This weekend I listened to my three and five year old neighbors coo and speak to Gracie the cat in Spanish.  I must learn Spanish.
Useful tool of the month: Tongue Scrapers!!!
Yes, Huggybear is killer music. It’s erotic in its anger. My favorite punk. Only two albums?? ‘Taking the Rough with the Smooch’ and ‘Weaponry Listens to Love’.
John Waters’ movie ‘Cecil B. Demented’ is great. He honors Almodovar, Kenneth Anger, William Castle, Sam Peckinpah and others as personified by people like Maggie Gyllenhall. It makes me wonder if the things I like are somewhat Satanic, and if that means anything I think it means. I used to pray to the four Wiccan nature gods in the seventh grade every morning. I am never without an idol to worship. My religion is very Ancient Greece. Blended with Catholicism at the death of an empire, like my frame of reference. Thwarted love between a mother, father and son. Dignified by pain.
I’ve had this poem on my wall for two years. It’s by Dennis Cooper, sometime in the 1970s probably. It’s really profound to me. I really trust his mind, and I’m afraid of a day when I won’t understand him anymore.

An Aerial View

When God thinks, "Your turn,"
light soaks the grass in your pipe,
hat’s pulled down over your head
and you groove into the ground.

And then He is confused:
"Did I make the right decision?
Was the child an appropriate scapegoat?
What did it do to deserve this?"

His anonymous, grey head
drops in puffy, shopworn hands:
the palms of a dilettante
who does his work by suggestion.

He loves the glimmering earth.
He loves all that springs upon it.
He hates to slip one thing into darkness.
Thus, when He does, He is tortured.

He is bored, pissed, feeling strange,
His eyes hard to read clearly,
His hips dark with a longing;
a child dims where it’s beaten.

He is amused and then guilty.
His lips are lava which has cooled,
His mind as wild as the tree tops,
as dope touched to match, breath.