LAWRY'S SEASONED SALT

Oh, I don't know. Lately, I've been hung up on Lawry's Seasoned Salt. I say it in my mind as I'm driving or walking down the street. "Lawry's Seasoned Salt". It's not that I'm even interested in it. It's just there, those words. I guess I briefly wondered who the hell Lawry was but that's about it. And I don't even use the shit. We have a big thing of it in the spice cabinet that's probably been there since we moved in here. It's probably filled with dead weevils. I can't listen to good music anymore. I listened to Elliot Smith last night with Jack Grace and he was way better than I remembered. That dude was John Lennon-good! But I don't need to listen to it. I don't need to listen to anything anymore. Everything gets in my way now. I have no desire to talk to hardly anyone anymore, even the people I enjoy talking to, unless they're able to make me laugh. I just want to laugh. Fuckin' make me laugh, motherfucker, or leave me the fuck alone! That's it, that's all I need from anyone. It's a lonely business, this life thing. But like I said, I think the painting is finally working. Something powerful is definitely starting to surface. And it's easy, calm. I'm even starting to gain a bit of control finally. I can take my time with it and not worry about it leaving me, vanishing. When I'm painting, I feel like I'm riding along in the mouth of a giant wale. But what does that even matter? It's just a way to pacify yourself. There's no difference between a great painter or musician and a really good office clerk. In the end, we all get cooked. Fried, steamed, stewed, roasted, baked, microwaved, bbq-d… Or hell, maybe you get eaten alive? But it's gonna happen. So then why do we even bother? What's another anything anymore at this point? Why write? Why paint? Why endure? Why is there the need for there to be anything more to it? Isn't whatever's already there in front of your eyes enough? Yeah, I don't know, man. Lawry's fucking Seasoned Salt baby! Why the hell not?

DEAR PHILLY: PLEASE TELL ME YOU DON'T LIKE JACK KEROUAC!

Dear Philly, Hey dude, you remember hearing about that Mexican girl who was 9 months pregnant being beheaded? I'll spare you the rest of what they did. It happened a few years back but I can't stop thinking about it again. The concept of there being a God that doesn't at least every now and then make an exception and intervene when it comes to something like this makes me hope to one day meet the sorry son of a bitch so I can disembowel him and stuff his severed cock right up his precious little rectum. I really don't know how any of us keep going anymore. I look back at everyone I've ever loved and it's like they're standing on some concrete platform on a foggy night, smiling, waving back at me. You know what I mean? It's like none of this is actually happening. I tell ya, man, it's a lonely fucking business, this life, a one way ticket to total annihilation… You ever watch Joel Osteen? Holy fucking shit, man! And people are afraid of ISIS? I enjoy the crowed shots the best. Blobs of fear and repression, nodding along, clapping, while this twinkly eyed little un-lived faggot siphons out more money than anyone could possibly know what to do with. It just gets to where you long for nothing but nothingness. I no longer even want what I want. You know what I'm saying? Oh, wait, shit, I almost forgot why I was even writing to you. Kerouac, man. What are your thoughts on Kerouac? I got into an argument with some little prick the other night about him. I think he's the most overrated writer that ever lived. Of course, he had some talent and energy, but he's just such a fucking pussy. He'd fit right in in your little bullshit town up there. Oh, I've been there. I went to the museum. I walked around for a couple of hours. There was only one artist that did anything for me- that Bruce Nauman dude. Everything else was just like everything else these days. But there was certainly some great little asses strolling around in there. I always get worked up in large, sterile environments like that. Airports are the fucking worst. I think I've jacked off at least once in every airport I've ever been to. Shit, I gotta go. I'm getting my eyes checked today. Been wearing the same pair of disposable contacts for 6 or 7 months now. Feels like I'm shoving a toenail in my eye when I put 'em on. So, yeah, Kerouac. Please tell me you don't like Jack Kerouac! Your boy, Stew…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………... Dear Stew, Yes, I agree, Kerouac is childish bullshit. The only thing he ever did like a real man was drink himself to death. But who the hell cares? Some people write books, some people drive a garbage truck. Nothing matters but children, but then children just become us. The whole goddamn thing is teetering at the very brink. And we haven't the information to do a single goddamn thing about it. It's over, brother. There's not a chance in hell for the human race to continue anymore. We got our shirt sleeve caught in the meat grinder a long long time ago. I think you'd better stock up on those contacts. I doubt you're going to be able to get 'em for much longer. Or hell, maybe you shouldn't even go? You might not want to see what exactly is going to be coming in for the kill. As for Bruce Nauman, I agree with you again. Joel Osteen? Are you fucking kidding me? I watch him every chance I get. It's mesmerizing. I'd give anything to hook up with that dude! Now THAT'S art! He's a goddamn fucking genius! There is no way in fucking hell the man believes in God. Not a chance. It's absolutely incredible. But now this pregnant Mexican girl getting beheaded! Is there a video of it? I've never heard a thing about this. Please get back to me on it! GO SOONERS!

DRIPPINGS

It was spectacular and then it wasn't, but sometimes it was again.