a painful conversation and the person talking, completely unaware of it, and actually mistaking their lack of rebuttal as further interest. I like catching children looking at anything up in the sky. I like it when squirrels flip their tails and bark at me. I like seeing pictures of myself from times when I was fat and drunk and miserable and insane. I mean, this is endless. I could go on and on. But more than anything, I just love being wrong. Wrong about anything and everything. I mean, don't you?

YOU DO REALIZE

that
any
moment
any
#
of
things
could
incite
nearly
anyone
to
kill
you?

SOME DAYS

I swear I hear the trees mocking me. I wait for the worms to stand upright and even the butterflies have teeth.

THE FEEDLOT

There's only one reason to watch the Emmys or any other awards show, to see the memorial tribute. Nothing reminds us better that no matter how pleasant or grandly fulfilling some of our lives may be, we all wind up on the kill floor with that knocker pressed to our heads.

DRAWN TO THE WORMS

I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Everything, if you're looking at it correctly, is just so utterly sad. Even my happiest moments are comprised mostly of sadness. More and more, being anything or doing anything just means I'm not being or doing something else. It's funny though, I get excited about the strangest things. I was filling up my car earlier and I fucking nailed it right at $20.00. I can't even tell you how much pleasure it gave me, more pleasure than even writing a good, strong poem. I don't know, man. I've just never even come close to being anywhere near a place like this. I feel astonishingly alone. But then I don't even really mind it either. There's almost no fear. I really feel I could face my own execution bravely, maybe even with a smile on my face? Wouldn't that be truly glorious, to go out like that? Ya know, I keep finding myself drawn to the worms. There's just something about worms. Every time I see one, I feel this need to observe it, to pay attention to its movements, to pay respect to its existence. I don't know, I just feel like they're trying to tell me something.

THE IRRELEVANCE OF WHERE

do 
it here 
or there
or anywhere
or go wake up
somewhere with
your legs hanging
halfway off the bed
shadows and sounds
of strangeness that may
as well be just in your head

DEAD AND GONE

It was the dead of winter and I was trying to heal myself back in Oklahoma in a tiny cabin my father rented me near the lake. The lake was half dried up and I quickly discovered there was no insulation in the walls of the cabin. I slept beneath a mountain of blankets near two plug in heaters which made strange knocking sounds throughout the night. I would lie in bed in the mornings, watching my breath in the golden sunlight as the flock of geese in the field behind me heckled the world until all at once they would lift off and head out over the mountain to the lake. One day I went for a walk and saw a blue heron in an irrigation ditch. It stood on one leg and calmly turned its head and looked at me then looked away. I scrambled over some boulders and found myself on a beach amongst the corpses of many thousand dead fish bleached white in the sun. What has happened here? I thought. What has happened to us all? Just then, an enormous C-5 from the Air Force base roared overhead. My entire childhood was spent with those giant beasts flying night and day through the sky. It was all connected, every bit of it was completely connected. I remembered an ancient man that nodded at me a few years earlier on an empty cobblestone street in Milan. I remembered sitting across from a sad, obese woman on a crowded subway train in New York. It was the way she clutched her purse in her lap with her head down, never once looking up. I had never seen someone so ashamed of themselves. I remembered the homeless man on Park Avenue who rose up out of a heap of boxes. He had a long white beard and white hair and his eyes were the brightest blue I had ever seen. It was as if no one else was there but the two of us. And he looked right through me with those incredible eyes, those watery blue eyes, and then he looked up at the buildings or maybe it was the sky? He winced and grunted and then dropped back down into his cardboard home. I stood there among those dead fish, watching that big plane arc across the sky, thinking about these things, wondering what was going to happen, what would happen to me, to us all, all of us still here, living out our days upon this silly world until we too were dead and gone.

YOU

died
because
you
didn't
that
is
why
I
belong
here
when
I
don't

THIS DELICATE FROTH

It's like an undertow, an inescapable wake, being invested too deeply in too many people. It's a perfectly natural thing for us to do, but there is nothing more stifling to the creative flow. Their words, their thoughts, their problems, their requests, their plans, even when it's pleasant, even when there's laughter and love, it scares away the magic. Groupings of people become their own organism. They pull you outside of yourself and into the collective beast. Or another way I often like to think about it is that I'm desperately trying to dive deeper and deeper, but the more I'm invested in people, the more buoyant I become, and the more they simply drag me right back up the surface. But here's the bitch of it: Those times in my life when I have been mostly alone, traveling quietly on my own terms, I found that there was little usable material. There was nothing to press up against, to fight against, there was no energy, no flame. It has taken me a lifetime to come to terms with this dilemma, to become in tune with it enough to know when I need a charge from humanity and when I've had my fill. And this is not a callused stance. I've found that I can love people just as much, if not more, from afar. For me, the challenge of writing has never been about learning how to write, it's about learning how to work yourself up into a particular state and then being able to protect it long enough to have it work for you. Seriously, I don't even consider myself a writer. I only write because I don't know what else to do. It has almost nothing to do with writing. It's about this froth, you know, whipping yourself up into this delicate froth.

WE TAKE IT WITH US

It's an awful fix. You know, you want to see everything. How can you not? I just can't understand people who don't need to see as much they possibly can. I mean, what else is there to do but try to see? But then you've seen it, you've seen more than you bargained for. Especially now with the internet and shit. I know I've seen too much. I see too much every day, from beheadings to camel slaughters to a mass of maggots crawling around in some poor bastard's brain. You don't even need to go to war to go to war anymore. You just Youtube the shit and you got it. People may argue with that but I believe it deeply. If you have a healthy imagination and an enormous amount of sympathy, and you know, you'll need to check your ego and eliminate that identity thing, but really, I'm serious, I'm not exaggerating, you're as good as there; it might as well be you that it's happening to. But all of this leaves you in a hell of a trance. It's not a depression so much as it's just that you've run out of illusions, you're ready to face that next step. But what is that step? What is there to do with yourself before you die? Me, I can still always laugh. Things can still be incredibly funny, and the world has never been more ridiculous. It's a goddamn smorgasbord for a guy like me! And, you know, the love only increases. Even if you don't know how to express it, our love over time just keeps growing, it just keeps welling up inside us. But our love is a sad love. You try to remember things, the laughter, the way it felt, the way someone looked at a certain moment. It's all very dreamlike. My kids, I mean, Jesus Christ, I can barely even look at them sometimes. They crush me, they absolutely crush me. I don't know, I think one way or another, we all get to a place where it seems there is no now anymore. What is happening feels like it's already a thing of the past, just like the rest of it. It feels like you're falling, or floating through it. You feel like a ghost, like you were never a part of it at all. But you keep looking. And it can be anything really, anything at all. There's always something being revealed. In every moment without exception, no matter how trivial, there's always something incredible going on. You don't know what it is but you know it's there. So, you know, I've never been religious, but I'm definitely convinced that we take it with us, wherever it is we go, I think we take it with us.

Sent from my iPhone

WHATEVER IT IS OR ISN'T ANYMORE

it
could
be
almost
anything
now
the
morning
clank
of
a
plate
my
neighbor
shutting
the
door
I
sweat
from
strange
places,
thinking
of
fish
the
tragedy
of
the
fish
that
dreamlike
calmness
of
anything
that
endures
the
leaves
turning
again
the
kids
going
back
to
school
and
you
see
something
has
already
risen
up
again
something
perfectly
not
quite
and
I
don't
want
it
to
be
I've
never
needed
anything
to
be
too
much
of
anything
and
whether
it
works
or
not
doesn't
even
matter
I
could
care
less
this
thing
or
the
next
whatever
it
is
or
isn't
anymore

BRIEF PHONE CONVERSATION WITH MY BROTHER-IN-LAW, BRYCE:

"Right? I mean, that's really all anyone wants. You just want to watch something going in or coming out of something. It's like fucking, like watching your dick going in and out. That's what it is, that's all there is. I mean, you could watch that for the rest of your life and never get bored. It's like this primal desire. Dude, I watched this video of this liver cyst being drained! Oh my God! I mean, it's the most incredible thing I've ever seen in my life! It's like it's gratifying or satisfying or something. They were squeezing out all these huge bubbles and shit. It was fucking amazing! It just kept coming out!"

"Man, I'm telling you, I've been thinking about this. People think you're just going for shock value or something, posting that stuff, but I get it, man, I know you're watching this stuff for a reason. You're really seeing something profound in it. It's all tied in, right? It's like this universal underlying property, but you're identifying it, man, like you're describing it. It's wave particle theory. For some reason, you're sensitive to it. Something's going on beneath the surface that almost nobody sees. You're getting to the pulse, you're identifying it. I'm telling you, you're really hitting on it, man. So like this liver cyst, it's not what it is, it's what you're able to see in it or through it, right? You're seeing or at least you're sensing, you know, the lattice, the source."

"Dude, we could light the world on fire! We'd be like Elton John and that fucker!"

"Haha!"

"That's it, you've gotta move back in with us! I'm going back to modeling so we'll need somebody to help out. Are you still on probation?"

"Yeah."

"Damn. I'm telling you, you're the greatest person for me to talk to."

"Awe, come on."

"I'm serious. Are you still at McDonald's?"

"Yeah."

"Man, I was just thinking the other day, why in the world is this guy working at McDonald's? But then I started thinking, holy shit! How fucking amazing is that? It's perfect really, it's like art, you working there."

"Oh, stop."

"I'm serious. You know, I want to work at Walmart just so I can do that little rally, cheer thing they do then quit, ya know. Alright, thanks, that's it, I'm out!"

"Haha!"

"Oh, fuck, man! I've gotta go!"

"Alright, you go."

CONFIDENCE

I can understand the value of having a certain amount of confidence in specific elements of life, but to waltz around with an overall confidence about yourself is absurd. People like this make me laugh. What it shows is actually a LACK of courage and imagination. But then, you know, I've sort of developed like this, I don't know, it's sort of like a confidence in my lack of confidence. Does that make any sense?

1

READING MY NEW MONSTER POEM IN THE WORKS, BOIL THE HEAD OF ANYTHING, OVER THE PHONE TO MY POOR MOTHER

"You don't think that's funny?"

"Not in the least."

"How do you not think that's funny?"

"It's repulsive. I don't know why you have to be so crude."

"I can't control how it comes out. It comes out how it comes out. I guess you wouldn't want to hear the next part then."

"What is it?"

"Well, I go into a couple lines about watching a camel slaughter and becoming a Muslim Republican and don't pay your taxes for five years, oh, and then chase a skunk naked at night with a headlamp and a hammer... And then it goes (haha), it goes, jack off to an old picture of your mother."

"OH, PHILBY! GOOD GOD!"

"What? It's just a poem."

IF

everything
everywhere
at all times
all at once,
then just how 
in the fuck?

A FEW QUESTIONS

Is what you're seeing and hearing already things of the past? Are shadows more real than the actual form? Do you look at people's feet and hands far more than their faces? Are chins always disturbing? Would you rather watch people shit than eat? Do you think of trees more deeply than anything? Is happiness and sadness an interwoven blanket in the coldness of a world gone wrong? Do you wonder if your memories are someone else's? But then as you near that inevitable edge, do you not also find yourself fearing so little that if say, you were about to be publicly beheaded for something you didn't even do, you would hardly think it much different than anything else that could possibly happen? Oh, also, now that you know there's nowhere left to go, nothing left to do, no one to meet or anything to discuss that could ever come close to matching the infinite wisdom that has always been there, growing silently inside you, do you not find the world so hysterically funny that you almost can't contain your laughter even at the most heart wrenching of sights? Anyway, you know, get back to me if you want. It really doesn't matter. I was just feeling a little curious for some reason.

OFFENDED

I don't know, I guess I've just never understood how anyone could possibly be offended by anything.

HOW DO YOU

at
least
not
see
that
there's
something
you
don't
see?

HEY, LETS

brush
our
assholes
and
wipe
our
teeth!

THE OTHER SIDE OF EVERYTHING

"Fuck that, go through it, beyond it, to the other side of everything. The highest level of literature and art is still human cowardice." -Skeet Giddens

DICK CHENEY

"What do you mean, you mean living?"

"Yeah, of anyone living, who would you want to meet?"

"Oh, that's easy, Dick Cheney."

ON AVERAGE

the
only
thing
worse
than
hearing
a
group
of
women
talking
is
a
group
of
men
talking

CLINGONS

I've never understood why the highly religious cling so desperately to ancient, regurgitated history and hearsay when to me, modern technology and science, as well as great works of art, pose a far more compelling argument for God. Those times when I've patiently listened to religious people talk about God or when I've found myself actually sitting through a sermon, always remind me of teenage boys talking about the spectacular sex they've never had.

IT'S A SHAME

that
most
art
is
wasted
on
the
"artists"

DON'T MIND THAT AT ALL

it's 
like
the
one
in
WOMEN,
the 
one
who
tells
Hank
the
moment
she
saw
the
crusty
shit-ring
in
his
toilet,
she
knew
he
could
eat
pussy

DANGEROUS AFFLICTION

To me, the most dangerous affliction of mankind is the negative blowback associated with someone who has thought long and hard and has completely changed their mind on a belief or an issue. How this somehow represents weakness, I will never understand. Under no circumstances are you allowed to agree with the other side. You don't believe me? Sit down and watch Bill O'Reilly with a few liberals. Now, I don't like Bill O'Reilly, as a matter of fact, I can't stand the sonofabitch, BUT I can still admit that he occasionally makes sense.

ALL OF A SUDDEN

I just remember all of a sudden not being able to look at magazine covers or fashion ads or especially rock band photos without literally giggling out loud with embarrassment.

SOMETHING OF AN ENJOYMENT

I always enjoy seeing shitty old cars parked in front of shitty old houses. I like seeing the Christmas lights dangling in the middle of summer. The dead flowers in broken pots. The yard full of tall weeds and yellow grass. Endless piles of dog shit and all those faded toys strewn about. Maybe there's a crooked swing set all rusted with busted seats? The trash can overflowing. A tire, a tarp, a tipped over basketball goal without a net. A wheel-less lawnmower, a shovel, a rake, a broom that's hard to believe has ever been used. I don't know, there's just something about it. There's something about those rickety stairs that lead up to that narrow porch crowded with an old couch or a mismatch of plastic chairs. Empty beer bottles and cans upon a wobbly table. A heap of cigarette butts in an ashtray. It always takes you a minute before you realize you've been hearing a terrible sound, and then you look up and see that enormous old air conditioner, hastily stuck in a window, about to fall out and kill someone. I'm really not sure what it is. I guess I like thinking about the life that must go on there. The kids in particular. The things they must hear and see. What their dinners are like. What their bedtime is. Well, hopefully they're not yet aware of the sadness their lives entail. And hey, the way things are going, they probably have a better shot than my kids. Anyway, of course, none of this is anything to envy, but for whatever reason, it is always far more interesting to look at than the rest.

PHIL'S GOLDEN RULE FOR YOUNG SONGWRITERS

Never ever, and I mean NEVER, write a song you can not imagine yourself comfortably and confidently performing at the age of 80.

THE JUXTAPOSITION

Of having to listen to a piece of shit like you use the word, juxtaposition.

AN IRREVERSIBLE PREJUDICE

The only irreversible prejudice I really have against any person is if I find out they liked the movie, Avatar.

EVEN DEATH

is
a
block
to 
unlock

CHEWED UP

"WHAT?!"

"(haha) I don't know, I've just never thought to look."

"Dude, that is fucking insane! You've GOTTA look! Every now and then you've gotta turn around in front of the mirror and spread your ass cheeks. You're in your 40s. That thing could look like a chewed up piece of bubblegum."

PROGRESS

all
roads
will
be
a
thing
of
the 
past

PEAKS

Have you ever whipped cream by hand? Just with a fork? It's like that. You don't stop until you get those peaks.

MEN IN BROWN

What percentage of UPS men do you think are undercover agents?

RAYMOND CARVER

Reading Raymond Carver gives me the confidence of a teenage virgin boy thrown onto a porn set.

THE GREATEST COMPLIMENT

"I gotta tell ya, I don't know anyone who's more conflicted than you. Half the time I don't even know what the hell you're talking about. And anytime I do, you turn around and contradict yourself. I don't think you even know what you're talking about half the time or what you actually believe in. It's like you're laughing at your own inadequacies, at your own incompetence."

"Dude, that's like the greatest compliment anyone's ever given me!"

ANIMAL INTEREST

I like the way a tired cat or a lion will flop down on their side and start licking a paw. I like the way bees' legs dangle when they fly. I like the way a bird will turn its head and look at you then look away. The movement of a turtle is interesting. The path of a moth or a butterfly. Fish in shallow water. The twitching muscles of a horse. Even just a bug crawling across your wall. All of these things are interesting, far more interesting than even the most interesting of humans.

TWO WORDS

I have 2 words to Youtube that will forever change your life: Camel Slaughter.

EMPTY

Hey, you know when you spend like $200-$300 at the grocery store and the next day or even that night, you open the fridge and the cabinets and there's literally NOTHING to eat? Well, that's basically how everything but what you're supposed to be doing is gonna feel like.

PROGRESS

all
roads
will
be
a
thing
of
the 
past

HAPPY

Nothing makes me happier than seeing construction projects that have run out of money.

IMPORTANT

Now, are you sure it wasn't more like a vine sneaking up on a wall? Or you know when you see a big fat log submerged in the water, the way it seems so important for it to be there?

THE TRICK OF THE TRICK

is 
to
yearn
only
to
never
again
yearn