Hookers or Cake

I didn’t realize I was hurt and fucked up until people pointed it out to me.They stroked my beard, bandaged my horns, and gave me fresh milk.They gave me love and attention. It was then I learned being damaged, is a kind of currency.

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Pimpin’ aint easy

If you ever try to do something creative like make music, paint, write, or whatever? There may come a time where you think, “Hey maybe I got something here. I might be able to make a real go of this.” And you look around at all the people trying to make it with their art and most of em seem kinda fucking miserable about the whole deal. Do you really want to become an insane desperate asshole? For something you hopefully enjoyed doing at one point? Seems like a double bummer. Or maybe you could make a living doing your art and you could write a bunch of shitty boring articles or play six 45 minute sets at some tourist trap and turn the art you love into a cheap whore, doing pirouettes in the bathroom for five bucks a spin.

I went about ten feet down this road and I didn’t like it. I enjoy playing with words and drawings and ideas. It excites me and gives me enjoyment. When I make something I’m pleased with (and I’m easily pleased) I feel a sense of accomplishment. Of course I feel the same way about eating waffles or ice cream or ice cold beer. I’m easy like Sunday morning baby, so why turn it into a 9 to 5? I gots the happiness. Aint that the whole shooting match? Letting the creative process run wonderfully roughshod?

That’s what art is for me. Doing what turns you on and not chaining it to some kinda grindstone.

Stop trying to make your art get a shitty job

Let that crazy bitch wander worryless and free

Its easy

Easy like forever after

“The self gratifying fantasies I have about how awesome I am are getting pretty complex and intense.”

- God circa 1200 BC

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On Sunday’s we’d fill up the old Chrysler with gin and breeze on down to the port. Brunch at the truck stop that always seemed to be on fire. Get some cheap trucker speed and play competitive bridge till we bust the house or they bust us.

You get into kinda zone after about 30 hours at the tables. You feel like you’re a whirling machine full of bright light and sound, the numbers fucking sing, and everything finally makes sense. That lasts for a couple of days and then its over.

Time to see how many waffles you can eat before you pass out.

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maura:

We turned 20, everybody. We did it. Thank you to everyone who’s written and read and subscribed so far. This issue has:

• Me on the marketplace of love!

• Tom Ewing (!!!) on business speak! 

• A heroic effort where one man listens to NOTHING BUT “#BEAUTIFUL” FOR A WEEK!

• Debut fiction by Helen Schreiner! 

Check out the app if you haven’t already. (Non-iOS options are coming soon!!) 

Maura Johnston (Former music editor of Village Voice) has an excellent weekly magazine app. Its like a zine for your I-pad. Check it out!

In light of Tumblr soon becoming one big giant sponsored ad. I thought I’d get a head start.

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I apologize in advance for unfollowing your blog due to numerous TV recaps, pics, and GIFs. I’m a snob. I admit it.

(Source: hookersorcake)

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Dick: How was the flight?

Jane: The bathroom in first class had a malfunction and it tore out some guys rectum.

Dick: Wow! That would really suck.

Jane: Yeah the guy was screaming and there was blood everywhere. So needless to say, the bathroom was out of order.

Dick: Yeah, I guess so.

Jane: Well anyway, I had to pee for like the last three hours so I ended up just crossing my legs and squeezing really hard to not pee myself and I think I had an orgasm.

Dick: Really? On the plane? In your seat?

Jane: Yeah. Actually I know I had an orgasm and so then I totally pissed myself.

Dick: No kidding? That happened to me once.

Jane: Really? You squeezed your thighs together for so long and hard you came?! And peed yourself?

Dick: No, I actually shat myself on a greyhound bus outside of Denver.

Jane: And you ejaculated?

Dick: No, I just shit myself. I was reading some new age book about the secret dream life of trees and I had the sudden realization that I was everything and I didn’t need to do anything. I just was. And I began to laugh and cry so hard I shit myself.

Jane: Sounds more like a nervous breakdown.

Dick: No. It was totally cool. Like I was just a human being who had soiled himself. No one seemed to really care. I felt great.

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Sing your song
Get a giant tattoo of a monster dong
on your face
you know, for Christmas.